Our Hobart high jinks had come to an end with the Big Bash. Now were 'on the road' again, but not for too long......a mere 80 kilometres would see us there, and again it was to be an easy drive.
The road into and out of Hobart city central was now completely old hat and we soon found ourselves passing our first Hobart digs at the Airport park and heading south across the first of two causeways which would take us across the sea inlets at Midway Point.
This road connects the rapidly spreading outer suburban areas and the expanding township of Sorell to Hobart and as you can see from this photo the traffic is becoming an increasing problem as folk commute to their jobs in the city. And bear in mind today was one when most were still enjoying their Xmas-New Year break. During the peak hours these crossings are absolutely jammed with vehicles......and you can just imagine the chaos when there is an accident or breakdown!
What would I do without good old Google Earth? The inlet we were crossing can be seen here between Hobart and Sorell. Midway Point lies on the small peninsula jutting south-east into the inlet.
Although it is a little difficult to make out on this view, our destination of Dunalley is situated on a narrow neck of land which connects the 'mainland' to the Forestier Peninsula with an inlet of the Tasman Sea to the east and Norfolk Bay to its west (this will be of significance later).
South of that, just below the 'A9' sign, is the second of the two terrestrial narrows in this part of Tassie, the famous Eaglehawk Neck, and if we then travelled south down the Tasman Peninsula, we would come to the ruins of the infamous Port Arthur penal colony, brutal in its day and now sadly remembered for another act of mindless savagery, the Port Arthur massacre.
Liz and I had both visited this area before, and decided that there was no need to become another two in the milling masses which would undoubtedly be thronging through the ruins during this holiday period. Dunalley was to be as far south as we would travel.
The busy township of Sorrel came and went as we turned right to continue along the A9. We felt some personal connection with this lovely town....our Margate host Andy's daughter is a 'girl in blue' here. Needless to say she and I did have several chats about 'the job'.
Beyond the built up area we found ourselves in pretty country, where the ribbon of bitumen curved through still green grazing paddocks and low (by Tasmanian standards), rolling hills.
The tell tale gleam of the plastic wrapping around rolls of hay was a common sight on the edge of the highway, and although there were patches of browned off, dry pastures, this part of the island was far greener than it was in the Midlands.
The tiny hamlet of Copping was no sooner in our mirrors than we caught our first glimpse of the sea in front of us, and as I'll explain later, this water was actually directly connected to the Tasman Sea.
And then we were on the outskirts of Dunalley,
cruising in past newly rebuilt homes on a hillside which was, in 2013, a scene of complete devastation....but much more of that in my next.
Less than a kilometre along the main road and we had another scenic first, this time of the swing bridge which takes traffic across the extraordinary canal which is a real feature of Dunalley (and again, much more of this later).
We joined the queue of waiting traffic as a large 'stinky' made passage into the channel
before the bridge swung shut and joined the roadway on both sides of the channel. And there, in pride of place at the top of the hill was the grand building we had come to not only visit, but behind which we would be camping.....the quite majestic looking Dunalley Hotel.
The day was still a pup as we eased into the huge paddock behind the pub. To our great relief, camp sites were a dime a dozen. Given the popularity of this place, and the fact that we were right in the middle of the holiday period, this came as a very pleasant surprise.
With Vicki and Andy hot on our heels, we soon set up in neighbourly proximity,
and our early arrival meant that I could park the Cruiser in such a way as to allow us plenty of elbow room on the other side.
I was more than pleased to have done so, because within the next couple of hours this place was a veritable hive of activity,
and by late afternoon vans, campers, mobile homes and tent trailers formed a solid unbroken wall of vehicles right around the park perimeter.
Why is the spot so popular? Simple.....it's free, it is right behind the pub as you can see, and at this time of the year even sports a pair of portable public toilets for those whose rigs are not so equipped. Backpacker heaven!
The Dunalley pub is known far and wide, and as I mentioned earlier was one on our list of these marvellous Tasmanian establishments which not only welcome visitors within their walls but provide camping accommodation nearby.....for nix.
The road into and out of Hobart city central was now completely old hat and we soon found ourselves passing our first Hobart digs at the Airport park and heading south across the first of two causeways which would take us across the sea inlets at Midway Point.
This road connects the rapidly spreading outer suburban areas and the expanding township of Sorell to Hobart and as you can see from this photo the traffic is becoming an increasing problem as folk commute to their jobs in the city. And bear in mind today was one when most were still enjoying their Xmas-New Year break. During the peak hours these crossings are absolutely jammed with vehicles......and you can just imagine the chaos when there is an accident or breakdown!
What would I do without good old Google Earth? The inlet we were crossing can be seen here between Hobart and Sorell. Midway Point lies on the small peninsula jutting south-east into the inlet.
Although it is a little difficult to make out on this view, our destination of Dunalley is situated on a narrow neck of land which connects the 'mainland' to the Forestier Peninsula with an inlet of the Tasman Sea to the east and Norfolk Bay to its west (this will be of significance later).
