Tasmania-A New Adventure

It’s 5am at a free camp at Inverleigh just outside Geelong. Your erstwhile Don Quixote is about to set off across the Bass Strait for a seven week sojourn in the Apple Isle -Tasmania. Passage was booked in the dying embers of 2024 and I have a boat to catch. My ‘Pancho Sanchez’ is mate Ken, who is on his shakedown trip, having finally wrested back control of his life from an extended sentence (without remission) of parenthood.

The weather is kind this morning, no need to stamp feet as we lock down and fire up the chariots. Although we’ve been warned, there will be plenty of that in the next couple of months. Having been assigned a boarding window, and totally unsure of how this works, arrive with time to spare.

Processing and quarantine inspections were seamless and all vehicles were assigned their respective lanes to wait, and wait patiently for the last of the arrivals to disembark. The bowels of the Spirit of Tasmania are transport from small cars all the way up to semi-trailers.

Everyone had risen at sparrows fart to get here on time. Heads were lolling about on steering wheels, eyes staring blankly at the van in front. The enthusiasm dissipated like wisps of fog leaving only gritty resignation.

There is an official departure time, but like the promises of politicians, it’s aspirational. No-one wanted that to be today. Finally there was movement. We had been lined up seven abreast for ninety minutes and they’d fired the starters gun. Caravans were directed towards the lower deck while the cars ramped up to the higher ones.

Clutching a backpack of ‘essentials’ along with the trusty camera, I locked everything and headed up to watch Geelong slowly recede behind us we made our way across the huge Port Phillip Bay, towards the open sea.

After a cursory look around, we settled in our recliners for the 10 hour crossing. I had some missed sleep to catch up on. Ken had accidentally left ALL his outside lights on overnight, including the big LED spotties. I woke up twice thinking the sun was already up and I’d missed the alarm. He’d spent less time figuring stuff out than I’d given him credit for.

Given Bass Straits reputation for wild weather, the ride was smooth. After about 5 hours we finally left Melbourne weather behind and the sun started to peek through the clouds. There was plenty to see and eat(and drink) but I was drawn back to the open deck at the stern, just to stare at the blue and white trail that stretched back towards the horizon.

And then, a smudge on the horizon. The smudge became an outline and we knew we weren’t far away. Half hour later, he ship was edging into the harbour and we could see Davenport up close. The ship then did a kind of reverse park, so the stern butted against the exit ramps. We were called down to our vehicles. We were within minutes of starting our ‘real’ Tassie experience.