NOW THE LAST LEG - WE FAREWELL TASMANIA WITH WINE AND CHOCOLATE (21 - 29 MARCH 2018)

Our time in Deloraine had given us one last and very large serve of Tasmanian history. And with the date of our departure from the island looming ever closer, and arrangements made to catch up with old friends and a couple from Adelaide in Devonport, it was time to go.

This was a very reluctant departure as so many had been previously during our Tassie touring. We had enjoyed our busy stay on the banks of the Meander River enormously.

Autumn, with its ever increasingly chilly mornings, had well and truly set in by now. Single digit temperatures were becoming the norm and we pulled out of Deloraine in a frosty five degrees.

A quick stop at a local service station en route out of town to top up the diesel heater tank brought an unexpected encounter, with vehicles of a much older vintage than our Cruiser.

Don't be fooled by the sunshine. There was no warmth in it yet. At least the passenger in this magnificently restored and gleaming roadster of years gone by was well rugged up for her encounter with passing breezes as they travelled.

I have now forgotten what make and vintage applied to the first of these vehicles, but I can tell you that this was a 1908 Renault. Vintage vehicle rallies are common in Tasmania.....that all seems to fit really. You may recall we came across a collection of similar vehicles at the Evandale Penny Farthing race meeting.

After a few litres had flowed into our aft heater tank, we were off again. Here the road presented views of the bulwark like ridge of the Great Western Tiers, hazy grey in the distance, which formed the back drop for this ploughed field where potato planting was in full swing.

In no time at all we had left the back roads and found ourselves on Tasmania's No1 thoroughfare, the Bass Highway, which was to take us over the vast majority of our short 55 kilometre journey for today.

The lovely old roadside pub in Elizabeth Town soon came and went. We had planned to visit this fine looking hostelry on several occasions, but just never quite got around to it.

This next stretch was to be the last of the Tasmanian pine forests we were to pass, 

but in this part of the country there is always another potato paddock to fill the windscreen.

Serious highway traffic came as a bit of a shock after we had spent so much time lately cruising around on quite country roads, but at least here there was more than ample passing room which was most welcome.

And of course we could steam along at a goodly clip on this wide and relatively flat strip of highway, so we reached our destination of Devonport, and the familiar ferry terminal sign, in very short order.

These signs were quite handy actually, because we knew from our previous stay here that all we had to do was to follow them to end up quite close to our caravan park,

so it was with minimal navigational effort that we found ourselves driving past the Mersey River docks (where we would soon see the oil storage tanks and the silos in a very different light)

and over the crest of the Tarleton Street hill from where we could see the waters of Bass Strait and the end point of today's trip.

The Discovery Holiday Park in Devonport was old hat and we were soon settled in, only one site away from the first we occupied here. I've not included a re-run of photos of the park and surrounds for obvious reasons.

As I mentioned a short time ago, several of these last few days on the Apple Isle were spent socialising. We enjoyed lunch with one old Cyprus UN colleague and later shared 'coffee and cake' with him and another Tasmanian member of my contingent and his wife. We had shared many happy hours with these folk at several UN Forces reunions around the country and it was great to catch up with them on their home turf.

Another lunch time rendezvous involved two Adelaide friends, Jenny and Paul, who were touring the island by car. Paul is a very old surf club mate of mine (he was Secretary during my term as President) and is now our financial advisor. It was lovely to catch up with them both over a very leisurely lunch overlooking the Mersey River.

For some reason, which is now completely beyond either Liz or me, we could find no photographs of any of these occasions. We suspect we inadvertently scrubbed a couple of pictorial folders from our computer database by mistake. Annoying!

Aside from these very pleasant social occasions, we did get out and about a bit during our second Devonport stay. We visited the nearly old town of La Trobe and the seaside town of Port Sorrell, but frankly I think we have all had enough of old buildings and beaches. I've exercised editorial privilege and have decided to skip these.

So let's make and end of this marvellous five plus months in Tasmania with two indulgences......wine and chocolate.

Unlike many who tour Tassie, our cellar door visits had been very limited. There is no need to rehash the reasons. But we had heard good reports of the Ghost Rock winery, an establishment about 20 kms east of Devonport.

We were more than taken by the entrance, and it is fair to say that this initial good impression did not fade throughout our visit. 

