Well, dear readers, we are back in Adelaide in real time and I've finally gotten back to the keyboard. Now just where were we on our Tassie tour? Ah, yes, Triabunna.....sitting comfortably behind the Spring Bay Hotel (it is beginning to seem like so long ago!).
Not for long. It was time to push further north along the east coast. We were expected at Rosevears within the next few days, so time was now of the essence, and as I have mentioned previously, it was our intention to return to this part of the island once the chaos of the school holidays was over.
So it was that we brought our overnight stay at the gateway to Maria Island to a close and rejoined the Tasman Highway as it wound its way north through the grazing land between Triabunna and the next 'major' coastal town, Swansea, but 50 kms distant.
The Apple Isle continued to surprise us. From the lush orchards and pastures of The Channel and the Huon Valley areas and the tall timber country around New Norfolk and beyond, we now found ourselves driving though countryside with which we were much more familiar. Here on the east coast, where the summer rains had failed to fall so far this year, brown and light greens were the predominant colours and the swathes of scrub were much lower and less impressive than elsewhere.
But, as Tasmania always seemed to do, one delightful scene was replaced here by another....azure blue waters and long, sandy beaches. We were soon to discover that these beaches were a real feature of this side of the island.
At this stage I must point out that our plans to return to do this run again meant that our en route photography over the next couple of days was comparatively lean and mean and although dint of circumstance precluded our return to Triabunna, we did spend quite some time at Swansea and beyond in March, but now we were now very much in 'whistlestop' mode.
The run north from Spring Bay took us past the comparatively calm waters of Great Oyster Bay, that large ocean inlet which lies between the east coast and the southward jutting Freycinet Peninsula, home to the Hazards mountains and the world famous Wineglass Bay (but one of several wonderful sights as we later discovered)
I was relishing the fact that the coast road for much of our run to Bicheno was completely devoid of mountains, and presented very few hills. What a pleasant change of pace this was. Swansea came
and went (this later became one of our favourite towns on the island)
and within a short distance we passed a real reminder of home. Wallaroo, on South Australia's Yorke Peninsula, is a town we had visited often 'in another life'.
After a mere 95 kms we found ourselves cruising along the southern approach into Bicheno, an east coast town noted for fishing, surfing and tourism.
We actually made this an overnight stop, and with every intention of returning in March for a longer visit, I did not bother to photograph either our camp or the town. This was a mistake (from the point of view of posterity at least) because this did not eventuate.
So let me at least comment that the Bicheno East Coast Caravan Park, although a little pricey, provided good sites for larger rigs like ours, clean and efficient amenities, and was managed by a welcoming and cheerful couple.
The town itself left me less than impressed......I found it to be highly commercialised compared to much of what we had seen to date in Tassie. The much vaunted seafood outlets were overpriced, the harbour which housed the local fishing fleet was small and non-descript and the highly publicised 'tourist feature', the local blowhole, was an absolute fizzer (even more so when compared to Kiama in NSW or Quobba in WA!).
Liz did not quite share my views, but in any event, after a very windy afternoon and evening (which also detracted to some degree from my enjoyment of the town) we took off again bright and early for the last of our east coast run.
Whilst my views about Bicheno itself may have been a little jaded, this was not the case in respect of the beaches north of the town. Along this part of the coast B&B's abound, motels flourish and holiday homes are de rigeur. And for good reason. This is indeed a beautiful section of the Tassie coast, with a climate which is far more moderate than many other parts of the island.
Thirty kilometres north of Bicheno found us at this major junction where the Esk and Tasman highways meet. We did later visit nearby St Marys whilst ensconced at St Helens, but for now it was along 'the Great Eastern Drive' through the pretty little coastal town of Scamander
and on into the heavily wooded hills on the approach to St Helens.
Here we had our first glimpse of Georges Bay, the large sheltered waterway which harbours the St Helen's fishing fleet and a significant number of pleasure craft.
We were to spend many hours wandering around the foreshore here in March, but today we were merely passing by, down the main street festooned with Xmas decorations and delightful flower beds which surrounded small replica dinghies dotted along the footpath verges,
and on out along the tree lined Cecilia Street as we now turned west away from the coast
and made our way into the tall timber which lined the road on the approaches to the mountains of north-eastern Tasmania.
With about twenty-five kilometres now to run to today's destination, the highway took us into the beautiful green valley which lay between the surrounding mountain ridges.
