My family and I first visited Tasmania in January 2004. On that trip I found Tasmania to be interesting and another place I could check off my travel list while my daughters… well, they were still kids at the time and I imagine they pretty well thought what children usually think of a vacation that isn’t to some high-end resort. But my wife, Agnes, was absolutely enthralled with Tasmania. Over the intervening years she has never missed an opportunity to express her infatuation for the state and her deep desire to make a return trip. So after a decade and a half of listening to my wife’s undying love for something that wasn’t me I thought a return trip to Tasmania would be the best way to get such talk out of her system.
My own enthusiasm for the trip increased when a Google search revealed the, hitherto unknown to me, 3 Capes Track Self-Guided Walk on Tasmania’s central east coast. Agnes and I were also keen to revisit Freycinet National Park and hike the Wineglass Bay circuit. On our 2004 trip to the park we had only managed to get as far as the lookout which overlooks the bay. Apart from these two “must-do” hikes we just planned on spontaneously driving around the state to wherever the mood took us. All up we were planning on a 2 week jaunt.
Tour preparations began in early December 2019 for a March 2020 visit. Considering I normally start booking our trips about 8 months in advance this was a short lag between booking and execution by my standards. In December I had become aware of some talk in the media about a flu-like virus percolating in China but it didn’t sound like a serious issue. I’ve had the flu before and been able to function. Maybe we would be lucky enough to catch the virus before the trip so we’d have immunity by the time we flew into Tasmania. No big deal.
We planned to start our Tasmania visit at the 3 Capes walk along with our semi-regular hiking companions Ruth and Alan. This trek would then be followed by Agnes and I casually driving around the island. Things looked good – our jaunt would be both adventurous and relaxing.
Our flight to Hobart was on the 14th of March but as this date edged closer the coronavirus storm clouds accumulated and the media drumbeat over the seriousness of the disease grew louder. The Australian government had closed off flights from China on 1 February. Whew! How lucky we were that this vacation was to be a totally domestic affair.
When we embarked on the plane we had no worries about the viability of our Tasmanian vacation. Sure there were 3 people on our sold-out flight who wore face masks. They were just being ultra cautious, I reasoned, as they appeared to be overseas backpackers who would certainly want to take precautions to reduce the chances of any random diseases spoiling their once in a lifetime trip to Australia.
But ominous portents continued accumulating. When we arrived in Hobart our hotel had a hand sanitiser dispenser on prominent display in the lobby and the federal government had just recommended hand shakes and hugs be dispensed with – elbow bumps or toe taps were now the proper meeting protocols. Meh, I’m a bit of an introvert who doesn’t really like to be touched by strangers so I was quite comfortable with these new practices.
We had arrived at the hotel early so our room wasn’t ready. Agnes and I left our bags with reception and headed off to Hobart’s Salamanca Market. This is a comprehensive market with plentiful offerings of food, crafts, art, novelties, books and the like. It was also teeming with people so there was no social distancing and in retrospect it is surprising that there was no Covid-19 break out at the market because in addition to locals the area was thick with disgorged cruise ship passengers.
The crowded market.
The market numbers could have been worse as while there were two ships in port, the MSC Magnifica had dissuaded its passengers from disembarking by dictating that “to ensure their health and safety” any crew or passengers who left the ship would not be allowed back on board. Another ominous sign of things to come.
The quarantined Magnifica in the background.
Checking out a magnificent Hobart bakery. That’s Agnes enjoying tea and pastry on the extreme left.
It always has fascinated me that Errol Flynn was born and raised in Tasmania.
Ruth and Allan flew into Hobart in the early afternoon and when we caught up with each other it was elbow bumps all around and the patronage of a few pubs for the now traditional pre-hike drinks. Of course the drinks were limited because we had to be ready for an 8 a.m. pickup on our first day’s hike.
The Three Capes Walk
Agnes considered the whole two weeks in Tasmania to be the purpose of our Tasmanian vacation but I considered the Three Capes Track to be the primary purpose with all other Tasmanian ports of call to be of secondary importance. The Three Capes walk piqued my sense of adventure because it is a 3 day self-guided 48 km trek to each of Capes Pillar, Hauy and Raoul.
I prefer self-guided tours to guided tours because they offer more pacing flexibility (This is my problem with cycling groups. The cycling groups are often made up of extremely competitive and swift riders who leave me bringing up the rear. While the groups I have ridden with have been polite and encouraging I can’t help but feel I am letting down the gang. I have had to occasionally make use of a sag wagon at day’s end to take my aching muscles to that night’s accommodation where the rest of the group is already enjoying evening libations.)
