Two Days worth

We’ve done quite bit again and covered a few kms in the process.

After leaving Port Arthur, we rode the loop down  to Nubeena and Premadena, primarily because we needed fuel and there wasn’t any available at Port Arthur. We were all running on a sniff and two dribbles, but my bike conked out first, right outside the servo and just as I was turning right into it. Good job then that there is no traffic in Tasmania to get in the way of.

My bike seems to ride better if I run it off the extra tank, with the reserve switched on. Nadine and Gordon don’t do this and flip the tanks when their bigger one runs dry. I tried it their way but for some reason, my bike doesn’t like it. I think it might be something to do with the tank position which tips forward further than Nadine’s ( Gordon has a different tank) because there is always at least a litre of fuel left in the tank after it has allegedly run dry. But its down in the front of the tank, below the level of the intake pipe, so fuel can't flow out and into the carb. So at Christmas when I strip the whole thing down, I’ll see if I can reposition it to lessen this. But its only an annoyance rather than a problem.

So after filling with fuel, and as we were already part way round the loop, we continued round it and rode to the Tasman Blowhole, the Tasmans Arch and the Devil’s Kitchen. More geographical features created by the sea, involving roof collapses and erosion. 

We ate some lunch by the blowhole, careful to fend off gulls who were doing their utmost to nick our grub.

All of these features are near a little town called DooTown. The name started back in the 1930s when a bloke moved a weekender there and called it “ Doo I”.The next person who joined him called his “Doo Me” and the next, “Do Us”. thereby starting a tradition. There are about thirty houses there now, all with ‘Doo” in the name. “ Doo Little”, “Doo f**kall” etc.

We had planned to go back to Hobart for the toy run, but time was not on our side, especially as we had detoured in the morning; sometimes you cant do everything you want to, eventhough this year was been the first for a few years that a toy run has not been on the calendar. And we have already done several charity rides earlier in the year in any case.

So we replanned and went to Triabunna, to get the ferry over to Maria Island the following day. We rode back up the road to Dunalley where the swing bridge was open for some reason, causing a queue of traffic. But that soon moved off and we were underway again pretty quickly. We had intended to take the dirt road to Orford but reasoned this was not a sensible plan, given that my back tyre is pretty ropey now and the ground soaked, due to the heavy rain of the last few days.

But no matter, the tarmac road, although longer was actually quicker, and while we were eating at the Blowhole, I ordered a new tyre from a motorcycle shop in Launceston which I’ll pick up and fit in a few days.

At Triabunna, we called into the Tourist info and met Tammy, the incredibly helpful and friendly manager. As a result, we ended up camping at the pub opposite for a gold coin donation, using the Info centre loos, and booking a cruise to Maria Island and beyond for the following day.

Maria Island

Well, the weather was great but unfortunately for me, I woke with a very stiff shoulder and resultant bad headache. Nadine had a go at it, and it did get better, but the headache remained, which is always a bad sign. 

So guess who threw up on the boat? Yep, three times too. In my defence, the water was choppy, which didn’t help. I think I’ve only ever been sick on a boat twice before - once on a rough crossing to St Malo when I was about eleven, and once on a pedalo in Spain when I had heatstroke.  But today, I doubled my hit rate, and it wasn't even due to sea sickness.

Maria Island ( pronounced like Black Maria, the prison van, not Sister Maria, the nun) was once a whale port, then a penal colony, but after Port Arthur was opened in 1830, the convicts went there and the place became unused. 

Eventually the land was put up for lease and Italian immigrant Diego Bernacchi arrived and for one shilling, he leased the island for ten years. Not a bad deal. He did have to set up vines and sericulture in return which he did it and for a few years, the place thrived. He also built hotels and a coffee house and started a fledgling tourist industry. However, the difficulty of getting to the place eventually scuppered it, and the island once again was left.

In 1972 it became a National Park, many of the buildings were renovated and turned into a sort of island youth hostel type thing where you can stay, or camp whilst you poke around the island, hiking or biking or just wandering. Various animals were rehomed there too to help preserve them or more recently, in the case of Devils, to help eradicate the facial tumour disease that is prevalent in the rest of Tasmania. 

Our boat trip gave us access to various coastal things which we could not have seen from shore, including the onward trip to Ile des Phoques, Seal Island, where they were sunning themselves or splashing about, doing tricks in the water. 

They also belch very loudly when on land and seem not to mind the powerful stench of old fish that permeates the air. Rather like various people I have met over the years, some fairly recently.

The sea cave around the other side is impressive too, albeit very choppy inside, with various algae giving the rocks colourful sheens. And the water is so clear that you can see metres down.

Fossil Bay was interesting, with fossils laid down millions of years ago being eroded by the sea from underneath, as opposed to top down, which is usually what we see on land.

The sea cliffs which rose sheer out of the water looked almost plastic, like something out of a theme park. 

But they were the real deal, completely bare except for a small waterfall which came out of the actual rock fissures as opposed to over it. Around it, the cliff is green with rockface vegetation clinging on for dear life.

The painted cliffs were the last stop of the day, eroded to reveal colourful sedimentary strata, reminiscent of coffee ripple ice cream. 

A party of school children had invaded the small beach shortly before we got there, and our presence seemed to amuse them. Probably thought we were pirates or something.

We have stopped tonight a bit further up the coast at Swansea. Hopefully, my headache will have gone by morning as I’m bored with it now.