Just as the locals are somewhat derisive of New Norfolk, oft referring to it as New 'Norfik', so it is with Smithton, a town which many pronounce as 'Miffton'.....ideally snorted through the nose.
Why? I have no idea, and interestingly, an old Cyprus UN colleague of mine who actually grew up there could not enlighten us. Very odd, and universal, but having now been there I can assure you all the population looked and acted completely normally!
We had not initially planned to stay here, but when poring over our charts of the north-west earlier, it became obvious that if we wanted to visit Arthur River on the island's west coast (and it had been recommended to us that we should), and stand on the most north-westerly tip at Cape Grim, Smithton provided an ideal base.
Yet again, this was not to be a long day.....another sub 50 kilometres along the excellent Bass Highway, and for the time being we ignored the Stanley Turn-off and kept going.
Throughout this short trip we were presented with constant reminders that we were in cattle country, both beef and dairy. Herds were grazing in large numbers on either of the road, some luxuriating in lush green pastures,
whilst others took their ease in browner paddocks.
We reached Smithton in no time, welcomed by this rather natty district sign which was also universal throughout this part of the island. 'Circular Head' is the official name for that unmistakable feature at Stanley, the volcanic plug universally known as 'The Nut'.
The drizzle dampened highway took us past the large Devondale Milk factory on the approach to the town, one of several processing and industrial plants which play an important role in the area's economy.
As my old friend Google Earth shows, Smithton is built on and around Duck River, a waterway which ends in a large and muddy tidal flatland as it empties into the sea.
The River Breeze Caravan Park which was to be our new home for a few days, is aptly named. It lies right on the banks of Duck River (indicated by the red arrow).
At the Devondale factory we had two options. One was to turn right there and follow Britton Road on its northerly route into and through the CBD, or to continue on to the point where the Bass Highway intersected with Nelson Street. We knew that we had to reach the bridge over the river and continue west along Montagu Road,
so we chose the more direct route and made our way along the length of Nelson Street
past our first sighting of another of the large processing plants here, the McCain factory,
and on to the bridge which would take us across Duck River.
Beyond that the road now curved left past the Bridge Hotel Motel
and headlong into something we could not have predicted.....roadworks! Damn.
Fortunately this stretch of 'ground under repair', as they say in the golfing world, was not too long and had been graded well enough so that we were not banging and bashing through potholes.
Nevertheless the sight of the park gate was welcome.
We eased off the road and through the clearly defined main gates
and made our way into the park past the barren looking row of unoccupied sites at the front. This was a less than inspiring sight,
but we pressed on regardless down the entrance road
towards the large shed at the end of it
where we had correctly assumed we would find the park office (right at the far end). With the sign over one of the roller doors announcing that these were the premises of a trailer service centre, we were beginning to wonder what we had let ourselves in for.
As it turned out we had no need for concern. The lass in the office could not have been more welcoming, and soon confirmed that the river side site we had booked was awaiting our arrival. She even went as far as apologising for the rather barren looking surrounds, and explained what we already knew.....this was an exceptionally dry summer.
To get to our allotted spot, we had to then drive down past the end of the large park shed and the couple of cabins on the opposite side of the roadway,
and thence past this row of vans, mobile homes and work trucks at the bottom end of the grounds.
The riverside sites were all below the office building and rear deck area, and although the sandy ground was dry and pretty bare, with our trusty C-Gear deployed underfoot and the awning out and secured overhead, we were more than set.
We were told that the grey building just above our site
was the ablution block for those in this section of the park. 'Hmmm', was our first reaction, but here we had the classic situation of 'books and covers'.
The head,
central laundry,
and shower cubicle, enclosed in another room, were all brand new and kept immaculately clean.
And with very few of us lined up here along the river at any one time, there was no 'rush hour'. It was almost like having our own private bathroom.
A second amenities block serviced those who had chosen sites at the front of the park, and whilst there was no camp kitchen as such,
a large BBQ and communal seating was all on hand on the decking overlooking the river
to which we had easy access up this flight of stairs immediately in front our our site.
And, needless to say, I did take advantage of these facilities on more than one occasion, this time as the water in Duck River was flooding in below us.
As you may have gathered from the Google Earth shot, at the point where our park was situated, Duck River was completely tidal, and the ebbs and flows were significant. Its mood would change completely twice a day, from the broad placid expanse of blue water of high tide,
to a mere trickle between the mudflats at the bottom of the ebb.
The volume of water which came and went was amazing, given how far upstream we were.
I would invite you to note the pile of exposed rocks on the far bank seen here (obviously) at low tide.
When the tide had fully flooded in,
this tip of the highest rock of the pile was all that could be seen.
The river is well named, as we learnt on our first day. This is where we expected to see these adults and their youngsters, safe and sound out on the water.
but as we settled in for our first afternoon happy hour, and the waters of Duck River ebbed away, this little feathered family decided it was high time to check out the newcomers,
at close quarters and in detail! They were quite fearless, and obviously used to the comings and goings of the likes of folk such us.
Ducks were not our only feathered friends. 'Turbo chooks' would meander past foraging on a regular basis,
whilst across the river, this gaggle of gregarious geese gathered daily on the bare banks
before taking to the water on the incoming tide and crossing the river to annoy us all on this side with their noisy and demanding honking.
Apart from being home to the camp BBQ, the top deck was also the gathering place for any who wished to share a yarn or two with Greg, the park owner, and a few of the regulars who were happy to chew the fat there on a daily basis.
It was here we learnt that Greg was an earthmoving contractor and general mechanic and had bought the park site as a bare patch of river side land a few years ago. He was the first to admit that it remained a work in progress, but we were quick to assure him that we were entirely happy with our site and the facilities on offer.
There is nothing quite like being 'on the water' even if, for parts of the day, our vista was one of tidal mud flats. Even they have an appeal of their own, and to our abiding relief were not home to myriads of midges, which would have been inevitable elsewhere in warmer climes.
As you may have gathered by now, were more than happy to have migrated to 'Miffton'!
