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Nomadic Narratives
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  • Sal and Anth

Nomadic Narratives

Our home is a bus, our map the whispers of wanderlust, Australia our playground. From shimmering shores to the boundless outback. This journey is a story fuelled by laughter, shared experiences, & the constant hum of adventure's song. Les mer
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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
    3

    Bay of Fires: Campsite Paradise

    19.–26. mar. 2024, Australia ⋅ 🌬 21 °C

    Evercreech threw a curtain of rain behind us as we peeled out, dirt roads unwinding through the forest like ribbons. Our sights were set on St. Helens, a stepping stone on the path to the fiery shores of the Bay of Fires.

    For an hour, we chased the horizon, the only company the rhythmic patter of raindrops. St. Helens finally emerged, a welcome sight. We split like a well-oiled team: Sal on a grocery mission, while Anth wrestled with overflowing bins, refueled the camp stove, and, with a mischievous glint in his eye, snagged some pool noodles. Apparently, they were key to a rainy day awning MacGyver fix.

    Refreshed and restocked, we bumped into a fellow traveler at a water stop. A young Belgian woman, her Nissan XTrail a trusty steed as she explored the wonders of Tasmania. It was a constant delight, these chance encounters on the road. People from far-flung corners, united by the spirit of adventure, each with their own story to tell.

    Our compass pointed towards Swimcart Beach, the crown jewel of the Bay of Fires. We knew it was a popular spot, and for good reason. Nicknamed "Millionaire's Row," the campsites boasted beachfront bliss and jaw-dropping views. Thankfully, our early arrival on a Tuesday paid off. Two prime spots awaited, and the Bay of Fires beckoned with promises of fiery sunsets and unforgettable adventures.

    Despite facing strong onshore winds and rolling seas upon arrival – a seemingly persistent Tasmanian greeting – the second day brought a welcome shift. The tempestuous gusts subsided, replaced by gentler offshore breezes that calmed the waves.

    Our week unfolded on a tapestry of pristine white sands, where we explored the beaches and diligently weaved in online work sessions. This idyllic haven proved so captivating that leaving felt like a wrench. However, Anth's mum was due to arrive in Launceston in just a few days, ready to embark on a co-traveling adventure with us for a few weeks. Swimcart Beach, though, wouldn't be our last encounter.    Les mer

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth

    From Alpine Peaks to Forest Deep

    16.–19. mar. 2024, Australia ⋅ ☁️ 22 °C

    Bidding farewell to our Ben Lomond haven, we rumbled back towards the park entrance, a pit stop at our previous campsite necessary to refill a thirsty water tank. Refreshed, we continued our journey, the promise of a delicious treat pulling us onward. Coffee and pie, a rare indulgence on the road, awaited at a stop nestled between Ben Lomond and the coast.

    Our destination, whispered to us by the adventurous English couple we'd met, was the Evercreech Forest Reserve. Halfway to the coast, it promised a stark contrast to the alpine majesty we'd just experienced. While the allure of the ocean tugged at us, the call of the rainforest proved too strong to resist. Swapping asphalt for a dusty ribbon of road, we rumbled onwards, the bus kicking up a playful trail.

    A chance encounter with a tiger snake on the path served as a thrilling (though brief) wildlife welcome. Arriving at the campsite, a sense of solitude washed over us – just one other nomadic couple, their truck a testament to their free-spirited ways. As the day surrendered to a cloak of twilight, conversation flowed freely in the crisp evening air, stories shared beneath a sky sprinkled with stars.

    The heavens, however, weren't entirely cooperative. Clouds cast a veil over the sun, hindering our solar power ambitions. But luck, it seemed, wasn't entirely absent. We managed to squeeze in a wash cycle and a rejuvenating hike to a hidden gem – a picturesque waterfall cascading over moss-covered rocks, its symphony accompanied by the towering presence of the last remaining "White Knights," the world's tallest White Gums. Evercreech, with its untamed beauty and a touch of unexpected camaraderie, had begun to weave its magic.    Les mer

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
    1The Remains of an Old Cabin2112224

    Wombat Wishes and Dolerite Dreams

    15.–16. mar. 2024, Australia ⋅ ☀️ 13 °C

    The Ben Lomond campsite receded into memory as we delved deeper into the park, anticipation crackling in the air like highland lightning. Reaching the Carr-Villa trailhead, we were met with a vista that stole our breath. Towering Dolerite cliffs, sentinels of a forgotten age, pierced the cerulean canvas above, their flanks etched with the stories of millennia.

    We prepped for the hike and then our boots hit the path, and a playful dance began – a traverse across lichen-dappled boulders that unveiled ever-more-panoramic vistas. Sal readily conceded this hike was a serious contender for the title of "most epic hike" she had done. Though each new hike we undertook in Tasmania threatened to take that crown.

    Each pause wasn't merely a gasp for breath, but a reverent immersion in the unfolding masterpiece. The world stretched out below, a tapestry of emerald valleys dwarfed by the immensity of the sky.

    Energized by pre-made salad rolls at the halfway point, a welcome respite in the cathedral of nature, we pressed on, the summit of Legges Tor our ultimate reward. Here, at the second highest peak in Tasmania, the Alpine Plateau stretched out in all its glory – a stark yet captivating tapestry woven by wind and time. We sat for a while and reflected on this new life we had constructed for ourselves.

    Our return journey was leisurely, filled with even more photo ops and the ever-present hope of spotting a wombat (though only their telltale evidence materialised). Arriving back at the bus, a deep sense of satisfaction settled over us. We'd conquered the trail, not with brute force, but with a spirit of exploration and reverence. Tonight, the trailhead would be our comfortable haven, a cocoon spun from accomplishment, where whispers of the wind would lull us into a sleep filled with dreams of alpine vistas and soaring skies. An unforgettable day, etched forever in our memories, a testament to the raw beauty and untamed spirit of Tasmania.    Les mer

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
    1

    Ben Lomond Bivouac: Bikers & Bonhomie

    9.–15. mar. 2024, Australia ⋅ ☀️ 23 °C

    Disappointment curdled in the air as we pulled into Ben Lomond National Park, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the already occupied campsites. Dejected, we embarked on a languid cruise around the loop road, scanning for any hint of availability. The tableau that greeted us around a bend wasn't precisely what we'd envisioned for a tranquil escape. A group of five burly men, most sporting hirsute visages and a few conspicuously lacking upper body attire, huddled together, seemingly engrossed in a flagon of something potent. Sal's stomach lurched with trepidation.

    Completing the loop, we found ourselves back near the very same cohort, their makeshift camp now bathed in the golden aura of the setting sun. Just as we braced ourselves for an awkward social encounter, a benevolent smile and a booming baritone, "G'day mates! You're welcome to set up camp right beside us!" shattered our preconceived notions. Relief washed over us as we emerged from the bus, exchanging greetings with the men. Gone were the menacing vibes, replaced by the easy camaraderie of fellow adventurers. These weren't hardened motorcycle outlaws, but a bunch of quintessential Aussie blokes, their weathered visages etched with the narratives of their travels. Their trusty postie bikes, one adorned with a touch of whimsy in the form of scintillating handlebar streamers, spoke volumes about their down-to-earth personalities.

