What a pest a schedule can be when touring. Apart from anything else it can mean that no allowances can be made for the weather when sightseeing. So it was for us at St Helens.
The day we had set aside to make the trip north to Ansons Bay and Eddystone Point dawned overcast and gloomy. Around the Bay of Fires, where colour is everything, a lack of bright daylight is more significant than elsewhere, but we set off nevertheless.
Just to recap, Eddystone Point and its lighthouse (red arrow) is about 50 kms north of St Helens. It is reached via a mainly dirt road which runs virtually parallel to the coast but some distance inland from it. En route, we made quick detour past the southern side of Ansons Bay to check out a camp site (yellow arrow) and took a quick look at Ansons Bay itself before pushing on to Eddystone Point.
And, just set the record completely straight, although the weather was not on our side, today we really did enjoy what we saw.
The blacktop out of St Helens soon gave way to the anticipated gravel,
and although this back road was, for the most part, fairly wide, the corrugations (unusual for Tassie) spoke of a solid traffic load.
and although this back road was, for the most part, fairly wide, the corrugations (unusual for Tassie) spoke of a solid traffic load.
Out on this part of the island's north-east we again found ourselves wending our way through flat grazing lands, where the condition of the sleek black cattle was testament to the quality and quantity of the grass they were contentedly hoovering up as we drove past.
Road signage is scant in this neck of the Tasmanian woods, so although we were pretty sure we were on track, we were not upset to see this in front of us.
From this point the road narrowed considerably as it took us past a short sea inlet where the sandy flats had been exposed by the falling tide.
As we drove quietly around the camping ground (trying to photograph without being too obtrusive) we soon saw that Policemans Point was no better than anything else we had found throughout this area.
There was no doubt that it did offer bush seclusion (and precious little else), but again, we would have had the devil's own job manoeuvring our rig into any of the available nooks and crannies.
In fact the only two (small) vans we did see were jammed into a very restricted space. This was a pity. From what we briefly saw of the beaches and coast in this area, it looked to be very promising indeed.
Our trip back to the main road gave us our first good look across Ansons Bay to the small township on the far shore, and again we just had to try and imagine what a different scene this would have been on a bright, sunny day.
And here was a sight we'd not seen for a while....scrub covered sandhills looming over yet another narrow inlet on the shores of Ansons Bay.
Shortly after rejoining the 'main' road, the gravel surface unexpectedly reverted back to bitumen as the road took a quite sudden and unexpected dip. A floodway sign?
And rightly so. We were quite unprepared for this river crossing. In fact we had set out blissfully unaware (poor homework) that our trip would take us across the quite significant Ansons River.
Like so many of the rivers and streams (not forgetting the 'rivulets'!) we had come across in our island travels, Ansons River was an absolute picture of serenity, a delightful scenic surprise on this day set aside for coastal exploration.
The sealed surface lasted but a few hundred metres beyond the river causeway, and we were again hammering along what was now a very good dirt road as we kept our eyes peeled for the next anticipated junction.
Ah, our navigation skills had not deserted us (for once we were actually using local maps rather than relying on our electronics). So now we had a decision to make...which first, Ansons Bay off to the right or Eddystone Point to the left. Either way it would mean a backtrack.
Ansons Bay won out and as we began the descent into this marvellous little seaside village, we noted the rider on the town sign....'Remote Paradise'. I should add at this point that although I'll only be presenting some indicative shots of the town, we left in complete agreement with this assessment.
The town entry road was quite steep, but given we had noted from the other side of the bay how the homes and shacks were nestled along the shore at the base of a heavily wooded hillside, this came as no real surprise.
We eased our way along what appeared to be the main road through the town
until we came to a car park at what was obviously
the small boat launching area.
And here we came across a scene which I would argue probably says more about life here at Ansons Bay than mere words could convey!
The short launching and retrieval jetty did provide an excellent vantage point to capture a shot of the shoreline of this enclosed and completely sheltered bay. At this point in particular we were both lamenting the gloom and doing our best to imagine these waters glistening bright blue under a cloudless sky.
Like so many of these seaside villages, homes ranged from quite new and up-market
to shoreline shacks and shanties.
One street back from the shore varying forms of accommodation could be found nestled in the scrub.
Elsewhere it was pretty obvious that some had made Ansons Bay their permanent home,
whilst for others, living here was still a work in progress.
What an absolutely delightful spot this is, but the serene waters of the bay itself are not the end of the Ansons Bay story. Beyond these calm waters lie the far less forgiving swells of the Tasman Sea, and you may recall my earlier comment that during our stay at St Helens an Ansons Bay local was drowned off shore in a boating accident. The sea can be a very unforgiving mistress.
Now, after this whistle stop tour of Ansons Bay it was time for the backtrack out of town and onto the road to Eddystone Point.
