Doesn’t get any fresher than this

Yesterday was more than a little disappointing.

It started out okay, I found the house where my Grandmother had been born in 1916. It stood on a corner, looking a little old and nondescript and now inhabited by a doctors surgery. I took a few photos for my mother and then continued on to the Museum, wanting to be there at opening time.

I should have known that it was not going to be good from the moment I found the cost of parking. From there they seemed to have a problem getting the doors to open and I was in a little group that found ourselves stuck outside. Someone inside had to wave their arms frantically at the sensor to get the doors open.

Finally inside I made my way up to the History Centre and this is where I ran into a brick wall. The gentleman did know of the phones and had heard of Biggs (I think) but they were no longer on display. He did offer that his colleague would be in shortly and possibly, maybe there was a chance I could see a photo of them. Given that I had just shown him a photo of them when I was describing what I was looking for made the gesture a little hollow. My lack of enthusiasm from the day before for the Museum as a museum was just reinforced as I made my way out to my car. It’s found it’s way onto my list of places not to see in Launceston.

It was time to leave Launceston and also time to leave the ancestral trail I’d been following. My next port of call was Stanley, way up in the top left hand corner of the island on a spit of land that looks on the map as if it is a wannabe  island  slowly pulling itself free of the mainland.

The drive was exactly the thing I had come all this way to do. I followed the highway from Launceston to Devonport for the most part but would impulsively pull onto side roads just to visit small towns. There are a number of them; in fact most of the towns marked on the map as seeming to be on the highway are on side roads. Usually just one or two kilometres out of your way but so worth the effort. The towns may start to run together into an amalgam of sandstone and timber but the scenery between them is some of the greatest rural beauty you will find in this country.

As long as you like the English pastoral type of beauty that is because you will find yourself driving along narrow country roads with hedgerows flanking both sides that suddenly open out onto green rolling hills with small ponds and lakes. It was a fine day so the sky was a brilliant blue, the grass a brilliant green and the ponds a shimmering silver. Small farmhouses sat back off the roads, up long gravel driveways, their chimneys usually complete with tendrils of smoke and promising a kitchen replete with smells of baking bread.

Okay, I may be waxing overly lyrical but it was a nice drive and did much to improve my mood.

I skirted around Devonport and made my way across the north coast, through Penguin, Burnie (a much bigger town than I imagined) and Wynyard. The weather was good for the most part as the road alternated between views of the ocean before dipping back inland and farm scenes.

Bambi brought me safely to the Bayview Guesthouse, my home for the next couple of nights and I carried my bag up to the front door. Only to find something that could truly only happen in a small country town. Taped to the door was a note from my hosts explaining that they had had to go out, where my room was (outside access) and that it was open, with the key on a table inside. They wished me a goodnight.

I found my room and immediately knew that I was going to be pretty comfortable. I had planned these last couple of days here to be ones of leisure and the armchairs in front of the large window giving me a view across the bay was just what I was after. I made myself a cup of tea and settled in.

This morning I checked in with Denis, another Queenslander (although technically he’s a pom) who’s escaped down here. We chatted for a while about why he had moved to the other end of the country but he ultimately failed to convince me that cold is better. I got a real example of the cold when I set off for a walk around town, clutching a walking guide kindly prepared by Denis.

Stanley is a fishing town. It’s hard not to notice that. From my window I can see boats pulled up onto a slipway and just a little down the road is Hursey Seafoods, a wholesale and retail fish shop selling the catch from the Hursey fishing boats, a few of which are undoubtedly those I can  see pulled up on the Hursey slipways. It’s a Hursey town. The crowning glory of the Hursey Seafoods building is the big crayfish so I have at least managed to tick off another of those “big” things.

Following Denis’ guide I first walked around to the Fisherman’s Dock. Probably a hive of activity in Summer the dock seemed a little forlorn this morning but it did give me good view up at the “Nut”. The Nut is a Gibraltar like rock outcropping that protects the bay from the open ocean. It is also the source of a good story that i am going to shamelessly quote from the guide.

“The bluff face of the Nut looms above you at this point. In 1892 an attempt was made to blast rock from the vertical face, to be used to reinforce the breakwater. The day of the detonation drew a crowd who were disappointed to see nothing but a cloud of dust and smoke spurt from the drillings where literally tons of dynamite had been set. It was another twelve years before the rock finally fractured enough to shear off. Fortunately the fall occurred before work in the early morning, and no lives were lost.”

Pretty cool, huh?

The rest of the town didn’t take long to walk around, mostly due to the fact that everything is closed for the winter. The Post Office (which is also a B&B) and the bank/newsagent/general store were open but the places that rely on the summer tourist trade were taking advantage of the lull to do renovations or take holidays.

The town itself didn’t really remind me of Australia. It had an American Cape Cod feel to it. The houses are predominately timber and stand facing the water and winds with a defiance that says “I’ve been here for well over a century and I have a lot longer to go”. They may appear to be a little weather beaten, and they are, but it’s that  toughness that gives them so much character. I spent quite a while walking the streets, gleaning facts about the buildings from the guide and as I went I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a bearded and salt encrusted man in a bright yellow raincoat or cable knit jumper walk past me.

About the only thing I didn’t do was climb to the top of the Nut itself but that was purely because of my perfectly rational fear of heights. I’m sure that the view would have been spectacular.

I’m back in my room now, cup of tea close to hand and view of the water before me. I’ll probably wander down to Hursey’s this evening for some fresh seafood before getting a good nights sleep. Tomorrow I plan to hit the west coast.