It was to be less than 50 kms. Railton to Mole Creek via Sheffield is not far, but we were to have the pleasure of hauling the van over one of the few Tasmanian roads I have now marked as 'never again' unless absolutely necessary (towing that is).
I knew our planned route included crossing the strangely named Gog Range, a significant ridge between Sheffield and our destination, an uplift of rock which includes the spectacular Mount Roland. Having consulted with Google Earth beforehand, I was aware that today's drive could be somewhat challenging, but there are times when no amount of pre-planning can forewarn of the actual reality.
The red arrow on this sat photo shows Mount Roland, whilst the circled section indicates
roughly the area where the small back road took us over the range east of Mount Roland. As you can see, on this scale it is too minor to actually register as a road! Once over the range it took us south to pick up the B12 between Mayberry and Mole Creek.
Anyway, let's be off. All began well enough as we meandered out of the southern end of Railton
and toddled off through the pine forests on the 20 kms leg to Sheffield, a fascinating town which, like Railton, stakes its claim to fame with visual street presentations, but this time they come in the form of murals. We would visit later.
The approach to Sheffield brought us our first view across the fields of the massive outcrop which is Mount Roland,
a vista which became even more impressive as we turned left at Sheffield and began to make our way south towards the Gog Range.
Our next change of course came 4 kms out of the town where we joined the C137 for our Gog Range crossing.
Before reaching the ridges, we passed these oddly clipped hedgerows, something which remains a mystery despite my subsequent attempts to find out exactly what was going on here on this farm.
This was to be the last of the mildly undulating country
before we began our climb through thickening roadside vegetation. It all began benignly enough
before the fun began. This is another instance where the photos Liz took do not do justice to the reality, but I think from this one you can gain some idea of just how steep and narrow this road had become, and how sharp the curves were.
We did gain some respite through a few sections where the inclines flattened to some extent and the road became an avenue through the trees.
And despite all that was besetting us on this section, at least we had one up on this bloke!
Again, this doesn't look too challenging,
but with only a few metres to spare either side of our rig to the edge of the bitumen, we were both hoping against hope that we would not meet anything of size coming in the opposite direction.....that could have been very interesting!
After some fifteen minutes crawling down the descent at no more than 10 kph we finally reached the floor of the Meander Valley and the bridge
which took us across the quite impressive Mersey River.
From this point on the drive was a comparative doddle
as we completed the last few kilometres to pull up with some relief at the front of the Mole Creek hotel. Fortunately I had not been stressed to the point where a calming nip or two was essential....we were here before opening time, but I did hunt down the owner to ensure that we could avail ourselves of the free campsite behind the pub.
That done, and permission granted, we made our way cautiously down the street beside the hotel and duly took up residence in the far corner of this large field,
right next to the creek. Although this magnificent camp site was strangely empty (a couple of motor homes pulled out just as we arrived), I was keen to snaffle a spot where we could only possibly have a neighbour on one side if things became busy....and let's face it, right next to the babbling brook was the prime site here....we even had our own picnic table.... first in, best dressed!
We could not believe our luck, having expected this to be a pretty busy place. As it transpired, we spent the entire 24 hours allowed here as the sole occupants. There was a good reason for this, and as far as luck goes, we had another stroke on the positive side of the ledger.....had we arrived a day later there would have been 'no room at the Inn'!
The Mole Creek Hotel annually hosts a massive outdoor music festival, 'A Day At The Creek', and this was scheduled for two days hence. The stage was already nearing completion, and as we departed the following morning, the last section of the temporary fencing enclosure was sealed behind us! We had just squeaked in.
I should add that normally we would have fronted with glee at a bash like this......there was only one major snag....it poured with rain on the day of the festival. We hunkered down in the nearby caravan park feeling significant sympathy for all involved.
Tucked up and as happy as dogs with two tails, we set off to explore our surroundings which, at this stage, were confined to the pub.
Mole Creek is in an area which was prime habitat for that mysterious and maligned beast, the Tasmanian Tiger. The pub here makes the most of this and promotes itself accordingly as we shall shortly see.