The down side of self guided tours is you really have to do your homework ahead of time. You should study the route and calculate timings in advance elsewise nightfall may find you still trying to find your way to your accommodation. Some of the self-guided tours I have been on had estimated timings which were nearly impossible to achieve. This is also why I like hiking with Alan. He studies tour logistics with a scientist’s precision both in advance and during the tour. As an added bonus he keeps a close watch on the signposts during the walk. This leaves me free to relax and devote my attention to the passing scenery. Having Alan along was particularly important on Japan’s Shikoku pilgrimage trail. (An excellent hike that I have yet to write about.) The timings were off practically each day of the tour. These miscalculations were most alarming on the final day. In doing the calculations the night before Alan concluded it would not be possible to do the complete day’s walk and still catch our train back to Osaka. We had to take a short cut and quicken our pace on the day because missing that train would have meant missing our flight out the next morning.
But I digress; back to our Tasmania Tour…
The 3 Capes Track switches from undulating temperate rainforest to vertiginous clifftops and much inbetween. While there are a few arduous climbs for the most part it is a moderate hike that doesn’t overly tax the average person.
The first day’s hike is the most breathtaking. It begins at a parking lot and takes you gently upwards through bushland.
Starting out: All smiles and high energy.
It’s a pleasant jaunt which lulls you into a nice rhythm until the bush falls away and there, opening up in front of you, is a clifftop trail which terminates at a precipice several hundred metres above the ocean.
The trail ends where the cliffs end.
Although the return hike to the parking lot requires you to retrace your steps, the walk back offers its own unique beautiful vistas that you probably missed on account of having faced the opposite way during the initial trail crossing.
Lovely view on the way there and lovely view on the way back.
On the first night of our tour we stayed at Eaglehawk Neck which is a narrow isthmus joining Forestier Peninsula and Tasman Peninsula. While Eaglehawk Neck is a desirable location for overnight accommodation on account of the scenic views it offers, its history is what most interests me. That is, in colonial times the British chained a line of dogs to posts across the most narrow part of the isthmus to warn off convicts who may consider escaping Port Arthur.
Two peninsulas: Looking across the isthmus.
The second day requires the most exertion with some 8 hours of walking; notwithstanding a sign at the beginning of the trail assuring the hiker that the walk is only 7 hours.
The trail does contain some very beautiful temperate rainforest.
Even with fair warning that it is a long day’s hike the trail can seem endless. The final couple of hours are along bays which give the illusion that the terminus is near. You can see the end point and if you could walk in a straight line (that is, if you could walk on water) it would be no more than 15 minutes away. Too bad for you that instead of a straight walk the shoreline swerves in and out of several bays. This substantially increases the walk. Even more cruelly the bays are hidden from each other so that just when you’ve completed walking around one bay, you round a corner only to find another bay to traverse. As a final insult, after you’re done with the bays the trail moves inland and you lose all idea of orientation and hope. Mercifully after this one last prank the trail tires of its own tomfoolery and leads back to the coast and trail’s end.
Yonder lies the end. Nearer lies several bays you can’t see.
Of the third day’s hike I don’t have a lot to say other than it is glorious. It is an easy walk, especially in comparison with the previous day’s adventure; half of it is through light forest, half through wind blown scrub. As with the first day the trail ends with a breathtaking clifftop view over the Pacific.
There, way back there, is the end point of our third day’s walk.
The end point.
On our fourth day we took up the option of a boat trip along the coast. The boat skirted along the bottom of the cliffs which we had passed on top of a couple of days earlier.
The cliffs are pretty impressive from down here, too.
In addition to being given a new perspective on the cliffs we also came face to face with the seals we could only hear when we were on top of the cliffs.
We also had enough time before our ride back to Hobart to take in the historical penal settlement of Port Arthur. Agnes and I had been there with our daughters during the 2004 trip but it was not a particularly comfortable visit. It had only been 8 years since 1996’s mass killing at Port Arthur. This tragedy is described here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Port_Arthur_massacre_(Australia)
During the 2004 visit my mind had mostly concentrated on the tragedy and how it had played out in the area. No doubt the presence of my children at the site of a mass murder played a role in my discomfort. The role of parents is to protect their children and I spent a lot of the visit envisioning how I could have fulfilled such a role amid mayhem. I was only too glad when we left.
Time has removed most of the shock for those of us who were not directly impacted by the murders and my daughters are now independent adults. Accordingly, I was more relaxed during this visit and was able to focus on imagining life in 19th century Port Arthur.
By mid-afternoon our ride back to Hobart awaited. On the way back our driver informed us that apart from one person, the next lot of hikers had cancelled their tour due to the coronavirus. Alarm bells were now starting to ring.
