Tag Archives: Tasmania

Beaches, Bays, and Breweries

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And wineries, but that spoils the alliteration. It all sums up the east coast of Tasmania, so what’s not to like? We admit we do not carry out exhaustive tastings at all the wineries, but we find few wines we really like. Most vineyards are also wineries, some with a bewildering number of varietals growing in tiny amounts. Almost all produce Chardonnay and Pinot Noir and so, invariably, they offer a Sparkling wine or two. Which tells you something; when you can’t ripen or have to pick early, you can always make bubbles. And we taste a lot of very drinkable bubbles, so actually, who’s complaining? We find little to rave about however, with a couple of notable exceptions: Gala and Sinapius, both with excellent cellar door staff and good wines.

Scott sampling at Gala Wines

And then there are the gin and whisky distilleries. And breweries. And breweries also distilling. It’s a wonder the streets of Tasmania don’t resemble the 18th Century Hogarth drawings, showing the drunken debauchery the demon drink visits on society. Figures vary, but Tasmania has more whisky distilleries than any other state, about 70 gin distillers and more than 20 breweries.

You could never accuse Tasmanians of being wowsers. We see more than one bumper sticker proudly proclaiming “I’m not drunk, I’m Australian”. And get this. Tasmania also has a huge poppy growing industry, growing half of the global supply of legal raw material for pharmaceutical processing. Drink and drugs – where’s the rock and roll?

Bay of Fires Conservation area

The bays and beaches along the east coast are lovely. We look forward to this area as Tourism Tasmania heavily promotes Wineglass Bay, in the Freycinet National Park, and the Bay of Fires in particular. The sand is astoundingly white and the water as clear as gin – without tonic or lemon. Not always the case, as Wineglass Bay once ran as red as claret with the blood of whales hunted and then processed in the bay. Not so romantic a name then, as one might think.

It is the orange lichen-covered granite boulders that gives the Bay of Fires its name. Binalong Bay at the southern end of the Bay is paradise. It has the white sand and the water is the cleanest and clearest we have ever seen. the water temperature isn’t exactly tropical, but it is still swimmable – what we call bracing on first approach, moving to lovely once you are in.

Scott is delighted to find oysters for sale at $14 a dozen, unopenend. A trip back to the charity shop – the first time was to replace broken wine glasses – for a suitable knife, and he is one happy fellow. He immediately corrupts the neighbours’ 8 year old, who takes to oysters like a professional; the four and six year olds aren’t so sure.

I know the world is divided into two types of people, those who eat raw oysters and those who would rather poke their eyes out with an oyster knife. I’m in the latter group. Over our seven weeks here I lose count of the many dozens of raw oysters Scott consumes. I would eat them deep fried – to be fair I’d eat most things deep fried – but restaurants only offer natural or oven baked. Really, oven baked.

Binalong Bay, Bay of Fires. White sand and clear water

Port Arthur is famous for being both an early convict settlement and, more latterly, the site of a mass shooting in 1996. The site of the massacre, the cafe, is now a memorial garden. The historic settlement covers many hectares, but the main buildings are easy to walk around, and have plenty of information boards. The visitor centre houses interactive displays, short films, personal stories of convicts, and often details of what ultimately happened to them. Not always a happy ending.

Port Arthur historic settlement

The settlement is only accessible by boat or across a slim isthmus, so potential escapees either swam, or faced kilometres of heavy bush before being met by dogs, vicious through underfeeding. Guards would let them loose to chase those seeking freedom.

We are now leaving, but not escaping, Tasmania. There are places we would be happy to return to, and some lovely people we would like to see again. As I write this we are sitting in the queue of cars waiting to board the Spirit of Tasmania back to the mainland. So far it’s one and a half hours late.

Going nuts in Stanley

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A week? In Stanley? The locals we meet in the historic cottage that serves as a bar are disbelieving. Most people only come to the whole of Tassie for a week, they say.

Well, those people don’t know what they’re missing.

A week in Stanley sees us visit Australia’s largest dairying operation; walk the site of a grim massacre – same farm in fact; stare at a wind farm – again, the same farm; take a long drive through a temperate rainforest; take a chairlift up a steep bluff; visit an historic house; fish off the jetty; bike along the long beach; go to a whisky distillery; eat scallop pies; wait for little penguins to come ashore at dusk, get cold and bored waiting and go home; see marsupials we haven’t seen before, (pademelons); eat local oysters; and see a highly venomous black tiger snake. Try doing all that in less than a week. And that doesn’t count a day in the caravan sheltering from the rain.

Yes, the weather is variable.

Pademelon, kind of like a wallaby; the beach is long and when the tide is out perfect for cycling; oysters fro lunch

In 1824, The Van Diemen’s Land (VDL) Company established its headquarters at Stanley to manage the 250,000 acres it was “granted” by King George IV on the north west coast of Tasmania. Needless to say, no-one asked the Aboriginal people who already lived there, and had done so for thousands of years. VDL was established and stocked with sheep to supply cheap wool to British factories. Although imported stock bloodlines were a success, failure to recognise and adapt to different conditions in the Southern Hemisphere meant wool production was a failure. Further problems arose when the manager of VDL, Edward Curr – by name and by nature – allowed convict shepherds free rein to “deal with” the Aboriginal people, which resulted in violent acts, culminating in the Cape Grim massacre. The details are disputed, but what is fact is about 30 Aboriginal men, women and children were murdered on and under the the cliffs at Cape Grim, and no-one was ever held to account. You can read more of the history here.

Cape Grim – indeed it is

We take a tour out over the Woolnorth farms: Woolnorth Dairy Farm , Australia’s largest dairy farm running a dozen different herds and milking sheds with around 15,000 cows, and Woolnorth Wind Farm. Modern times see modern solutions, and as the wind rarely falls below 20 kph in the area the resource is readily available. In an interesting twist, until 2016 the owner of the Van Diemen’s Land Company, was, you’ll never guess, the New Plymouth City Council.  In 2016, Moon Lake Investments, controlled by Lu Xianfeng, purchased it for $280 million AUD. In cash. Those of you in Taranaki may wish to ask the Council where the money went.

If there is a more attractive. well kept, small town in Australia, I’d like to know where it is. Stanley, on the north west coast of Tasmania is a gem. In 1826 the aforementioned VDL Company chose Stanley for the first European settlement in the north-west, largely for its sheltered, deep water anchorage. Cottages from the mid 1800s have been well preserved or renovated with concern for original features and a street of these charming buildings sit against the backdrop of the Nut, a sheer bluff that is the remains of an ancient volcanic plug.

The Poet’s Cottage, built 1849, originally intended for one of George IV’s illegitimate sons

Why is it called the Nut? I’m glad you asked – To create rubble to build a new breakwater the bright idea was to blast rock from the bluff. A 12 metre deep tunnel was excavated, at the end of which a cross chamber was driven for 20 metres, and the whole thing packed with 2,000 kilograms of dynamite. As there was no Occupational Health and Safety, people came from miles around to enjoy the spectacle, and possibly lose their hearing. Theoretically, the explosion would remove a mass of granite. When the dust settled, they realised this was a hard nut to crack – the explosion was a complete failure.

The village of Stanley sits at the foot of the Nut