Tasmania

Tasmania-

Combine all the eucalyptus trees in California, mix with pines, ferns, and age with giant myrtles. Add some of the Rocky Mountains and the wild Oregon coast line. Blend in a couple Kentucky coal mines and a few of Hawaii’s turquoise white sand beaches. Fold in some eastern Washington plains dotted with Jersey cattle, and finally sprinkle a large amount of marsupials to cover the entire surface. Separate from the continent of Australia and wait a couple of hundred thousands of years. Sift in ship loads of alleged convicts, rise a mini San Francisco on the hill…then Enjoy this magnificent Island of Tasmania.
Wow! What a ‘must see’ if you ever make it down under.




Brenda and I drove ‘lil Daisy’ (that’s what we named our cool little Mitsubishi van) into the enormous hull of the ‘Spirit of Tasmania’ ferry ship for an eleven hour overnight cruise across the Bass strait. We planned a week long excursion to Tasmania, but after a few days into the trip, we realized we needed more time to explore this amazing environment and extended our stay another week to get a better feel for the island. Which still isn’t giving the place enough time, but given the fact that winter is coming on and we are camping with summer clothes, the cold nights and Antarctic winds made a departure plan a bit easier.














Tasmania (or Taz as the locals call it) seems to be the vacation spot the Australians keep to themselves. I didn’t know much about Taz except that it’s the home of the Tasmanian Devil and the last place you could have found the Tasmanian Tiger before it’s extinction some time in the late 1930’s. I was instantly amazed by this outdoor playground we just found with plenty of diversity to keep us entertained . The island has so many different regions to explore, each one unique from the other. In places, it felt I was in Oregon, with farm lands and pine forests set next to the coastal range and small beach towns that made me feel close to home. There is also an abundance of rivers, streams and lakes and according to the locals, some famed by the wild trout fishing . But with no fishing equipment to try my luck, we bought fresh seafood off the docks and enjoyed nights of succulent smoked oysters, and crayfish cooked over the camp fire.












Being the smallest and one of the least populated states of Australia, Tasmania has an abundance of vacant roads splintered across the island that have little to no traffic to contend with. (Which is a welcome design when you are left side driving with a right side brain.) During the autumn season Taz appears to be visited only by retired mainlanders, but I could imagine the summer months of Oct-March invaded by youngsters and families pulling their caravans (Australian for trailer) to the various caravan parks. Parks range in facilities from fancy camp kitchens, fireplaces, and hot showers, to a sandy beach plot with a simple outhouse. Finding places to park our little van/converted campervan was a cinch with all the best spots to choose from. We could make a home in a park, on a grassy knoll, on the beach, alone in the woods or opt for hot showers and a little company at a state park.













National Parks fill the state and when you purchase a pass, you can trek over cradled mountains, down into ball room forests, up elevated boardwalks, through dismal swamps, and tip toe through temperate rain forests that open to fields of scattered wildflowers. We were happy to contribute our camp fees, helping to protect the beauty of the island which is clearly enhanced by the park revenues collected from the hikers. Not all of the parks are filled with luscious green trees, as a matter of fact a place called Queenstown seems hardly ‘fit for a queen.’ This area has been strip mined since the 1800’s and suffered the loss of it’s vegetation from the deadly gasses that poured from the earth core. The mining marks, dramatically texture the hills with black, red, gray and yellow stains. It is a rare attraction unique to it’s own history. To find the beauty of this town, we had to look past the forsaken hills and begin to talk to the locals who love to share stories of their ancestors who survived the pollution of these waterways followed by the tragic fire that this region has never recovered from. Once we began to dig a little deeper under the surface, we found natural caves that have been forming for millions of years just below our feet. Solomon’s cave was named for the columns that have grown into grand towers and sheer glistening veils that flow down the cave walls.

Don’t be fooled by this island’s rugged interior and exterior, it does have a cosmopolitan feel in the large city of Hobart. We explored the hilly neighborhoods and walked the wharf bustling with fishing fleets, charter services and fine seafood restaurants. The CBD (Australian for Central Business District) has it fair share of suits, but what is most noticeable is the fact that the main streets in town aren’t lined with Nordstrom or Saks but instead with expensive outdoor stores camping and equipment retailers.