Irrespective of what may be thought of that, this really is a grand country pub. This creek bridge, no more than 20 metres from our site, gave us access to the rear of the building.
As we wandered across the creek,
we could see downstream to the second of the two foot crossings and the back fence
featuring the first of the many thylacines we found which pop up throughout this entire complex. I should add here that despite the fact that Mole Creek looks to be little more than a drainage ditch, it punches well above its weight beneath the surface as we shall shortly see.
At the rear of the pub one could sit in the shade and admire the large heron statue
or be suitably impressed (and appropriately puzzled) by the much larger offering of outdoor art.
That done, and permission granted, we made our way cautiously down the street beside the hotel and duly took up residence in the far corner of this large field,
right next to the creek. Although this magnificent camp site was strangely empty (a couple of motor homes pulled out just as we arrived), I was keen to snaffle a spot where we could only possibly have a neighbour on one side if things became busy....and let's face it, right next to the babbling brook was the prime site here....we even had our own picnic table.... first in, best dressed!
We could not believe our luck, having expected this to be a pretty busy place. As it transpired, we spent the entire 24 hours allowed here as the sole occupants. There was a good reason for this, and as far as luck goes, we had another stroke on the positive side of the ledger.....had we arrived a day later there would have been 'no room at the Inn'!
The Mole Creek Hotel annually hosts a massive outdoor music festival, 'A Day At The Creek', and this was scheduled for two days hence. The stage was already nearing completion, and as we departed the following morning, the last section of the temporary fencing enclosure was sealed behind us! We had just squeaked in.
I should add that normally we would have fronted with glee at a bash like this......there was only one major snag....it poured with rain on the day of the festival. We hunkered down in the nearby caravan park feeling significant sympathy for all involved.
Tucked up and as happy as dogs with two tails, we set off to explore our surroundings which, at this stage, were confined to the pub.
Mole Creek is in an area which was prime habitat for that mysterious and maligned beast, the Tasmanian Tiger. The pub here makes the most of this and promotes itself accordingly as we shall shortly see.
Irrespective of what may be thought of that, this really is a grand country pub. This creek bridge, no more than 20 metres from our site, gave us access to the rear of the building.
As we wandered across the creek,
we could see downstream to the second of the two foot crossings and the back fence
featuring the first of the many thylacines we found which pop up throughout this entire complex. I should add here that despite the fact that Mole Creek looks to be little more than a drainage ditch, it punches well above its weight beneath the surface as we shall shortly see.
At the rear of the pub one could sit in the shade and admire the large heron statue
or be suitably impressed (and appropriately puzzled) by the much larger offering of outdoor art.
A short flight of stairs took us up to
a small al fresco drinking or dining deck,
from where we could look out over the rustic rear beer garden.
The ubiquitous Tassie Tigers were high on the wall at the front of the hotel, where the stained glass window announces to all arriving here what was to be found behind it.
The Tiger Bar could best be described as 'different', as I am sure it is meant to be. I could almost title this shot as 'spot the tiger'.
They graced every nook and cranny, each in a different stylised form,
including cartoons (I'm not too sure these quite ferocious predatory beasts of yesteryear would have been too happy about seeing themselves sent up like this!)
The statue in this 'corner' of the bar presented a far more serious mien
and there were a couple of spots on the bar walls where photos of the real thing, and some of the hunters responsible for their ultimate extinction, showed just what these impressive carnivores actually looked like.
The quirky theme for which this pub is renowned even extended to the door of the men's toilet.
Beyond the front bar, this short corridor took us past the stairs to the upper level (with yet another tiger above the door to the 'ladies'),
to the food ordering counter
and dining area of the hotel bistro
where one could enjoy a quiet aperitif in this corner nook whilst admiring (or otherwise) some pieces of local art (all for sale of course).
We hopped right into the spirit of things here, and duly presented late in the afternoon for a few drinks in the front bar before sampling the fare on offer in the bistro. And the verdict...more than acceptable, even if the wine list was a little short!