South of that, just below the 'A9' sign, is the second of the two terrestrial narrows in this part of Tassie, the famous Eaglehawk Neck, and if we then travelled south down the Tasman Peninsula, we would come to the ruins of the infamous Port Arthur penal colony, brutal in its day and now sadly remembered for another act of mindless savagery, the Port Arthur massacre.
Liz and I had both visited this area before, and decided that there was no need to become another two in the milling masses which would undoubtedly be thronging through the ruins during this holiday period. Dunalley was to be as far south as we would travel.
The busy township of Sorrel came and went as we turned right to continue along the A9. We felt some personal connection with this lovely town....our Margate host Andy's daughter is a 'girl in blue' here. Needless to say she and I did have several chats about 'the job'.
Beyond the built up area we found ourselves in pretty country, where the ribbon of bitumen curved through still green grazing paddocks and low (by Tasmanian standards), rolling hills.
The tell tale gleam of the plastic wrapping around rolls of hay was a common sight on the edge of the highway, and although there were patches of browned off, dry pastures, this part of the island was far greener than it was in the Midlands.
The tiny hamlet of Copping was no sooner in our mirrors than we caught our first glimpse of the sea in front of us, and as I'll explain later, this water was actually directly connected to the Tasman Sea.
And then we were on the outskirts of Dunalley,
cruising in past newly rebuilt homes on a hillside which was, in 2013, a scene of complete devastation....but much more of that in my next.
Less than a kilometre along the main road and we had another scenic first, this time of the swing bridge which takes traffic across the extraordinary canal which is a real feature of Dunalley (and again, much more of this later).
We joined the queue of waiting traffic as a large 'stinky' made passage into the channel
before the bridge swung shut and joined the roadway on both sides of the channel. And there, in pride of place at the top of the hill was the grand building we had come to not only visit, but behind which we would be camping.....the quite majestic looking Dunalley Hotel.
The day was still a pup as we eased into the huge paddock behind the pub. To our great relief, camp sites were a dime a dozen. Given the popularity of this place, and the fact that we were right in the middle of the holiday period, this came as a very pleasant surprise.
With Vicki and Andy hot on our heels, we soon set up in neighbourly proximity,
and our early arrival meant that I could park the Cruiser in such a way as to allow us plenty of elbow room on the other side.
I was more than pleased to have done so, because within the next couple of hours this place was a veritable hive of activity,
and by late afternoon vans, campers, mobile homes and tent trailers formed a solid unbroken wall of vehicles right around the park perimeter.
Why is the spot so popular? Simple.....it's free, it is right behind the pub as you can see, and at this time of the year even sports a pair of portable public toilets for those whose rigs are not so equipped. Backpacker heaven!
The Dunalley pub is known far and wide, and as I mentioned earlier was one on our list of these marvellous Tasmanian establishments which not only welcome visitors within their walls but provide camping accommodation nearby.....for nix.
Built as it is atop this rise, the hotel, which is known universally as the Pub on the Hill was built originally as a single storey premises in 1866 and later rebuilt in 1891 after a fire destroyed its first incarnation. Fortunately history was not repeated in the flames of 2013.
This watering hole, which has a very interesting history including one early ownership which could best be described as 'dodgy', is a popular place indeed with locals and tourists alike. Many visiting Port Arthur make this their lunchtime stop-over.
On our first visit to the pub we were somewhat taken aback by this odd looking 'statue' (?) which took pride of place in the rear outdoor courtyard. This demanded a much closer look.
It looked for all the world like a bloody great bearing, and it turned out that's exactly what it was.
Moved to this site here at the hotel in 1965, this 'Giant Roller Bearing' made of cast iron and rivets was the original mechanism which allowed the swing bridge over the channel to be manually opened and closed until it was replaced by the present concrete and steel structure which is now operated hydraulically.
And that was not the only quirky thing we found here at the Dunalley pub. The current owners obviously decided that their small lake below the hotel needed some additional attractions, all with a nautical theme.
Perched on the hill as it is, the pub offers a good view back along the A9 and across the swing bridge to part of the town below
and, looking slightly to the left from where I was standing, down to the waters of Norfolk Bay and the Dunalley Fish Market.
Photos from 'realestate' do come in handy from time to time. In this you can see the highway into town (on the right), the channel, the bridge, the fish market buildings on the right of the channel entrance off Norfolk Bay and the pub and camp ground on top of the hill.
We adopted the 'when in Rome' policy on our first evening here behind the hotel (or was it the 'I'm just too lazy to cook tonight' policy) and joined the many who had congregated in the dining room for dinner.
Unsurprisingly, for a town which relies heavily on fishing, seafood is the hotel speciality. My chowder was superb (as a starter!), but it is fair to say that all the meals here were of generous size and excellent quality. This is a seriously good pub.
And just top today off nicely, as we wandered over to the pub for tea, nature provided us with a real pre-dinner treat.
What a good start this had been to our short visit. On the morrow there was much walking to be done and much more to see of this interesting little town with its extraordinary canal, a town which has risen from the ashes of disaster.
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