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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. もっと詳しく
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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
    1The Red Bridge

    Bricks, Bridges & the Nomad's Heart

    2024年8月10日〜11日, オーストラリア ⋅ ☀️ 15 °C

    The sun dipped low on the horizon as I veered off the main road, opting for the less-traveled back routes to my next camping spot. Though it added little time to my journey, this decision promised a richer tapestry of experiences. The familiar highway faded in my rearview mirror, replaced by a patchwork of farmland and forest that unfurled before me like a living canvas.

    As I wound my way through the Tasmanian countryside, the landscape seemed to breathe with history and hidden treasures. Each geocache I discovered felt like a secret shared between myself and the land, a moment of connection in the vastness of my travels.

    The gentle hills and dappled sunlight through the trees were a balm to my road-weary eyes, far more inviting than the stark utility of the highway I'd traversed months before. Time seemed to slow, matching the meandering pace of my journey, until suddenly, as if waking from a pleasant daydream, I found myself on the outskirts of Campbell Town.

    My heart leapt as I spotted my campsite, a prime location nestled against the banks of the Elizabeth River. Overlooking my temporary home stood the majestic Red Bridge, its weathered bricks telling tales of convict labor and the birth of a nation. As the oldest surviving brick arch bridge in Australia, it seemed to bridge not just the river, but centuries of history.

    With practiced ease, I set up the bus - not just a home away from home, but our only true dwelling in this nomadic life we have chosen. The familiar routines of setting up camp brought comfort, yet a bittersweet pang tugged at my heart. The space felt a little emptier, a little quieter without Sal's presence. Her visit to family left a noticeable void in our shared adventure.

    As I moved through the motions of arranging our mobile sanctuary, I couldn't help but reflect on how this vehicle had become more than just transportation. It was our haven, our constant in a world of change, carrying not just our possessions but our dreams and shared experiences. Each nook and cranny held memories of laughter, whispered conversations, and plans made under starlit skies.

    The absence of Sal's cheerful chatter and helping hands made the process feel somewhat hollow, a reminder of how intertwined our lives had become on this journey. Yet, I also felt a surge of anticipation for when she'd return, bringing with her fresh stories and renewed energy for our ongoing adventure.

    As I finished setting up, I paused to take in our temporary backyard - the serene Elizabeth River and the historic Red Bridge. The beauty of the scene was undeniable, and I made a mental note to capture it all to share with Sal later. Our nomadic lifestyle might mean constant change, but it also meant a wealth of new experiences to cherish together.

    Despite the brevity of the winter day, golden sunlight still bathed the town, beckoning me to explore. The Red Bridge drew me like a magnet, its arches casting long shadows across the rippling water.

    My feet carried me down the main street, where I found myself following the Convict Brick Trail. Each brick, each name, each crime etched into the path sent a shiver down my spine. Starting at the Foxhunters Return, another testament to convict craftsmanship, I traced the stories of some of the over 200,000 souls torn from their homes and sent to this distant shore.

    As I read the tales imprinted in clay and mortar, a profound gratitude washed over me for the freedoms I enjoy. The weight of history pressed against my chest, a tangible reminder of how far we've come and how precious our liberties truly are.

    The trail led me through the heart of Campbell Town, each turn revealing another hidden geocache, another fragment of the past. As the afternoon waned, I ducked into a local grocery store, emerging with a bag of snacks that felt like a luxury compared to the harsh rations of those who came before.

    Drawn once more to the Red Bridge, I stood in awe of the convicts' handiwork. Their toil, their pain, their resilience - all etched into every carefully laid brick. As the sun began its final descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, I retreated to my bus with a heart full of reflection.

    Tomorrow would bring another drive, another step in my journey across this vast land. Yet as I settled in for the night, listening to the gentle murmur of the Elizabeth River, I knew that every kilometer, every moment in this island state was a treasure compared to the expansive distances of the mainland. Here, in the heart of Tasmania, history and natural beauty intertwined, creating a tapestry of experiences that would linger long after I moved on.    もっと詳しく

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth

    Echoes of Absence, Promise of Return

    2024年8月9日〜10日, オーストラリア ⋅ ⛅ 13 °C

    As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden glow across the Tasmanian landscape, I found myself alone in our trusty bus for only the second time. Sal's departure for Queensland had left a palpable emptiness in the passenger seat, her absence a bittersweet reminder of our impending reunion after Adelaide. The open road stretched before me, a canvas of possibilities as I set my course for Hobart, the first leg of my journey to earn money for our highly anticipated trip to Japan.

    The familiar hum of the engine and the gentle sway of the bus became my sole companions as I ventured into uncharted territory, following a route we had yet to explore together. The Tasmanian countryside started to unfurl like a vibrant tapestry, each bend in the road revealing new wonders that stirred a mix of excitement and longing within me.

    But fate, it seemed, had a surprise in store. Just ten minutes south of Launceston airport, the quaint town of Evandale emerged from the landscape like a hidden gem. My eyes were drawn to a sign for Honeysuckle Banks, a free camp nestled along the tranquil shores of the South Esk River. The unexpected discovery felt like a small gift from the universe, a place to rest and reflect on the solo leg of our grand adventure.

    As I manoeuvred the bus into the campsite, the setting sun painted the river in shades of amber and rose. Only a handful of other travellers dotted the peaceful grounds, their presence a comforting reminder that even in solitude, one is never truly alone on the road.

    The night settled in, bringing with it a symphony of unfamiliar sounds. The distant rumble of trains and the occasional roar of planes overhead might have been disruptive to some, but to me, they were a lullaby of progress and movement. I couldn't help but smile, imagining Sal's reaction to these nighttime disturbances. Her absence was felt keenly in these moments, her sensitivity to noise a stark contrast to my ability to sleep through almost anything.

    As I lay in the bus, enveloped by the darkness and the gentle lapping of the river against its banks, a strange mix of emotions washed over me. The solitude was both liberating and lonely, exciting and daunting. The bus, our home on wheels, felt different without Sal's presence, yet it carried the promise of our future adventures together.

    Drifting off to sleep, my thoughts wandered to Torrin, our eldest, making his way in Japan. The anticipation of our upcoming visit swelled in my heart, a beacon guiding me through this brief period of separation from Sal. Tomorrow would bring another short drive, each kilometer bringing me closer to Hobart, to my flight, and ultimately to reuniting with my beloved travel companion.

    In the quiet of the night, under a canopy of stars, I found comfort in the knowledge that this solo journey was but a brief interlude in our shared adventure. Soon enough, Sal and I would be back on the road together, our laughter filling the bus once more as we continued to explore this beautiful country of ours, one unexpected discovery at a time.    もっと詳しく

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
    1

    Crimson Skies, Bittersweet Goodbyes

    2024年8月7日〜9日, オーストラリア ⋅ ☁️ 8 °C

    As the wheels of our faithful Bus crunched over the familiar gravel road leading to Ben Lomond National Park, a bittersweet nostalgia washed over us. This place, just 40 kilometers away from our previous stop, held memories of laughter and camaraderie from months past. The journey, though short, felt weighted with the knowledge that it marked the last chapter of our shared adventure for a short time.

    We couldn't resist the siren call of the quaint café that stood sentinel at the park's entrance. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the crisp mountain air, instantly transporting us back to our first visit. As we savoured our meal, the familiar surroundings seemed to whisper of the impending change, each bite tinged with a melancholy sweetness.

    Driving into the park, an eerie stillness greeted us. The campsite, once alive with the jovial banter of lads gathered around a crackling fire, now lay deserted. The absence of fellow travellers only amplified the sense of finality hanging in the air. We chose our spot – the same one we'd claimed before – as if trying to recapture a moment in time.

    As dusk approached, we found ourselves drawn to the lookout, our feet carrying us along the well-worn path. The sky erupted in a breathtaking display of crimson, painting the world in warm, ethereal hues. Through the silhouetted trees, the setting sun seemed to bid us a fiery farewell, its rays reaching out like tendrils of flame across the landscape.

    Our two nights in this tranquil haven passed all too quickly. On the second day, we embarked on a casual stroll down the road, ostensibly for Anth to locate a long-hidden geocache. But in truth, each step felt like a pilgrimage, an homage to the journey we'd shared. The fact that this little treasure had been hidden for over two decades added a poignant touch to our quest – a reminder of the enduring nature of some things amidst life's constant changes.

    Though we didn't tackle any arduous hikes this time, the serene beauty of our surroundings seeped into our souls. We found ourselves imagining future visits, perhaps with our children in tow, introducing them to the freedom and joy of van life in this Tasmanian paradise. The thought brought both comfort and a twinge of longing for what lay ahead.

    Our final morning arrived with a crispness that seemed to match the sharpness of our emotions. As we prepared for the drive to Launceston, the early morning light cast long shadows across our campsite, as if trying to hold onto the night just a little longer. Sal's upcoming flight loomed in our minds, a tangible endpoint to this chapter of our travels.

    The drive into the city was quiet, each of us lost in our own thoughts and memories. For Sal, the visit to her favourite hairdresser wasn't just about maintenance; it was a ritual, a final touch of normalcy before stepping back into a different life for a while. As she sat in the salon chair, surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds, Anth couldn't help but wonder about the stories she'd share of our adventures, and the new ones she'd bring back from Queensland.

    As the afternoon waned and the time for goodbyes drew near, the weight of the moment settled upon us. This wasn't just a departure; it was a pause in our shared journey, a comma in the story of our nomadic life.    もっと詳しく

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth

    Quoll Quest: Wheels, Wombats & Wonder

    2024年8月6日〜7日, オーストラリア ⋅ ☁️ 9 °C

    We rolled eastward, memories of our previous journey to the coast flooded back. Months ago, we had found refuge at Evercreech, a tranquil camp that now served as a landmark guiding us to our new destination. This time, our hearts were set on a different campsite, one that promised a rare encounter with the elusive Eastern Quoll. The tip had come from Gary, a fellow wanderer we'd met at Lake Barrington, his eyes twinkling with excitement as he described the nocturnal marsupials that frequented the area.

    The familiar forestry trails stretched before us, a tapestry of green and brown hues. On a whim, we decided to heed the siren call of our GPS, luring us down a 'shortcut'. The path quickly transformed into a treacherous descent, the bus groaning as it navigated the rough terrain. Anth's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, his eyes constantly darting between the path ahead and the rear mirrors, calculating our escape route should the need arise.