This is dairy land, no mistake. As we passed the improbably named district of Goshen, the grazing paddocks were increasingly dotted with lines of silage bales, a sure sign that we were in cattle country.
These brightly coloured stacks could be seen in almost every paddock, and at least now we knew the reason behind the different colours!
This marvellous aerial shot, courtesy of 'wikipedia', highlights the Pyengana area, nestled as it is beneath the surrounding slopes and peaks of the Blue Tier and the North-East ranges.
The tiny township itself, which is little more than a cheese factory, a pub, a local oval, a recreation area and a few houses, currently boasts a population of just over 100. But Pyengana, which is aboriginal for 'the meeting of two rivers', has much to offer. The district was first settled in 1875 when the founding Cotton family named their property St Columba.
The development of the now defunct Anchor tin mine soon followed, but now the area is renown for producing some of Tasmania's finest milk and dairy products (as we were soon to discover). Pyengana is also the gateway for the nearby St Columba falls, where the South George River plunges 90 metres over a granite escarpment, making it one of the island's highest cascades.
And, of course, there is the famous St Columba Hotel. Licensed in 1880, 'The Pub in the Paddock' is one of the island's oldest. It was the main reason we were here, but we'll come to that shortly. Firstly we had to get ourselves set up for the rest of the day and our overnight stay.
We had two options. There was a caravan parking lot right next to the pub, or we could take advantage of the facilities on offer at the local recreation ground, where apart from delightful camping areas, toilets and hot (pay) showers were provided. Given that this was central between the two attractions we had come here to visit, we chose the rec. ground which we both considered proximate enough to qualify as another of our 'pub stays'.
We drove in past the cheese factory,
on towards the large shed beyond which the blue camp ground sign beckoned,
and in no time flat we were easing our way along the entrance roadway, past the Aussie Rules goal posts, towards the cluster of buildings which heralded the edge of the camping grounds.
Here we tucked up on a strip of good grass between a small shed (with its useful verandahs) and the local wood chopping competition ground. Plenty of shade was available, but we needed sun on our solar panels.
We soon saw that we had made a very good decision. This proved to be one of the best 'almost free' camps we had ever come across. For a small donation (which was placed in the tin at the entrance) we had unlimited views across these open fields, only two distant neighbours,
and easy access to two amenities areas. One toilet block was located in this hall
whilst this nearby free standing newer building housed
self-contained cubicles (including a good hot shower) which were kept spotlessly clean by a band of local volunteers. What a gem of a find this was.
Once we had settled we were off, firstly back along the road which had brought us to the camping ground. The Pyengana Cheese Factory was in our sights.
It was now late morning, and the popularity of this well established facility was clearly evident by the number of cars parked along the front.
And of course, given that this was a tourist destination of some significance in the north-east, we were not surprised to find quirky signs on the front verandah.
Whomever went to work with the chalk on this board could well make a living with the mob which manufactures Xmas bon-bons......as their 'oh, no' joke writer!
Mind you, despite the corny nature of these offerings, there was nothing second rate about the rest of this establishment where 4th generation cheese maker Jon Healy and his family, with the assistance of 25 other staff, produce milk, ice cream and a range of twelve different cheeses, specialising in cloth bound cheddars.
We duly lined up at the tasting counter in the Holy Cow Cafe where we indulged in a nibble or two
but we chose not to take a seat at one of the tables in the dining area where, not surprisingly, a ploughman's lunch is on offer, together with many other options.
The al fresco area at the rear of the cafe was pretty popular with family groups where the small kiddies' playground provided an added attraction.
Glitzy as the Holy Cow may be, and highly commercialised as it certainly was, it was the attached dairy itself which attracted my attention. This was something special indeed.
Here at Pyengana the cows are all micro-chipped, and they wander in at their own pace to be milked when they feel due (the programme prevents them making a return appearance within 4 hours of the last milking). The automated diary is high tech, and even the approach path is different.
We had crossed this roadway underpass whilst walking down to the Holy Cow and at the time its significance did not really dawn on us. But when I went out to look at the milking shed I realised that this path led directly to it, and then the penny dropped.
As we saw when we were leaving the following morning, this underpass allows the cows to access the milking shed from their grazing paddocks on the other side of the road whenever they felt the urge for a purge!
Down one side and up the other....just too smart for words!
We did leave with a couple of wedges of the matured cheddar in hand, but we later both agreed that they did nothing to particularly excite our palates. For what it cost us (and the prices here have been the subject of more than one complaint on various travel advisories) we were a little disappointed, but of course, cheese, like wine, like art, is a matter of personal taste, and there can be no denying the awards that the Pyengana Dairy Company has accrued over the years.
