Tasmania - Finding our “Feet”

November 22-24, #7

Ride or Thumb?

A perfect example of road system not designed for cycle touring. Locals kept telling us that is why we have world-class cyclists…hmmm…maybe we will reach Olympic fitness before we leave?

After hearing numerous cautions from locals and other bike-packers that hitch-hiked this next section of highway (60+kms/40 miles), I tried to find alternative transport (Rent-a-Dans), phoned taxi companies, but nothing panned out as a viable alternative. Nivaun tried to find a reasonable back road route but the roads through this stretch very seldom went anywhere but inland and then turned abruptly back toward the coast. It was like a pattern of V’s back and forth off the main highway, only intersecting with each other at the furthest points inland or not at all.

Fortunately, by the time we pulled into the bike lane ready to leave our wildlife oasis, we had learned for the next 16km there was a reasonable bike lane/shoulder to the caravan park in Wynyard. From there we found a back road on the coastal side of the highway that would take us another 16km with only a short section on the highway before the next caravan park. All of that seemed reasonable and survivable. Reinforcing what we already knew - moving forward at your own pace is the best way to get past fears sparked by the unknown, or fears expressed by others, that may end up not even being your own.

We had a perfect weather day of sun, clouds and very little wind. After about 4 miles we stopped at Doctors Rocks to look for signs of the little penguins. Instead we found an array of discarded seashells scattered along the beach; and amongst the exposed rocks in the surf, the sea creatures that first call them home. The most surprising find - the smallest of starfish we had ever seen, turquoise blue, no bigger than a fingernail and thinner than a piece of paper.

Got a Lock?

In a few more kilometers, we were able to take a cut-off road heading into Wynyard. At Nurses Beach, the coastal bike path reappeared, and we followed it a short distance to the caravan holiday park just off the beach front. Arriving early, we decided to explore the town and find a spot for an early dinner.

Nurses Beach in front of the Caravan Park in Wynyard

Our host had offered to store our bikes in the garage overnight, “since they appeared very expensive”, to which we didn’t give much consideration, but thanked her for the offer. However, upon returning to our tent, an older couple walking the coastal path felt compelled to confirm whether or not we had a lock for our bikes. Of course then, we became as curious, as we were suspicious. Nivaun googled bicycle theft in Tasmania to try and settle our minds about the safety of us and our gear. Finding nothing specific to the current state of bike theft, and nothing in particular for this area, we still decided to heed the “local warnings”. Nivaun not only locked the bikes to the chain link fence and strapped them to each other, but also set our motion alarms, and covered them up in our tarp, just in case something sinister came lurking in the wee hours.

Sure enough not long after midnight, our alarms went off. But not due to some thieving scoundrel, it was the wind, wildly flapping the tarp. At least now we knew the alarms did indeed work as expected.

Shot, Why Not?

The next day’s trek over the hills between the highway and a rocky section of coast just happen to include a well-placed Distillery, right before the junction to the highway. Nothing like a stiff shot to get us over any lingering fears. After an enjoyable visit with the owners and sips of gins, vodkas and liquors, we ventured onto the highway, relieved to find our entry point was just past the construction zone. The road ahead was still covered in gravel but wider than expected thanks to the construction crew.

Uneventfully, we progressed down the highway through the country-side to our turnoff. After a quick stop at the General Store for an ice cream bar, a head scratch for a friendly local (photo, right), a few short undulating hills, and our final turn deposited us abruptly back at sea level in the community of Boat Harbour Bay.

For a brief moment - we were awestruck by the beauty of the coastline, a white sand beach nestled up against the lush green hillside we had just descended.

Boat Harbour Bay - never a finer place to call home for a day or a week…

Until we realized our climbing was not over - the road to the caravan park went straight up to the very last street, mid-way up the hillside. I made it half way up and realized it was just not worth it. Nivaun parked and walked back to assume the push-a-bike position and we relayed up the last block to the entrance. The park itself was laid out in tiers, carved into the hillside, giving adventurous guests the best views out over the bay.

After talking with the owner about the tent sites available, it was of course the one at the very top of the tiered levels that provided the most amazing views and was still protected from the offshore winds - so with a final push, we ascended to our pent-house abode. The treks up and down the hill to the showers/kitchen on foot felt effortless after our hill-training, and so we settled in quite comfortably to weather out the rain expected later that evening and into the weekend.

A well-placed couch atop a hill for kicking-back Tassie-style. It was all peace and quiet until a furry blur shot past our feet at break-neck speed, possibly a Bandicoot?

No Plan? No Problem!

The overnight rainstorm subsided by late morning allowing us to take a leisurely stroll back down to the seaside to enjoy lunch at the community cafe which of course had a pastry case equally as tempting. We had seen people walking on the rocky outcrop at the edge of the beach from our campsite, and decided to explore its edges before heading back up the hill thankful this time to be only carrying our own weight.

Rain returned overnight and slowed to a heavy mist by the time we rolled out of the tent and decided to retreat to the kitchen. Whilst lingering over our breakfast, secretly wishing we had a place to break out our laptops, our host appeared in the doorway and kindly offered us their vacant studio to spend the day out of the wet.

Once again, we found ourselves at the right place at the right time, feeling cared for in the most unexpected ways. Sitting comfortably at a desk and on the couch, we worked on photos and blogs into the evening hours listening to the rain drizzle and the rhythm of the waves just outside our slider door.

Based on the forecast, we had planned to leave the next day. But after talking with our hosts about what else there was to explore in the area, we learned of the Postman’s track, a coastline trail used to deliver mail by horseback between Boat Harbour and the next seaside community, Sisters, and from there tracks continued on across Rocky Cape National Park. Immediately our interest was peaked, and not long after a plan was hatched.