    As if to welcome us to this wild domain, a wombat waddled across our path. It paused in the undergrowth, its small, curious eyes watching our lumbering progress with what seemed like amusement. The encounter felt like a blessing from the forest itself, urging us onward.

    Just as Evercreech's welcoming embrace seemed within reach, fate threw us a curveball. An old dirt mound, once a formidable roadblock now weathered by time and determined travelers, stood defiantly in our path. For smaller vehicles, it might have been a mere inconvenience, but for our bus, it was an immovable mountain. With heavy hearts but undampened spirits, we executed a careful three-point turn. This detour, rather than a setback, felt like another vibrant thread weaving itself into the rich tapestry of our journey.

    As we rejoined the main forestry trail, the sky began to weep. Raindrops pelted the windshield, transforming the dirt road into a treacherous, slippery ribbon. Fallen trees reached out like gnarled fingers, threatening to ensnare us. Our progress slowed to a cautious crawl, the fading light adding an extra layer of challenge to our adventure.

    It was on a particularly sharp curve that disaster nearly struck. The bus's rear wheels caught the road's edge, and for a heart-stopping moment, one corner of the bus was airborne. The violent jolt sent our belongings cascading from the shelves, a cacophony of crashes filling the air. As we pulled over to assess the damage, relief washed over us. Apart from two sacrificial plastic containers, our possessions and our beloved bus had emerged unscathed. The incident served as a stark reminder of the unpredictable nature of our chosen path.

    Night had fully descended by the time we reached Griffith Camping area, the darkness as thick as velvet. As we manoeuvred into a level spot, the need for proper driving lights was added to our ever-growing wish-list, a silent promise for future adventures.

    With dinner simmering, its aromatic tendrils curling up through the roof fan, we ventured into the inky blackness. Our torch cut a swath through the night, revealing a world teeming with life. Pademelons, like small, furry ghosts, darted through the underbrush. And then, a flash of movement caught our eye – a quoll, its spotted coat a masterpiece of natural camouflage, foraged in the distance.

    We stalked the creature with bated breath, drawing ever closer. At times, mere meters separated us from this wild spirit of Tasmania. Eventually, sensing our presence, it melted into the bush, leaving us with racing hearts and a sense of wonder. We returned to the bus, where our instant pot had worked its magic, filling the small space with the promise of a warm, comforting meal.

    Dawn broke, casting the campsite in a new light. While the natural beauty was undeniable, the scattered rubbish in fire pits served as a somber reminder of human impact. With a mix of contentment from our nocturnal adventure and a yearning for unspoiled wilderness, we set our sights on the next campsite, eager for what new marvels awaited us in this wild, unpredictable land.    もっと詳しく

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
    1
    21

    Tides of Kindness, Waves of Wonder

    2024年8月2日〜7日, オーストラリア ⋅ ⛅ 12 °C

    As the first rays of dawn broke over Trout Creek, we reluctantly packed up our temporary home, the bus that had become our sanctuary. The smoldering embers of our campfire hissed and sputtered as we doused them, sending wisps of smoke into the crisp morning air. A bittersweet melancholy settled over us as we prepared to leave; this place had woven itself into the fabric of our beings, and we knew with certainty that we would return someday.

    Our wheels rolled onwards towards Swimcart Beach in the Bay of Fires, a familiar haunt from months past that held memories of laughter shared with Grammy and Fran during their whirlwind visit. The journey was punctuated by a brief stop in St Helens, where we replenished our supplies – crystal-clear water and a handful of provisions to sustain us for the days ahead.

    As we traversed the well-worn roads, a sense of homecoming washed over us. The last time we'd visited Swimcart Beach, it had been teeming with holiday-makers, the Easter crowds filling every nook and cranny. Now, in the embrace of winter, we found ourselves alone with the wild beauty of the coastline. We had our pick of spots, and chose a perfect vantage point overlooking the vast expanse of the ocean.

    The moment we arrived, we were greeted by the thunderous roar of waves crashing against the shore – a sound so powerful it had reached us even at our inland camp at Trout Creek. The untamed energy of the sea was hypnotic, a constant reminder of nature's raw power.

    As night fell, the sky erupted in a celestial dance of lights. The Aurora Australis painted the southern horizon with ethereal hues, its ghostly tendrils reaching up into the inky blackness. We stood transfixed, our bodies pressed close against the chill wind, watching in awe as the heavens put on a spectacular show just for us.

    The following day brought a dramatic shift in the weather. The wind changed direction, blowing offshore, and the once-turbulent sea was suddenly becalmed. It was on this tranquil day that a chance encounter occurred – a curious woman stopped by, intrigued by our nomadic lifestyle and our unique mobile home. Little did we know that this brief interaction would blossom into something more.

    Debi returned the next day, brimming with questions and bearing an unexpected invitation. Along with her partner Brett, she had recently acquired an Airbnb in nearby Binalong Bay. Their warmth and hospitality shone through as they invited us to visit their property, affectionately dubbed "The Ship," for coffee before we continued our journey.

    With Sal's departure looming just three days away, we decided to seize the moment. We packed up our rolling home once more and made the short drive to their property. What we found was not just a house, but a haven of Tasmanian hospitality. After a tour and a steaming cup of coffee, our hosts surprised us with an offer to explore their sprawling 27-hectare property on electric mountain bikes.

    As we whizzed through the bush, the wind in our hair and the scent of eucalyptus filling our lungs, we felt a surge of exhilaration. The e-bikes effortlessly carried us over hills and through winding trails, igniting a new passion within us. By the time we returned, breathless and grinning, we knew that e-bikes had found a permanent place on our wish-list.

    All too soon, it was time to bid farewell to our newfound friends. But true to the spirit of Tasmanian generosity, they wouldn't let us leave empty-handed. We departed with the precious gifts of fresh local bacon and farm-fresh eggs – simple treasures that spoke volumes about the warmth and kindness we had encountered.

    As we drove away, our hearts full and our spirits lifted, we marveled once again at the incredible hospitality of the Tasmanian people. Each encounter, each unexpected kindness, wove another thread into the rich tapestry of our journey, creating memories that would last a lifetime.    もっと詳しく

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
    1
    2

    Frost and Flames: A Forest Interlude

    2024年7月28日〜8月2日, オーストラリア ⋅ 🌬 10 °C

    The winding road led us to the quaint seaside town of Scamander, a gateway to our next adventure. Though our GPS beckoned us left towards Trout Creek, we pressed on northward, our mission a mundane yet crucial task - disposing of our accumulated rubbish. It was a humble reminder of the everyday challenges our nomadic lifestyle presented, a far cry from the taken-for-granted ease of suburban waste collection.

    As we navigated through Scamander, an alternative route to our destination revealed itself. The forestry roads that stretched before us were a rugged tapestry of earth and foliage, a path less traveled but one our trusty bus embraced with quiet confidence. Each bump and turn seemed to whisper secrets of the wilderness, drawing us deeper into Tasmania's heart.

    Trout Creek Forest Reserve welcomed us with open arms and the warm greetings of fellow campers. John, Sarah, their children, and James - weekend warriors from local towns - shared stories and laughter around crackling fires. Their departure left us sole guardians of this pristine pocket of nature, a solitude we cherished like a rare gift.

    With our solar panels basking in nature's bounty and John's generous offering of firewood, we embraced the primal joy of open-fire cooking. The ritual of processing wood, the meditative act of tending the flames, and the anticipation of smoke-kissed meals rekindled a connection to simpler times. Each bite seemed infused with the essence of the forest, a flavor no modern appliance could replicate.

    Nature, ever the artist, painted a masterpiece for us on our second morning. A frosty blanket draped our bus, transforming it into a glittering sculpture as the sun's rays pierced through the canopy. The interplay of light and ice created a symphony of sparkles, while wisps of fog performed a ethereal dance above the river's surface. It was a moment of such transcendent beauty that we found ourselves extending our stay, one night stretching into five, each dawn promising new wonders.

    The forest reserve revealed itself as a hidden aviary, alive with a diversity of birdlife we had yet to encounter in our Tasmanian travels. Their songs formed a natural orchestra, complemented by the occasional splash of fish leaping from the river, their silvery bodies catching the light in brief, breathtaking moments.

    As if the daytime spectacles weren't enough, the night sky unveiled its own marvels. The aurora danced across the heavens, perhaps not as vibrant as its May performance, but no less enchanting. Our camera captured not only the celestial light show but also the majestic sweep of the Milky Way, a cosmic reminder of our small place in the grand tapestry of the universe.

    These days at Trout Creek became a sanctuary of connection - with nature, with each other, and with the simple joys of outdoor living. Yet, as we savored each moment, we were acutely aware of the approaching intermission in our nomadic journey. Sal's impending flight to Queensland to visit family, and Anthony's upcoming trip to Adelaide to increase funds for our the Japan trip, cast a bittersweet shadow over our idyllic forest retreat.

    In the warm glow of our campfire, we found ourselves reflecting on the rich tapestry of experiences our bus life had woven. Each day here felt like a precious thread in that tapestry, vibrant and irreplaceable. As we prepared for our temporary parting of ways, the crackling flames seemed to echo the passion that fuelled our adventures, reminding us that while paths may diverge, the spirit of our journey remained unbreakable.

    The approaching farewell lent a poignant sweetness to these final weeks together. Every shared meal, every laugh, every quiet moment of contemplation became a treasure to be cherished. As the sun dipped below the horizon each evening, painting the sky in hues of amber and rose, we felt an overwhelming gratitude for this life we had chosen - a life of freedom, discovery, and deep connection to the world around us and to each other.    もっと詳しく

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth

    Driftwood Dreams and Coffee Steam

    2024年7月27日〜28日, オーストラリア ⋅ ☁️ 13 °C

    As we bid farewell to the whimsical Pondering Frog Café, the open road beckoned once more. The familiar streets of Bicheno soon unfolded before us, a town we'd traversed many times before. This visit was brief – a quick pit stop to refuel our trusty bus, our home on wheels, before we continued our journey northward.

    True to our leisurely pace, our next destination lay just a half-hour away. As we drove, memories flickered like old film reels – we passed Lagoon Beach, where just two months prior, we had celebrated Anth's birthday under an open sky. The recollection brought smiles to our faces, a reminder of the joy our nomadic life had brought us.