Well, with one attraction done and dusted, and after a modest luncheon Chez Marshies, it was off down the road in the other direction to the famous local pub to visit the beer drinking pig and down a late afternoon beer or two ourselves. The Pub in the Paddock is a Tasmanian institution,
and as we walked in along the entrance driveway we could see that the caravan camping ground to the left of the roadway was more than fit for purpose.
Now I think it fair to say that we oft approach these 'iconic' pubs with a degree of reserve....we have been disappointed on a few occasions (most notably at the Walkabout Creek Hotel at McKinlay in Queensland a few years ago....but who holds a grudge...not I!),
but here in Pyengana this venerable watering hole came right up to expectations.
We have come to recognise quirky bar room clutter as an essential part of good old country pub decor, and here the completely out of place swivel bar seats were right on the money.
Silly signs are another essential, and this was but one of many gracing the walls here. At least they were honest!
This one had a far more practical application, and the arrow did point the right way.
With its more than adequate dining room,
old fashioned central fireplace,
and wall photos of many events of local historical significance, this was a pub in which we both felt very much at home.
And so we did settle in for a few, taking full advantage of the most comfortable bar stools we had encountered anywhere.
Ah, well, one for the road....after all they even had Toohys Old on tap!
We had a grand chat to Scott, the most amenable co-host of this fine establishment, before taking our leave and wandering off 'home' past the yard of Priscilla, the famous beer swilling pub pig.
Patrons here are invited to present Priscilla with a stubbie of beer which she will slurp down with gay gusto. But for all you animal lovers who are about to be consumed by animal welfare outrage, please resume you seats......the 'beer' must be bought over the bar, and is nothing more than sweetened water.
Needless to say, with my well known penchant for all things porcine, watering Priscilla was on the 'to do' list, but I have to admit here I erred badly. The lady in question was not actually out and about at the time in question, and we had every intention of making a return visit to stay at the pub itself, enjoy an evening meal (which we had on good authority were of an excellent standard) and minister appropriately to said pig on that occasion.
This did not eventuate for a number of reasons but thanks to 'pubinthepaddocktas'
I can share with you a photo of this august porker on the bottle and despite not returning to down a drop with Priscilla in person, at least we were able to tick off the Pub in the Paddock from our list.
Not for long. It was time to push further north along the east coast. We were expected at Rosevears within the next few days, so time was now of the essence, and as I have mentioned previously, it was our intention to return to this part of the island once the chaos of the school holidays was over.
So it was that we brought our overnight stay at the gateway to Maria Island to a close and rejoined the Tasman Highway as it wound its way north through the grazing land between Triabunna and the next 'major' coastal town, Swansea, but 50 kms distant.
The Apple Isle continued to surprise us. From the lush orchards and pastures of The Channel and the Huon Valley areas and the tall timber country around New Norfolk and beyond, we now found ourselves driving though countryside with which we were much more familiar. Here on the east coast, where the summer rains had failed to fall so far this year, brown and light greens were the predominant colours and the swathes of scrub were much lower and less impressive than elsewhere.
But, as Tasmania always seemed to do, one delightful scene was replaced here by another....azure blue waters and long, sandy beaches. We were soon to discover that these beaches were a real feature of this side of the island.
At this stage I must point out that our plans to return to do this run again meant that our en route photography over the next couple of days was comparatively lean and mean and although dint of circumstance precluded our return to Triabunna, we did spend quite some time at Swansea and beyond in March, but now we were now very much in 'whistlestop' mode.
The run north from Spring Bay took us past the comparatively calm waters of Great Oyster Bay, that large ocean inlet which lies between the east coast and the southward jutting Freycinet Peninsula, home to the Hazards mountains and the world famous Wineglass Bay (but one of several wonderful sights as we later discovered)
I was relishing the fact that the coast road for much of our run to Bicheno was completely devoid of mountains, and presented very few hills. What a pleasant change of pace this was. Swansea came
and went (this later became one of our favourite towns on the island)
and within a short distance we passed a real reminder of home. Wallaroo, on South Australia's Yorke Peninsula, is a town we had visited often 'in another life'.
After a mere 95 kms we found ourselves cruising along the southern approach into Bicheno, an east coast town noted for fishing, surfing and tourism.
We actually made this an overnight stop, and with every intention of returning in March for a longer visit, I did not bother to photograph either our camp or the town. This was a mistake (from the point of view of posterity at least) because this did not eventuate.
