Back across the water

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Oh NO, our Ozdyssey is nearly over! Time to say goodbye to all the marsupials and gum trees. G'day to the vast, dry Outback and the emus. Cheerio to the crocodiles and the gorges.
Will we miss this lifestyle, 5 feet x 7 feet of interior living space, stringing a clothesline to a nearby tree?








Will we miss front yard views out over white sand and azure waters?



Will we miss remote coastal limestone rock formations and tide pools?

Will we miss Aussie humour? (These sculptures, portraying historical figures of Geelong, Victoria, are made from old pier bollards. The emblem on the back of the upper right figure reads: “Grow old disgracefully.”)



Our Troopy needs a Roadworthy Certificate to complete its sale to Jon and his jack russell terrier Rex. While repairs are being completed we borrow the official RACV (equivalent of AAA) vehicle so we can tool around looking for hapless motorists to assist.

Three days before we are to leave this continent we meet Elisabeth, a volunteer at an info centre outside Melbourne. She invites us orphans home to stay with her and her husband Barry so we can clear out the Troopy and pack our gear. She even takes us to the airport. What a grand and hospitable finale. Thanks, mates!


...dot dot dot...

A day plus a night plus a day without sleep is more than our old bones prefer, but we are now back safe and sort of sound on our native turf. It'll be weeks before we'll be far enough east to reclaim our Chinook from the Nebraska buffalo field. Currently we're living in the lap of luxury at our Oregon son's house (with snow on the ground outside).

Now we need to re-learn to drive on the right.

Devilish Tasmania

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For a small area, Tasmania sure packs a lot in. We should be several inches shorter from all the hiking we're doing. The southeast quadrant of the island is loaded with islands, peninsulas, bays, cliffs, crashing surf, turquoise water and fine white sand beaches, and the capital city of Hobart. It's quite a menu.

In Australia's early years, when Mother England was sending convicts out by the shipload, Tasmania made a fine spot for some of the most hardened of characters. There was impenetrable forest, the natural barrier of the sea to prevent escape, and the insatiable economic urge to chop down trees using the free labor of strong, captive men. The first serious penal colony was set up in 1821 in the west, on Sarah Island in remote Macquarie Harbour. Nine years later a new and ingeniously brutal area was established in Port Arthur (no relation!) on the Tasman Peninsula near Hobart. This settlement lasted for many years, expanding and increasing in sophistication, including medical facilities, an insane asylum (solitary confinement didn't always successfully teach the error of one's ways), churches, and military and civilian settlements.

To prevent escape, a “Dog Line” was established along the narrow Eaglehawk Neck. A collection of particularly vicious dogs, chained at intervals to prevent them from killing one another, could rip to shreds any convict trying to flee to freedom.

In the More Current Crimes Dept, Japanese whalers, subsidized by the Japanese government, continue to hunt and slaughter whales in the Southern Ocean despite an international ban and the whales' endangered status. They say they're hunting for “research purposes,” but thousands are killed and curiously wind up on Japanese dinner plates. Greenpeace is working to change that. In addition to educating the people of Japan, which they claim is working to decrease the market for whale meat, they chase the whale-hunting ships around the ocean, shooting graphic photos and video, creating sea-spray to obstruct aim, etc. We learn that the Greenpeace ship Esperanza is docking at Hobart for a day, so we go to contribute our support and tour around the ship.

Then it's back to the countryside for us. We actually climb up and along the edge of that cliff, 900 feet straight down to the water.

Uh-oh, Mitcho was here. There are hundreds of cairn towers constructed of smooth, water-worn rocks. Of course we have to balance a few more.

We hike to South East Cape, Tasmania (and Australia's) southernmost point. We try to squint to see Antarctica. To the west the next land is South America.

Back in Hobart, we're extremely fortunate to have clear weather for our trip up massive Mt Wellington with its volcanically-formed granite spires and boulder heaps. We have a perfect 360-degree view overlooking the city of Hobart, the mountains and lakes to the north and west, the jumble of lands rising in Storm Bay to the east and south.

At our camp spot on national park land on Freycinet Peninsula, a Bennetts Wallaby happens along to offer advice.