We drove in past a central garden area 

and took our place in the car park.

From here we wandered by a section of the lovely surrounding gardens,

past the very flash looking winery function centre building, 

and on to the cellar door itself.

I 'owed Liz one', and so was the responsible driver for the day. Whilst she fronted the tasting counter

and chatted away to the most engaging staff member who presented the wines for tasting,

I busied myself with the camera, taking the shots of this modern bar and dining area, and the most inviting menu board.

We were here much too early for lunch...hence the empty dining area, but had we decided to munch as we (no...she) tippled, we had the choice of eating indoors or plonking our bums on one of the outdoor benches where we could overlook some of the vines and just manage a glimpse of the sea in the far distance.

Like Devil's Corner near Swansea, these vineyards and the facilities at Ghost Rock are outstanding. In fact this establishment has twice recently been awarded the Tourism Tasmania's Best Cellar Door.

Despite my self imposed embargo on consumption I was enticed to confirm Liz's opinion of one of the sparkling wines on offer.....she was quite keen to buy a couple as presents but felt she needed a second opinon. Answer....go for it!  The Ghost Rock bubbles were excellent.

Well, that's seen to the wine, now for the chocolate. 

Anvers Chocolates, a very well known Tasmanian house of confectionery, is located on the Bass Highway near the town of La Trobe, a quick fifteen minutes or so south of Devonport.

Here, the building which houses this establishment is almost as much a feature of any visit as the product. Wyndarra Lodge has a real story to tell.






We pulled into the driveway quite early in the morning. My chocoholic companion was in a state of high excitement.

Even if chocolate tasting is not high on one's touring priority, a visit here is well worth it just for the grounds. The car parking area is surrounded by tall trees and we duly lined up with other early starters.












Grand expanses of lawn abound 










and it was in one of these we came across a large board which told the story of the Lodge,

which I photographed in sections in the hope that I would be able to 'photoshop' these 

sufficiently well to bring you the story. The result is marginal, but at least legible. 

I can remember thinking at the time that there was bound to be a website with all this detail better laid out. I was wrong and so am glad that I stopped to take these shots.

This is the front of the house as it is today (and obviously by this stage Liz was O/C camera!).














The rooms set aside for dining are truly charming with their highly polished floors, fine stained glass windows and period paintwork, not to mention the outlook over the gardens.










And for those who wish to commune more closely with nature, the outdoor cafe area at the rear of this magnificent house more than caters to their needs.










For any interested, one room is set aside as a 'chocolate museum'. We did not darken this doorway, and I am indebted to 'tripadvisor' for this photo.








A viewing platform along one wing of the building (complete with one of those kitchy 'I was here' photo frames) allows visitors to watch some of the manufacturing process.












I lined up briefly and, with the approach of Easter, was not surprised to see that today it was chocolate eggs.

All this was all of limited interest to my travelling companion who had taken herself off to the nearby sales room, from which, to my complete surprise, she emerged empty handed.






As I mentioned at the outset, this place should be firmly placed on any Devonport visitor's touring list, if not for the product, then for the magnificent home and gardens.




That evening, back at base camp, we could not resist a quick stroll down to the park by water's edge. For me, in particular, the pull of an arriving or departing ship is almost irresistible, even more so when this close. As 'The Spirit' swings to starboard 










to make its way into the Mersey River entrance channel, these vantage points could not offer a better view.











The approaching Easter break had meant that the normal sailing schedule had been expanded. Night crossings from Tasmania to Melbourne were now a daily event, and it could never be said that this ship is hard to see as she makes her way out to sea from the riverside docks.



This was my last opportunity to watch and photograph this scene. The time had finally arrived. We were struggling a little to realise that, even with the extra four weeks our extended sailing date had allowed us, there were still many things we would have like to have seen and done on this beautiful and fascinating (particularly for those with even a modicum of interest in history!) island. The entries on our fabled 'to do' list had become very numerous.

But the reality was that this time in 24 hours we would be amongst those standing on the rails watching the lights of Devonport disappear to our stern.

I think is is more than fair to say that as we drove down the the nearby docks where, our ship awaited as the sun began to set behind her, our hearts were heavy. This past five and a bit months had been amongst the most marvellous we had spent since beginning our life on the road. 