    As twilight descended, the communal fire crackled merrily, casting flickering illuminations on the laughing faces encircling it. Mosquitoes, those ubiquitous Tasmanian companions, made their presence known, but the camaraderie remained undeterred. Stories flowed like vintage wine, seasoned with witticisms and punctuated by shared libations. These gents were the embodiment of the Aussie spirit - mateship at its finest. Each with a unique background, they were all family men, most bearing the well-worn badges of fatherhood etched on their faces. It was the perfect genesis to our Ben Lomond odyssey, a serendipitous encounter that promised an unforgettable week.

    The following morning, we bade farewell to our newfound comrades as they roared off on their eight-day exploration of the island, their laughter echoing in the crisp mountain air. With the unexpected boon of a flushing toilet and running water at our campsite, the next few days were a delightful melange of work, video editing, content creation, and, most importantly, pancake baking. Engulfed by the breathtaking panorama of Ben Lomond, it was an idyllic location to experience this captivating corner of Tasmania. Despite our valiant efforts on the wildlife front, a wombat sighting remained frustratingly elusive.

    Our paths fortuitously crossed with another couple, well-traveled souls originally hailing from England who had embraced Tasmania's nomadic lifestyle. As conversation flowed for a few hours, they generously imparted invaluable insights about some of the lesser known spots they had discovered on their travels.

    As our week drew to a close, it was time to pack up and delve deeper into the national park. Eschewing the infamous Jacobs Ladder with its switchbacks and potential for gastrointestinal distress, we opted for a more scenic route – a hike up a nearby trail that promised breathtaking vistas...    Les mer

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
    2

    From Falls to Fields: A Quiet Night

    8.–9. mar. 2024, Australia ⋅ ☀️ 25 °C

    Bidding farewell to the cascading beauty of Liffey Falls, we charted a direct course towards Hagley Post Office, where a selection of parcels awaited our arrival. After a swift pickup, we ventured a mere five minutes further to a paddock in the heart of Westbury. While this unconventional stopover lacked the grandeur of wilderness, it served its purpose admirably - a free haven for the night.

    Fuelled by the invigorating Tasmanian air, Anth embarked on a four-kilometer trek to conquer a selection of geocaches scattered throughout the town. His spoils included not only a sense of accomplishment but also a quintessential Tasmanian treat - a crisp apple, savoured on the very "Apple Isle" itself.

    As tranquility settled over the campsite, a hush fell upon us. The proximity to Launceston, our next destination, and the much-awaited screening of Dune Part Two thrummed with anticipation. To heighten the excitement even further, we decided to revisit Dune Part One under the star-studded Tasmanian sky. Needless to say, the prospect of the sequel looming on the horizon fuelled our cinematic enthusiasm.    Les mer

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
    4
    4

    A New Dawn at Liffey Falls

    6.–8. mar. 2024, Australia ⋅ ☀️ 23 °C

    Invigorated by our adventures at Penstock Lagoon, we charted a course towards Liffey Falls, a mere hour's drive away. Descending from the Central Plateau's rugged embrace, we found ourselves amidst sprawling farmlands - a stark contrast to the verdant wilderness we'd cherished for the past week.

    A quick pitstop in the quaint town of Bracknell replenished our water reserves before we continued towards Liffey and its eponymous falls campground. Arriving later than intended (a habit we were determined to break!), we secured a spot that, while less than ideal, would suffice for the night. The absence of Penstock Lagoon's serenity was palpable.

    The following morning, as fellow campers embarked on their own Tasmanian itineraries, we seized the opportunity to explore. A hidden gem materialized beside the gurgling Liffey River, offering respite from the afternoon sun, enhanced privacy, and a superior vantage point for both solar panels and our Starlink connection.

    Refueled with a hearty breakfast and brimming water tanks, we shouldered our daypacks for the two-hour trek to Liffey Falls itself. The rainforest trail, a verdant tapestry dappled with sunlight, snaked alongside the river, culminating in a breathtaking spectacle. The cascading water roared with life, drawing a small congregation of visitors who, like us, paused to appreciate its majesty. A brief exploration of smaller, hidden falls further upstream satiated our adventurous spirit before we retraced our steps back to the bus.

    Our two-night sojourn's final day beckoned with another enticing trail. This shorter route wove through the forest, unveiling the commendable work of Bush Heritage Australia in protecting this precious land. As we delved deeper, the interpretive signage painted a vivid picture of the region's unique ecosystem, leaving us with a profound appreciation for Tasmania's natural wonders.    Les mer

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
    At the Steppes HomesteadSunset at our first CampsiteSunset at our second Campsite2

    Return to Penstock: A Serene Sojourn

    27. feb.–6. mar. 2024, Australia ⋅ ☁️ 19 °C

    With a wealth of time at our disposal before returning Anth to Launceston Airport, we embarked on a strategic sojourn to revisit the captivating Penstock Lagoon, a place we'd vowed to return to and explore more comprehensively. This time, we savored the journey, lingering at intriguing stops along the way.

    The Steppes unveiled a heartfelt artistic tribute - a rock display lovingly crafted by a local, its weathered surface etched with symbols that spoke of the land's unique character. A little further on, we journeyed through time, exploring the weathered edifices of the Steppes homestead. The silence of these abandoned dwellings whispered tales of resilience and hardship, a poignant reminder of the harsh realities of bygone eras.

    Arriving again at Penstock, we were determined to find the perfect sanctuary, and we meticulously explored every campsite, finally settling upon a secluded cove nestled beside the lagoon. Here, the days unfolded in a tapestry of serenity. Graceful black swans, their ebony forms gliding across the water's surface in an ethereal ballet, became our daily companions. Their long necks dipped and swayed as they meticulously foraged for sustenance, their presence a constant source of tranquility.

    Just as we were settling into our idyllic refuge, a minor crisis arose. Anth discovered a malfunctioning grey water readout on our Victron display. A quick inspection beneath the Bus revealed the culprit - a missing sensor. A memory clicked into place. We'd bumped a rock on our departure a few days prior. Hopeful, Anth embarked on a determined 50-minute trek back to our previous campsite. He returned triumphantly, sensor in hand, a testament to his resourcefulness and unwavering optimism.

    Days seamlessly intertwined as we tackled essential bus maintenance, ensuring the continued smooth operation of our mobile home. In between these tasks, we reveled in the tranquility of this hidden gem, our senses attuned to the subtle music of the wilderness. We observed the transient nature of our fellow campers, some stopping for a quick pitstop, others lingering for a day or two, before continuing their journeys on the ever-winding Tasmanian highway.

