NOSTALGIC NEW NORFOLK (3)

Peaceful River at Snug

The Purple Peril

Well, I think I have just proven to myself that one cannot efficiently type when wearing mittens. Yep, we are now up at the Eagles Nest and it is very crisp indeed. Before I regale you with all the latest adventures however, I have some catching up to do. We have been quite busy of late, taking tours and exploring Hobart and surrounds. I will fill you in progressively on all those things, but first, let me tell you about the day we went to The Mountain.

When we last stayed with our mad friend Lee, she decided we needed to be acquainted with the close surrounds and with this in mind she piled us all unwitting into her somewhat dubious looking Rav 4 – initially DD in the front passenger seat, moi in the back passenger seat, and Daisy Bates the beautiful gentle old Border Collie in the rear compartment – and off we went. Well, after travelling for so long in Zed, our lovely Silver Cruiser, the first thing I noticed was that my very ample bottom seemed to be oh, say 6 inches off the ground! The second thing I noticed was that The Purple Peril (Rav 4) was not in particularly good nick, and seemed to have more rattles and bangs than a bunch of babies in a tin nursery. A couple of other things very quickly became apparent, poor old Daisy was sharing her rear compartment with an abundance of bottles and other stuff which was destined for the tip – Daisy and the assorted detritus all bumped and surfed along the way in a way that was both musical (the bottles clinking and Daisy whining) and alarming. The most alarming point of interest however, was the cavalier way our driver, Lee, was treating the narrow, steep and gravel roads which she cheerfully announced led the back way to Mount Wellington. Oh joy, we were travelling headlong to catastrophe! I’m sure in retrospect that it wasn’t half as bad as it seemed at the time, but back then it seemed that Lee was practising for a very competitive Hill Climb Event and was trying for her best time yet. She certainly seemed to attack those gravel roads, hairpin bends, tight corners, steep inclines, skinny roads skimming alongside sheer drops with vigour and imagination. We slid and bounced our way along the adventurous tracks. It seemed too that Lee was at war with every other driver on that track and if we were to believe our ears, all the other road users that day were either of illegitimate birth or foreign masturbators or occasionally both. Well, it seems, despite our concerns and the dubious quality of our fellow road users, we did arrive at the top of the mountain intact. I have to say my opinion did at least briefly concur with Lees’ when one of our fellow road users popped out of her car (this was the driver) wearing a pink tutu and a silver tinsel wig. This would have been perhaps not quite so unnerving had it not been for the fact that this appeared to be normal for this diminutive person, who I initially took to be a child.


Extensive Views  from Mt Wellington Across Hobart Waters



Through The Smoke Haze


We were fortunate to have a relatively clear day, and were able to enjoy the amazing views from the peak of the mountain. There was no snow that day but there was still quite a bit of residual smoke from all the bush fires. It was predictably cold – we had been warned by many that one needs copious layers of clothing when visiting the mountain – the little breeze up there was totally lazy and cut right through clothing, skin, fat layers and bit right into the bone.


Looking Down on The Tasman Bridge


When it was time to get back into The Purple Peril, I lost all interest in being polite and jumped into the front seat with Lee – leaving The Bloke to experience the joys of the back seat. I think from subsequent discussions, he ‘enjoyed’ the experience just about as much as me. From Mt Wellington, we were taken on a tour that first touched on the tip – many things in Tassie are not what we are used to, and because Lee lives slightly off the beaten track road, she does not have any rubbish pick up – not only do they not collect her rubbish, but they charge her $9 per bag to deposit it at the tip and then have the effrontery to charge her almost $100 per annum for the privilege. It seems that they pay a huge amount down here for their electricity too – amazing considering the amount of hydro-power produced here. Perhaps it is not Shangrila after all.

Snug Beach

Of course, like most blokes, DD loved the tip and could see all the wonderful stuff an enterprising bloke could make use of. From there Lee took us for a little tour which took in firstly the pretty little town of Snug and then Kettering where the ferry leaves for Bruny Island. The entire area was picturesque and we stopped for a very good coffee at the ferry terminal come information centre at Kettering where we watched the ferry load up with cars, trucks and caravans for its brief journey across to Bruny.

The Bruny Island Ferry

A pleasant day was had by all, including Daisy who availed herself of the opportunity for a swim when we hopped out at Snug to stretch our legs, and despite being scared out of our collective wits we were grateful to Lee for taking us out and showing us the sights.

Until next time, love a lot and live a little. Stephanie.