Swimcart Beach Beckons Again

The forest sanctuary of Trout Creek had served our expanded family beautifully, but after our night of dual comfort—primal fire and modern heating—we felt the magnetic pull of another Tasmanian treasure. Our collective thoughts turned toward the coastal magnificence of Swimcart Beach at Binalong Bay, that spectacular stretch of the Bay of Fires where we had so recently witnessed nature's most extraordinary light show.

"Let's show you boys the red rocks," Anth suggested, knowing that these iconic granite boulders with their distinctive orange lichen would provide perfect visual counterpoint to the alpine landscapes and misty forests the boys had thus far experienced.

Before undertaking the journey eastward, practical necessities demanded attention. As Anth refuelled the bus at a local service station, the boys seized the opportunity to address their own energy requirements. They crossed the road to Banjos—that quintessential Tasmanian takeaway chain that has become such a reliable presence throughout our island explorations. With both vehicle and passengers sufficiently nourished, we continued our coastal pilgrimage.

Being Friday, we harboured modest expectations regarding availability at Swimcart. Popular weekend destinations typically fill early with locals escaping urban confines for brief wilderness immersion. Yet as we rounded the final bend, an extraordinary stroke of serendipity revealed itself—the precise premium position we had so reluctantly abandoned days earlier sat unoccupied, as if patiently awaiting our return. This prime waterfront real estate, offering uninterrupted views across turquoise waters toward distant horizons, welcomed us back with open arms.

"I can't believe our luck," Anth remarked as we levelled the bus in this million-dollar position. "The same exact spot!"

With camp established, we immediately sought closer communion with the elements that define this extraordinary coastline. Our exploration along the shore revealed the Bay of Fires' distinctive personality—pristine white sand meeting crystal waters, punctuated by those magnificent orange-stained boulders that give the region its evocative name. These ancient granite sentinels, adorned with vivid lichen, create such striking contrast against azure waters that no photograph can adequately capture their visual impact.

As afternoon surrendered to evening, the setting sun transformed these already remarkable rocks into incandescent sculptures—their orange pigmentation intensified to almost supernatural brilliance by golden hour illumination. We stood transfixed by this daily performance, four silhouettes against fading light, each absorbing this spectacle through personal filters of experience and appreciation.

Our previous two visits to Swimcart had delivered extraordinary celestial performances—the southern aurora dancing across night skies with otherworldly luminescence. We had mentioned this phenomenon to the boys without promising repeat performance, knowing these atmospheric displays follow cosmic schedules rather than human itineraries. Yet as darkness claimed the landscape completely, faint green luminescence began manifesting along the southern horizon—the aurora australis making modest appearance as if acknowledging our return.

Though considerably less dramatic than previous exhibitions, this gentle atmospheric glow represented perfect introduction for the boys, their first witnessed aurora providing gateway experience to one of nature's most magnificent spectacles. Their expressions—wonder mingled with slight disappointment at its diffuse character—mirrored precisely our own first encounter with this phenomenon years earlier.

"It's subtle, but definitely there," Torrin confirmed, eyes straining to capture every nuance of this ethereal light display.

Our overnight sojourn at Swimcart carried particular poignancy—not merely concluding our coastal exploration but marking transition toward reunion. Morning would bring our journey back toward Launceston where Sal would soon arrive from Queensland, completing our temporarily fragmented family circle once more. As we settled into sleep with wave-song providing perfect soundtrack, anticipation of tomorrow's reunion tinged our consciousness with that particular sweetness that brief separation brings—the heightened appreciation of connection temporarily suspended then restored.

Dawn painted the bay with fresh palette of color, morning light revealing different character than previous evening's golden drama. After breakfast and efficient departure preparation, we surrendered our prime position to whatever fortunate traveller might next discover its perfection. Our wheels turned westward, leaving coastal magic behind while carrying its impressions within us—another layer of experience in our ever-expanding Tasmanian memory tapestry, another shared chapter with our sons who had now witnessed both mountain majesty and coastal splendor during their brief immersion in our nomadic existence.

As we navigated inland toward Launceston Airport, conversation naturally revolved around Sal's imminent return and the adventures yet to come during our remaining Tasmanian days. This beautiful rhythm of separation and reunion, of sharing our beloved island's treasures with family, of constantly evolving plans shaped by weather and opportunity rather than rigid itinerary—these elements had become the heartbeat of our nomadic life, a pulse we now shared directly with our children rather than merely describing through digital connection.Read more