    However, our idyllic spot turned out to be less than optimal for solar power. With limited battery reserves, dwindling sunlight filtering through the dense canopy of trees, and an ever-present cloud cover, we embraced a more rustic lifestyle, a welcome change of pace from our modern routines. We traded the convenience of our induction cooktop and air fryer for the charm of camp stove cooking, the rhythmic sizzle of food melding with the crackling symphony of the campfire. Cozy evenings were spent huddled around the flickering flames, sharing stories and laughter beneath a canopy of stars, the Milky Way splashed across the inky expanse of the night sky.

    Fueled by this newfound reliance on the campfire, we embarked on a firewood expedition, one that serendipitously led us to an even more secluded campsite, bathed in sunshine - a haven perfectly suited for our solar needs. Our ever-adaptable bus, a testament to our preparedness, made a swift move, just in time for a severe weather warning that threatened the area with ferocious winds. Secure within the confines of our new sanctuary, surrounded by towering trees that offered a natural windbreak, we watched as the tempest raged outside, the temperature plummeting. Bundled in warm layers, we weathered the 'storm', a stark reminder of Tasmania's capricious nature, its beauty as undeniable as its power.

    After eight idyllic nights and nine unforgettable days, it was time to bid farewell (for now) to Penstock Lagoon. Our water supplies dwindled, and our food stores waned, but our hearts brimmed with contentment. We departed with a silent promise to return soon, forever etched in our memories the serenity of this hidden paradise, the resilience of the natural world, and the spirit of adventure that propelled us forward.

    On our way out, we paid homage to the Waddamana Power Station, a historical monument that stands as a testament to Tasmania's pioneering spirit. We marvelled at the colossal Pelton wheel turbines, silent sentinels of a bygone era, their once-gleaming surfaces now imbued with the patina of time. These titans of industry, once the lifeblood of Tasmanian energy production, now stood as a reminder of human ingenuity and the ever-evolving quest for progress. As we continued our journey, their imposing forms slowly faded into the distance, beckoning us towards the promise of our next adventure.

    Other times we have visited here:

    https://findpenguins.com/9uaypcigxlrku/footprin…    Les mer

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
    2

    Forcett, Farms & Farewell

    25.–27. feb. 2024, Australia ⋅ ☁️ 22 °C

    Bidding farewell to the tranquil idyll of Penstock Lagoon, we steered the bus towards Hobart. As the afternoon sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, ethereal shadows, we arrived at a charming farmstead nestled in Forcett, a mere stone's throw from the city and conveniently situated a 20-minute drive from Anth's flight the following day.

    Michael, the proprietor, greeted us with a warm handshake and a smile that exuded genuine Kiwi warmth. A seasoned dairy farmer who had retired from the trade, he had become an integral part of the Tasmanian tapestry for over two decades. Tess, his magnificent canine companion, with her impeccable training, padded over to offer her own furry welcome. A virtuoso of the canine art of "speak," she regaled us with her enthusiastic pronouncements.

    Sal, accustomed to the passenger's seat, surprised even herself by bravely taking the wheel to transport Anth to the airport. His 30-hour mainland sojourn presented her with an unexpected opportunity for solitude – the first since departing Queensland. Embracing this unforeseen "me time," she embarked on a television marathon, indulging in the guilty pleasure of staying up far past her usual bedtime. The following morning, she succumbed to the allure of a rare sleep-in, stretching her slumber into the late hours.

    The day unfolded with leisurely strolls through the expansive paddocks, reconnecting with loved ones through heartfelt phone conversations, culminating in another short drive to retrieve Anth. In a fortnight, Sal would embark on another solo expedition. What adventures awaited her on this upcoming escapade?    Les mer

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
    Preparing the daily essentials
    Smoke On the WaterSunset32SunriseAnother Daily Necessity - Homemade Protein IceCream

    Fiery Skies over Penstock

    24.–25. feb. 2024, Australia ⋅ ☀️ 18 °C

    On the table, a weathered treasure map sprawled (okay, so it was Wikicamps on a tablet), leading us to our next destination: Hobart. Our fingers traced the route, landing on a hidden gem – Penstock Lagoon, the perfect halfway point. It was as if fate itself had marked the spot, a secret whispered on the map's "worn parchment".

    Bidding farewell to the salty symphony of the coast, we steered south. The landscape metamorphosed, swapping the sandy stage for rolling emerald hills. Deloraine, Tasmania's unassuming giant, greeted us with its quaint charm before we ascended into the heart of the Great Western Tiers.

    Snow markers, silent sentinels, stood guard along the road, igniting a spark of wanderlust in Sal's eyes. They whispered tales of winter wonderlands, painting a picture of our cozy bus nestled amidst snow-capped peaks, a refuge from the biting cold.

    With the Great Lake as our glistening companion, we pressed on, anticipation building with each passing mile. Smoke, a veiled reminder of the fiery trials unfolding nearby, hung heavy in the air. We anxiously checked the government website, hoping our haven for the night remained untouched. Thankfully, a reassuring green tick confirmed our safety.

    Emerging from the smoky embrace, Penstock Lagoon, a man-made haven for trout and keen fly fisherman, unfolded before us. We were the lone inhabitants, the only souls sharing this slice of serenity. Though our stay was brief, a one-night stopover, we knew we'd return, drawn by the lagoon's quiet magic.

    As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, dramatic shadows, Anth's drone danced across the fiery sky, capturing the scene's ethereal beauty. Sal, meanwhile, wove her culinary magic, conjuring a feast that warmed our bellies and our spirits.

    Sleep came easily, the only disturbance a quick check on the website, a silent reassurance in the night.

    The following morning the smoke, an unexpected artist, took its turn, transforming the sunrise into a fiery masterpiece. We captured its fleeting brilliance in photographs, forever etching this moment into our memory.

    Sal's famous pancakes, light and fluffy, fueled us for the final leg. Hobart, the culmination of this quick detour, awaited. We packed up our haven on wheels, hearts brimming with the memories we had woven along the way, and set off with renewed excitement, ready to embrace the adventures that lay ahead.

    Other times we have visited here:

    https://findpenguins.com/salandanth/footprint/6…    Les mer

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
    Tarkine Sinkhole
    3Couta RocksThe Arthur RiverChisholm Sinkhole2Terry's Place

    Across Tasmania: Hobart's Beckoning

    23.–24. feb. 2024, Australia ⋅ 🌬 15 °C

    Wanderlust tugged at our hearts, whispering promises of distant shores and family reunions. A chance to bolster our travel kitty for a later visit to our eldest son in Japan presented itself, a detour to Hobart beckoning. Though it meant veering off the beaten path, our untethered souls craved adventure.

    Bidding farewell to Chris's cozy shack, we plunged southward along the Western Shore, the rugged coastline unfolding like a breathtaking storybook.

    Couta Rocks, nestled amongst a community of weathered shacks, stole Sal's breath away. The tempestuous sea, whipped by onshore winds and rain, crashed against the rocks in a mesmerising display of raw power. We lingered, capturing the untamed beauty on camera, the wild symphony of nature playing out before us.

