We had but the one night in Southport. Between arrival and our sortie to the pub for dinner it was time to get busy. We had a general idea of what we would find here from our previous quick visit. Now it was time to add some detail.
Let me begin, as I so often do, with a quick overview from the Google Earth satellite. The pub lies just below the 'p' in Southport, with the yellow line showing the road to the beach. The Southport bay is the area of water encompassed by the arc of sandy beaches, split in two by the mouth of the channel which leads back into the placid sheltered waters of Hastings Bay. The sandy shoals built up by the tidal ebb and flow and the tiny island in the bay can be clearly seen in the waters seaward of the mouth.
The beach to the north of the channel mouth is further separated by the low, rocky headland which shows us here as the dark green patch between the two sandy strips. The two main groups of homes here at Southport beach are separated by this headland, and what a spot this is for a shack or something a little more substantial.
The roadway in front of the hotel and caravan park took us directly down to the area in front of the local jetty (you can just see the blue of the bay in the greenery mid shot).
It was a very short hop from the pub to the beach front esplanade where we turned right and headed off around the bay
past the first group of beach houses clustered at this end of the shore.
Southport is a delightful spot, but big it ain't! In no time flat we were over the headland and down at the Hastings Bay channel boat ramp, a substantial piece of infrastructure which is ideally located to allow for the launching of quite large craft in the invariably sheltered waters of the neck of the bay.
As we hove to in the car park area, it was obvious that a couple of big craft had made to sea from here earlier. Huge trailers and thumping Ford 350's were a dead giveaway!
One of these rigs pulled into the park at the pub later, and it was then (after a chat with the crew) that I discovered this craft was a research vessel being used by staff from the Fisheries Department to monitor the extensive abalone beds which abound in these waters.
Diving for abalone is big business at Southport. I was staggered to learn that there were over a hundred involved locally in this industry, one which remains sustainable for the time being, but which is more than sensibly under constant scientific observation to ensure that over-fishing does not occur.
Fishing is high on the agenda of most who visit Southport. As I noted in my last, flathead are the target of choice by most who cast a line from the shore. I was more that a touch peeved that time did not allow me to line up with these happy anglers who were successfully hauling fine fish from the clear waters of the Hastings Bay channel as we watched.
So after a few minutes of wishful thinking and some serious envy, we headed off back though the 'built up area' of the southern end of the Southport village
from where we could take in a view of the beach and bay across the well vegetated low dunes dotted with pretty little wildflowers.
And whilst on the subject of flowers, what a display these made in the front yard of this holiday home.
We climbed the shallow rise onto the relatively low headland between the two main beaches
and from here we could see across the sandy shoals seaward of the channel mouth to the tiny island in the bay
and further to the right to the strip of sand which ran along the shore line south of the Hastings Bay entrance.
From this vantage point we also had a view across to the northern beach
to the town jetty and the houses on the far shore.
Southport is a working fishing port as I mentioned earlier.....not frantically busy mind you, but certainly active. Whilst we were stopped on the headland we watched as a fishing cutter eased into the end of the jetty and took on a few stores and a crew member.
Then, with her deck cluttered with cray pots and her small tinnie tender secured on her rear davits, she chugging off out towards the open waters to the east of the shore. These boats all have the lovely lines which go hand in hand with the need to be able to manage heavy seas, and down in these waters this is more likely than not.
As we continued back towards the jetty area we were able to see across the end of the headland (on which we had just been perched) to the southern cluster of Southport holiday homes
and, in what might be described as something of a scenic paradox, had another view of the snow streaked peak in the Hartz Range well to the west of the town where the temperature was obviously many degrees cooler than we were experiencing here at sea level on what was a delightfully balmy afternoon.
It was so pleasant that Liz had decided she needed a stroll along the Southport sands so we pulled into the car park at the end of the beach.
A small stream (sorry, here in Tasmania the vast majority of these are called 'rivulets'....but in this case it had no nomenclature, local or otherwise) emptied into the sea in this area, but it was not so much this which took my attention
but the magnificent homes beyond the beautifully manicured lawns which stretched away from the bank.