    Our wheels soon crunched on the gravel of Little Beach State Reserve. The campsite was a hidden gem, with only one other traveler sharing this slice of paradise. We navigated to the far end of the road, seeking solitude and proximity to the ocean. Though not directly on the water's edge, we were close enough for the rhythmic crashing of waves to serve as our nightly lullaby.

    The late afternoon sun cast long shadows as we explored our temporary home. We meandered through the campsite, our eyes scanning the ground for small twigs – nature's kindling for our trusty solo stove. There was something deeply satisfying about this simple act of foraging, connecting us to the land in a primal way.

    As twilight descended, we huddled around our little stove, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the salty sea air. The night that followed was a testament to the tranquility we sought in our travels – peaceful, uneventful, punctuated only by the distant symphony of the ocean.

    Morning arrived with a spectacle that took our breath away. We made the short trek to Little Beach itself, our feet sinking into the cool sand. The scene that greeted us was nothing short of magical – powerful waves crashed against the shore, their spray catching the early sunlight. As if nature decided to put on a show just for us, a sun shower began, its gentle drops creating a sparkling curtain. And there, arching across the sky, a vibrant rainbow painted the scene with its ephemeral beauty. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated wonder – the kind that makes all the challenges of life on the road worthwhile.

    Reluctantly, we tore ourselves away from the breathtaking vista, returning to our bus. We packed up with practiced efficiency, our hearts light with the memory of the morning's natural spectacle. As we pulled away from Little Beach, anticipation built for our next stop – Trout Creek Reserve.

    But beyond that lay a destination that held a special place in our hearts – Swimcart Beach in the Bay of Fires. We had spent a memorable week there before, and it was where we had shared precious moments with Grammy and Fran during their visit. The thought of returning to this beloved spot filled us with a warm nostalgia and eager anticipation.

    As we hit the road once more, the landscape unfolding before us, we felt a deep sense of gratitude. Each short drive, each new campsite, was another chapter in our ongoing adventure. The journey to Swimcart Beach was more than just a drive – it was a pilgrimage back to a place that held cherished memories, and the promise of new ones to be made.

    With Trout Creek Reserve as our next waypoint, we drove on, our spirits high and our hearts full. The rhythm of the road beneath our wheels seemed to echo the beating of our adventure-seeking hearts, carrying us forward to whatever wonders awaited us next.    もっと詳しく

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
    Not a Frog!

    Power Pit Stop: Café Camping Chronicles

    2024年7月26日〜27日, オーストラリア ⋅ ☁️ 13 °C

    We wound our way South past the picturesque Coles Bay, the rugged beauty of Freycinet National Park unfurled before us, a tapestry of untamed wilderness and coastal grandeur. Our destination, the National Park RV stop, was a familiar beacon of civilisation amidst the wild – a place we'd sought refuge once before when our modern conveniences demanded the nourishment of electricity.

    Today, history repeated itself. Our battery levels had dipped precariously close to the 50% mark, a situation exacerbated by our oversight in replenishing our gas supplies during our last resupply mission. This forced us to rely heavily on our induction cooktop and air fryer, power-hungry devices that drained our reserves faster than anticipated. The low Tasmanian sun, a celestial miser with its energy compared to its mainland counterpart, meant our solar panels struggled to keep pace with our needs.

    With a mixture of resignation and gratitude, we paid for a night's stay, though our hearts yearned to push onward. As our massive battery system slowly replenished its reserves, hours ticked by like molasses. We found ourselves in a strange limbo, tethered to civilisation by an electrical umbilical cord while the wilderness called to us from beyond.

    Finally, with our energy stores replenished, we bid farewell to the RV stop and turned our wheels northward, rejoining our familiar route like old friends reuniting. As twilight began to paint the sky in hues of lavender and gold, a small sign caught our eye – the Pondering Frog Café, with its promise of a free campsite. Intrigued by the positive reviews and lured by the whimsical name, we decided to make it our home for the night.

    Just as darkness draped itself over the landscape, we pulled into the campsite. There was a palpable sense of change in the air – we had passed the winter solstice, and both of us had noticed the days stretching ever so slightly longer. It filled us with anticipation for the Tasmanian summer ahead, with its generous gift of daylight, promising endless adventures and sun-soaked explorations.

    The Pondering Frog Café, despite the late hour, beckoned to us with its quaint charm. Unable to resist, we stepped inside, treating ourselves to rich, creamy ice cream – a small indulgence to make up for our recent lapse in creating our usual protein-packed frozen treats. The sweet, cold dessert melted on our tongues, a perfect end to a day of challenges and triumphs.

    Back in our mobile sanctuary, we settled in for the night, the darkness outside making our little home feel even cozier. The soft glow of our screen illuminated our faces as we decided to indulge in a bit of binge-watching, losing ourselves in a captivating TV series. It was a perfect blend of our two worlds – the comfort of modern entertainment wrapped in the cocoon of nature's embrace.

    As sleep finally beckoned, our minds drifted to the journey ahead. Tomorrow would bring new sights, new challenges, and new memories to cherish. But for now, in this quiet moment under the vast Tasmanian sky, we were content, our hearts full of gratitude for this life of freedom and adventure we had chosen.

    As if to serenade us into slumber, a chorus of frogs began their nightly symphony. Their melodious croaks and ribbits filtered through the walls of our mobile home, a surprisingly soothing lullaby from nature. The rhythm of their calls seemed to echo the very name of our resting place – the Pondering Frog – as if the amphibian residents were determined to live up to their café's whimsical moniker.

    The gentle cacophony of frog songs blended with the soft hum of our own thoughts, creating a peaceful ambiance that enveloped us like a cozy blanket. As we drifted off to sleep, the persistent yet comforting calls of the frogs remained, a reminder of the vibrant life teeming in the world just outside our door. It was a fitting soundtrack to our night at the Pondering Frog, lulling us into dreams filled with the promise of long, sun-filled days to come and the endless possibilities that awaited us on our continuing journey through this beautiful, wild land.    もっと詳しく

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth

    Dawn's Promise: Fleeting Camp Dreams

    2024年7月25日〜26日, オーストラリア ⋅ ☁️ 14 °C

    As we bid farewell to the tranquil Swan River, our hearts were filled with anticipation for the next leg of our journey. The road ahead beckoned, promising new adventures and hidden gems waiting to be discovered. A short 30-minute drive lay between us and our next destination, a campsite that had eluded us on previous trips, its existence a secret whispered by the Tasmanian wilderness.

    Nestled on the approach to the renowned Freycinet National Park, just a stone's throw from Coles Bay, River Rocks Campsite unfolded before us like a canvas painted with earth tones and splashes of vibrant flora. The campground, typically bustling during peak season, now lay serene and inviting, as if preserving its beauty just for us.

    With the freedom of choice that comes with being the sole occupants, we carefully selected our spot. The criteria were simple yet crucial: a flat area for our trusty bus and ample exposure for our solar panels to drink in the Tasmanian sun. Although we knew our stay would be brief – just one night in this slice of paradise – we wanted to make the most of every moment.

    As the day's light began to soften, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, we settled into our temporary home. Our solitude was briefly interrupted as a convoy of four four-wheel drives, carrying a family group, rolled into a nearby campsite. Their arrival brought a momentary flutter of concern – would our peaceful night be disturbed? But our worries dissipated as quickly as they had formed. The newcomers, perhaps also under the spell of this tranquil spot, kept their revelry to a respectful murmur.

    As night fell, a canopy of stars unfurled above us, each pinprick of light a distant world beckoning to be explored. We drifted off to sleep, cradled by the sounds of nature and the knowledge that tomorrow would bring new horizons.

    The predawn light found us stirring, eager to embrace the day ahead. Packing up our mobile home, we cast one last glance at River Rocks Campsite. Though our stay was brief, it had left an indelible mark on our hearts.

    With the open road ahead and the spirit of adventure in our hearts, we set off, eager to see what new wonders Tasmania had in store for us. The journey, we realised, was not just about the destinations, but about the moments of beauty and tranquility we found along the way – each one a treasure to be cherished in the story of our travels.    もっと詳しく

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth

    River Dreams: Our Fleeting Paradise

    2024年7月24日〜25日, オーストラリア ⋅ ☁️ 14 °C

    The sun was dipping low on the horizon, casting a warm golden glow across the Tasmanian landscape as we continued our leisurely journey northward along the east coast. The day's light was fading, but our spirits were high, buoyed by the sense of adventure that comes with life on the open road.

    We had lingered at Samuel's place well into the afternoon, reluctant to leave the sprawling vista and the precious gift of solar power. But the call of the unknown beckoned, and as the shadows lengthened, we found ourselves winding our way towards the quaint town of Swansea.

    Just north of the town, we discovered a hidden gem - a secluded spot along the Swan River that seemed to whisper our names. As we pulled up, the late afternoon light danced on the river's surface, creating a mesmerising display of shimmering ripples.

    With no other souls in sight, we had our pick of the most enchanting locations. Our eyes were drawn to a patch of elevated ground that offered a panorama of the meandering river below. It was here that we decided to make our home for the night, our temporary sanctuary under the vast Tasmanian sky.

    As we set up camp, we couldn't help but reflect on our new life on the road. Each day brought fresh experiences, each night a new place to rest our heads. The freedom was intoxicating, filling us with a sense of boundless possibility. We were no longer bound by the constraints of a fixed address or a rigid schedule. Instead, we were free to follow our whims, to stay or to go as our hearts desired.

    This spot by the Swan River, like so many others on our journey up the coast, would be our home for just one night. But in that single night, we would absorb the essence of this beautiful place - the gentle lapping of the river against its banks, the rustling of leaves in the cool evening breeze, the gradual emergence of stars in the clear night sky.

    This was more than just a trip; it was a journey of the soul, each new destination leaving an indelible mark on our hearts. Tomorrow, we would move on, continuing our slow pilgrimage up the east coast. But for now, we savoured the peace of this perfect spot, grateful for the freedom that allowed us to call this slice of Tasmanian paradise our home, if only for one magical night.    もっと詳しく

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
    2

    Hilltop Haven: Samuels Gift to Wanderers

    2024年7月22日〜24日, オーストラリア ⋅ ☁️ 13 °C

    The journey back to Launceston unfolded like a treasure map of undiscovered gems. We set ourselves a delightful challenge: each new resting place had to be a mere 30-minute drive away and somewhere our wheels had never touched before. It was as if we were explorers of old, charting unknown territories with each turn of the road.