    Freshwater serenity replaced the ocean's roar as we reached Lake Rebecca, a hidden gem behind the dunes. This indigenous site whispered tales of resilience, where communities thrived on the life-giving water and bounty of the land, seeking shelter in grass huts that braved the harsh winters.

    Camp Elsewhere, a name both playful and literal, marked our final coastal exploration. Enticed by the promise of solitude, we ventured into the campsite, a haven of tranquility amidst untouched nature. Though the allure was strong, our journey called us onward.

    Eastward we turned, the roaring forties wind now a fuel-efficient tailwind. Farmlands, our companions for weeks, gave way to the Tarkine Wilderness, a lush tapestry woven from the world's second-largest temperate rainforest. Each stop along this verdant path unveiled hidden wonders.

    At Kanunnah Bridge, spanning the tannin-stained Arthur River, we became unlikely heroes for lost tourists, guiding them to safety with dwindling fuel and no signal. Sumac Lookout offered a fleeting glimpse of the same river through a veil of clouds and rain, a testament to the ever-shifting moods of nature.

    The Julius River rainforest walk was a portal to a forgotten world. Moss-carpeted earth, ancient ferns, and gurgling brooks whispered secrets of time untold. Lake Chisholm, a flooded limestone sinkhole, reflected the sky's moods, while the Dempster Plains stretched out in a vast sea of button grass, whispering of windswept journeys. The Tarkine Sinkhole, a dark mirror reflecting the heavens, held us spellbound with its enigmatic beauty.

    Though our hearts yearned to delve deeper, Hobart beckoned. This was just a taste of Tasmania's magic, a promise of a future year spent exploring its every nook and cranny. We would return to this place.

    Back on familiar roads, we reached out to Terry, a kindred spirit we'd met weeks earlier. His invitation to join him at the Berry Patch, nestled between Ulverstone and Devonport, was a beacon of warmth. We arrived just before dinner, greeted by his open arms and the true spirit of nomadic camaraderie.

    The next morning the first train whistle sliced through the pre-dawn quiet, Sal awoke to Terry's gentle words, serenading his two cockatiels as they chirped their morning song. We began with shared coffee and laughter, the aroma of homemade pizzas and banana pancakes filling the air as a token of our gratitude. Terry, ever the generous soul, helped with errands for our bus.

    With heavy hearts, we said goodbye to Terry, our journey leading us halfway to Hobart, up into the embrace of the Tasmanian highlands. The road ahead held new adventures, but the warmth of friendship and the untamed beauty of Tasmania would forever be etched in our memories.    Les mer

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
    2
    1The Arthur meets the Edge of the World5

    Whispers from the Edge

    21.–23. feb. 2024, Australia ⋅ ⛅ 18 °C

    The coastal ribbon of the Tarkine Drive unfurled before us, a tapestry woven with drama and breathtaking beauty. Bluff Hill Point Lighthouse offered a familiar embrace, echoing the expanse we'd witnessed at Marrawah. A single-lane bridge, slender and stark, carried us over the dark waters of the Archer River, a prelude to the exhilarating spectacle that awaited.

    The Edge of the World, where the Arthur River met the ocean, lived up to its name. A mesmerising dance of colours unfolded, tannins swirling with the aqua hues of the Western Ocean, each crashing wave a testament to nature's power. The wind, an offshore maestro, conducted a symphony of whitecaps and spray.

    A plaque resonated with the vastness, etching Brian Inder's poem onto our souls:

    "I cast my pebble onto the shore of Eternity.
    To be washed by the Ocean of time.
    It has shape, form, and substance.
    It is me.
    One day I will be no more.
    But my pebble will remain here.
    On the shore of eternity.
    Mute witness from the aeons.
    That today I came and stood
    At the edge of the world.”

    Time seemed to melt away as we captured this unique and beautiful place in photographs and videos.

    Fate, disguised as a two-minute encounter at a gas station days ealier, led us to Chris's Shack, whose kindness offered us a haven on his front lawn for two nights – the ocean our front yard.

    Departure morning arrived, heralded by wind, rain, and an ocean flexing its might. Silvers and greys painted the scene, a spectacle of raw power that ignited our adventurous spirit. We donned our wet-weather armour, jackets zipped with anticipation, ready to delve deeper into the Tarkine Loop. The journey ahead promised new chapters in our Tasmanian odyssey, each one a thread woven into the unforgettable tapestry of our travels.    Les mer

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
    Watching the local Surfers
    2The gate to Nowhere

    Hello Wild Wild West

    20.–21. feb. 2024, Australia ⋅ 🌬 22 °C

    Bidding farewell to Smithton and the familiar embrace of Tall Timbers, we set our compass west towards Marrawah, a coastal gem nestled on Tasmania's rugged flank. Green Point Campground, the gateway to the Tarkine Drive's week-long adventure, was our target.

    A thirst for exploration led us down a dusty byway, past the ghost of Robbin's Island shimmering in the distance. Visions of cattle herded across the sand flats at low tide danced in our minds, a spectacle just out of reach. No matter, the unfurling ribbon of dirt road had its own charm, weaving us deeper into the heart of dairy country.

    The first vista of Tasmania's West Coast unfolded at Preminghana, a rugged canvas where intrepid surfers danced with the icy swells, chasing the exhilarating power of the ocean's fury. Before our journey reached its final port on this leg, this raw display of nature's might served as a potent introduction to the untamed spirit of the island's western shores.

    Green Point lived up to its name, a symphony of wild winds and breathtaking ocean vistas. Yet, the free campsite pulsed with the energy of fellow adventurers, leaving not a single space for our nomadic souls. But sometimes, indulgence whispers sweeter than frugality. The Marrawah Inn, with its siren song of salt and pepper calamari, loaded fries, and the mythical - a flushable toilet after days on the road - became our haven for the night.

    Contentment settled over us like a warm blanket, anticipation for the coming days simmering with each bite. Sleep came easy, dreams filled with Tarkine's untamed beauty waiting to be unveiled. This next adventure had just begun.    Les mer

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
    1

    Geocaching Triumphs & Pancake Feasts

    18.–20. feb. 2024, Australia ⋅ ☀️ 23 °C

    The sun-drenched expanse of Tall Timbers in the Town of Smithton unfolded before us, another free haven for our nomadic souls. RVs dotted the landscape, each one a story waiting to be unraveled. But for Anth, a different adventure thrummed in his veins. Geocaching, the thrill of the hunt, beckoned him onwards. Leaving a slightly weary Sal nestled in the bus, he vanished with a promise that echoed like the wind, "Back soon!"

    Hours stretched into an eternity, the sun painting the sky in fiery hues. Just as Sal began to wonder if she'd been abandoned to pancake duty forever, a triumphant grin materialised in the doorway. 13 geocaching trophies adorned his pockets, six of them gleaming with the pride of being "first to find" - the first such discoveries in years! His legs, already weary from conquering The Nut, had devoured another 13 kilometers on this geocaching odyssey.