To fully enjoy our camping experience, (and because we’re on a tight budget) we had to gear up and shop wisely for our limited utensils we scavenged from local Opp shops (Australian for thrift stores.) Learning to live in a van and cook all our meals over a single fire makes life, simply centered around keeping fresh food in the cooler and finding a perfect site to create a dining experience. My favorite, is a quiet wooded place, where I can forage my own wood and have an open fire using my new Aussei Oven, (a large cast iron pot with a lid designed to hold hot coals on top, creating an even temperature on all sides.) With our Aussie oven, we tried all the conventional stews, soups, noodle goulash, and finally bore ourselves of lentil bean combinations until in a brief moment of revelation, we finally achieved a perfect apple cobbler.
Of course, everything is not perfect when your traveling in a constant changing environment and we’re still modifying as we learn to adjust in this new camping life style. There were cold nights with half roasted chicken dinners in the rain, wind blown dirt salads, half boiled noodles and a few cans of tuna and baked beans.

The one thing we never could adjusted to, was the amount of road kill encountered about every kilometer of the island. It’s remarkable how dominant the wildlife is on Tasmania, but we’re left wondering if the growing human impact isn’t just a recipe for extinction. We’ve seen enough rolled wombats and tenderized kangaroos, tossed wallaby’s and flattened possums, baked magpies and skewered crows to wonder how the Tasmanian Tiger met it’s fate?
All remaining marsupials… Watch out!
Headed on, to Brisbane. G’day Mates

Melbourne and Around

CAPTIONS

1.) “G’Day Mate“- Says the Koala in the tree
2.) City by Night- Melbourne has reproduced it’s own most celebrated monument. Why go anywhere else?
3.) Royalty Only- Commonwealth States have their own private “Queen Club Member Only” Olympic games.
4.) Blue Beaches- A tranquil place to ponder the meaning of life (Or figure, what to make for dinner tonight?)
5.) The Princess Bridge- Melbourne CBD (Central Business District)
6.) Mother’s Nurturing- The young still suckle from the pouch for nourishment.
7.) Parrot Paradise- Trees are full of color with rainbow parrots that often will call on you for a visit.
8.) Bursting Grapes-The next 2006 Chardonnay at your table.
9.) Kite Surfing at St Kilda Beach- An infamous place to set your sail to the wind.
10.) Opening Ceremony Fireworks- Explosions from buildings tops, set to a live concert, at the Common Wealth Games Kick-off.
11.) Wine Valleys- Some of the best grapes emerge from this perfect climate wine country.
12.) Bathing Boxes- For only $110,000 you can own a 15 ft box to store your sand toys on Brighton beach.
13.) Roller Coasters- St Kilda Beach/Luna Park offers levels of fun for all ages.
14.) A city that moves- Innovative trains transport the masses deep into the suburbs.
15.) The Common Wombat- Elusive as it may be, and only coming out at night it’s the most difficult to photograph.
16.) Harvesting the Vines- Awaiting the perfect, chosen day to pluck the fruit.
17.) Art Rocks- There’s a story to be told in those that endure the beating of time and tribulation.
18.) Salt water skiing- Just like riding a bike, after 10 years of abstinence, Brian is cutting it up
19.) Friendly Kangaroos- It’s true, it’s a friendly place! Camping outside of the city.
20.) Koala Chillin in the Heat- South of Melbourne. The Great Ocean Highway.
21.) Our New Home- Less square footage but takes care of our needs. “Can’t always get what you want…but if you try sometimes, you just might find… YOU GET WHAT YOU NEED.”
22.) Shark Watch- The Heli searches the coast several times a day, for silhouettes of the deadly sharks.
23.) Southern Cross- Winds of change roll through the grassy hills.
24.) On the Road Again- Take Caution and watch for Kangaroos, Imu’s , Wallaby’s and Wombats when outside the city limits.

Camping in the High Country

Legends, Lies and Legitimate facts from Dargo
(A short story about camping in the high county )

Up in the hills above Melbourne lying in the bottom of the Alpine Shire, there is a little 18th century cattle town called Dargo. The place has a history like our wild west and you can listen around the campfire to hear of icy covered snowfields, tales of ‘headless horsemen’, and of the fools who died for worthless gold. Truth be told, the man from snowy river, swept up his girl and rode her through this infamous countryside.

“Are we there yet?” I call out feeling anxious after four and a half hours, winding through hills and countryside dodging wallaby’s, and roo road kill. Brian and I are headed out camping with our ol‘ friend Richie, his new wife Jo and her best friend Mary, in what they call ‘the Alps,’ (which seem more like hills to me.) Melbourne city has been fantastic fun with the common wealth games setting the busy sporty pace, but we’re all looking forward to some peace and quiet only rugged outdoor camping can bring. Josephine clasps her hands from the front seat and exclaims, “I’m getting excited, we’re almost there.”
Feeling unprepared for this adventure but still geared up for sleeping in hammocks, hiking mountains, and cooking meals over the campfire, we pull up to the Quagmungee walnut farm, where our friend Richie spent a great deal of his childhood. Like excited children released from the car, we run off to explore, stunned and amazed at what we have found. Dangling from thick cables and wooden planks, a spectacular suspension, walking bridge expands across the Dargo river, leading to our private camping paradise. We grab the coolers and bags and run up the bridge playfully swinging, trying to topple each other. Then rest half way to take in the specking evening light playing through the canopy of trees and dappling the river below. “Isn’t it just lovely,” Mary takes in a deep gulp of air and releases a weighed and exhilarating breath.