A Taste of Tasmania

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With temperatures hovering above 100 humid degrees, we hear the southern island state of Tasmania calling us. We'll visit the rest of Victoria in the Fall when it's cooler. The ferry from Melbourne makes the 14-hour trip at night. We're sorry to sleep through most of it, but it does mean we're ready for exploration first thing in the morning. Tassie is by far the smallest of Australia's states. It's only about twice the size of Vermont. We don't mind making fewer trips to fuel stations!

What a difference 600 kms closer to Antarctica makes. Suddenly we're back in long sleeves and blankets at night. Our energy for hiking returns, whether it be along a cliff edge or a deserted beach.

On the rugged west coast we happen upon Australia's National Wave Surfing Championship Competition.

A bit of a history lesson: When England could no longer send her convicts to the American colonies following our war for independence, lawbreakers served their sentences in derelict ships off England's coast. When numbers exceeded capacity, the problem was solved by transporting undesirables to that newly discovered, harsh land on the other side of the world. Because of its remoteness and dense forests, Tasmania made an ideal penal colony for the worst of the offenders. In the name of Civilization, virtually all of the Aboriginal people who had lived here for 40-60,000 years were wiped out. Convicts were put to back-breaking work cutting down massive trees.

Most of the island was temperate rain forest before the English arrived in the early 1800s to “improve” it by clear cutting for timber and grazing pastures. As in North America, tempers run hot between the greenies who want to preserve the remaining old-growth forests and the loggers who see the dollar signs in all that wood. Picture the giant eucalypts, the largest flowering trees on earth, being reduced to wood chips. Picture the loss of diverse habitat for our fellow creatures. Picture the increase in greenhouse gases. Since money seems to be what talks, we can only hope that the value of the tourist dollar will exceed that of the wood chip export revenue.

Enough pristine wilderness remains to fulfill our animal encounter desires. We are surprised at how unconcerned some of them are by our presence. This is the first spotted quoll we've seen. Marsupial, of course.

On the coast we watch little penguins come ashore in the evening after a day in the ocean. Their chicks, waiting at the burrows in the rocks begin calling as they grow impatient. “Mom...? Dad...? ...I'm hunnnnngrrry....”

Shearwaters, also known as mutton birds, migrate from here to Alaska each year. They lay their eggs in burrows in sand dunes, and now the chicks await the nightly return of their parents. We're waiting, too, shivering in a wild wind. At about 9 pm the adults swarm in by the hundreds, swirling and diving over our heads. What a sensation, though too dark for photos.

In the evening at Cradle Mtn National Park, who should come trundling by but this grass-munching wombat. I even took videos!

And of course the ever-popular spiny echidna, rooting and snuffling up ants on our hiking trail. More videos. He even tries to work his snout under my hip as I sit on the ground.


A vast area of south-central Tasmania has been preserved as a World Heritage Area. There are glorious hikes through mountains, around glacially carved lakes, along cliffs, in mossy rain forests beside waterfalls.

Christmas and other highs

A lot has happened since we last had a yarn with you. First, here's a little geography lesson: the vast majority of Australia's citizenry is confined to a slim 50 km corridor between the ocean and some formidable high country called The Great Dividing Range. Beyond this riot of rocky precipices, peaks, steep valleys and dense greenery is the dry, hot, and pretty flat Outback which represents almost all of the rest of the continent/country.

Summer here can be a whopper. When we don't have ocean breezes, we seek cooler temperatures in high places. The Blue Mountains west of Sydney are cool in more ways than one. It turns out they're not really mountains at all, but rather a high plateau, thrust up from a seabed millions of years ago and slowly eroded by that ever-patient element water into appallingly deep canyons, gorges, and valleys. Adding ethereal drama to our visit is a drifting mist. Now you see it, now you don't.

The path to Pulpit Rock clings to the edge of the world. Seeping water turns sections into quagmires. We would have to fly to avoid them, so we can only pick our best foot falls. The views, not to mention the climbs, are breathtaking. Some sandstone is eroded into very organic shapes.

By now the holidays are upon us, and it's time to join Jeanette and Barry for a genuine Aussie Christmas. They welcome us as part of the family and put us straight to work. There are endless dishes to wash, a job that suits our skills very well. Relatives and friends seem to number in the thousands, and the variety and quantity of food is mouthwateringly jawdropping (Don't try to say that three times fast).