    Back at camp, our trusty 'EverShower' became a sanctuary, washing away the dust and fatigue. Then came the ultimate test: could Sal's legendary banana choc-chip pancakes and protein ice cream live up to their mythical status? Anth, ever the charmer, laid down the gauntlet. And oh, how she delivered! The ensuing feast was a dessert symphony fit for royalty, banishing any lingering doubts about her culinary prowess.

    Two days flew by in a whirlwind of work, chores, and whispered excitement. The West Coast of Tassie, a land of untamed beauty and untold adventures, called to us like a siren song. Soon, we would answer, leaving behind the comfort of Tall Timbers and venturing into the wild unknown. The next chapter awaited, its pages blank and brimming with possibility.    Les mer

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
    2The return along Tallows beach after a Geocaching adventure

    Cape Whispers: Trails & Tales

    17.–18. feb. 2024, Australia ⋅ 🌬 21 °C

    The first rays of dawn, like conspiratorial whispers, promised an adventure etched into the Tasmanian wilderness. Anticipation thrummed in our veins – not for a grand, multi-day epic, but for the intimate exploration of Rocky Cape, a rugged gem nestled beside the wild heart of Bass Strait.

    Our trusty compass, our guide to untold wonders, pointed toward a 10-kilometer loop whispered by AllTrails. With each step, the landscape unfurled like a living masterpiece – vibrant, vast, and undeniably alive. The North Western coastline, a symphony of natural splendor, beckoned us onwards.

    Shortly into our venture, an unforeseen challenge emerged. The air, buzzing with the hum of flies, seemed to target the only exposed parts – our faces. Anth, caught in a sudden coughing bout, marked an unexpected testament to the wilderness's unpredictability, prompting Sal to equip our single fly net, a barrier against the persistent swarm. This simple adaptation painted a vivid stroke of realism on our adventure's canvas.

    The allure of discovery overcame the need for speed. Cathedral Hill's vista could wait; Tinkers Lookout, promising glimpses of Stanley and the iconic Nut, beckoned with its siren song. Cathedral Rock, standing as a majestic guardian, underscored the area's timeless beauty.

    Soaring sea eagles, gliding masters of the air, contrasted with the tumultuous seas below. A rustle, a hiss, and a flash of brown – a sudden encounter with a tiger snake quickened nature's pulse, instilling a profound respect for this land. Adrenaline surging, Sal allowed Anth to take the lead, navigating deeper into nature's embrace.

    The return journey crescendoed at Cathedral Hill that we had bypassed earlier, offering a panoramic view that encapsulated our day's essence. We paused, absorbed the moment, and intertwined our spirits with the wilderness, woven into its vast tapestry.

    The day extended beyond the hike, with the lighthouse recounting tales of past sailors, and Stanley offering the simple joy of fish and chips, making our bus feel even more like home.

    As Sal surrendered to sleep's embrace, Anth, driven by an insatiable curiosity, sought out geocaches under the night sky, guided by an unerring inner compass and a love for the unknown.

    With the new day, we rose to challenge Stanley's famed Nut, a volcanic guardian of the town's edge. Forsaking the chairlift for the rigor of ascent rewarded us with a sense of achievement that resonated deeply.

    The summit offered a leisurely circuit, where breathtaking views unfolded around us. Despite the splendor, the memories of Rocky Cape's wild allure lingered, setting a lofty benchmark for beauty.

    With the descent marking a chapter's end, we heeded the road's call, journeying a mere 20 minutes to our next adventure, living the nomadic truth that every conclusion is simply the start of a new journey.    Les mer

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
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    Chores, Shores & IceCream

    13.–17. feb. 2024, Australia ⋅ 🌬 20 °C

    Freedom pulsed through every mile, but even open roads hummed with chores. Town Day in Wynyard arrived, a symphony of errands – a box arriving from yesterday's life, pantries overflowing with replenished bounty, water tanks quenched, laundry tamed, and our bus gleaming anew. Even arriving late at the Myalla Community Oval's free campsite couldn't dampen the day's satisfaction. After all, the journey wasn't about speed, but savouring the miles. This first diesel fill-up in three Tasmanian weeks was a reminder; a year stretched before us on this island, an invitation to slow down and truly explore.

    The next morning, serendipity strolled in. Ros and Mike, fellow nomads we'd met at Lake Kara, now retired Tasmanians, materialised with open arms and an invitation. They whisked us to the charming seaside town of Boat Harbour Beach. Coffee became a tapestry woven with travel tales, their stories echoing our own nomadic symphony.

    Work, a necessary counterpoint, filled the third day. But the ocean, an irresistible siren, called. With practiced ease, our bus transformed from office to chariot once more, our wheels humming back towards Boat Harbour Beach again.

    The water, an impossible cerulean dream, whispered of tropical havens sans the stifling heat. The sand, impossibly white, stretched wide and welcoming. As we explored, fate, a playful pup, nipped at our heels. Helen, a caravanning sage with 23 years and 10 Overland Track treks etched on her weathered map, offered wisdom and warmth, guiding us towards some of her favourite hikes in Tassie.

    As the sun dipped low, painting the sky in farewell hues, Sal, the resident sorceress, conjured her magic. Banana-choc chip pancakes, infused with the power of protein ice cream, became the perfect coda to a day that sang a familiar truth: adventure hides in the folds of the ordinary, waiting to be unearthed by hearts that dare to open and minds that thirst for exploration. The road, our ever-present companion, hummed with the promise of new stories, each bend a whispered invitation. We were nomads, and the journey, our ever-evolving home.    Les mer

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth

    Myrtle Mysteries: Hellyer's Brief Stay

    12.–13. feb. 2024, Australia ⋅ ☀️ 23 °C

    After the vibrant tapestry of music and stories at the Yolla Tavern, a question mark hung heavy in the air: where next? Southward we steered, drawn by the whispers of emerald embrace - Hellyer Gorge, a free haven nestled deep within a forest's leafy arms.

    We burrowed deep into the verdant canopy, finding solace in the cool shade. Though sunlight eluded our thirsty solar panels, we basked in the assurance of our built-in reserves, confident enough to call this place home for a night.

    But paradise wasn't without its tiny terrors. Swarms of march flies, notorious for their voracious appetites, descended upon us, relentless in their quest for a meal. Thankfully, the sturdy screens of our bus proved an impenetrable fortress.

    However, the lush foliage also cloaked our Starlink connection, severing the digital lifeline to our work. This, coupled with the persistent fly brigade, made our decision swift - a one-night stand it would be.

    Undeterred, we sought solace in the whispers of the forest. The River Track unfolded along the Hellyer River's gurgling banks, a well-trodden path echoing with the rhythm of countless footsteps. Yet, we yearned for something less familiar, something hidden.

