Tasmania - Cockle Creek
April 4-8, #30
After Cape Raol, our plans took a surprising turn. Our host from Gormie had been keeping track of us, and after returning from a bike trip of his own on the mainland a couple weeks earlier, he was excited to take us on another adventure. He offered to pick us up wherever we were, load our bikes on his trailer, fill up the eskie and take off to the end of the most Southern road in Australia for a true Tasmanian-style camping experience - including a little ocean fishing and a unique opportunity to ride together to the end of the road. His proposals were always enticing, so of course we had accepted, and made plans to meet in a couple weeks time.
The night before we left Cape Raol, the rain set in and let up only briefly the next morning. For the first time, we didn’t have the option to sit out the storm. With no cell reception, we had to pack up and start riding to our arranged meeting spot. On our way back to the main road, it was mostly downhill giving us time to notice things one would only see in Tasmania - like the same two roosters that we had passed four days ago still roaming the roadside in the midst of the forest, and other small creatures crossing the road, like leaches. In the midst of a steady rain, leaches were inching their way across the bitumen. I just hoped our tires wouldn’t fling them up on to our pants.
But that was the least of our worries, as soon as we reached the main road, the rain became a torrent - the exact conditions we did not want while riding a road with no shoulder. Just a few kilometers down the road was a roadside grocery store with a sheltered walkway out front, a bench, and cell reception. After almost an hour of watching the rain pound the pavement, neither of us wanted to continue on under those conditions. Fortunately, there was a caravan park nearby. We rearranged our meeting point and headed to the caravan park to dry ourselves out. By evening, the sun painted the sky in brilliant orange hues giving us a ray of hope that better weather was on its way.
The next morning neither the sky, the ground nor our gear showed any signs of the soaking we received the day before and we were soon reunited with our Gormie friend, excited to share another adventure.
Road Trippin’
By mid-morning, the trailer loaded, the truck packed full, we reclaimed our spots in the cab and handed the reigns over to our local guide. Once we reached the other side of Hobart, we stopped in Kingston to fill up the eskie with all the camp food essentials before looping through Blackman’s Bay around Tinderbox Reserve, revisiting spots he had fished with his Dad years before. As we dropped into the Huon Valley it was another dejavu of home. The hillsides were blanketed with apple orchards and vineyards, and the river lined with small towns, wineries and fruit stands. Off in the distance were the tops of peaks we had yet to know the names of in the Southwest National Park.
By the time we reached Cockle Creek, we fully appreciated our decision not to cycle this section and were so glad to have the opportunity to be here with our Gormie friend. The last section of dirt road wove in and out of the forest alongside the shoreline and had several pull outs for free camping across the road interspersed with fish shacks. The official Cockle Creek campground was so busy, we opted for a quiet spot all to ourselves. By the time we had emptied the trailer and the back of the ute, we were setup with all the luxuries - a table, a fire pot, fishing rods, and an eskie full of all the essentials. We spent the evening living like kings around a roaring firepot, cooking up an Australian-style mixed grill, toasting an evening with friends under a perfect night sky.
The next morning we awoke to find the kettle already steaming atop the firepot ready to warm us up inside and out.
The One that Got Away
After a lazy morning around the fire, we were outfitted with seasoned lucky hats, fishing poles and lures to try our own luck at pulling something edible from the ocean. After taking a few practice casts which included untangling my line from the nearby bush, we crossed the road, spread out and began dancing our lines across the waves waiting for a tell-tale tug of the line. As soon as I felt my line tug back, I immediately assumed I had snagged in the kelp bed, but then the line shimmied, and I realized a fish was on the line. Excitedly, I reeled it in. But before I could even pull it from the water, it flopped once and was gone. Lucky for it - it wasn’t eating size and narrowly missed being used as bait.
End of the Road
The next morning, we headed out to officially ride to the end of the road at Cockle Creek inside the National Park. Free of our gear, we all cruised along the undulating track enjoying the blue sky day. Once we made it to the park entrance, we saw the track went further through the campground and ended at the whale monument situated along the edge of the mouth of Cockle Creek with the Southern Ranges in the background. We were so glad to be here with our friend sharing a first time experience and lasting memory. We could not of asked for a more perfect way to experience the Southern most tip of Tasmania.
Retracing Steps
Leaving Cockle Creek, we were transported back up to the eastern coastline to continue our ride. On the way, we stopped in Buckland, where his father had lived, to visit the church known to have an impressive Eastern window from the 14th century and many theories about how it ended up in Australia. But what was most interesting was walking the graveyard surrounding the church with our friend to see how many shared his surname.
Our final stop was Triabunna for one more camp and a farewell dinner. The next morning our friend took us to our Warm Showers host in town where we planned to leave for Maria Island the next day. It was such a great pleasure to spend a few days discovering new places with our Gormie friend, living like kings and enjoying the pace of retirement. Cheers to you, my friend!