Where Families Retreat
To the right an old wooden cabin with a generous covered porch sets under shaded trees, with grape vines rising up to the windows. Inside, a massive stone fireplace commands the center of the room and an old log table is surrounded by sets of bunk beds. The front yard is a playground for rabbits pecking at the landscaped flower gardens and nibbling the fruits dropped from the surrounding trees, (which I’ve just noticed will accommodate our hammocks beautifully.) To the left and highlighted by the setting sun are rows of voluptuous walnut trees, with leaves waving hello and chunky nuts ready to burst from their limbs.
Strait ahead, our rugged camping experience turns luxurious as we set our sights on a long home facing the babbling river, accommodating private rooms, fluffy beds and picture window views of the impeccably kept farm. A long wooden table fit for a crowd leads to a giant family style kitchen with an old wood stove, stocked and ready to be lit for the next meal. Low couches encircle a hefty fireplace, inviting a cozy fireside night. The house is stylishly decorated to theme with thick candle lanterns, harvest fruits and Australian motif. Photos on the wall, bring us closer to the three families that have brilliantly created this private club house. Studying the generations of collaged photos we become a part of their vacations, holidays, and harvest seasons, making us feel honored to be on the ‘invitation only’ guest list to this family resort. What makes Quagmungee extraordinary, is that it’s all powered by the sun and watered by collection. Everything is skillfully engineered, so that we have hot water showers, cold refrigerators, electricity and camp stoves. (Oh, and did I mention a pool table, darts and a golf course on rolling hills?)

Childs Play
Yipee, Woohoo we all cry out darting from place to place, wound up and undecided , for there is so much to do and only a few days to get it all done. We gather to make a game plan, and settle on an evening stroll to highlight the walnut harvesting season, and then hang our hammocks by the river. Richie will cook a steak dinner over the fire, accompanied by a fine red wine. Tomorrow we’ll pan for gold, hammock, play a round of golf, hike the mountain, hammock again, swing from the bridge, go for a swim, play more golf and bocchi,, hammock, ride the tractors, gather wood, hammock, and settle into the evening with campfires and a nocturnal hike.
Tomorrow comes too soon, and we’re not hiking, playing, panning, swimming or gathering, as we’ve lounged around drinking coffee, reading and enjoying the music of morning. Green and red parrots sing in the trees over my hammock and shimmer their fluorescent colors highlighted by the sun as they take flight to the apple trees. The kookaburra bird cackles a hearty infectious laugh , until we’ve all joined their round of giggling bliss. A cool breeze whistles through the trees and you can feel the end of summer beginning to turn the leaves golden. Everything feels perfectly golden at the Quagmungee Farm. Perhaps the gold fever still hovers lightly in this air.
A motivated moment prompts my ‘first ever’ golf game, and we traipse through the walnut trees, smacking balls into the river, over the hills, under the brush and into the wombat holes. Not too embarrassing for my first time, but I polish my technique hitting & dodging fallen walnuts at the others. A game of bocchi follows, which becomes unappealing when the rumble of an old Massey Ferguson tractor emerges from the barn and takes us four wheeling , into the valleys, over the hills and along the horse pasture. It simply couldn’t be better. That is, until we realize the second tee off along the river, has a nice swim hole just below. Now, the afternoon round of golf includes a quick dip in the cool stream, drying in the warm sun on the way to the next green. Mary and Jo caddie the tractor along providing new balls, clubs, laughter, and cool beer at each hole, until we all resolve to retire “back to the club house.”