    Our first stop materialised in the form of Samuel's Place, a private sanctuary that beckoned us with the promise of solitude and natural beauty. As we crested the hill, the world seemed to unfurl before us. A vast, cleared paddock stretched out, acting as nature's own viewing platform. The panorama that greeted us stole our breath away - Freycinet to the North and Maria Island rising from the sapphire sea to the south, their majestic silhouettes etched against the sky like ancient sentinels guarding the coast.

    As we stood in awe of the vista, Samuel himself appeared, ambling down from his house like a friendly spectre emerging from the landscape. His weathered face told a story of a man who had found his slice of paradise after years of searching. With a warmth that belied his solitary existence, he shared tales of slowly building his small house, a labor of love that had spanned years. In a gesture of openness that touched our hearts, he had set aside this spot for wanderers like us, perhaps seeking the companionship he had left behind when he moved to Tasmania.

    As twilight descended, we settled in for a night that would etch itself into our memories forever. The Tasmanian sky, unpolluted by city lights, transformed into a canvas of celestial wonder. Stars burst forth in their millions, and the Milky Way unfurled across the heavens like a river of light leaving us feeling simultaneously insignificant while deeply connected to the universe above.

    The magic of the place compelled us to linger for a second night. As if nature herself was putting on a show, the wind rose with the darkness, whipping across the hilltop with wild abandon. Our bus rocked and swayed, the metal creaking a lullaby that spoke of adventure and the raw power of the elements. Despite the tempest outside, we felt snug and exhilarated, cocooned in our traveling home.

    As dawn broke, painting the sky in soft pinks and golds, we prepared to leave this enchanted spot. With hearts full of gratitude, we left a small token for Sam - a gesture that felt inadequate in the face of the priceless experience he had shared with us. As we pulled away, the bus humming with anticipation of the next unknown destination, we carried with us not just memories, but a piece of Samuel's dream and the magic of that starlit hilltop.    もっと詳しく

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth

    Solitude's Embrace at Marion Lookout

    2024年7月21日〜22日, オーストラリア ⋅ ⛅ 9 °C

    The winter sun filtered through our bus windows as we huddled around the glowing screen of our tablet, the WikiCamps app illuminating our path forward. Our eyes scanned the digital landscape of Tasmania's East Coast, searching for hidden treasures we'd yet to uncover on our northward meander. Though Sal's temporary trip to the mainland to visit family loomed a mere three weeks away, we felt a quiet determination to make the most of our remaining time on this wild island.

    Our fingers traced virtual roads, and we found ourselves drawn to a point of interest that stirred a faint memory: Marion Lookout. Two years prior, we'd breezed past this spot on our way to the rugged Three Caps Track and the historic Tasman Peninsula. Now, it called to us like a forgotten acquaintance, promising untold stories and breathtaking vistas.

    The journey from Fortescue Bay was brief but beautiful. In just half an hour, we found ourselves pulling into Marion's Campsite, the day still young and full of possibility. The solitude was palpable, a stark reminder of Tasmania's winter slumber. With no other souls in sight, we claimed our piece of paradise, carefully positioning our home-on-wheels to capture the most spectacular views through our windows.

    As the day unfolded, we basked in the quiet beauty of our surroundings. The gentle Tasmanian winter sun, though weak, still held enough power to feed our solar panels. We worked in comfortable silence, our laptops humming softly as we alternated between tapping away at our online tasks and stealing glances at the awe-inspiring landscape before us. The absence of other campers amplified the sense of being truly immersed in nature, with only the occasional rustle of wind through the trees to remind us we weren't alone in this vast wilderness.

    As twilight approached, we settled in for the night, grateful for this peaceful haven. The stars emerged, painting the sky with a dazzling array of lights unobscured by city glare. We drifted off to sleep, lulled by the gentle whispers of the Tasmanian night.

    The following day, as morning light spilled over the horizon, we reluctantly prepared to bid farewell to our private lookout. The open road beckoned once more, but we weren't quite ready to relinquish our sense of adventure. With a shared glance of mischief, we decided to pepper our onward journey with impromptu geocaching stops. Each hidden treasure we unearthed along the way felt like a secret handshake with kindred spirits who'd passed this way before, leaving behind tokens of their own wanderlust.

    The remainder of the day unfolded like a living map, each bend in the road revealing new wonders and whispered promises of what lay ahead. As we neared our next destination, our hearts swelled with gratitude for this fleeting, beautiful life we'd carved out on Tasmania's untamed shores. We knew that even as Sal prepared for a brief sojourn to the mainland, the spirit of our adventure would continue, weaving its magic through every moment we spent in this remarkable corner of the world.    もっと詳しく

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
    On the Bivouac Bay Hike
    Looking Towards Cape Hauy

    Whispers of Adventure: Peninsula Redux

    2024年7月19日〜21日, オーストラリア ⋅ 🌬 11 °C

    We stood on the threshold of our temporary haven, the world stretched before us like an open book, its pages filled with untold adventures. The crossroads we faced was more than just a choice of direction; it was a decision that would shape the tone of our journey for the weeks to come. Sal's impending flight back to Queensland, a brief interlude in our shared odyssey, loomed on the horizon, adding a bittersweet note to our deliberations.

    The inland beckoned with its promise of crisp air and rugged landscapes, a siren call of frost-kissed mornings and star-studded nights. Yet the East Coast whispered of gentler climes, of sun-warmed sands and the rhythmic lullaby of waves. Our hearts, ever attuned to the pull of the sea, made the choice for us. We would chase the coastline, saving the inland's embrace for Sal's return.

    Our compass pointed towards Fortescue Bay on the Tasman Peninsula, a place that echoed with memories of a birthday adventure two years past. The familiar roads unfurled before us, each turn a step closer to rekindling the magic of that precious time. As we journeyed, we paused to pay homage to nature's sculpting prowess at the Tasman Blowhole and Arch, where the relentless sea had carved wonders from unyielding stone.

    Arriving at the campsite, we were met with an unexpected challenge. The dense canopy of trees, while beautiful, cast shadows over our solar-powered dreams. Our trusty bus, our home on wheels, relied on the sun's grace to keep our modern comforts alive. With heavy hearts, we realized our stay would be briefer than anticipated, a reminder that even in paradise, practicalities must be heeded.

    Determined to make the most of our fleeting visit, we laced up our hiking boots and set out on a 14-kilometer pilgrimage to Bivouac Bay. The trail hugged the coastline like a lover, revealing vistas that stole our breath with each step. To our left, the mighty Southern Ocean stretched to the horizon, its deep blues melding with the sky. To our right, rugged cliffs stood sentinel, their weathered faces telling tales of eons past.

    As we rounded each bend, new wonders unfolded. The iconic silhouette of Cape Hauy rose in the distance, a monument to nature's grandeur. Northward, the Tasmanian Coast extended in a sweeping panorama of untamed beauty, each inlet and headland a brushstroke in a masterpiece of creation.

    Our return journey was timed to perfection, our feet sinking into the soft sands of Fortescue Bay as the sun began its descent. The fading light painted the sky in hues of gold and crimson, casting long shadows across the beach and transforming the gentle waves into ribbons of liquid fire. Though our stay was brief, the magic of this place had woven itself into the fabric of our memories.

    As we prepared to move on, our hearts were full. We had tasted a morsel of the peninsula's splendor that had eluded us on our previous visit, adding new chapters to our ongoing love affair with Tasmania. The road ahead beckoned, promising more wonders, more challenges, and more moments of breathtaking beauty. We were ready, our spirits buoyed by the day's adventures, to embrace whatever lay beyond the next turn in our ever-unfolding journey.    もっと詳しく

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth

    Echoes of Home on a Nomad's Heart

    2024年7月14日〜19日, オーストラリア ⋅ 🌬 9 °C

    As the familiar road unfolded before us, we bid farewell to Gordon and set our sights on Hobart, Tasmania's capital city nestled against the backdrop of Mount Wellington. The journey north hugged the coastline, offering a panoramic feast for the eyes. The road meandered through a string of charming small towns, each with its own unique character and stories to tell. To our right, the shimmering waters of the D'Entrecasteaux Channel separated us from the rugged silhouette of Bruny Island, its mysterious shores beckoning in the distance.

    Upon reaching Hobart, the bustling energy of the city embraced us. We made a brief but purposeful detour to Macpac, where we bolstered our arsenal against the capricious Tasmanian weather. The weight of new warm hiking gear in our hands felt like a promise of adventures to come.

    With anticipation building, we left the city streets to rendezvous with Michael and Amanda for lunch. Despite the relative newness of our friendship, there was a comfortable warmth in their company that made each meeting feel like a homecoming. As we shared a meal, laughter and stories flowed freely, creating a cocoon of camaraderie in the midst of our nomadic existence.

    Reluctantly, we bid our farewells, the bittersweet taste of goodbye mingling with the lingering flavors of our meal. The road beckoned once more, and we answered its call, embarking on the short but scenic 15-minute drive to our housesit in Clifton Beach.

    For five nights, we immersed ourselves in the illusion of permanence. The crackling fireplace became our sun, its warm glow chasing away the chill of the Tasmanian autumn. Eddy, our feline companion, adopted us with a purring grace, her presence a comforting reminder of the simple joys of domestic life.

    Our idyll was briefly interrupted when Anth took flight to Adelaide, chasing the possibility of another trial and the promise of funds to fuel our upcoming Japanese adventure. The house felt emptier in his absence, a stark reminder of how accustomed we'd grown to each other's constant presence on the road.

    Yet even as we reveled in the comforts of a 'normal' home, an undeniable restlessness began to stir within us. The open road called like a siren song, tugging at the strings of our wanderer's hearts. We realized then that nomadism had ceased to be merely a lifestyle; it had become the very essence of who we were.

    As our time at Clifton Beach drew to a close, we found ourselves eager to embrace the unpredictability of life on the move once more. The warmth of the fireplace and Eddy's affectionate purrs had been a welcome respite, but the true fire that burned within us could only be fed by the endless horizon and the promise of new discoveries.