    As if guided by serendipity, we stumbled upon the Old Myrtle Forest Walk, a lesser-known gem tucked away from the crowds. Its entrance, veiled by dense foliage, whispered tales of secrets waiting to be unraveled. And what secrets they were! The towering ancient myrtle trees, draped in emerald moss and whispering secrets through their leaves, transported us to a world lost in time.

    This hidden path, revealed by a geocaching treasure hunt, became a metaphor for our nomadic adventure itself. Just beneath the surface, hidden in plain sight, lay adventures waiting to be discovered, stories waiting to be told.    Les mer

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
    Sal, Natalie and Johnny
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    The Grand Ballad of Yolla Tavern

    11.–12. feb. 2024, Australia ⋅ ☁️ 19 °C

    Bidding farewell to the salty embrace of the coast, we delved inland, yearning for a different kind of haven. Whispers of the Yolla Tavern, a former butter factory transfigured into a pizza paradise and a monthly stage for Irish folk revelry, had reached our ears. A mere 20-minute drive and the chance to camp for free behind the pub under the publican's benevolent gaze? How could we resist?

    We were the first to arrive, the silence heavy with anticipation. Soon, a vibrant tapestry unfolded - locals and musicians wove their way in, their faces weathered like the landscape, instruments carried like well-worn companions. Rob, the publican, and his wife Jenny exuded the warmth of a thousand campfires, their hospitality echoing the spirit of small-town community.

    And then, the music erupted.

    The silence shattered as the first tin whistle trilled, sharp and bright as a robin's song. It was a spark, igniting a cascade of sound. Fiddles soared, their bows weaving stories etched in vibrant melodies. The Uilleann pipes, with their mournful wail, painted landscapes of misty cliffs and windswept shores.

    Each instrument was a voice, unique and distinct, yet blending seamlessly into a tapestry of music woven with shared passion. They weren't playing for applause, for the clinking of coins in a hat. They played for the pure joy of it, their faces alight with the magic they conjured. The music thrummed through the floorboards, pulsed in the air, vibrating like a living thing.

    Some tunes were old and familiar, carrying the weight of generations past. Others were born anew, improvised in the heat of the moment, ephemeral whispers of shared inspiration. The musicians danced a silent choreography, their instruments extensions of their souls, each adding their own verse to the unfolding song.

    As we soaked in the sounds, a white-haired, white-bearded figure joined us, Johnny. His weathered face, etched with the laughter of wind and salt, seemed to hold the rhythm of the ocean itself. In perfect harmony with the music, he spun tales of a life lived on the rolling waves, from the icy embrace of Iceland to the verdant shores of New Zealand. His gnarled hands, once strong enough to wrestle nets and battle storms, gestured with the grace of a seasoned storyteller, painting vivid pictures of his adventures. We sat there, enraptured, as music and stories intertwined, weaving a tapestry of a life lived to its fullest, seasoned with the tang of the sea and the rhythm of the tides forever etched in his soul.

    But the magic didn't stop there. As the night deepened, we were reunited with Natalie, the solo traveler we'd met at Lake Kara. Turns out, she too had been drawn to the siren song of the Yolla Tavern. In that moment, we realised that this life of travel, this nomadic existence, wasn't as solitary as we had imagined. It was a tapestry woven with threads of chance encounters, shared experiences, and the comforting hum of belonging, no matter where the road led.

    The Yolla Tavern wasn't just a pub; it was a microcosm of the world we were exploring, a haven where music flowed freely, stories found a welcoming ear, and strangers became companions beneath the shared sky. It was a reminder that magic often hides in the most unexpected corners, waiting to be discovered by those who dare to explore, and that even on the loneliest road, connection and community can blossom in the most unexpected places.

    Other times we have stayed here ->
    https://findpenguins.com/salandanth/footprint/6…    Les mer

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
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    Woven Paths: Heart and Horizon

    9.–11. feb. 2024, Australia ⋅ ☀️ 22 °C

    Lake Kara's serenity was intoxicating, but even Eden requires a refilled glass. With water reserves dwindling after 8 days off grid, we turned our sails towards Burnie on the coast, restocking provisions for both body and bus.

    Weeks earlier, a casual lament about pesky flies at the bus door had reached Anth's mum's ears. Her crafty magic materialized in the form of a macrame door, waiting for us at the Burnie post office – a tangible thread of love woven with the spirit of her own Australian journeys. It was a reminder that even on open roads, kindness has a way of finding you.

    Cooee's free RV camp offered a no-frills haven, but its real treasure lay at our doorstep: the boundless expanse of Bass Strait. We were living the dream, the one whispered by many, envied by some, embraced by us.

    Two nights we stayed, the first mirroring our wild Tasmanian welcome with wind that rattled the bus like a dice cup. But the second night brought magic in the form of a lone fairy penguin, navigating the rocky path homeward just beyond our window.

    From enchanted lakes to windswept shores, each moment held its own unique freedom. And in that freedom, we lived, fully and joyfully, present in the present, wherever the road may lead.    Les mer

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
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    Lake Kara Chronicles: Nomads & Nature

    5.–9. feb. 2024, Australia ⋅ ☀️ 19 °C

    Leaving Preston Falls, we veered off the familiar path, forging ahead into uncharted wilderness. Our planned campsite at Leven Canyon was a memory whispered on the wind, replaced by the promise of adventure.

    Just before Lake Kara emerged from the trees, a shadowy grove named Upper Natone Forest Reserve lured us in. Its secrets unfolded with each rustling leaf and gnarled branch, a spooky symphony that set the stage for an even more unexpected encounter. As we emerged from the eerie embrace, a figure materialised – Mick, a fellow nomad we'd met at Bannons Park. He, too, called the open road his home, and like a seasoned guide, shared local gems with a knowing grin. We were tempted, but our hearts yearned for the unknown, leading us onward to Lake Kara.

    Man-made, yet teeming with life, the lake welcomed us with open arms. Three campers, painted with the stories of seasoned Grey Nomads, circled the shore, but soon, they set sail on their own journeys, leaving us monarchs of this tranquil domain.

    On the third day, the water stirred. Anth's cry echoed through the stillness, summoning Sal to witness a magical dance – a platypus, gliding amongst the reeds, its elusive form a treasure more precious than gold. It was Sal's first wild encounter with this mythical creature, a perfect counterpoint to the echidna they'd marvelled at in Leven Canyon.

    The kindness of Tasmanians bloomed again when Ros and Mike, from the nearby town of Wynyard, offered their driveway as a respite whenever we wished. But mostly, the lake belonged to us – a haven of solitude punctuated by the arrival of Natalie, a solo traveler weaving her own tapestry on the open road. Around the crackling fire, our stories intertwined, fuelled by the crisp air and the warmth of shared dreams.

