Riverside Pause: Peace at Inverleigh

The small country town of Inverleigh welcomed us with rural quietude, its free camping area stretching along the dispersed banks of the Leigh River. We approached with tempered expectations—Victorian school holidays had officially commenced, typically transforming such accessible riverside camps into crowded refugee centres for city-weary families. Yet as we navigated the two-kilometre stretch of available camping, only scattered fellow travellers punctuated the landscape, leaving ample space for solitude.

We claimed a private riverside position that seemed designed precisely for our needs—level ground for the bus, mature trees for Torrin's hammock, and the Leigh River's gentle murmur providing natural soundtrack. This unexpected gift of space and tranquillity during peak season felt like cosmic compensation for recent urban trials.

Torrin wasted no time establishing his aerial accommodation between two perfectly positioned river gums, while we set forth on foot to explore our temporary territory. The walk back toward town revealed the area's quiet charm—pastoral landscapes punctuated by historical markers, the river meandering through countryside that had changed little since settlement days. Anth's eyes sparkled with geocaching opportunity, his GPS leading us on minor detours to claim several cleverly hidden caches along the route.

"This place has good bones," Sal observed as we returned to camp, using our shorthand for locations that offered perfect balance of accessibility and isolation.

Our timing at Inverleigh was dictated by modern necessity—new solar panels awaited collection at a post office thirty minutes away, their arrival determining our departure toward the Great Ocean Road. Yet as afternoon light filtered through river gums and native birds began their evening congregations, we found ourselves hoping for delivery delays. This accidental pause had revealed exactly the kind of sanctuary our souls craved after too many transitional days.

The Pomoly stove crackled to life as darkness fell, our outdoor kitchen creating that primal gathering point around which evening naturally organised itself. Above us, the riverside trees filled with returning birds—cockatoos squawking their raucous goodnights, corellas gossiping in great flocks, magpies offering final melodic phrases before settling. This avian evening chorus reminded us powerfully of Tasmania's wild soundscapes, nature asserting itself despite proximity to civilisation.

Torrin's hammock swayed with increasing vigour as night winds arose, transforming his sleeping arrangement from gentle cradle to something more akin to maritime adventure. We could hear the trees creaking their protest against the gusts, wondering if pride might prevent sensible retreat to bus floor.

"How was your night?" Anth inquired the following morning, finding Torrin emerging from his wind-tested cocoon.

"Almost got launched at one point," came the grinning reply. "Felt like I was sailing rather than sleeping."

The day brought mixed communications—our solar panels had arrived at the depot, ready for collection, while Anth finally received the awaited call confirming his acceptance into the clinical trial. Both pieces of news carried weight for our immediate future, panels promising enhanced off-grid capability while trial participation would fund continued adventures. We decided on strategic approach: collect panels and complete laundry in nearby Armstrong Creek before returning for one final Inverleigh night, allowing early morning departure for our five-day coastal journey.

Torrin elected to remain at camp during our town mission, content with riverside solitude despite threatening weather. His easy adaptation to independent bush time reflected growing confidence in outdoor self-sufficiency—no longer merely tolerating our lifestyle but actively choosing its challenges.

That evening brought additional planning as we booked Sophie's flight to join us the day before the trial commenced. The prospect of our eldest children sharing nomadic experiences together generated particular excitement—sibling bonds strengthened through shared adventure rather than conventional family gatherings. This evolving family dynamic, shaped by movement rather than stability, continued revealing unexpected depths.

As our second night at Inverleigh unfolded with similar riverside serenity, we reflected on how these unplanned pauses often provided greatest restoration. We had arrived viewing this camp as mere necessity—a waiting room for parcels—yet discovered instead exactly the peaceful interlude our spirits required. The Leigh River's constant conversation, the evening bird congregations, the wind-rocked nights under stars—all combined to create another coordinates in our expanding map of meaningful places, another reminder that home existed wherever we allowed ourselves to fully arrive.Read more