    With a mixture of gratitude and excitement, we prepared to leave our temporary sanctuary. The nomadic life that had etched itself so firmly into our souls beckoned, promising new adventures, unexpected friendships, and the continued unfolding of our shared journey. As we packed our bags, we knew that while houses might offer shelter, the whole of Tasmania—indeed, the whole world—had become our true home.    もっと詳しく

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth

    Between Peaks and Promises

    2024年7月12日〜14日, オーストラリア ⋅ ☀️ 12 °C

    Our hearts soared with the exhilaration of our recent adventure as we left the Hartz Peak trailhead. The crisp Tasmanian air filled our lungs, carrying with it the scent of eucalyptus and wild earth. Our spirits were as high as the peaks we'd just conquered, our minds still reeling from the breathtaking vistas we'd witnessed.

    Barely ten minutes into our journey, we found ourselves drawn to yet another of Tasmania's natural wonders. Arve Falls beckoned us from the roadside, its siren song of rushing water impossible to resist. As we ventured down the short trail, the forest seemed to part like a curtain, revealing the cascade in all its glory. The falls tumbled over ancient rocks, creating a misty veil that shimmered in the dappled sunlight. We stood transfixed, marveling at how this island seemed to hold more waterfalls than the entire mainland combined, each one a unique masterpiece of nature.

    Reluctantly, we tore ourselves away from the falls and continued our journey. The winding road led us through Geeveston, its quaint charm a stark contrast to the wild beauty we'd left behind. In Huonville, we replenished our supplies, the simple act of grocery shopping feeling somewhat surreal after our time in the wilderness.

    As we drove, our conversation turned to our next destination: the Gordon Foreshore. Anticipation built within us as we recalled fond memories of our previous visit. It was there we had met Justin, a fellow traveler whose companionship had enriched our journey for a time. The thought of returning to this special place filled us with a warm nostalgia.

    Crossing the Huon River, we followed its northern shores, the water glinting like polished silver under the cloudless sky. The day had blossomed into perfection, with cerulean heavens stretching endlessly above us and a warmth in the air that we hadn't felt in weeks. It was as if Tasmania itself was welcoming us back to the Gordon Foreshore.

    As we arrived at the familiar campsite, a sense of homecoming washed over us. We set up camp in the exact spot where Anth had stayed during Sal's visit to her friends in Hobart, the location now imbued with layers of memory and meaning. The sun-dappled grass beneath our feet and the gentle lapping of water against the shore created an idyllic setting for our brief respite.

    Though we knew our stay would be short – just a couple of nights before embarking on our first house-sitting adventure – there was a palpable sense of contentment in the air. We savored each moment, aware that every experience in this magical place was precious. As the day drew to a close, we sat together, watching the sun paint the sky in hues of gold and pink, reflecting on our journey so far and the new experiences that awaited us. In that moment, surrounded by Tasmania's raw beauty and filled with anticipation for the future, we felt truly alive and grateful for every step of our extraordinary adventure.    もっと詳しく

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
    2The Entrance to Mystery Caves
    1Glow WormsPencil Pines on Lake Osbourne112Ladies Tarn26

    Beneath Stars and Stone

    2024年7月9日〜12日, オーストラリア ⋅ ☁️ 8 °C

    The sun rose over the rugged Tasmanian landscape, and with it our hearts quickened with anticipation. Mystery Caves beckoned, a whispered promise from Justin that echoed in our minds. We'd arranged to rendezvous with Andy there, our paths converging after his week-long sojourn along Tasmania's east coast.

    The drive was brief, the landscape unfurling before us like a living tapestry. As we pulled up to the trailhead, the earthy scent of damp soil filled our nostrils. Andy's familiar figure greeted us, the aroma of freshly cooked rolled oats wafting invitingly from his temporary campsite.

    The path to the cave entrance was a muddy ribbon threading through the forest. Sal's apprehension was palpable, her steps hesitant. But as we crossed the threshold into the yawning cavern, her fears melted away, replaced by awe at the vast expanse before us.

    Darkness enveloped us, our headlamps cutting through the gloom like bright knives. The cave breathed around us, alive with the sound of rushing water as a creek carved its way through the heart of the mountain. We ventured deeper, our feet finding purchase on slick rocks, the air growing cooler with each step.

    In a moment of shared impulse, we extinguished our lights. As our eyes adjusted, the darkness above us came alive. Thousands of glowworms twinkled like earthbound stars, their cool blue light painting the cavern in an otherworldly glow. The sight was mesmerizing, a secret galaxy hidden within the earth.

    Andy's excitement was contagious, his childhood dream of exploring a cave with a living stream finally realized. His voice echoed off the stone walls, filled with wonder and joy. We pressed on until we reached the boundary marked for experienced cavers, reluctantly turning back towards the world above.

    Emerging into the sunlight felt like stepping into another realm. The lush Tasmanian bush surrounded us, alive with the complex melodies of lyrebirds. Their songs were a natural symphony, perfectly mimicking the calls of other birds, including the distinctive cry of black cockatoos.

    Our journey continued to Hartz Peak, with a brief interlude in Geeveston for a much-needed laundry stop. As darkness fell, we arrived at our campsite near the trailhead. Once again, Andy had outdone himself, a warm meal awaiting us in the day-use area.

    Dawn brought steady rain, altering our plans. Instead of tackling Hartz Peak, we opted for the shorter hike to Lake Osborne. The Alpine landscape was a revelation, reminiscent of our time at Ben Lomond months earlier. When we reached the glacial lake, it was a perfect mirror, the cloudy sky and encircling mountains reflected in its still surface. Pencil pines stood sentinel around the shore, their ancient forms a testament to the enduring beauty of this wild place.

    The following day, though still overcast, offered a reprieve from the rain. We set out for Hartz Peak, our path a mix of duckboards and rocky terrain through the Alpine heathland. Small streams, born of the recent rains, crisscrossed our path. As we ascended, patches of snow appeared, a crisp white against the muted colors of the landscape.

    The trail gave way to a challenging rock scramble as we neared the summit. Antarctic winds whipped around us, their icy fingers seeking any exposed skin. We layered up, bracing ourselves against the cold.

    Just as we began our final ascent, a moment of modern intrusion: our phones suddenly sprung to life. Amidst the wild beauty of Tasmania, Sal received news that she'd been accepted into her Masters of Counseling program. The juxtaposition of this life-changing notification against our rugged surroundings was surreal.

    The summit of Hartz Peak rewarded us with breathtaking 360-degree views of southwest Tasmania. Bruny Island was visible in the distance, a dark shape against the silver sea. We stood in silent awe, each of us trying to absorb the majesty of the landscape spread out before us. The biting wind eventually drove us back down the mountain, our minds still reeling from the spectacular vistas.

    On our descent, we took a detour to an old track overlooking Hartz Lake, before rejoining the main trail. A stop at Lake Esperance, bypassed on our ascent, provided one last moment of Alpine serenity before we returned to the trailhead.

    Andy, true to form, had a warm meal waiting for us. As we savored the food and company, a bittersweet mood settled over us. This would be our last meal with Andy, his nomadic journey soon to continue solo on the mainland.

    We lingered one more night at the trailhead, our thoughts already turning to our next destination: the Gordon foreshore. It was a place of fond memories, where we had first met Justin. As we drifted off to sleep, the Tasmanian wilderness whispered around us, promising more adventures to come.    もっと詳しく

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
    2Our first night here ...2Cockle Creek ItselfLion Rock

    Wonders at the Southern Edge

    2024年6月27日〜7月9日, オーストラリア ⋅ ⛅ 12 °C

    As the wheels of our trusty bus crunched over the last stretch of bitumen, giving way to a muddy track that wound its way through the Tasmanian wilderness, a sense of anticipation bubbled within us. We were finally embarking on the journey to Cockle Creek, the southernmost point one could drive in Australia—a destination that had eluded us months earlier during our tour with Grammy and Fran. Now, with Andy by our side, we were determined to reach this remote corner of the world.

    To our right, mountains loomed, their peaks shrouded in mist, while to our left, the vast expanse of the Southern Ocean revealed itself in glimpses through secluded bays. The landscape seemed to hold its breath, as if aware of the significance of our journey.

    As we rolled into Cockle Creek, the weight of its isolation and raw beauty settled upon us. We scanned the area, searching for the perfect spot to call home for the coming days. Once found, we set about establishing our camp with practiced efficiency, our excitement barely contained despite the ominous weather forecast of high winds and rain.

    The first days passed in a haze of contentment, our souls soothed by the untamed wilderness surrounding us. Cheeky Currawongs swooped overhead, their calls a constant reminder of our wild neighbors, while adorable Paddymelons hopped cautiously at the edges of our camp, their curious eyes studying our every move. Though our chosen spot wasn't ideal for solar power, the sheer magnificence of our surroundings more than compensated for any minor inconveniences.

    Our inaugural hike along the Fishers Point Trail was a testament to the raw power and beauty of nature. We found ourselves playing a precarious game with the tides, timing our dashes across the beach to avoid the encroaching waves. As we neared Fishers Point, the protected waters of Recherche Bay gave way to the full might of the Southern Ocean, its waves crashing against the shore with thunderous force.

    Pausing to catch our breath, we turned to look back the way we had come. The sight that greeted us was nothing short of breathtaking—snow-capped mountains of southern Tasmania pierced the sky in the distance, their peaks playing hide-and-seek with low-hanging clouds. The afternoon sun, breaking through gaps in the cloud cover, bathed the scene in an ethereal light. We stood transfixed, drinking in the juxtaposition of turbulent ocean and serene mountains, knowing we were witnesses to a moment of rare, untamed beauty.

    The return journey brought its own adventures, with the still-high tide forcing us to adapt. Anth, in his crocs and bare feet, became an impromptu ferry service for Sal, who clung to his back as he waded through the incoming waters. Laughter and shrieks of excitement echoed along the shoreline, our joy amplified by the wild surroundings.

    Our discovery of a secluded spot with unobstructed bay views prompted a swift decision to relocate our camp. The new location felt like a gift from nature itself—better solar exposure, a private toilet, and the gentle lullaby of waves to soothe us to sleep each night. As we settled into our improved accommodations, we felt a deepening connection to this remote paradise.

    Each evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, our little Paddymelon friends emerged to keep us company. Their presence, along with the mysterious Tasmanian Devil tracks we spotted along the beach, served as a constant reminder of the wild heart beating at the core of this place.