We saluted the trek’s completion with drinks and dinner that night but there was an uneasiness overhanging the celebration and the general atmosphere in Hobart could best be described as subdued. In the few days we had been away travel restrictions had tightened, restaurants and bars were shutting down and a feeling of abandonment was encroaching on the city. For the first time I began to have doubts that Agnes and I would be able to see out the whole 2 weeks of our Tasmanian trip.
For now though, we pressed on. The next morning we hired a car as planned and began our drive around Tasmania. There was one immediate revision, however. We scrubbed our plans to make an overnight trip to Bruny Island due to doubts over the continuation of the island’s ferry service and the availability of accommodation. Instead we decided to head up the north-east coast to Freycinet National Park.
Our 2004 hike to the Wineglass Bay lookout from the car park is less than a quarter of the total circuit. The rest of the hike takes you past the lookout, down to Wineglass Bay, followed by a southward turn across a narrow isthmus; and then a western turn back to the parking lot.
A highlight of that first hike was that Freycinet had been the only place during our whole Tasmanian trip where the weather was momentarily warm enough to entice us to go for a dip. This we did at Honeymoon Bay. Yes, it was a cold swim but it was also the clearest ocean water I have ever swum in.
So for these reasons Agnes and I were looking forward to revisiting Freycinet. And I can report a much sought after rarity – a return visit that was every bit as memorable as an initial visit. Ok, the weather was not warm enough for a dip in Honeymoon Bay but we did do the whole magnificent Wine Glass Bay circuit.
The Look Out.
The Bay.
Right turn after the isthmus crossing.
The home stretch.
Honeymoon Bay
Agnes celebrated this milestone with – what else but – a glass of wine! I opted for a Tasmanian beer and not just because I don’t particularly care for wine. Rather, outside of eastern European beers my favourite beers are Tasmanian. I suspect it has something to do with the purity of Tasmanian ingredients and water.
Highway signs on the approach to Freycinet carried a surprise. I am used to seeing warning signs relating to Australian marsupial crossings such as kangaroos and wombats; and being in Tasmania I also was not taken aback by the occasional sign regarding Tasmanian Devils. However, I wasn’t expecting to see deer warnings!
Yet another example of non-native animals being unwisely introduced into Australia.
The best descriptor of the remainder of our trip after Freycinet Park is “frenetic”. Tasmanian news reports about the relentless march of the coronavirus became increasingly alarming. Our holiday became a dash from one location to another, all the while metaphorically looking over our shoulders at a virus that was gaining on us.
19 March 2020: The Tasmanian Government begins shutting the island down.
After Freycinet we did a morning bolt up to the beautiful Bay of Fires; so named because lichen have given shoreline rocks a red hue.
The clarity of the water gives an impression boats levitate.
Then it was an afternoon sprint over to Launceston where we spent the night. At Launceston we gained first hand knowledge at how quickly tourism was collapsing when we scored a magnificent heritage hotel suite for a bargain basement price. The state was closing down but there were some benefits to be had for desperados still on the road.
Our royal Launceston suite
When we ventured out for dinner Launceston had the air of a ghost town. Most places were shut but some eateries were still open. Agnes and I ducked into a Thai restaurant where the owner hadn’t gotten the memo about social distancing his patrons. We were packed in with his other customers and while Agnes and I weren’t entirely comfortable with the seating arrangements we stayed as hunger won out.
The next day, after a visit to Launceston’s Cataract Gorge, we headed onward to Devonport for a drop-in at Ruth and Alan’s Tasmanian abode and a look-see around the city sights.
As usual, Ruth and Alan were exemplary hosts even though we had been with them just a couple of days before. In addition to the sights, they introduced us to local characters and educated us about the city’s history.
But the virus overhung the merriment as we continually tuned into newscasts and parsed the latest changes to virus-related policies. Tasmania led the other Australian states in its virus regulations and was increasingly shutting itself off from the rest of the country. We visitors were getting the feeling of being no longer welcome.
Gazing across to the mainland. We felt we would be heading back there soon.
As we left Alan and Ruth on the Tuesday morning of the 24th they were actively planning their return to the mainland the next day. Our flight out was not for another four days but those four days were beginning to seem like an eternity.
Agnes and I headed off with only loose plans about where we were heading. We had decided to play things by ear because we were no longer sure what was still open. As we left Devonport we checked the GPS and saw that Cradle Mountain was only a few hours away. It was also southward, and thus, closer to Hobart. This was desirable as we were increasingly looking at the possibility of being forced to make an urgent dash to the airport to catch one of the last flights out. (Although we did have a fall back as Alan and Ruth offered us their soon to be vacant place if we found ourselves marooned.)