There is no escaping the weather in Tassie, as this huge stack of cut timber in the yard of one of these homes served to remind us,
but there was no need for a glowing hearth today. Liz was off at a sprightly clip in the bright sunshine along the white, seaweed streaked foreshore,
whilst I busied myself with far more important things (correspondent's bias) like a stroll out along the jetty to discuss the local fishing with a couple of hopefuls casting what appeared to be squid jags from the end just vacated by the fishing boat.
This was not a clever personal move. Apart from flathead, Southport, I discovered, is alive with squid. The tales told by my new acquaintances of significant success securing scores of 'Sepioteuthis australis' on the end of jags flung out from this jetty were amply supported by the masses of black stains to be seen all along the wharf.....a sure sign that many hapless southern calamari had ended their days with a futile spray of inky defences whilst struggling high and dry on the deck.
"Lizzie, flathead and squid....I know what I am doing catching both of these and we love them on our dinner plate....how can we leave?"
Sorely as I was tempted, and much as we were both delighted by what we had found at Southport (and this was before tea in the pub) the imperative of our schedule to see as much of the island as we could before again hopping on 'The Spirit' prevailed. The fishing rods remained securely attached to their roof top racks.
How I wish now that we had taken the decision to extend our stay at that point rather than but a few weeks ago.......ah, well, another of the now rapidly mounting reasons for a return visit, something which was not diminished with our next stop in the 'Southern Trove'.....nearby Dover.
and from here we could see across the sandy shoals seaward of the channel mouth to the tiny island in the bay
and further to the right to the strip of sand which ran along the shore line south of the Hastings Bay entrance.
From this vantage point we also had a view across to the northern beach
to the town jetty and the houses on the far shore.
Southport is a working fishing port as I mentioned earlier.....not frantically busy mind you, but certainly active. Whilst we were stopped on the headland we watched as a fishing cutter eased into the end of the jetty and took on a few stores and a crew member.
Then, with her deck cluttered with cray pots and her small tinnie tender secured on her rear davits, she chugging off out towards the open waters to the east of the shore. These boats all have the lovely lines which go hand in hand with the need to be able to manage heavy seas, and down in these waters this is more likely than not.
As we continued back towards the jetty area we were able to see across the end of the headland (on which we had just been perched) to the southern cluster of Southport holiday homes
and, in what might be described as something of a scenic paradox, had another view of the snow streaked peak in the Hartz Range well to the west of the town where the temperature was obviously many degrees cooler than we were experiencing here at sea level on what was a delightfully balmy afternoon.
It was so pleasant that Liz had decided she needed a stroll along the Southport sands so we pulled into the car park at the end of the beach.
A small stream (sorry, here in Tasmania the vast majority of these are called 'rivulets'....but in this case it had no nomenclature, local or otherwise) emptied into the sea in this area, but it was not so much this which took my attention
but the magnificent homes beyond the beautifully manicured lawns which stretched away from the bank.
There were only the two of them here, but they were certainly a cut above all else we had seen in Southport to date.
There is no escaping the weather in Tassie, as this huge stack of cut timber in the yard of one of these homes served to remind us,
but there was no need for a glowing hearth today. Liz was off at a sprightly clip in the bright sunshine along the white, seaweed streaked foreshore,
whilst I busied myself with far more important things (correspondent's bias) like a stroll out along the jetty to discuss the local fishing with a couple of hopefuls casting what appeared to be squid jags from the end just vacated by the fishing boat.
This was not a clever personal move. Apart from flathead, Southport, I discovered, is alive with squid. The tales told by my new acquaintances of significant success securing scores of 'Sepioteuthis australis' on the end of jags flung out from this jetty were amply supported by the masses of black stains to be seen all along the wharf.....a sure sign that many hapless southern calamari had ended their days with a futile spray of inky defences whilst struggling high and dry on the deck.
"Lizzie, flathead and squid....I know what I am doing catching both of these and we love them on our dinner plate....how can we leave?"
Sorely as I was tempted, and much as we were both delighted by what we had found at Southport (and this was before tea in the pub) the imperative of our schedule to see as much of the island as we could before again hopping on 'The Spirit' prevailed. The fishing rods remained securely attached to their roof top racks.
How I wish now that we had taken the decision to extend our stay at that point rather than but a few weeks ago.......ah, well, another of the now rapidly mounting reasons for a return visit, something which was not diminished with our next stop in the 'Southern Trove'.....nearby Dover.
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