Thanks to 'marineradio' I can begin our jaunt to the lighthouse with this aerial shot which shows the peninsular down which we were about to drive.
The entry road ended at a quite large car park
where a small residual piece of old stone wall marked the beginning of the track
which was to take us up to the light.
Two of the old keeper's cottages stood in a clearing we traversed along the way. One was well in the throes of renovation.
The refurbishment of the second of these two very substantial and solid homes (the word 'cottage' did not seen quite appropriate) had been completed. Local granite had been use to build these homes,
which, as this shot looking down from the lighthouse hill shows, were surrounded by plenty of open space.
The quality of the stone work was quite remarkable. Dressed blocks of this incredibly hard rock were of varying sizes, but all the edges were squared off with precision and they had been fitted together in what was a wonderful patchwork of stone.
Similar material and skill saw the Eddystone Lighthouse rise at the end of the peninsula in 1889, the work of James and Alexander Galloway, master stonemasons who migrated from Glasgow specifically to work on this project.
But these were the days of the colonial era in Australia, and despite the fact that this coast was the scene of continual shipwrecks, bickering between the colonial poobahs of Victoria and Tasmania over costs and the location of the light, saw its erection and operation delayed by years. How sadly familiar that sounds!
Although the first European sighting of the point itself was by Abel Tasman in 1642, he did not name it. This was left to Furneaux who in March 1773 was continuing his passage up the east coast of Tasmania beyond the Bay of Fires.
In his voyage, Tasman reported that as he reached this headland and attempted to follow the coast around it, he was met with howling westerly gales. This 'wind wall' defied his efforts and he turned east to run before the blast.
All those many years later Furneaux logged a similar experience. As he came abeam the head of the peninsula at 0200 hours on 19 March 1773, his ship was suddenly 'tossed 40 miles out to sea' by winds so fierce that they stripped the sails before they could be reefed. As a result of what must have been a seriously anxious time for all on board, Furneaux bestowed the name Eddystone Point on the headland after that other bane of English sailors nearer to home, the Eddystone Rocks of the English Channel.
The light which guides modern mariners is now automatic. The keepers have long gone, and their beautifully built cottages are soon to be used as holiday accommodation.
A short distance beyond the granite tower of the main light, we found this odd little structure which, in the absence of any information plaques advising to the contrary, we could only assume had housed a temporary light of some sort.
Irrespective of its function, its position on the crest of the hill gave us a splendid view over the blanket of coastal sedge to the south,
and another perspective of the grand granite structure below us.
And before we leave, I had to include this photo from the Internet which shows that the headland rocks here have not escaped the attention of the local lichen.
You may have, by now, gained the impression that I had become an instant and genuine fan of what was on offer here at Eddystone Point. You would be right!
Liz and I once spent a night in an old keeper's cottage at Kangaroo Island's Cape Borda, where the pitch black of this isolated night was eerily broken by the regular sweep of the nearby light and the tales of ghostly noises heard in the cottage by previous visitors took on a disturbing hint of reality as the imagination won out over rational thought.
The whole Eddystone Lighthouse precinct, whilst so different in many ways, was also strangely similar. We both agreed that a night here during our return visit was a must.
Thus enthused, we wandered back down the track to the car park. We were not done here yet.
To the right of this old wooden slat building with its impressive stone chimney, a narrow cutting and track
gave access to the Eddystone Point small boat launching ramp, an impressively paved affair which provided local fishermen access to the Tasman Sea via the channel between the rocks. This was cleverly thought out with the the natural rocky outcrop to seaward providing a useful breakwater in times of gnarly seas.
We had noticed an empty boat trailer in the car park on our arrival, but I felt more than sure that this fishing trawler I could see working just beyond the rocks had not been launched here!
To the left of the old shack a sign pointed us in the direction of Larc Beach and beyond (and to the nearby quaint little 'long drop' for which we had no immediate need).
The narrow track wound its way through the scrub, initially sandy underfoot,
before bringing us to a rocky plate on a crest from where we could see out over the bays to the north.
From here a short descent through the bush
brought us out to the head of Larc Beach, a delightful little sandy cove nestled between two rocky headlands. 'This would be just the spot to cast a line', was my immediate reaction.
Looking north along the coast we could see that the rocks were splashed with the trademark orange of the area,
as were those in the other direction.
As I noted at the outset of this missive and as is clearly evident in my photographic offerings, today's weather conditions were disappointing, but our trip out to Ansons Bay and Eddystone Point had been anything but. A return visit has already been inked in.
So let me take our leave of the Bay of Fires, with all its promises and let downs, with the inclusion of this simply stunning photo of Picnic Rocks, a cluster on the beach near Eddystone Point, which
is not only a testament to the skill of 'Lee Duguid' to whom I am indebted, but also a positive way to end this part of our Tassie trip.
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