    Mornings painted the lake in golden hues, but the air held a bite, a reminder of the changing seasons. The fire became a nightly ritual, a comforting ember against the growing chill, a reminder of the warmth we'd found not just in the flames, but in the journey itself, a month away from home yet closer than ever to ourselves.    Les mer

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
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    The Grand Detour of Leven Canyon

    4.–5. feb. 2024, Australia ⋅ ☁️ 17 °C

    The Leven River's dulcet murmurs had lulled us into a comfortable rhythm, its promise of cascading splendor at nearby Preston Falls echoed in our ears. But fate, a mischievous imp disguised as a roadside sign, slyly winked at us, whispering of hidden gems - Leven Canyon, a mere 20 kilometers away. Curiosity, our ever-present travel companion, urged us to veer off course, sending our trusty steed (the bus) humming down a verdant new path.

    And what a serendipitous detour it proved to be! Nestled amidst an emerald embrace, Leven Canyon unveiled its dramatic grandeur. Unlike the river's tranquil meander through Bannons Park, here it roared through the canyon, a powerful testament to nature's artistry.

    From the vertigo-inducing heights of Cruickshanks lookout to the secrets whispered by the canyon floor, each vista unfolded like a breathtaking masterpiece.

    The irresistible call of camping unfurled our mobile haven, granting us the freedom to roam and rest wherever our hearts desired. As we set up camp, a spiky ambassador emerged - a Tasmanian short-beaked echidna, its shyness momentarily forgotten. Laughter and heartwarming footage filled the air, a memory forever woven into the tapestry of our nomadic journey.

    The following morning, the walk along the Canyon floor was a rugged dance with nature, testing our limits and rewarding us with the raw beauty whispered by ancient rock and gurgling river. With each conquered challenge, our connection to Tasmania's wild heart deepened, resonating within our very souls.

    Leven Canyon, a chance encounter that blossomed into an unforgettable chapter, forever etched in the narrative of our wandering souls. But the map, our ever-present guide, beckoned with new stories to tell. With hearts brimming and cameras overflowing, we pressed on, the next adventure already shimmering on the horizon and although fate nudged us down a different path, the allure of Preston Falls remained. Undeterred, we continued our journey, eventually making a stop to explore its cascading beauty from top to bottom.    Les mer

  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
    3
    1Even the shadows knew what was important ❤️2

    Coffee & New Horizons

    1.–4. feb. 2024, Australia ⋅ 🌬 21 °C

    The relentless roar of the forties howled its farewell on our last campsite morning. Undeterred, we steered our chariot inland, seeking refuge from the blustery coast.

    Penguin, a charming town named after its tuxedoed residents, offered a life-giving refill for our thirsty tanks. Devonport, next, brimmed with fresh fruits and veggies, replenishing our dwindling stocks.

    Then, like a knight finding his Excalibur, we stumbled upon the perfect campsite. Nestled beside the gurgling Leven River in Bannons Park, it was a symphony of nature's music, the wind whispering secrets through the trees.

    Nights were crisp, demanding an extra layer of armor against the cold. But mornings? Ah, mornings began with the soul-stirring warmth of coffee, its aroma a promise of adventures yet to come.

    Our three-night sojourn may not have boasted grand vistas or epic hikes, but it yielded a far greater treasure: clarity and direction for our online business. A new path, brimming with possibilities, stretched before us, and we were eager to explore it.    Les mer

  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
    3
    2And this is why we chose a Toyota Coaster!2

    Windswept Wonders & Wash Cycles

    27. jan.–1. feb. 2024, Australia ⋅ 🌬 18 °C

    Chapter 1: Arrival in Tasmania - A Land of Emerald and Sapphire

    With a rumble and a sigh, the Spirit of Tasmania released us from its iron embrace, depositing us onto the shores of a world both familiar and foreign. Our bus, eager for new adventures, rolled onto the tarmac with a newfound lightness, as if it too sensed the boundless possibilities that lay ahead.

    Tasmania unfolded before us like a map traced in emerald and sapphire, its wild heart beating to the rhythm of ancient forests and windswept shores. For the next twelve months, we would call this island home, our nomadic souls finding solace in its rugged beauty and untamed spirit.

    Chapter 2: The Journey Begins - A Nomadic Homecoming

    As we drove away from the ferry terminal, leaving the echoes of the mainland behind, we felt a sense of homecoming we hadn't anticipated. It was as if the island had been patiently awaiting our arrival, whispering secrets carried on the breeze and etched into the towering eucalypts.

    Chapter 3: Ulverstone Laundromat - Unexpected Adventures

    Driving towards our night's destination, the laundromat in Ulverstone unveiled itself as an unexpected adventure, its fluorescent lights casting a beacon of cleanliness amidst the hum of our nomadic journey. We marvelled at the industrial giants—washing machines of such colossal proportions that they could swallow mountains of laundry in a single, thunderous spin. Sal's eyes danced with delight as she lovingly entrusted our cherished white linen doona cover to the gentle swirl of the suds, its transformation a soothing balm to her spirit.

    Chapter 4: Embracing the Elements - Windswept Symphony by the Sea

    While the machines hummed their industrious melody, we ventured to a nearby park, our water tanks replenished and spirits thirsting for the salty embrace of the sea. Steaming cups of homemade coffee warmed our hands as we strolled along windswept sands, the ocean's roar an orchestra of wild harmonies that played to the depths of our souls. Yet, the gusts proved playful, stealing sips from Anth's mug and scattering them back to the earth in a mischievous dance of wind and foam.

    Chapter 5: Evening Solace - Sanctuary by the Ocean's Edge

    A timely chime from our phone signaled the completion of our laundry quest. With freshly cleansed belongings in hand, we set off towards our day's destination.

    Nightfall found us nestled beside the ocean's edge at Midway Point, as if the island had drawn us into its very heart. A melody of wind and waves serenaded our humble campsite, gusts reaching over 60 kilometers per hour in a tempestuous display of nature's might. Yet, within the walls of our cozy home on wheels, we found sanctuary. The warmth of a home-cooked meal filled our bellies, and the contentment of a shared journey filled our hearts. As the stars emerged to paint the night sky, we surrendered to the rhythm of the island's embrace, our souls aglow with the anticipation of wonders yet to be explored.

    Chapter 6: Life's Rhythms - Explorations and Encounters

    Five sunrises painted the sky, weaving a rhythm of walks, work, and sweet repose into our days. Gone was the frantic pace of routine, replaced by a life unfolding with the unhurried tide.

    Our feet followed the whispering coastline east, leading us to the iconic Penguin Surf Club and whispers of hidden treasures. Another day, the call of the west lured us towards a windswept headland, where a peekaboo game began with a curious penguin peeking from its hutch.

    As twilight dipped the world in dusky hues, a night walk unveiled a magical encounter. Nestled in the undergrowth, close to our temporary haven, two little penguins huddled together, their tiny forms dwarfed by the vastness of the starry night.

    These weren't the only connections forged during our stay. Benyu and Rach, a free-spirited duo three years into their nomadic journey, shared their tales of the open road. Alongside them, we met Hope, an inspiring soul who had been navigating the country for over a year with her young son, embracing each new day with a sense of wonder that only a child's eyes could reflect. Terry, drawn to Tasmania's magic a year and a half ago, had found a new home and feathered companions - two cheeky cockatiels who completed his island idyll.