So let me at least comment that the Bicheno East Coast Caravan Park, although a little pricey, provided good sites for larger rigs like ours, clean and efficient amenities, and was managed by a welcoming and cheerful couple.
The town itself left me less than impressed......I found it to be highly commercialised compared to much of what we had seen to date in Tassie. The much vaunted seafood outlets were overpriced, the harbour which housed the local fishing fleet was small and non-descript and the highly publicised 'tourist feature', the local blowhole, was an absolute fizzer (even more so when compared to Kiama in NSW or Quobba in WA!).
Liz did not quite share my views, but in any event, after a very windy afternoon and evening (which also detracted to some degree from my enjoyment of the town) we took off again bright and early for the last of our east coast run.
Whilst my views about Bicheno itself may have been a little jaded, this was not the case in respect of the beaches north of the town. Along this part of the coast B&B's abound, motels flourish and holiday homes are de rigeur. And for good reason. This is indeed a beautiful section of the Tassie coast, with a climate which is far more moderate than many other parts of the island.
Thirty kilometres north of Bicheno found us at this major junction where the Esk and Tasman highways meet. We did later visit nearby St Marys whilst ensconced at St Helens, but for now it was along 'the Great Eastern Drive' through the pretty little coastal town of Scamander
and on into the heavily wooded hills on the approach to St Helens.
Here we had our first glimpse of Georges Bay, the large sheltered waterway which harbours the St Helen's fishing fleet and a significant number of pleasure craft.
We were to spend many hours wandering around the foreshore here in March, but today we were merely passing by, down the main street festooned with Xmas decorations and delightful flower beds which surrounded small replica dinghies dotted along the footpath verges,
and on out along the tree lined Cecilia Street as we now turned west away from the coast
and made our way into the tall timber which lined the road on the approaches to the mountains of north-eastern Tasmania.
With about twenty-five kilometres now to run to today's destination, the highway took us into the beautiful green valley which lay between the surrounding mountain ridges.
This is dairy land, no mistake. As we passed the improbably named district of Goshen, the grazing paddocks were increasingly dotted with lines of silage bales, a sure sign that we were in cattle country.
These brightly coloured stacks could be seen in almost every paddock, and at least now we knew the reason behind the different colours!
This marvellous aerial shot, courtesy of 'wikipedia', highlights the Pyengana area, nestled as it is beneath the surrounding slopes and peaks of the Blue Tier and the North-East ranges.
The tiny township itself, which is little more than a cheese factory, a pub, a local oval, a recreation area and a few houses, currently boasts a population of just over 100. But Pyengana, which is aboriginal for 'the meeting of two rivers', has much to offer. The district was first settled in 1875 when the founding Cotton family named their property St Columba.
The development of the now defunct Anchor tin mine soon followed, but now the area is renown for producing some of Tasmania's finest milk and dairy products (as we were soon to discover). Pyengana is also the gateway for the nearby St Columba falls, where the South George River plunges 90 metres over a granite escarpment, making it one of the island's highest cascades.
And, of course, there is the famous St Columba Hotel. Licensed in 1880, 'The Pub in the Paddock' is one of the island's oldest. It was the main reason we were here, but we'll come to that shortly. Firstly we had to get ourselves set up for the rest of the day and our overnight stay.
We had two options. There was a caravan parking lot right next to the pub, or we could take advantage of the facilities on offer at the local recreation ground, where apart from delightful camping areas, toilets and hot (pay) showers were provided. Given that this was central between the two attractions we had come here to visit, we chose the rec. ground which we both considered proximate enough to qualify as another of our 'pub stays'.
We drove in past the cheese factory,
on towards the large shed beyond which the blue camp ground sign beckoned,
and in no time flat we were easing our way along the entrance roadway, past the Aussie Rules goal posts, towards the cluster of buildings which heralded the edge of the camping grounds.
Here we tucked up on a strip of good grass between a small shed (with its useful verandahs) and the local wood chopping competition ground. Plenty of shade was available, but we needed sun on our solar panels.
We soon saw that we had made a very good decision. This proved to be one of the best 'almost free' camps we had ever come across. For a small donation (which was placed in the tin at the entrance) we had unlimited views across these open fields, only two distant neighbours,
and easy access to two amenities areas. One toilet block was located in this hallwhilst this nearby free standing newer building housed
self-contained cubicles (including a good hot shower) which were kept spotlessly clean by a band of local volunteers. What a gem of a find this was.
