Stanley and the storm

Warm warm sunshine this morning and bright blue skies.Yipee. That meant our ride over to Stanley to see the Nut would be in good weather, important as the rain clouds of the last few days would have masked the whole thing, huge as it is.

But the warm weather also brings out the fashion crimes, like these short shorts which were so minuscule, that bits and pieces of the wearer were on show. 

Nasty, and his wife was in the vehicle with him, apparently unconcerned with the horror it was causing. Or maybe she was somebody else’s wife and enjoying it.

Stanley is only about 20kms from Smithton and the Nut towers over it. 

It's a huge outcrop that from a distance, resembles a wooded and sawn off Uluru. However closeup, it looks nothing like it and is actually a volcanic feeder plug that was once a channel by which molten lava reached the surface and burst through the earth’s crust. But today it stands alone, the surrounding rocks having eroded away.

Explorers George Bass and Matthew Flinders called it Circular Head when they circumvented Tasmania in 1798, and described it as ‘ a cliffy lump, much resembling in form a Christmas cake’. But it became known as the Nut by about 1850.

The town grew up on the leeward side of it, anchorage protected from the ‘Roaring Forties’ winds that blow right across from South America, hitting land first on the west coast of Tasmania. 

It's full of those pretty shiplap cottages, many of which have been done up, no doubt for the tourist trade, plus as a second home mecca for wealthy Melbournites. 

For example, this former harbourmaster’s cottage is on the market for a cool 500,000 AUD.

But you can still camp; even the caravans here have a pool. OK, it was a blue plastic tarp……but it looked the part.

Being a fishing town, there are various maritime and fishing curios here and there. 

Also, some seafood places dotted about, one of which is crowned by a giant lobster and a slightly smaller shark.  

Hursey’s seems to be the biggest, but just across the wharf from the shop is a memorial to one of the Hursey family who drowned at sea whilst trying to rescue a lone rower caught in a storm. Its that power of the sea thing again, uncontrollable when it wants to be.

Stanley has a political claim to fame too; it was the birthplace of J.A Lyons, the only Tasmanian yet to be Prime Minister of Australia.(1932-1939). He lived in a tiny cottage with his wife  ( Dame Edith) and their twelve children. Twelve! Imagine that on a rainy day (of which down here, there are many) with no DVDs or Playstation. 

Fairy penguins frequent Stanley in the evenings, hence these signs. The ocean was on the level though; the slant is nothing to do with global warming or the earth having fallen off its axis or anything.

As we wandered around, in the still warm sunshine, we noticed the sky out to sea getting blacker and blacker, and of course, that blackness was coming our way. But fortunately, it skirted us and carried on eastwards.

Up above the town is Highfield, a mega Victorian house over looking Stanley and the Nut. It was once the home of the chief agent of the Van Deimen’s Land Company, and only became private property in 1914. 

It was built by convicts, who lived in barracks about 300m away on the cliff and in the wind, and thoughtfully screened from the chief agent by a convict hiding hedge.

But after looking around Highfield, it was time to ride towards the big black rain clouds which were now even bigger and blacker than before, and right over the coast. 

Would we keep dry or would we get wet? We got wet of course, very wet, thanks to a fully blown storm, complete with sideways rain, thunder crashing overhead and lightening stabbing through the clouds on both sides of us, both at the same time. 

Although we had our wet weather gear on, we were soaked within seconds but quickly got to a point where it didn’t matter and we just forgot about it until we found somewhere dry to stop.

The motel man was great, giving us clothes horses on which to dry our gear, and two pints of milk for tea. We’re now all sorted out, and right on a little inlet at Wynyard on the north coast, by the yacht club. Lovely.