    Our second major hike—a 16km round trip to the southernmost point of Tasmania—was a journey to the edge of the world. Halfway through, a chance encounter with a kindred spirit—a young hiker exploring Tasmania's wilderness—added an unexpected layer of camaraderie to our adventure. As we trekked on, the forest around us came alive with the haunting calls of black cockatoos, their warnings echoing through the canopy like ancient spirits guarding their domain.

    The moment we emerged from the forest onto the cliff top of black sand and rugged sandstone was nothing short of magical. Before us stretched the vast Southern Ocean, an unbroken expanse of water reaching all the way to Antarctica. We sat in reverent silence, overwhelmed by the profound sense of being at the very edge of our continent, the furthest point from home we could reach by land.

    As our time at Cockle Creek drew to a close, we found ourselves reluctant to leave. This remote haven had become more than just a campsite—it had become a home, however temporary. The familiar faces of the wildlife, the rhythm of the tides, and the ever-changing moods of the sky had woven themselves into the fabric of our daily lives.

    Packing up camp for the last time, a bittersweet melancholy settled over us. Yet, as we pulled away from Cockle Creek, our hearts were full. We carried with us not just memories, but a piece of this wild, beautiful place—a reminder of the raw majesty of nature and our small but significant place within it. As we set our sights on new horizons, we were buoyed by the knowledge that someday, somehow, we would return to this edge of the world that had captured our hearts so completely.    もっと詳しく

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth

    Longley Nights and Southern Dreams

    2024年6月26日〜27日, オーストラリア ⋅ ☁️ 10 °C

    The reluctant transition from wilderness to civilization weighed heavily on our hearts as we steered our trusty Bus towards Hobart. The untamed beauty of Tasmania's backcountry—with its whisper of wind through ancient gum trees and the gentle lapping of pristine waters—seemed to call us back even as we drove away. Yet, the necessities of life on the road beckoned, and Hobart, with its quaint charm, offered a welcome respite from our rugged adventures.

    A spark of excitement kindled within us at the prospect of reuniting with Andy, our wanderlust-driven friend who'd been exploring the Hobart area solo. As we navigated the bustling streets, a sense of anticipation built, mixing with the bittersweet nostalgia for the wilderness we'd left behind.

    With the precision of seasoned nomads, we efficiently restocked our supplies, our hands moving almost automatically through the familiar motions. As the afternoon sun began its descent, painting the sky in hues of amber and rose, we huddled around our phones, poring over Wikicamps like modern-day explorers consulting ancient maps.

    The Longley Hotel emerged as our beacon, its promise of a welcoming campsite drawing us southward towards our ultimate goal: Cockle Creek. With a few quick taps, we sent the coordinates to Andy, our digital smoke signal guiding him to our rendezvous point.

    The 40-minute drive was a blur of rolling hills and winding roads, the landscape a patchwork of farmland and forest. As we pulled into the hotel's parking area, the fading light cast long shadows across the ground, and a cool breeze carried the tantalising aroma of pub fare.

    The unique "cost" of our campsite—a meal at the pub—felt less like an obligation and more like a reward after a day of errands and driving. As Andy's familiar figure appeared, a wave of warmth washed over us. Soon, we were ensconced in the pub's cozy interior, the clinking of glasses and murmur of conversation creating a soothing backdrop to our own animated catch-up.

    Over plates piled high with hearty, country-style cooking, we shared tales of our separate journeys. Laughter flowed as freely as the local ale, and the fatigue of the day melted away in the glow of good company and shared adventures.

    As night fell, we retreated back to our mobile haven, the stars overhead a glittering canopy that reminded us of the vast wilderness that awaited. Sleep came easily, our dreams filled with the promise of Cockle Creek and the untamed beauty of Tasmania's southern reaches.

    Morning arrived with a crispness that invigorated our spirits. We packed up with practiced efficiency, our movements quick and purposeful. As we pulled onto the road once more, a shared sense of excitement thrummed through our little convoy. Cockle Creek, the southernmost point of Australia, was within our grasp—a siren call of rugged coastlines, pristine beaches, and the wild heart of Tasmania that we so eagerly sought to embrace.    もっと詳しく

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
    2
    Mt Field NP

    Whispers of Tasmania's Wild Heart

    2024年6月25日〜26日, オーストラリア ⋅ ☁️ 9 °C

    The sun-drenched shores of Tasmania's wild coast seemed to tug at our heartstrings as we reluctantly prepared to depart. Ted's Beach, a sanctuary of tranquility and newfound friendships, had woven its spell around us. As we climbed into our faithful bus, the bittersweet pang of leaving mingled with the warm glow of memories made.

    Justin, our newfound companion, was already ahead, his vehicle a diminishing speck on the horizon. The knowledge that he was bound for the mainland ferry at Devonport cast a melancholic shadow over our departure. We crawled along at a slower pace, savouring the last moments of connection as Justin's voice crackled over the phone, his farewell tinged with the same reluctance we felt. His easy laughter and relaxed demeanour had become a cherished part of our journey, and the thought of continuing without him left an unexpected void.

    Yet as we continued, we found solace in the breathtaking landscapes that unfolded before us. The engineering marvel of the canal linking Lake Peddar and Lake Gordon commanded our attention, its waters a mirror reflecting the vast Tasmanian sky. The Sentinels stood proud and ancient, their granite faces etched with the stories of countless millennia. As we approached the Needles, once shrouded in ethereal fog, we gasped at their razor-sharp silhouettes now clearly visible against the azure sky.

    Mount Field National Park welcomed us back like an old friend, the familiar campsite a comforting sight after our week of adventure. As Sal immersed herself in work, the gentle hum of the bus recharging provided a soothing backdrop. Anthony, fuelled by determination and the spirit of adventure, retraced our steps from the previous week. His triumphant return, geocaches in hand, brought a burst of celebratory energy to our quiet evening.

    As night fell, we huddled in our cozy mobile home, the anticipation of tomorrow's journey to Hobart and reunion with Andy buzzing in the air. Our minds drifted to the promise of Cockle Creek, the southernmost point of Tasmania, waiting to reveal its secrets. Sleep came easily, our dreams filled with the wild beauty of this island and the indelible bonds forged in its embrace. The road ahead beckoned, promising new wonders and the comfort of friendship, as we prepared to write the next chapter of our Tasmanian odyssey.    もっと詳しく

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
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    1Even by moonlight the Lake was magical.Gordon Dam13

    Mirrors of the Soul: Lake Pedder's Gift

    2024年6月19日〜25日, オーストラリア ⋅ 🌙 6 °C

    As the convoy of three vehicles pulled away from Mount Field National Park, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the winding road ahead. Our bus led the way, followed by Justin's Amarok and Andy's Captiva, each vehicle humming with anticipation for the journey to Lake Pedder. The fading daylight painted the Tasmanian wilderness in rich, golden hues, transforming the landscape into a canvas of warmth and mystery.

    The road stretched before us like a ribbon unfurling through the dense forest, each turn revealing new wonders. As we drove, the vibrant chatter inside our bus gradually quieted, replaced by a hushed reverence for the untamed beauty surrounding us. The dim headlights of our bus carved a narrow path through the encroaching darkness, our progress slowed by the need for caution against the wildlife stirring in the twilight hours.

    Suddenly, a break in the tree canopy revealed a sight that would be forever etched in our memories. We pulled over, drawn by an inexplicable force, to witness what can only be described as nature's grand finale. The sky erupted in a symphony of colors – deep crimsons, fiery oranges, and ethereal purples – as the sun began its descent behind the rugged silhouette of Tasmania's wild mountains. We stood in awe, our hearts swelling with emotion, as the spectacle unfolded before us. Time seemed to stand still, the world holding its breath in this magical moment.

    As the last embers of daylight faded and darkness enveloped us, we reluctantly returned to our vehicles, the warmth of the sunset lingering in our souls. The journey continued through the inky blackness, our dim headlights barely penetrating the gloom. The anticipation built as we searched for the turnoff to Ted's Beach, our designated campsite on Lake Pedder.

    Finally, we found our haven. The beach stretched out before us, a canvas of silvery sand under the starlit sky. With practiced efficiency, we set up camp, our movements illuminated by the warm glow of lanterns and the flickering dance of a newly kindled fire. The crackling flames became the heart of our temporary home, drawing us in with its warmth and light.

    As fate would have it, this night marked Andy's 37th birthday. Sal, inspired by a cherished memory of Grammy's culinary magic, had prepared a surprise dessert. The sweet aroma mingled with the scent of woodsmoke, creating an intoxicating blend of nostalgia and celebration. Andy's face lit up with joy as he savored each bite, declaring it one of the best birthday treats he'd ever experienced.

    The night took an unexpected turn when Justin and Andy, fueled by birthday high spirits and a touch of madness, decided to embrace the frigid waters of Lake Pedder in their birthday suits. Their shrieks of exhilaration and shock echoed across the still water, a testament to their adventurous spirits and the bonds of friendship forged in this wild place.

    As dawn broke the next morning, we emerged from our cozy shelters to a world transformed. The lake stretched before us, a mirror of glass reflecting the majestic Tasmanian peaks that rose like sentinels in the distance. The crisp air nipped at our skin, but the breathtaking beauty before us made us forget the cold. We stood in reverent silence, witness to the raw, untamed splendor of nature.

    Over the next week, Ted's Beach became our private paradise. Days were filled with laughter and friendly competition as we played Ultimate Frisbee on the expansive beach, Andy's expert throws challenging us all to improve our skills. Our bodies found strength and balance through workouts and yoga, the pristine wilderness serving as the most inspiring of gyms.

    Each day brought new wonders as the lake revealed its ever-changing moods. Some mornings, we awoke to find the water veiled in a ethereal mist, while others dawned clear and bright, the mountains reflected with perfect clarity on the lake's surface. Sunsets painted the hills in warm, fiery hues, each one a unique masterpiece that left us in awe.

    Nights were spent around the campfire, its warm glow a beacon of comfort in the wilderness. Deep conversations flowed as freely as the starlight above, touching on personal growth, self-discovery, and the serendipitous nature of our meeting. The cold was kept at bay by the warmth of friendship and the shared experience of this magical place.