Lime Light of the Fire
No rugged camping experience would be complete without campfires and stories. This is where Richie’s acting and singing career takes the lime light of the glowing stage. We listen intently to stories that have been passed down generations, and left to the children who were raised on this farm. Unsolved mysteries of decapitated horsemen found on nearby settlements leave a chill, quivering down my spine. Tales of lost Chinese gold miners who spent a hundred years digging crevasses with small pick axes, only to live, work and die, never realizing bad directions sent them to the wrong mountain. And yes it is true “The man from Snowy River,” movie was based on the life of Jack Treasure who settled these high plains, and much of the film is done here in Dargo. The night takes on a musical note as the guitar surfaces, and are serenaded to the new released songbook of tunes, written by Richie this weekend. The music trails on and the giant fire pit becomes a stage and the fire itself, a living, breathing, growing sculpture. Sinking deeper into the flames and burning cinders, Josephine makes out figures in the radiating coals, like I do with clouds in the sky. Her little girl with a lollypop changes into a a scary alien, so she heads strait off to bed.

Bush Bashing, Literally
I wake from a dream; Kangaroos are hopping through the orchard and into my room. Opening my eyes, I look to see if they are on my veranda? No, I’ve overslept, and they’ve bound back up to the hills earlier in the morning. Suddenly remembering, we’re all hiking to the top of the mountain today, I leap from bed (no that’s a lie, I never ‘leap’ anywhere in the morning hours,) but I do meander out to find that there are already two drop-outs for this hike It’s a quick hustle to commence a bush walking tour, before we all realize it’s getting too hot and settle into hammocks instead. The hike up is dusty, dry and tiring, but the views of the layered blue hazy mountains descending below, are impressive. The large farm is now just a little green square in a vast alpine range. Feeling weary and hungry we descend the first mountain lowering into a valley of chunky foliage, turning to thick underbrush , turning to solid impassible bush. We have taken a wrong turn and become separated, each searching for a way out of the prickly, slicing scrub and end up crawling on all fours down the mountain. “Where are you Mary?” I call out. I can hear crackling from up above and look to see if the brush is moving. “Can you stand up?” I can see the low trees moving below and call out to Brian. “Can you see the sky?” A bit of cursing comes from below, so I continue on the new wombat trail I’ve just found. Granted , a wombat is only 2 feet tall and I hope he doesn’t join this trek, but I’m grateful for his miniature cave, carved under the dense sharp, juniper-like hill side. Mary and I join trails and continue crawling down the hill laughing, as we have the rare opportunity to “See the bush through a wombat’s eyes.”
Finding a clearing, we see that Brian has simply used his face and arms as tools for bashing his way out of the bush as he’s covered in stickers, blood dripping and sliced all over his exposed body . With twig and moss tangled hair, spiders crawling down our pants, wombat poo covered knees and dirty sweat dripping our brow, we stagger into ‘camp paradise’ wondering why we ever left? On our final approach the kookaburra cackles a mocking laugh which, “We don’t think is very funny!” The river calls, and we limp down the banks with our chairs to ice our swollen, blistered feet in the cool river. Food, beer and laughter curb the pain, until we realize we’ll be running out of it all. Time to head to town for supplies.

The Dargo Pub
Blink and you might miss the town of Dargo. It’s a place where they reckon “Ya aren’t from around these parts, hey?” before you even get out of the car. Friendly enough, we’re greeted by all ten of them, all commenting on the weather. The woman in the kitchen comes out to see the newbies in town. The guy ‘drinkin a jug’ on the porch, seems delighted to see a girl of any kind, and the lady at the general store wants to know “What brings you up here?
Take away beer, is only available at the public drinking room, which happens to be, the famous Dargo Pub. Step inside this time machine and you’re in for a history lesson of a ‘raising a town.’ The place is full of dusty relics and photos of it’s glory days, with infamous ranchers like Jack Treasure keeping bar stools warm in the winter snow. Today a nicely dressed man sits at the bar enjoying his meaty meal and the pungent smell of kangaroo steak hangs heavily in the wooden pub. It’s the kind of place where you will feel at home as everyone and every thing, is invited into the Dargo Pub. It commemorates and boasts the tallest bar around, so that you can still ride your horse inside for a drink. Because they say, “A man should never have to get off his horse, for a beer.” …and that’s the town of Dargo in a walnut shell.

Leaving Legends Alive
The day’s get hotter and more relaxing as we melt into a schedule of tranquility, which is difficult to sever. But, as another day breaks, it brings us to the conclusion of our perfect camping paradise. Yes, all good things must end to make way for new beginnings. We’ve eaten most the food, finished the best of beer, played hard, rested light, and created countless treasured memories that will be etched in our lives forever. The Legend of Sleepy Dargo will live on, and we leave with it… A new trail down the mountain, Mary’s hole in 2, Jo’s infectious laugh, Brenda’s one and only perfect Parr 3, “The world according to Richie,” Brian’s power stroke, a few balls left in wombat holes, and a wall of new photos.

-A special tribute to the Young Family and friends for sharing their sanctuary with us.