Tonight it was 'Number One' which would take us across Bass Strait to the mainland.









As we took our place in the waiting queue of vehicles we reflected on the advice we had received when contemplating this trip......'what ever you do, allow plenty of time'. We thought we had, but now had to accept the fact that we had fallen at least a month short. 




Our ETD was set for 2100 hours. We were in the queue much earlier than that, at just after 1800 hours in fact. We had learnt in Melbourne that an early boarding gave plenty of time to settle in and relax at one or more of the bars before the ship's siren shrieked and the lines were let go. 




Well, as it transpired, this evening that was Plan 'A'. We made it through all the arrival check points (correct length....tickets stamped) and duly took our place in one of the many marked traffic lanes in the vehicle arrivals area. And then we waited...and waited...and waited!









The 'check-in troops' were on deck and working efficiently so what was the delay?









As we watched the disembarking traffic, it soon became obvious that those who belonged to an MG Car Club had decided to make an Easter visit to Tasmania part of their social agenda for 2018. They poured ashore in all manner of vehicles of that marque.











This would have been a feast for the eyes of any enthusiast.











The range of models, ages and colours was extensive, 














and even included this grand old sedan.











And then everything ground to a baffling halt. No vehicles were emerging from the cavernous car decks of the moored ship and by now night had fallen and the lights aboard were blazing.











Commercial vehicles continued to stream aboard their allotted lower decks, but for us mere tourist types waiting to make our way over the upper ramp, there was no movement.



Finally the reason became clear as a tow truck emerged from the car deck exit complete with trailer and one well tied down MG, a vehicle in which the engine had obviously failed to fire when the departure rush began. 

We knew that no loading could begin until the relevant decks were completely clear, and had suspected something like this may have happened, but this little victory of local knowledge did nothing to assuage our growing sense of annoyance that our pre-departure social time had now been almost completely eroded.






At last. Plan 'B' finally had us moving forward as part of the now very lengthy stream of vehicles easing down onto the dock














before we made the ascent onto the upper boarding ramp















and down onto our assigned vehicle deck













where we took our place cheek by jowl with the vehicles of some of our fellow travellers.







As I have told you in a previous missive, after poor old Max's wretched experience in a cage on the car deck as we made our first crossing, we were determined that he would not have to undergo that torment again. So before we locked the van and went upstairs to our cabin, we made sure that the Black Panther was well settled with plenty of food, water and a choice of beds. 

Mind you, with all the 'prophilactic' spread sheets we had laid down over the bed and the dinette benches, the interior of the van looked as though it was being prepared for a spray painting. Despite his familiar surroundings, we were less than confident that his nibs would make the crossing without voiding one way or another....at short notice.

There was a very good reason for this......the forecast was less than appealing. The projected sea state for tonight's crossing promised a voyage which was to be significantly more lumpy that our first.




Liz was anything but a bundle of enthusiasm as we finally made our way to our cabin and was clearly unconvinced by my attempts at various versions of advice and support..... "Take a pill and have a drink.......and you'll be right, love."







But her mood did improve after downing the required medication to the extent that she agreed to join me at the bar for a 'bon voyage' glass, so with our cabin door locked behind us 











we took up station at one of the window tables with a sparkling glass before us as the tell tale vibration and rumble told us that the engines had been started and our departure was imminent. That was my signal to scurry to the rail.











The docks were now all but deserted













as the powerful bow thrusters eased the ship away from the dock 















and we made our way upstream to the wide channel basin where the waters of the Mersey writhed and foamed below us









as various engine and prop settings brought us about through 180 degrees. You may recall I made note of the view of the silos on the day we drove into town. Tonight they presented a very different aspect as we completed our turn,








and transitioned to forward thrust. Now as I stood high above the water I could see the lights of the docks











and the streets of Devonport slip quietly past. It was a little odd to be standing here looking at the brightly lit windows of the pub in which we had been sitting at a lunch table only three days previously.










As we made our way steadily but slowly past the last of the red lateral channel markers,
















and the bow wave began to spread as our ship gained speed, Liz joined me on deck and we both commented on just how differently familiar the passing lights of Devonport were now compared to our first viewing on the dawn of our arrival.