    The embers of our final evening crackled with warmth as Benyu wove his fiery magic, painting swirling constellations against the starlit expanse. As dawn's first blush chased away the night, bittersweet goodbyes were exchanged, promises to reconnect echoing on the salty breeze.

    Each encounter, like a brushstroke on the canvas of our adventure, painted a richer picture of life lived slowly, savoured deeply, and forever etched in memory.    Les mer

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth

    The Curious Case of Jack and the Sea

    26.–27. jan. 2024, Bass Strait ⋅ 🌬 17 °C

    The morning air crackled with anticipation as we bid farewell to our temporary haven at Bunjill and set our course for Geelong once more. Australia Day painted the streets with vibrant hues, but our hearts sought a different kind of connection—a reunion with our kindred spirit, Jack.

    Jack, a fellow traveler whose soul echoed our own, had graced our Christmas with shared laughter and stories. Now, on the precipice of our next adventure, we yearned to rekindle that camaraderie before the winds of fate carried us further apart.

    We ventured into the heart of the festivities, indulging in the savoury scents and boisterous energy that swirled around us. But it was within a tranquil park, away from the jubilant throng, that we sought true solace. Beneath the shade of our outstretched awning, shielded from the sun's relentless gaze, we found our sanctuary.

    The Crew, a cooperative card game that had tantalised us with near victory during Jack's last visit, beckoned once more. Joined by Jack's new partner, Nic, and their spirited foster greyhound, Odie, we immersed ourselves in the intricate dance of strategy and teamwork.

    Laughter echoed through the serene park as we navigated each challenge, our minds united in pursuit of a shared goal. Though victory remained elusive, we emerged with hearts alight, vowing to reconvene in the wilds of Tasmania to conclude our epic quest.

    As the day surrendered to twilight, we embraced the bittersweet farewell, knowing that our paths would soon intertwine once more. The Crew awaited its final chapter, and the promise of shared laughter and adventure whispered upon the winds of anticipation.

    The port beckoned like a gateway to adventure, a mere ten-minute drive from our eager wheels. The Spirit of Tasmania, our trusty steed across the notoriously restless Bass Strait, awaited our arrival. We clutched our cache of motion sickness tablets like warriors preparing for battle, determined to weather the tempestuous crossing.

    A dance of motorhomes, campervans, and caravans converged upon the vessel, each carrying dreams of wild Tasmanian shores. Our hearts echoed the collective hum of anticipation, for this journey had been five months in the making. The moment held a surreal edge, as if we were stepping into a long-awaited tale.

    Like sardines packed within a tin, we surrendered our freedom of movement to the gentle thrum of the ferry's engine. Our humble two-bed cabin, a sanctuary amidst the floating city, welcomed us with open arms. A shower, a luxury long absent from our nomadic life, whispered promises of rejuvenation.

    As the sun dipped its celestial canvas into the ocean's embrace, it painted the Victorian shoreline in hues of molten gold and crimson farewell. The mainland, bathed in the ethereal glow of twilight, whispered a poignant adieu as we embarked on a 12-month odyssey to the wild, untamed heart of Tasmania.

    We retreated to our cozy cocoon, seeking solace in slumber before the open seas unleashed their fury. But the ocean, a restless beast, would not be denied.

    At the witching hour, we jolted awake, tossed amidst a tempest of five-meter swells. A few more tablets became our peace offering to the churning waves, granting us a fragile return to slumber's embrace.

    Morning dawned with a touch of vertigo for Sal, a lingering souvenir of the night's tumultuous dance. Yet, as we disembarked onto Tasmanian soil, relief and elation intertwined. We had weathered the storm, and a new chapter of adventure lay before us, ripe with possibilities.    Les mer

  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth

    City's Rush to Nature's Hush

    25.–26. jan. 2024, Australia ⋅ ☁️ 25 °C

    The hum of the engine mingled with the ranger's farewell as we steered our trusty Coaster towards Geelong, a day earlier than planned. A parcel from the kids, filled with forgotten necessities, awaited us at the post office, and with the ferry to Tasmania departing on Australia Day, there was no time to waste.

    After weeks of remote camps and empty roads, Geelong's bustling streets felt jarring, a cacophony of noise and movement after the tranquility of the bush. We navigated the city's pulse, gathering supplies and eagerly anticipating the peace of a nearby free camp.

    The campsite, Bunjil's Lookout, perched upon a verdant valley, embraced us with open arms. A tapestry of greens stretched below, woven with the textures of a distant quarry, vineyards, grain fields, and charming homes that shared in the valley's majesty.

    At first, only a handful of caravans surrounded us, but as dusk painted the sky, more travellers joined the silent symphony of nature. The cool night air lulled us into a deep slumber, only to be awakened by the fierce duet of rain and wind. It was a daunting prelude to our upcoming journey across Bass Strait, a notoriously turbulent stretch of water.

    With a mix of anticipation and trepidation, we faced the tempestuous day ahead, our hearts a blend of excitement and uncertainty. The Spirit of Tasmania awaited, and only time would reveal the tales woven upon the waves.    Les mer

  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
    4

    Ruins to Raindrops: Nature's Path

    24.–25. jan. 2024, Australia ⋅ ☀️ 29 °C

    The adventure didn't end with Barmah Lakes. Leaving camp, the dusty track gave way to a smooth, almost disappointingly easy bitumen 'highway'. The Victorian National Parks website, it seemed, needed a refresh. We giggled at the sudden shift in terrain and pressed on, eyes peeled for the next chapter in our journey.

    Along the way, a tumbledown homestead snagged our attention. Walls slumped against the sky, whispering stories of lives once lived. Only the trusty fireplace remained, a stoic sentinel amidst the ruins.

    Our lenses, hungry for stories etched in time, devoured the weathered beauty of the homestead. With a final click, we bid farewell to its whispering walls and pressed on, anticipation simmering like campfire embers, towards the verdant embrace of Lerderderg State Forest.

    And what a welcome it was! Nestled amongst towering gum trees, our new campsite unfolded like a familiar Aussie postcard. Yet, each stop on this journey had held its own unique charm and this was tonight's haven.

    As the symphony of raindrops danced on our roof, a cool sigh swept through the bus, lulling us into a slumber deeper than a moonless night. Each rhythmic tap resonated like a secret whispered by the clouds, painting the air with a crispness that invigorated the soul.

    Leaving Lerderderg the following day, we encountered a friendly park ranger. His eyes widened in surprise as our trusty Coaster bus rumbled past. "That hill?" he exclaimed, "I've seen plenty of vans give up on that one!" Anth grinned. He'd prepped the bus for the unexpected, adding a rear locker that, as the ranger's words confirmed, would prove invaluable on the road ahead.

    The open road beckoned, and with it, the promise of countless stories yet to be written. The adventure, it seemed, had just begun.    Les mer

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