    Our excursion to the Gordon Dam was shrouded in mystery, the massive structure emerging from the fog like a colossus of human engineering. The silence was profound, broken only by our footsteps and whispered exclamations of wonder. As we crossed the dam wall, the gorge below seemed to stretch into infinity, a testament to the raw power of nature and human ingenuity. Our playful shouts echoing off the wall were a joyful reminder of the child-like wonder this place inspired in us all.

    As our time at Lake Pedder drew to a close, we found ourselves changed by the experience. The bonds forged in this wild place felt unbreakable, our souls nourished by the raw beauty of the Tasmanian wilderness and the genuine connections we had made. On our final night, Justin asked if a shooting star would be too much to ask for, as if nature herself was bidding us farewell, a brilliant shooting star streaked across the sky, a fleeting moment of magic that perfectly encapsulated our time together.

    Parting ways was bittersweet, tinged with the sadness of goodbye but filled with gratitude for the memories we had created. As we drove away from Ted's Beach, the lake shimmering in our rearview mirror, we carried with us not just memories, but a profound sense of renewal and connection – to nature, to each other, and to the endless possibilities that await when we open our hearts to the wonders of the world.    もっと詳しく

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
    Justin is so clever!2

    Tasmania's Trails and Treasured Moments

    2024年6月18日〜19日, オーストラリア ⋅ ⛅ 8 °C

    The week's plan unfurled like a long-awaited map, guiding us westward into uncharted territory, with a return on Sunday for the final day of Dark Mofo. Our convoy, now bolstered by Andy, was ready for adventure.

    With a bittersweet farewell to Chauncy Vale, we embarked on our journey toward Mt. Field. But first, the necessary chores: replenishing water, fueling up with diesel, and grabbing those few forgotten grocery items. Once these tasks were behind us, we crossed the serene River Derwent and turned westward. The drive to Mt. Field National Park was a mere hour, a delightful brevity that Tasmania often gifted us, and one we knew we'd miss back on the mainland.

    As we arrived at the National Park, we secured a powered site for a modest $20—a bargain that was warmly welcomed. The park promised a treasure trove of hiking opportunities, but our stay was purely practical, to recharge our batteries after a week of sparse solar at Chauncy Vale. Hiking would have to wait for another visit.

    Andy took charge of dinner, setting up his cooking table outside and preparing a hearty Vegan Spaghetti Bolognese. As the aroma filled the air, a bold brush-tailed possum attempted to join the feast. We retreated to the safety of the bus, enjoying a surprisingly delicious meal despite its vegan nature.

    The following day brought a message from Justin, eager to spend his last week in Tasmania camping with us. We decided to wait for his arrival and, in the meantime, explored the available short hikes. The Three Falls Track, a 6.1-kilometer walk, seemed perfect for our afternoon adventure.

    Justin arrived shortly, and though it was getting late, we set off on the hike, knowing it might mean arriving at our next campsite in the dark. The abundance of wildlife made us cautious, but the allure of the walk was irresistible. Our group—Andy, Justin, and us—embarked on the trail with lighthearted banter about which direction to take.

    The hike turned out to be the best forest walk we had experienced in Tasmania. Barron Falls greeted us first, its cascading waters creating a mesmerizing, velvety white lace over the rocks, perfectly captured by our long exposure photography.

    We continued through ancient forests, where towering trees and moss-covered logs painted a scene of primordial beauty. Each step invited us to pause and soak in the serenity. At Horseshoe Falls, our laughter echoed through the trees, the camaraderie of our new friendships growing with each shared moment.

    Our final stop was the iconic Russell Falls. The viewing platform offered a safe, dry spot to marvel at the twin curtains of water that fell gracefully, spellbinding us all. We captured more photos and videos, our spirits lifted by the beauty around us. Though we longed to linger, Lake Pedder called us onward.

    Before departing, we indulged in a hot mocha at the visitor center, savoring the warmth and comfort it provided. As the light began to fade, we bid a temporary farewell to Mt. Field, promising to return. Our journey continued to Ted's Beach, with hearts full of the day's adventures and the promise of more to come.    もっと詳しく

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth

    Lost and Found: Tales from Chauncy Vale

    2024年6月11日〜18日, オーストラリア ⋅ 🌬 11 °C

    Our journey back into Hobart began with a familiar stop at the post office, a place that had become a regular waypoint in our nomadic life. Each visit brought a few more bits and pieces for the bus, our ever-evolving beast, a sanctuary on wheels that we constantly tinkered with to suit our needs.

    With a map spread before us, we hunted for a nearby camp and luck was on our side. Just thirty minutes north, a donation bush camp beckoned us with the promise of solitude and nature. The bus rumbled to life as we made a quick detour for water and groceries, a stark reminder of how our life on the road had made us acutely aware of water's preciousness, something we had taken for granted in our previous stationary life.

    Driving north, the road unfurled beneath us like a ribbon, one we had traveled months before on our way to Penstock Lagoon. This time, we veered off earlier, into the small, quaint town of Bagdad, where our camp awaited at Chauncy Vale Wildlife Reserve.

    The reserve welcomed us with an eerie silence, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the distant call of birds. Though the spot was far from perfect, its isolation was a gift. The weather, predictably wet and cloudy, hung low over us, but it did little to dampen our spirits. On our second day, we embarked on a 6 km trek, exploring the ancient caves that whispered stories of the past.

    The next day brought a reunion with Andy, Anth's mate from the Adelaide trial. Andy, who had longed for the freedom of the road, had finally taken the plunge, and his trip to Tasmania was his first venture into this new life. After meeting Sal and settling in, he retraced the walk we had done earlier, eager to immerse himself in the landscape.

    As Andy ventured out, we settled into the cozy warmth of the bus. A notification on the phone brought news from Justin, a friend from the Gordon foreshore, who was eager to catch up. We invited him to join us around the fire, anticipating his arrival. Just as Justin neared, another notification pinged from Andy, who had taken a wrong turn and found himself far from camp. Fortunately, he had made it back to a road, though his return trek would be long. Justin, arriving just in time, offered his car to rescue Andy from the extra walk.

    We laughed about Andy's misadventure as we basked in the fire's warmth. Andy soon left for his game of Ultimate Frisbee in Hobart, while Justin headed further south, leaving us to our quiet night.

    Monday dawned with the bus booked for new airbags and a service at the local truck mechanics. Dropping it off early, we took advantage of Andy's car to explore the area. Our first stop was a laundromat, a mundane but necessary task. While the clothes tumbled in the dryer, we found solace in a local café, where breakfast and coffee became a moment of connection as Sal and Andy chatted and bonded.

    With clean clothes and full stomachs, we drove up the Derwent, the landscape unfolding in its wintery beauty. Our exploration led us to Kingston Beach, where we enjoyed a late lunch and a leisurely stroll along the foreshore, the salty breeze a refreshing change.

    Returning to collect the bus, we received mostly good news, with only a few minor issues to address at the next service. Deciding on one more night at Chauncy Vale, we planned our next leg of the journey west towards Lake Pedder, eager for the adventures that lay ahead.    もっと詳しく

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
    2
    2

    Bittersweet Farewells and New Beginnings

    2024年6月5日〜11日, オーストラリア ⋅ 🌙 11 °C

    With Anth set to take flight late in the afternoon, we lingered in Gordon, reluctant to bid farewell to its serene embrace. The drive back to Hobart was laced with a bittersweet melancholy, each mile a reminder of the end of this chapter. But our spirits were buoyed by the prospect of staying at the Forcett Inn HipCamp, a place that held the warmth of fond memories from Sal's last visit when Anth had ventured to the mainland.

    We meandered through Hobart, the Tasman Bridge arching like a guardian over the shimmering waters below, leading us back into familiar territory. Our first stop was in the charming town of Sorell, where we mailed back the awning shade and Camps Australia book Grammy had lent us. When she handed them over, she believed her traveling days were behind her. Yet, inspired by three magical weeks with us at 74, she decided to buy another van and rekindle her adventures, proving that wanderlust knows no age.

    After the post office, we indulged in a quick shopping spree and a leisurely bite to eat, savoring the simple joys of our journey. As the afternoon sun began its descent, casting golden hues across the sky, we headed to the airport. There, we exchanged heartfelt farewells with Anth as he embarked on his flight to Melbourne. Jack, our young friend who had celebrated Christmas with us in Queensland, awaited him with open arms. Sal, on the other hand, made the short drive to the Forcett Inn, a place that felt like a cozy refuge.

    Setting up camp at the back of the property, Sal found peace in the tranquil evening, working on our latest YouTube video. This new creative outlet had become a source of joy and connection for us. Meanwhile, in Melbourne, Jack and Anth spent the evening reminiscing, their laughter a testament to enduring friendship. Anth's return flight brought him back to Hobart, where an Uber swiftly reunited him with Sal, his presence bringing our little family together again.

    Our days at the Forcett Inn became a blend of warm hospitality and new friendships. Michael, the generous host of the HipCamp, welcomed us like old friends. His offer to move our bus closer to his house and stay indefinitely was a gesture of kindness that deeply touched us. The harsh Tasmanian winter meant our battery system would need a boost within a week, and Michael's hospitality once again proved invaluable.

    Together with Michael and his partner Amanda, we shared countless moments that felt like family gatherings. One evening, they invited us to the local pub, where we savoured the renowned Jack Daniels marinated steak, a culinary masterpiece. Over dinner, we met Ian, a charismatic cowboy with a wealth of stories, making the evening vibrant and memorable.

    Our adventures with Michael and Amanda continued as they took us to the famous Salamanca Markets in Hobart. The market's lively atmosphere was enriched by a stop at a friend's bar, where we enjoyed live music that added a magical touch to our visit.

    On our final night in Forcett, we gathered under the chilly Tasmanian sky for a feast. The aroma of roasted lamb and pork filled the air, mingling with the laughter and camaraderie shared with Michael, Amanda, Ian, Liz, and ourselves. We played a few games of pool, graciously accepting our hosts' victory, and then sat down to a bountiful country feast. The warmth and generosity we experienced were overwhelming, forging bonds that felt like family.

    As we prepared to leave the next day, our hearts were full. The friendships we had made here would last a lifetime. With Hobart once again on our horizon and no set plans, our adventure continued, each day a blank canvas awaiting the vibrant strokes of our journey.    もっと詳しく

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
    112

    Anticipation, Adventure, and Awe

    2024年5月27日〜6月5日, オーストラリア ⋅ ⛅ 13 °C

    We headed towards Hobart, less than an hour's drive away, with a sense of anticipation tingling in the air. The morning sun bathed the landscape in a warm glow as we navigated the winding roads, the bus purring contentedly beneath us. Our first stop was at camping store to update Anth's footwear. His old pair, having weathered many adventures, had begun to wear thin on the soles. Finding a new pair felt like preparing for the next chapter of our journey, each step forward imbued with a sense of readiness.

