Wine has become a “thing” in Tassie and the major companies (think Treasury etc) are investing heavily, albeit without naming themselves in any obvious manner.  We saw thousands of newly planted vines all across the various wine districts but especially on the east coast, aiming for cool-climate wines…or maybe just harvestable grapes in the not-too-distant future?  Even most established plantings look skinny and young.  In any event, Helen and Mike flew in for a week’s play and while we missed a day trip to Bangor Vineyard Shed near Hobart, we did manage to take in Pooley, and later Gala.  Wines on taste were either new or expensive or both.  We bought enough to keep us in drink while we drove, but that’s about all.

We’ve given up on helicopters and have now adopted boat tours as our no-effort option.  We took an all-day tour circumnavigating Maria Island with 20+ other folk, setting out from Triabunna on a calm, cool but cloudy morning.  A weird inversion sent the cloud right down to water level and so we saw the towering limestone cliffs on the east side of the island shrouded in slightly spooky mist.  Our friendly skipper (also Mike) told us heaps of fascinating stories about the area and, what sounded like its many fails.  Fisheries, fruit, convicts, civilians and cement have all come and gone – the great hope of the moment is Sea Forest’s methane-reducing red seaweed (asparagopsis armata) project occupying the old fish meal plant. 

Around lunchtime, as we rounded the southern tip of Maria, the cloud started to lift and a glorious sunny day appeared, perfect for seal spotting, upper deck lunch, ice creams for some, viewing the underwhelming Painted Cliffs and finally, walking around the island’s abandoned settlement at Darlington.  We four eschewed the no-doubt-fascinating guided tour and wandered off to find geese, goslings, wombats and wallabies in and around the various ruins.  A luverly time.

Moving on from Richmond to camp at Swansea, our next excellent adventure took us to Freycinet Peninsular where Wineglass Bay was our (and everyone else’s) target.  Another of the 60 Short Walks, a solid but well-stepped climb to the lookout was worth it for the views over the bay, even if the forecast sunshine was a bit shy.  We opted to go down to the beach, down many more and even steeper steps and then walk across the isthmus and complete the circuit.  About 13 km in all with lots of undulations saw Helen skipping along and the rest of us trudging.

The signs for Melshell Oyster Shack were too hard to resist for the passengers in Mike’s taxi, so he drove us along Dolphin Sands Spit and we discovered, at last, what a Tassie Gold oyster was all about.  Not a lot, actually.  It’s still a Pacific oyster (Magallana gigas) but has a yellow (ok, gold!) tinge to the shell and a slightly creamier flavour.  Its silver (normal grey shell) sister is slightly saltier and while the difference was recognisable, both were delicious.  Just two days later, we watched this spit of straggly bush go up in smoke on the news.  Fortunately, nobody was hurt and the Oyster Shack was untouched, but it must have been pretty scary.

Due to poor map reading, I moved us all up the coast a mere 40km to Bicheno – might have been easier to come here first and stay for more days.  Anyway, the big attraction here, all reports said, was The Lobster Shack.  There are a few months of the year, when for breeding and restocking reasons, lobster fishing is prohibited.  Of course, that time was now, so it was last month’s frozen crays for us.  The mornays were good, the roll was OK, but the grilled-with-garlic was not.  Having our entrée oysters served at the same time as our hot lobster was an unwanted surprise.  Also a surprise, the Shack is really just a not-very-glorified cafeteria and we were the last diners at 7pm and made to feel that way.  Contrary to all those other reports,👎 from me.

The nearby Douglas-Apsley NP contained yet another of the 60 Short Walks but the main attraction was the Apsley waterhole.  The walk itself was a bit of rock-hopping, followed by a steep and rocky climb – these were activities that Lesley had expressly rejected for that day, so after ignoring her rejection for a bit, I called it quits and we turned around.  The waterhole looked delightful but the swim was fresh to the point of being outright cold.  We also tried to find Little (Fairy) Penguins down near the blowhole at dusk, having spotted their tracks near Diamond Island, but the mosquitoes drove us away and the next morning’s report indicated “no penguins”. 

We drove further up the east coast heading for St Helens and stopping at Scamander’s River Mouth Café along the way.  A run-down old service station with an uninviting entrance (Helen: It looks closed!) opened out to a wonderful big deck overlooking the ocean on a sensational morning.  Fantastic, and with even more potential.  As happens for time to time, its proprietor was one of those grumpy men who gave every appearance of hating his paying customers.  “Arrgghh!  If you don’t like people, why on earth would you choose hospitality!”  Maybe, his friendly staff will save him from himself?

More successful were two other excursions from St Helens.  The Pub in the Paddock at Pyengana made for a good country drive and was in full swing.  Priscilla, the beer drinking pig, was fast asleep but the place was buzzy and fun and a haven for bikers.  Lots of agriculture through this area gave us the opportunity to speculate what the various crops were (still no idea) and to stop and watch the fascinating process of producing those huge hay rolls – more uninformed speculation ensued.

A week was up already, so we wandered around town and its waterfront where Mike had met a seafarer who was about to sail 40 hours around the top of Tassie to the west coast, where by some only-partly understood mechanic, he was able to catch crays over there that he’d failed to catch over here – all about area quotas and individual quotas apparently.   

H&M went to catch a plane in Launceston and we went to see a bit of the Bay of Fires, and beautiful it was, on yet another beautiful day. 

Tomorrow would see us in Bridport, the weather forecast was promising and all ATGANI had to do was conquer one more steep, narrow, winding Tasmanian road.  What could possibly go wrong?