Once we had settled we were off, firstly back along the road which had brought us to the camping ground. The Pyengana Cheese Factory was in our sights.
It was now late morning, and the popularity of this well established facility was clearly evident by the number of cars parked along the front.
And of course, given that this was a tourist destination of some significance in the north-east, we were not surprised to find quirky signs on the front verandah.
Whomever went to work with the chalk on this board could well make a living with the mob which manufactures Xmas bon-bons......as their 'oh, no' joke writer!
Mind you, despite the corny nature of these offerings, there was nothing second rate about the rest of this establishment where 4th generation cheese maker Jon Healy and his family, with the assistance of 25 other staff, produce milk, ice cream and a range of twelve different cheeses, specialising in cloth bound cheddars.
We duly lined up at the tasting counter in the Holy Cow Cafe where we indulged in a nibble or two
but we chose not to take a seat at one of the tables in the dining area where, not surprisingly, a ploughman's lunch is on offer, together with many other options.
The al fresco area at the rear of the cafe was pretty popular with family groups where the small kiddies' playground provided an added attraction.
Glitzy as the Holy Cow may be, and highly commercialised as it certainly was, it was the attached dairy itself which attracted my attention. This was something special indeed.
Here at Pyengana the cows are all micro-chipped, and they wander in at their own pace to be milked when they feel due (the programme prevents them making a return appearance within 4 hours of the last milking). The automated diary is high tech, and even the approach path is different.
We had crossed this roadway underpass whilst walking down to the Holy Cow and at the time its significance did not really dawn on us. But when I went out to look at the milking shed I realised that this path led directly to it, and then the penny dropped.
As we saw when we were leaving the following morning, this underpass allows the cows to access the milking shed from their grazing paddocks on the other side of the road whenever they felt the urge for a purge!
Down one side and up the other....just too smart for words!
We did leave with a couple of wedges of the matured cheddar in hand, but we later both agreed that they did nothing to particularly excite our palates. For what it cost us (and the prices here have been the subject of more than one complaint on various travel advisories) we were a little disappointed, but of course, cheese, like wine, like art, is a matter of personal taste, and there can be no denying the awards that the Pyengana Dairy Company has accrued over the years.
Well, with one attraction done and dusted, and after a modest luncheon Chez Marshies, it was off down the road in the other direction to the famous local pub to visit the beer drinking pig and down a late afternoon beer or two ourselves. The Pub in the Paddock is a Tasmanian institution,
and as we walked in along the entrance driveway we could see that the caravan camping ground to the left of the roadway was more than fit for purpose.
Now I think it fair to say that we oft approach these 'iconic' pubs with a degree of reserve....we have been disappointed on a few occasions (most notably at the Walkabout Creek Hotel at McKinlay in Queensland a few years ago....but who holds a grudge...not I!),
but here in Pyengana this venerable watering hole came right up to expectations.
We have come to recognise quirky bar room clutter as an essential part of good old country pub decor, and here the completely out of place swivel bar seats were right on the money.
Silly signs are another essential, and this was but one of many gracing the walls here. At least they were honest!
This one had a far more practical application, and the arrow did point the right way.
With its more than adequate dining room,
old fashioned central fireplace,
and wall photos of many events of local historical significance, this was a pub in which we both felt very much at home.
And so we did settle in for a few, taking full advantage of the most comfortable bar stools we had encountered anywhere.
Ah, well, one for the road....after all they even had Toohys Old on tap!
We had a grand chat to Scott, the most amenable co-host of this fine establishment, before taking our leave and wandering off 'home' past the yard of Priscilla, the famous beer swilling pub pig.
Patrons here are invited to present Priscilla with a stubbie of beer which she will slurp down with gay gusto. But for all you animal lovers who are about to be consumed by animal welfare outrage, please resume you seats......the 'beer' must be bought over the bar, and is nothing more than sweetened water.
Needless to say, with my well known penchant for all things porcine, watering Priscilla was on the 'to do' list, but I have to admit here I erred badly. The lady in question was not actually out and about at the time in question, and we had every intention of making a return visit to stay at the pub itself, enjoy an evening meal (which we had on good authority were of an excellent standard) and minister appropriately to said pig on that occasion.
This did not eventuate for a number of reasons but thanks to 'pubinthepaddocktas'
I can share with you a photo of this august porker on the bottle and despite not returning to down a drop with Priscilla in person, at least we were able to tick off the Pub in the Paddock from our list.
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