I would have happily stood here in reflective mode for some time but we both knew darn well that once we had cleared the port approach channel, smooth sailing would rapidly become a thing of the past for tonight. Liz, in particular, knew from bitter past experience, that her best chance of an uneventful crossing from a personal comfort perspective lay in her getting her head down before our world began to pitch and roll unrelentingly.

We both did just that, and I have to say that this was a very smart move, because in no time, move we did.......significantly!  

I can recall that on at least two occasions when I awoke during the night I almost fell sideways off my challengingly narrow bed. But my sailing days had taught me the value of a 'lee cloth'. 

Once Liz was in her bunk I made sure that her top sheet was so firmly tucked in that she was as snugly secured as a silk worm in its cocoon. She did not move all night. I couldn't do quite the same job for myself, but managed reasonably well, well enough to stay put, despite the best efforts of the large swells which were now pounding our bow to dislodge me completely.




Despite all these precautions, we were both glad to reach the sheltered waters of Port Phillip Bay. We arose at dawn. I was a man on a mission as we made our way through the now deserted bars, 

drinking and eating areas













and past the rows of window seats at which we had sat ourselves some ten hours ago.












There was but one thing on my mind, caffeine. The cafeteria and my obligatory cup of morning coffee was on the immediate agenda. All I had to do was work out how to use the self serve machine through the mental fog of an early morning after limited sleep.




But with a perseverance born of dire need, and only one major mistake, which brought the most obliging lass behind the cash counter rapidly to my side with words of wisdom, my cup was filled with the much needed morning elixir of life.




I was now sufficiently 'on deck' to be capable of managing the camera and snapping away at the distant lights of Melbourne 














as we continued our steady passage towards Station Pier,

















now accompanied by a large flock of seagulls which swooped in and out of the ship's sidelights like ghostly white bats.







No more than thirty minutes after we had arisen, the skies over the rapidly enlarging Melbourne city high rise buildings was beginning the lighten, and almost before we knew it the ship's tannoy was blaring instructions for car owners to begin to make their way down to the vehicle decks

I tarried just long enough to take one last shot of our approach to the  pier before joining the jostling, and predominately very sleepy looking throng which was slowly descending from the entertainment and cabin decks.





From the time we had awoken, both Liz and I had immediate thoughts for our little furry travelling friend. Had he had a better crossing this time? 

When we finally unlocked the van door, the Ship's Cat, now a status of rare reality, greeted us with obvious delight. He had come to grief once overnight, leaving a small offering on one of the well covered dinette benches, but clearly had enjoyed a much better voyage across Bass Strait than previously. Thank goodness we had insisted that he travel in the van. With the rough crossing of this trip how he would have survived in one of the dog cages is anyone's guess.





So, with the ship secured alongside and with us all loaded once again, it was time to again take our place in the vehicle queue and edge our way down the ramp and onto the streets of Melbourne.









We had been invited to spend our first day and night back on the mainland with our very good friends the Vogts, and so made our way immediately to the Nepean Highway for the first leg of our run down along the Mornington Peninsula to their home at Mount Martha.









The $200 surcharge we paid for having travelled overnight into Easter Friday was more than compensated for by the fact that the usually horrific morning Melbourne traffic was a comparative trickle. 








We completed the now familiar 50 km run down the peninsula without incident and with relative ease, and by mid morning were happily parked in our usual spot in our friends' back yard. Well, almost our usual spot. Today we had to move somewhat closer to the garden than we had in the past, for a very good reason.






John was keen to take me for a drive in the MGB he and I had brought back from Warnambool during our last stay here. We had to leave room for him to get it from the back garage to the street.






I was a definite starter for this little escapade, but I couldn't match John's marvellous Ivy League hat. At least I could break out my old 1970's 'car coat' which I normally use for cold night fishing! We had a great run around the Mornington Peninsula. "Boys and their toys" was the cry from the two wives...."Guilty", was the only possible response.






We spent the latter part of the afternoon in a planning session working out where we might meet en route to Kurrimine Beach later that year. But as you all know, that did not eventuate for reasons I've already written about, and which I revisit briefly shortly.





Spending our first day back on the mainland with these wonderful and ever welcoming friends was a real emotional shock absorber as we struggled to re-adjust to the fact that one of the most memorable periods of our life on the road to date had finally come to an end.

Dear readers, should the opportunity to visit the Apple Isle ever come your way.....DON'T HESITATE!