cockle creek, the southernmost street, and a bloody old pub

I am sitting inside an excellent example of the type of building that is nearing extinction in Perth; a real, old, proper bloody pub! Proper bloody pub food, proper bloody fireplaces, and proper bloody locals. It’s bloody brilliant. (Old pubs make you talk like this.) A couple of women in the sports bar are trying to get their husbands go home and cook them dinner – not having muck luck. The proprietor, who has owned the place for 7 months, is reading a newspaper by the bar. Men are singing drunkenly. I am sitting in front of a lovely warm fire, waiting for my steak and Guinness pie, and drinking my Guinness to match. This pub, the “Old Bush Inn” at New Norfolk, is apparently the oldest continually licensed pub in Australia. If you get specific enough, you can be the oldest anything, but at 198 years it’s still pretty old. It reminds me a little of a place I stayed at in England, except here the locals talk to me instead of looking at me askance. When I walked in a drunk guy accidentally stumbled across my path and a lady said “ahh just push ‘im outta yer way luv”. I love people like this. Honest, frank, funny. One of the blokes here works at a rival accommodation provider, but he comes here to drink and I don’t blame him.

Yesterday I left Hobart and contrary to my plans to head north, decided instead to go south. Even though the various guides keep assuring you that distances are further than they look in Tasmania, so far they really aren’t. So I figured I have plenty of time to meander along the roads, up and down a LOT of very pretty hills, and to stretch a 45 minute drive to Cygnet into three hours. Along the way I discovered some old fruit picker's huts from the early 1900's which have been restored.

These huts housed whole families during fruit picking season.

Little old huts on the way to the other little old huts

Arriving around 3pm, I wandered through the small town. A lot of artists live there, but most of the "art" errs on the side of "n'craft". Still, it lends a Freo-ish vibe to the place so naturally I felt at home. The little boat harbour was very pretty, with rolling green hills in the background. The clouds persisted so I wimped out on the camping option as it looked like rain (the sun promptly appeared as soon as I paid for my room) and instead booked into the local pub. For $65 I got a room in a hallway that smelt decidedly like vomit, a kettle so foul that even I with my extremely relaxed food hygiene standards declined to drink, but a double bed and a lovely view.

As the rain held off until today, I would probably have been better off in my tent, but I did have an interesting experience in Cygnet. I got talking to a local shopkeeper, who is also involved in “The Red Velvet Lounge” café which the concierge at Henry Jones recommended to me. She invited me to join them for free soup night, which they have every Tuesday. So, at 6:30 I turned up, received my free, and very large, bowl of harissa soup with lots of fresh bread, and sat down to eat.  The brief display of sunlight was shining in the window and it seemed the whole town turned out for the weekly event. There were meetings, families, travellers, loners (me) and the place was bustling. I went back to my smelly hotel room with a full stomach, stayed up for hours reading, then went to bed to the sound of the neighbour’s TV (still going at 3pm, I began to wonder if he had died several hours earlier and nobody had noticed).

Looking towards Cygnet sailing club.

The splendiferous light fittings at the Velvet Lounge, and look! A sunbeam!

This morning I rose around 7:30 and went for a jog. I met a gypsy-ish grey nomad who had parked her camper on the side of the road, and talked to her while I patted her dog. She has decided she has done enough work and so she’s retired, and drives her old beaten up camper around the state, sleeping on the side of roads here and there. She isn’t impressed by the expensive camping grounds ($24 per night for an unpowered site does seem a bit much!) Her dog was a very sweet, friendly dalmation crossbreed of some sort (I’ve forgotten). Two years ago I would never have started a conversation with someone about her dog, but that was before Dozer. After my jog, I returned to find there was a problem with the water – no shower! – so feeling grumpy at the $65 total rip off I packed up my gear, and returned to the Red Velvet Lounge for brekkie. Black pudding, sausages, bacon and eggs – about as carnivorous as you can get. I ate it as snatches of a nearby conversation floated around me; some bloke’s musings on the bucolic spirituality of our ancestor’s language and the loss he feels for the deep truths of his pagan English heritage (um, try England, perhaps?). His verbose prose was pompously grandiloquent ostentatiousness, just like this sentence. I tried not to giggle.

From Cygnet I took the “long way” (27km) to Cradoc. The scenery reminded me of Bridgetown: green, undulating, a new stunning view around every turn. I followed the estuary/river/whatever most of the way, and then decided I would head to Cockle Bay, which is as far south as you can drive in Australia. The puny road tyres, wet roads, loose gravel and the working grader I encountered reduced me to a speed of 30-40 kmph, and a few times I very nearly turned back, such as when the road turned from gravel into pure clay. But my little VW Golf and my 4WD training (thanks BHP) got me through , until eventually I came to Cockle Bay. In summer it would be absolutely stunning. Beautiful white sand, gentle water, coastal hiking tracks, peaceful and very pretty. But tomorrow is supposed to rain pretty heavily so I wanted to get out in case my little car couldn’t make it back!

Cockle Bay

As far south as you can drive in Australia

Check out the name of the road (click to make it bigger)

Back through Huonville, dropped in to a couple of visitor’s centres, and then straight back through Hobart (the only option) and up to New Norfolk and the old, old pub. Tomorrow? Maybe the midlands and lakes, or maybe the coast. I want to spend a couple of days in one place and sleep, read, eat and relax.

I’m loving Tassie so far. I’m finding the trip much less lonely than travelling alone overseas, thanks to the affable locals, and the ease of staying in touch with everyone at home. Domestic travel is so relaxing!

My 198 year old room, with its funky green carpet.