Tasmania’s great loop shows the weird, wild & wonderful

Alma, Kate and Rob journey through the untamed beauty of Tassie in a campervan. ROB HARRIS tells their tale.

The three of us are in the front seat of Alma, the campervan. . . me, my partner Kate, and Josie, who we are hiring the campervan from in Tasmania.

Alma threads her way along the winding roads surrounded by luscious green fields and forests. I mention the amount of roadkill I have spotted in the past 10 minutes. The topic makes Josie perk up. “Me and my friends have actually just started picking them up off the side of the road,” she says. “The ones that are still in good condition that is.” Do Josie and her friends resort to eating roadkill when they are short on dough? But Josie explains she has recently learnt how to skin animals. I’m relieved: I couldn’t quite fathom the appeal of an echidna enchilada.

Wallaby at the campsite Photo - Rob Harris

Josie invites us in for a cuppa. Hung on the living room are the skins of what must have been 10 or so animals of different sizes and colours. Josie points out the animals they once were. “It would be a waste to leave on the roadside.” I nod in agreement. Yeah, it would be a waste.

As Josie shows us a notebook she has covered in wallaby fur, Kate and I look out from the front door at the hill that rolls down in front of us. Either side, trees climb up as if framing the hills in the far distance. Perched on a rock in the centre sit Josie’s two dogs, Sensei and Obi. The little tin house Josie and her dogs call home is a sanctuary where one could forget the world. We leave and head out in Alma, ready to start our lap of Tasmania.

MONA (Museum of Old and New Art)

With our new found freedom, we blast the music - but not from Alma’s speakers. When we try to turn on the stereo, the front panel falls off and onto the floor. A trusty UE boom is our saving grace. Music blaring, we bee-line it to the most anticipated part of our journey, MONA. Despite everything I had heard or read about the Museum of Old and New Art, nothing can quite capture the awe that envelopes us as we make our way to the entrance.

David Walsh’s gambling syndicate in the 2000’s led him to make millions which he invested in his famous museum. I missed the part in the brochure where they said the museum was a three storey bunker excavated into a hill along River Derwent near Hobart. Every crevice of the place is filled with absurd, elegant and some downright dark artworks that have us engrossed for hours. I have really never experienced anything quite like it. Notable works that best encompass the atmosphere of MONA include a fully robotic digestive system with an “eating time” and a “pooping time”, a wall covered with porcelain vulvas cast from 151 women and my favourite, the “Convertible Fat Car,” a cherry red Porsche that has been sculpted in a way to make it look obese.

Erwin Wurm “Convertible Fat Car” Photo - Rob Harris

Port Arthur 

Having pushed through the previous night and driven from Hobart to Port Arthur, we wake up just around the corner from the historical site. Given the importance of convicts in Australia’s past, Port Arthur is a must-do for history lovers. Old ruins of prison blocks, convict churches and even a post office are scattered along the water’s edge. The manicured lawns and expansive gardens have surely made the place far more appealing than when it was an operating. One minute we are spotting ducklings waddle along the grass and the next reading one of the many convict stories scattered all across the site. The isolation of Port Arthur made it the perfect place for a prison, leading to it becoming one of Australia’s biggest penal colonies.

Port Arthur Historic Site. Photo - Rob Harris

Devils Kitchen

Trekking onward from the south-east corner, we swing past for a “visual meal” in the infamous Devil’s Kitchen. On the menu are an array natural structures, sweeping views of the harsh coastline, a look through the Tasman arch, blow holes and waterfalls. Gordon Ramsey was certainly present while this spot was cooked up. We push on for a night in Freycinet National Park, along the water’s edge of Coles Bay.

Mount Amos

We lace up and pack our bags in the carpark at the base. Looking at the hill ahead, a wallaby sneaks over for a pat. Once on the trek, I find myself splayed out amongst the rocks like it’s a game of Twister. The term “scrambling” is quickly a part of our vocabulary. The view at the top is worth the few scrapes and scratches. We look out at Wineglass Bay, the rolling mountains and the clear waters that hug the peninsula’s edges. On the way back down, we scuttle down on all-fours or booty scoot.

On the way out the national park, we pop into the Pondering Frog to check out the ice cream that is advertised within a 20km radius of the cafe. The man at the counter already knows we have just come down from Mount Amos. “Usually, they have holes in the back of their pants,” he says. We are not the only ones to have come down the mountain on our bums. The ice cream was great.

Wineglass Bay from Mount Amos Summit. Photo - Rob Harris

Launceston 

The Giant James Boag Tinnie. Photo - Kate Maloney

It’s a long haul northbound to Launceston. I often draw a comparison to Fremantle when describing it to people when back in WA. Considering it is the art and culture capital of Tassie, we have to take a squiz. It has it all, from op shopping and bakeries to parks and a pub feed at the James Boag’s brewery. Boag’s is one of the oldest beers in Tasmania. I’ve been drinking it the whole trip, so I’m not going to miss checking out the brewery. Australia is full of giant statues of shrimp, sheep and bananas. Next on your list, The Giant James Boag Tinnie. Over a pint and pizza at the brewery, we discuss our plan to conquer The Cradle.

Cradle Mountain - The Last Leg

Next stop, Cradle Mountain. On the west coast of Tasmania, the landscape changes aggressively. Coming from the meandering countryside of the east coast, this is the more hardcore leg of the trip. The hills get steeper with every bend, Alma groans as we push on but, she is a fighter. We finally find a campsite within spitting distance from Cradle. The reliable tomato and chorizo pasta recipe we have mastered at this point loads us with the carbs we need for tomorrow’s mission: summiting Cradle.

We go to bed in the van worried about a forecast storm. But in the morning we are woken by sun beaming through the van’s blinds, and with a smile we’re up and straight en route to Cradle’s base. Kate says she bribed the weatherman in her dream. It takes six hours to cover 12km they say. A few muesli bars, a banana each, some sandwiches packed and we are off. Standing at 1545m tall, it outdoes Bluff Knoll any day.

Lakes are scattered along the way, sitting undisturbed. Chattering creeks run through the track at times. Ascending from the forests at the base the trees become scarce and the ground becomes a wet grassland. The boardwalk gives us a smooth sail before the rocky outcrops begin to take over. Colourful spots of other climbers are scattered across the rock face above us like an artist’s apron. We are tired and sore, but there is a kilometre of some extreme climbing yet to go.

Then our path is blocked by an ambitious climber, Dave. He has a 100 metres to go. So close to the top, he is struggling to get up a boulder. His knee cannot move they way he needs it to. He lets us pass before giving it another crack.

We are finally at the top. Blue skies and panoramic views as far as the eye can see. The visitor centre we started at is now a dot.

Cradle Mountain Summit. Photo - Rob Harris

Dave’s wife summits. “He couldn’t make it up,” she tells us. We hop around the rocks at the top, take some photos, spot surrounding mountains and we even spot Dave. The man has pushed through. We wish him well getting back down, his smile flips at this realisation.

The way down is a walk in the park in comparison. We take the alternative route down past Dove Lake where the greenery seems to just get more impressive. A truly mossy wonderland.

Reaching the visitor centre, I already have my shoes off and am knee deep in the lake’s water. The numbness is refreshing. Our bodies ache like never before. A pint and a parmi are well deserved following today’s effort.

Alma has become our sanctuary for the trip and on our last night we get the best sleep yet.

We farewell Alma with the feeling that we will be seeing our friend again one day. Kate sheds a tear.

Check Out the Video!!

Featured in the ‘The West Australian’ Travel Section, 16th June 2024