    Navigating through the bustling heart of Hobart, our first goal was to visit the post office to submit our passport applications. Our much-anticipated trip to Japan in November to visit our son Torrin loomed on the horizon, and this was the first step towards that adventure. However, today wasn’t to be the day. The post office couldn’t print the application forms, a small hiccup in our plans. Nonetheless, we managed to get our passport photos taken, a small victory, and planned to finalise the application process by the end of the week.

    Our next stop was another post office, closer to where Sal would be staying with her friends. Here, we picked up a few items ordered for Anth's recent birthday and the new diesel heater for the bus. Each package felt like a piece of a larger puzzle, slowly coming together to enhance our journey.

    With errands done, we made the short drive to the Airbnb where Sal would spend the next four nights. The cozy house, with its inviting warmth, offered a temporary haven. Anth took the opportunity to luxuriate in a hot shower while quickly getting a load of washing in. The scent of clean laundry mingled with the fresh Hobart air, creating a sense of homeliness. After our temporary farewells, Anth headed an hour's drive south to Abbot's Point and the Gordon Foreshore. This stunning camp spot, right on the water’s edge, offered breathtaking views of Bruny Island. The rhythmic sound of the waves, just meters from the bus, provided a soothing, constant melody.

    At the campsite, Anth set about reworking the garage to free up space for the diesel heater. Although this one was a portable unit, we planned to install a fixed one eventually to keep us warm during the colder months. The task of reorganising the garage felt almost therapeutic, a way to bring order and efficiency to our mobile home. In addition to the repacking, Anth managed to lay the foundation for the next step in our online business, a venture that would support our nomadic lifestyle.

    The sunrises at the foreshore were nothing short of magnificent. Each morning, the sun would rise over Bruny Island, casting a golden glow across the ocean. The sight was breathtaking, a daily reminder of the beauty of our journey. The days, however, were often overcast, limiting the amount of solar power we could generate. This was a recurring theme for this time of year in Tasmania, but our energy reserves were deep. Our little SOTO gas burner, sent by our son from Japan, proved invaluable in keeping us warm and well-fed.

    The last two days at the foreshore saw the wind pick up, a fierce reminder of the gusty summer days we had experienced on the northwest coast of Tasmania months ago. The bus rocked gently with each gust, a reminder of nature’s power and unpredictability.

    Meanwhile, Sal’s catch-up with Liz and Jan, friends of 30 years, had been filled with joy and laughter. Their girls' trip was a whirlwind of playing cards and sharing wine, walking through Hobart’s picturesque harbour, and reminiscing about "the good ol' days." Sal had shared many life events with these two women—marriages, pregnancies, births, house moves, relationship breakdowns, and countless joyous moments. Their reunion was heartwarming, a deep connection rekindled with no agenda other than to enjoy each other’s company. After indulging in a bit too much cheese and dark chocolate, Sal was ready to return to the rhythm of bus life and get her body feeling ship-shape again.

    Before we knew it, Friday arrived. With an early start, Anth set off towards Hobart to reunite with Sal. The drive was filled with anticipation, the sun casting a golden glow over the winding roads, each turn bringing him closer to our next chapter. As Anth pulled up to the Airbnb, the excitement of reunion mingled with the anticipation of continuing our shared journey. Sal's eyes lit up at the sight of the bus, and we embraced, ready to face the adventures that lay ahead.

    The road ahead beckoned, filled with promise and adventure. Anth’s stories about the serenity of his campsite had Sal eager to head back and experience it herself. After quickly submitting the passport application that had eluded us earlier in the week, we restocked our food and water reserves. The familiar routine of preparing the bus for travel brought a comforting sense of purpose. With everything in place, we headed back south towards the Gordon camp once more.

    When we arrived, the wild Tasmanian wind had left its mark. A huge gum tree had fallen not far from where Anth had camped earlier. Thankfully, no one was hurt, but we decided to choose another spot a bit farther from the trees for safety. The new location was just as picturesque, with the ocean stretching out before us and Bruny Island in the distance.

    We settled in for another five nights, with Sal finding just as much joy in the peace of the spot as Anth had earlier. The tranquil setting, with the constant melody of the waves and the breathtaking sunrises, created a perfect place to unwind. Each morning, we would wake to the sight of the sun rising over the ocean, casting a golden hue across the water and filling our hearts with a sense of wonder.

    During our stay, we were joined by Ruth and Darryl, who arrived in their Coaster bus from their home in the north of Tassie. The couple brought a sense of warmth and camaraderie that enriched our experience. A quick introduction led to an invitation to share their fire, and soon, evenings were filled with stories of travels and adventures. The fire crackled, casting a warm glow as we shared tales of the road, each story weaving a richer tapestry of our shared journey.

    A couple of days later, the rain set in. For us, this was not a negative; instead, it transformed our view from clear vistas of Bruny Island into mist-shrouded peaks in the grey distance. The rain added a mystical quality to the landscape, turning it into a scene from a dream. The sound of raindrops tapping on the bus roof became a soothing lullaby, and we relished the change in weather, finding beauty in the mist and grey skies.

    However, the weather prompted Ruth and Darryl to decide to return home. The rain had made travel more challenging, and they felt it was time to head back. Saying our farewells was bittersweet. We exchanged contact details and promised to stay in touch, feeling grateful for the connection we had made. Once again, we found ourselves alone in our serene campsite, enveloped by the natural beauty and tranquility of the Gordon Foreshore.

    Our solitude was short-lived. It wasn’t long before two more vehicles pulled up, each carrying a very different individual. After introductions, we connected with Tevin, a 27-year-old traveling full-time, and Justin, a 52-year-old plumber. Their story was fascinating—they had met at a 10-day silent meditation retreat and had become friends despite not speaking for the entire duration. Deciding to travel together for a short time, they had found their way to the Gordon Foreshore. Once again, the road had provided new friendships and shared experiences, enriching our journey.

    The days passed in a blend of serene moments and lively conversations. We shared meals, exchanged stories, and found common ground in our love for travel and adventure. Tevin's youthful exuberance and Justin's steady wisdom brought a balance to our camp, creating a dynamic and enriching atmosphere.

    After a quick phone call, another opportunity for Anth to add to the Japan travel kitty arose, but it required a flight to Melbourne for a day. Plans were quickly made to catch up with the infamous Jack, and flights were booked. The prospect of seeing Jack added an element of excitement to the trip, promising more stories and memories to add to our collection.

    We decided to revisit the Forcett Inn Hipcamp, where we had stayed the last time Anth flew out from Hobart. The site had left a lasting impression on us, and we looked forward to the familiarity and comfort it offered. As we packed up and prepared to leave the Gordon Foreshore, we reflected on the rich tapestry of experiences and connections we had woven during our stay.

    Each encounter and every change in the weather had added depth to our journey, reminding us of the beauty and unpredictability of our nomadic life. The road ahead was filled with promise, and we felt a renewed sense of purpose and excitement. With hearts full of gratitude and anticipation, we set off once more, ready for the next chapter of our adventure. The journey continued, each day unfolding like a new page in the epic story of our travels, filled with unexpected encounters, breathtaking landscapes, and the enduring joy of exploration.    もっと詳しく

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  • Sal and AnthNomadic NarrativesSal and Anth
    1

    Country Calm Before Hobart's Hustle

    2024年5月26日〜27日, オーストラリア ⋅ ☀️ 11 °C

    One more stop lay between us and Hobart, where Sal would join her friends for their eagerly anticipated Girl’s Weekend. Our destination was Ye Olde Buckland Inn, a charming historical spot nestled in Tasmania’s picturesque countryside. In Queensland, we were accustomed to driving for hours between campsites, traversing vast distances under the endless sun. Here in Tasmania, however, everything seemed to be just an hour away, making our travel wonderfully leisurely and filled with delightful surprises.

    We arrived at Ye Olde Buckland Inn, its rustic charm and timeless ambiance greeting us warmly. The inn, steeped in history, stood as a testament to a bygone era, its old walls whispering tales of the past. The big paddock behind the inn was to be our resting place for the night. It was an open expanse under the clear blue sky, with no clouds or trees to obstruct the sunlight. This meant we could efficiently top up our battery system using only solar power. Our bus’s electrical system, designed with a huge reserve, often required ample sunlight to get back to 100 percent, and this spot was perfect for that.

    The paddock was serene, with only one other caravan parked on the far side, giving us a sense of solitude and peace. As the sun climbed higher, its warmth enveloped us, creating a cozy outdoor environment. We decided it was the perfect moment for some grooming, and Anth was in need of a haircut. Sal, ever the meticulous barber, found a warm spot in the sun and set to work. The scene was idyllic, the gentle snip of scissors blending with the natural symphony of birds and rustling leaves. Her skilled hands quickly transformed his unruly hair into a neat and tidy style. The sun shone brightly, casting a golden glow over the paddock, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.

    As the afternoon progressed, the temperatures began to drop. We made a hasty retreat to the bus, the warmth of the interior a stark contrast to the cooling air outside. We spent the evening in quiet contemplation, the bus cozy and inviting, a sanctuary from the encroaching cold. Tomorrow promised to be another busy town day, filled with errands and preparations. It also marked a temporary farewell to Sal as she headed off for her weekend with friends.

    The night at Ye Olde Buckland Inn felt like a peaceful interlude, a moment of calm before the flurry of activity in Hobart. As we settled in for the evening, the stars began to appear in the clear sky above, each one twinkling like a tiny beacon of light. We felt a sense of contentment, knowing that each stop on our journey brought its own unique charm and memories.

    In the quiet of the night, we reflected on our travels, the places we had seen, and the adventures yet to come. The inn, with its rich history and tranquil surroundings, had provided us with a brief but cherished respite. We knew we would carry the memories of this place with us as we continued our journey through the enchanting landscapes of Tasmania. The road ahead was filled with promise, and with hearts full of gratitude and anticipation, we looked forward to the next chapter of our adventure.    もっと詳しく

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