On Christmas morning our Outback expertise is reflected in our gifts. Jeanette appears to be holding a bit of skimpy lingerie, but noooooo . . . it's a fly net for her head!

Until the first grandchild is born in about six months, Otis (okay, Oscar) the beagle remains a focal point. He even unwraps his own gifts. Smart as Snoopy.

The night after Christmas we four head into the bush for the promised Wombat Hunt. True to their word, we spot not just one, but several! Thank you Barry and Jeanette! They really do look like rolypoly stuffed toys. Watch those long toenails, though.

We ring in the new year in Canberra, the nation's capital. The story goes that to settle the dispute between arch rivals Sydney and Melbourne, a separate Australian Capital Territory (ACT), containing the planned city of Canberra, was created in 1911 in the mountains between them. We are extremely impressed with the layout of the city, the Captain Cook Memorial and spewing column of water on the huge lake, and our drive around the various embassies (including our own which is of handsome colonial architecture). Tours of Parliament House and the vast and riveting War Memorial museum are beyond excellent, as is our visit to the National Museum of Australia. Because of its remote location, many Aussies have not visited their capital and have hinted to us that it's dull, but not so! Go see it, mates, and allow several days.

Our poor Troopy is tiring of climbing steep roads and shows her distaste by overheating increasingly. A visit to an auto doctor results in a new radiator fan. Happy as mountain goats, we head into and around Kosciuszko Nat'l Park in the Snowy Mountains. Here you see The Couple from Snowy River.

Again the weather is a mix of clear skies and moody mist as we hike to the top of the world. Can you find Sally perched on the rock?

Several years ago 160 lightning strikes hit this area in a single storm resulting in a massive wildfire. Eucalyptus (gum) trees, of which there are hundreds of native varieties, are fire-resistant and have a unique method of rejuvenation. Shoots spring forth all over the trunk and branches, covering the trees in what is slangily called “wooly jumpers” (jumper means sweater or vest in the Australian language). As a tree recovers and grows leaves where they typically belong, on the ends of branches, they drop off of the trunk.

As we cross into the state of Victoria we drop down out of the cool mountains and move into hot, dry country again. We're pleased to have a brief chat with these 'roos resting in the shade of a roadside tree.

Enough heat. After a sweaty day we climb back up into more of The Great Dividing Range, this time in Alpine Nat'l Park. We climb steadily on twisting mountain roads, exclaiming over the scenery and how well the Troopy is performing with her new fan. Suddenly ...uh oh... she loses power, sputters, and dies. We are miles from anywhere, with no signal on our cell phone. Well, it's all an adventure, isn't it? Just what ARE the chances that Brett and Paul, a couple of fine fellows we had met, far away, a couple of days before should happen to drive along precisely there and then (along with a couple of extras: Sylvana and her son Max)? This time they're wearing halos. Brett knows a lot about vehicles, but our dilemma turns out to be a real head-scratcher. A couple of hours later, unable to fix it, they drive Art up to the summit of Mt. Hotham where there's a phone signal.

Having contacted a tow truck, they reluctantly leave us as evening is approaching. Eventually Peter arrives with his great big truck. More tinkering and head scratching. He tows us to the top so we can level out, in case that helps. Nope. So we coast down a bit to the seasonally-closed mountaintop ski area at Hotham Heights. Rain spits periodically. Peter thinks maybe we need a new fuel pressure pump. Off he drives. It's Saturday night, what are the chances? He returns with an electrical one which will serve the purpose until we can buy a normal one. Except, no, the engine still keeps dying. Luckily we're so far south and so high up; it's about 9:30 pm, but the sun has not yet quite set.

The diagnosis seems to be worsening, and we see potential dollar signs flying around. In a final, desperate act, Peter has Art blow air really hard with his pressure hose. Meanwhile, he's underneath, hugging the fuel tank. As he feels it beginning to bulge, he hears a bit of a thunk. Ahh, the sweet sound of success. Apparently a chunk of debris lodged in the fuel line. Blown free, the Troopy starts right up without even an apology. Later Paul and Brett call to see if they should return to rescue us. Wow. We're bummed that we didn't photograph them. We spend the night with a glorious mountaintop view. In the morning we drive down to Peter's place where he drains the bottom of the fuel tank and puts in a new fuel filter. See how much fun we can have, all in less than 24 hours?