The Huon Valley Part 1

Today was one of our few big runs in Tasmania, Brady’s Lake to Huonville. While 174klm is not exactly daunting, we still had to climb down from the mountains and then navigate Hobart for the first time.

Now that also wouldn’t appear to be a particularly onerous task, but for the fact that there is NO bypass. All roads lead to and through the CBD. Imagine a 10 metre rig snaking it’s way down Swanston Street in Melbourne or Pitt Street in Sydney. The upside is that if you make it through, and we did, that the freeway resumes and once south of the city, the traffic quickly thinned out.

We hadn’t booked anything in advance, so I made an impromptu on-the-fly phone call to Huonville Caravan Park. Well, shoulda’ asked ‘How much?” I know Tasmania is a seasonal tourist destination, and you probably could fire a gun down any caravan park after May, but $55.00 for a powered site AND you pay for your hot shower? Not happy Jan! However, they do put on a little animal show and light entertainment. And well, I hadn’t seen a Tasmanian Devil since I arrived, so this maybe my only chance.

We were running a tight schedule. Tassie is small and there’s nowhere to hide on a long weekend. We needed to be set up by lunchtime Thursday to avoid the rush and potential fisticuffs for the scraps. I went on ahead towards Cockle Creek, the southern most campground in Australia. There were several potential sites along the way, but ended up at the very last one, a spit from Mott’s Beach and entrance to The Southwest Conservation Area.

This was the first real long stay, spending a full week here. Despite the conga line of arrivals over the next thirty six hours, the beach itself was never Bondi on a Saturday afternoon. The sun was out and the ocean beckoned, but it was lying through it’s teeth, with only the crazy-brave swimmers chancing their arm.

The campground was a narrow strip (maybe 50 metres) sandwiched between the road and impenetrable rain forest. We drove 15klm back along the road to a long abandoned timber coupe, and scavenged enough wood for a couple of decent fires during our stay.

The only internet was across Cockle Creek at a picnic table, where I found myself (for various reasons), rugged up against the cold and encroaching gloom.

As isolated as we were, there were still places to go and things to do. As luck would have it, the Hounville Wine & Food Festival was on that weekend. Ken was straining at the leash, so we planned a loop that included a forest Skywalk along the way. Unfortunately, the old growth forest had been decimated by a firestorm back in 2019 and, while that may have improved the view, it was not the rain forest experience we had hoped for.

The festival however was a bunch of fun. A cast of thousands, with food and entertainment, it was a novelty being amongst so many people.

However the festival not the culinary gift shop SOMEONE was expecting. There were no swarthy Italians gesticulcating wildly to sample their cured meats and no Frenchmen juggling wheels of brie. But I enjoyed what was on offer. Only stayed for an hour, and it was stinking hot (yes, I know it’s Tasmania….go figure). The glorious weather stayed for the whole weekend and then some.

Look forward to the second part of the Huon Valley story next Wednesday.