As we made our way to Cradle Mountain, the roads were noticeably vacant compared to a couple days earlier. Only the occasional car passed us and we began to feel like characters in some zombie apocalypse movie. As we drove on the radio news bulletins made it apparent that the continuance of our trip was becoming an hour by hour proposition. It was getting harder to be optimistic that we would see out the whole duration of our trip.
We arrived at the Cradle Mountain parking lot around noon, left the car and walked over to the shuttle bus stop. There was a scattering of people at the stop but unusually for a tourist shuttle stop there was no air of excitement, instead just a forlorn atmosphere. There was not a smile among the smattering of folk at the stop. I could tell because no one was wearing a face mask. Even though the advice at the time was that face masks were ineffective we decided the possibility of catching the coronavirus on a bus ride to Cradle Mountain was not a risk we were prepared to take. The decision was not too heart breaking because we had already been to Cradle Mountain on our earlier trip.
So it was onward and further southward for us. We headed south-east to the historic village of Strahan. Agnes loved the colonial vibe of Strahan on our initial visit while I loved the cruise up the Gordon River that departs from Strahan. The atmosphere upriver was so still and quiet and the foliage crowding the riverbank appeared so primitive that I felt I was glimpsing earth as it was in its prehistoric glory. I half-expected a dinosaur to crash through the forest and attack our boat. When the captain cut out the boat engine the silence was all-enveloping. Too much of it and I would have probably started talking just to ensure myself that I had not gone deaf. But then that would have ruined the mood.
Alas, and I should have reckoned in advance, the Gordon River cruise was shut down when we arrived. But Strahan wasn’t a total bust. Historic bungalows were available for overnight hire on the cheap. We had been enamoured with these bungalows on our earlier trip but they had been booked out – indeed all accommodation in Strahan was booked out – so we were forced to stay 30 km away in much-less desirable Queenstown. To salve our disappointment we bought a miniature painting of the bungalows.
This time though a few of the bungalows were still available even though we had arrived in Strahan in the late afternoon and we snapped up the cutest free bungalow.
Our bungalow third from the left. Agnes is standing on the porch.
As at Cradle Mountain, a hangdog atmosphere hung over the village. The bottle shop was open but the pub was closed. The pizzeria was open but seating was off limits. The bakery was open but… you get the picture. We ordered a pizza, bought a bottle of wine and walked around the near-deserted village while our dinner was being prepared. We still managed to enjoy the pizza and wine on our verandah but as night closed in we retreated inside. It was getting cold and there was nothing outside to keep our interest.
A deserted Strahan.
At around 2 a.m. I awoke with a tightness in my stomach; something that occasionally happens to me when I’m in the middle of some drama. I checked my phone and saw that I had missed a call from Virgin Airlines. Such a call could only be bad news. I checked the Virgin website and discovered our flight out had been shifted back by 24 hours with a 13 hour layover added in Melbourne. I studied Virgin’s updated timetable further and it was clear a swathe had been cut through their scheduled flights. I was also not confident the remaining flights would go ahead. The knot in my stomach grew tighter.
In a mild panic I urgently checked out the Qantas site. I was relieved to see we could catch a 5 p.m. flight later in the day that would get us back to Canberra by 9 p.m. It would mean foregoing our Virgin tickets but the situation was getting desperate. We would, however, have to embark on a 5 hour drive back to Hobart when morning broke.
I booked our flights without consulting Agnes. She was sleeping peacefully and oblivious to our plight so why bother her about a situation where there was not much of a choice?
I did rouse her at 7 a.m. and apprised her of the situation. We wolfed down a breakfast of coffee and pastries in our bungalow courtesy of the nearby bakery and drove off in the direction of Hobart.
There was a bit of cognitive dissonance on our drive. We were in a desperate situation but weren’t we passing through some beautiful scenery! I didn’t have the time to stop and take photos but made mental notes to revisit various locales when we return to Tasmania at some future happier time.
We made the airport with a few hours to spare but it was not the crowded place that it was when we arrived a week and a half before. Social distancing was not much of a problem at the airport nor was it on our flights.
Waiting for our flight out.
The flight to Melbourne was less than a quarter full while the second leg to Canberra only had about 5 passengers on board. For sure, Qantas took a financial bath on those flights. I felt sorry for the airline but I was grateful they got us home.
Plenty of room to stretch out.
In the days following our return the noose grew tighter as Australia went into full lockdown mode but we were home!
theretiringblogger 