Now, back to the stream which separated us from the pub. All the relevant blurb trumpets the presence of platypus. Even Liz, the 'platypus whisperer' could not spot one on the day of our arrival. Mind you, the size of the local eels
slithering snake like through the crystal clear water, was impressive.
Pause and peer as we did, there was no hint of the monotreme we sought, until just before we were about to leave. As I was hitching, Liz, who was giving Max a pre-departure stroll, let out a yell which could best be described as victorious.
If you look closely at this photo you will see why.....her reputation was intact. And although
he (we were sure it was a male) doesn't appear to be of any size in this shot, this chap was, compared to all we had seen previously, a whopper.
And, for such a reputedly shy animal, he was utterly contemptuous of our presence as he lazed about on the surface
scratching
and preening his fur, no more than two metres from where we were standing (stock still) on the bank above him. This was our best sighting to date. Liz was over the moon.
What a fairy tale ending this had been to our overnight stay. This pub had certainly worked for us, and I have to comment it lived up to its reputation. With the wonderful rear camp ground for itinerants such as us, we could not more highly recommend a stopover at the Mole Creek Hotel.
But, with the closure of the camp ground pending, it was time to be on our way.....all of the one kilometre down the road to the 'formal' Mole Creek Caravan Park, our home for the next few days.
a small al fresco drinking or dining deck,
from where we could look out over the rustic rear beer garden.
The ubiquitous Tassie Tigers were high on the wall at the front of the hotel, where the stained glass window announces to all arriving here what was to be found behind it.
The Tiger Bar could best be described as 'different', as I am sure it is meant to be. I could almost title this shot as 'spot the tiger'.
They graced every nook and cranny, each in a different stylised form,
including cartoons (I'm not too sure these quite ferocious predatory beasts of yesteryear would have been too happy about seeing themselves sent up like this!)
The statue in this 'corner' of the bar presented a far more serious mien
and there were a couple of spots on the bar walls where photos of the real thing, and some of the hunters responsible for their ultimate extinction, showed just what these impressive carnivores actually looked like.
The quirky theme for which this pub is renowned even extended to the door of the men's toilet.
Beyond the front bar, this short corridor took us past the stairs to the upper level (with yet another tiger above the door to the 'ladies'),
to the food ordering counter
and dining area of the hotel bistro
where one could enjoy a quiet aperitif in this corner nook whilst admiring (or otherwise) some pieces of local art (all for sale of course).
We hopped right into the spirit of things here, and duly presented late in the afternoon for a few drinks in the front bar before sampling the fare on offer in the bistro. And the verdict...more than acceptable, even if the wine list was a little short!
Now, back to the stream which separated us from the pub. All the relevant blurb trumpets the presence of platypus. Even Liz, the 'platypus whisperer' could not spot one on the day of our arrival. Mind you, the size of the local eels
slithering snake like through the crystal clear water, was impressive.
Pause and peer as we did, there was no hint of the monotreme we sought, until just before we were about to leave. As I was hitching, Liz, who was giving Max a pre-departure stroll, let out a yell which could best be described as victorious.
If you look closely at this photo you will see why.....her reputation was intact. And although
he (we were sure it was a male) doesn't appear to be of any size in this shot, this chap was, compared to all we had seen previously, a whopper.
And, for such a reputedly shy animal, he was utterly contemptuous of our presence as he lazed about on the surface
scratching
and preening his fur, no more than two metres from where we were standing (stock still) on the bank above him. This was our best sighting to date. Liz was over the moon.
What a fairy tale ending this had been to our overnight stay. This pub had certainly worked for us, and I have to comment it lived up to its reputation. With the wonderful rear camp ground for itinerants such as us, we could not more highly recommend a stopover at the Mole Creek Hotel.
But, with the closure of the camp ground pending, it was time to be on our way.....all of the one kilometre down the road to the 'formal' Mole Creek Caravan Park, our home for the next few days.
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