Snow storm

‘Guess how much I love you’ has been a well loved children’s book for over 18 years. Recently animated and shown on the ABC, the short one quickly became a fan. 

With an incredible sense of the circle of life, I remembered Little Nutbrown Hare accompanying me on a long journey overseas, after he was secreted away in my suitcase by my mum. Now here I was, nearly 20 years later, secreting a digital copy onto the iPad for our trip. 

This proved to be a wise move as it quickly became favourite viewing throughout our many long drives. This may have proved to be our nemesis though. Little Nut Brown and his dad live in the snowfields and delight in creating snowstorms through their legs with their raking hands. Perhaps foolishly, we promised the short one that we would see snow in Tasmania. She was somewhat disappointed to not see it the moment we stepped foot on the tarmac. There was little we could do to convince her that we were in fact in Tasmania and hadn't detoured to some place devoid of snow.

Little Nutbrown Hare and his dad

Reading the BOM forecast feverishly each day, we were quietly optimistic that the snow would come the weekend that we were to be in Cradle Mountain.

Driving into Cradle Mountain Lodge, we checked into a charming alpine cottage complete with fireplace. 

Still no sign of the white stuff... but there was always tomorrow I said, with fingers and toes crossed.

Tucking the short one into bed, I placed a kiss on her cheek with the promise of tomorrow being another day.

Launceston to Cradle Mountain

With breakfast in our sights we made our way to the Stillwater Restaurant by Cataract Gorge in Launceston, overlooking the water. What a treat! The view was magical over the foggy waterfront, the building historical, the fare delectable! Well worth the visit. The venue is the wonderfully renovated Flour Mill from the 1840s and as Lonely Planet attests, it is one restaurant that shouldn’t be missed.

View from Stillwater restaurant

After checking out what else Launceston had to offer, we then made our way to Cradle Mountain, our next destination. Taking the Meander Highway, we headed west, bypassing the main highway. Travelling through quaint country towns, we were making our way to the salmon farm, 41^o South. While off the beaten track, locally grown and smoked salmon and fish feeding enticed us into the valley. 

Back on the road we made our next stop at Ashgrove Cheese Factory. Set in picturesque dairy country, Ashgrove is renowned throughout Australia as producing some of the finest cheeses next to King Island. Sampling their fare, we treated ourselves to some cheese and with a bread stick and a whole smoked salmon in hand, we were all set for a great impromptu picnic lunch. Stopping in quaint Railton, town of topiary, we enjoyed our lunch surrounded by elephants, corkscrews and kangaroos, all cleverly trained and contained!

Cataract Gorge to Beaconsfield

It is incredible to think that such a spectacular natural beauty is set right in the heart of a city. Cataract Gorge meets Launceston. The impressive South Esk River meanders its way towards the city centre cradled by the incredible cliffs of the gorge.

Cataract Gorge

One of the advantages of travelling in winter, is that things are relatively quiet and the pace is that much slower. Far more conducive for that much needed break. Finding a park anywhere is a breeze and what’s more it is likely to be free. Coming from one of the most expensive places in the world to park, this was a rare, unexpected treat!

Parking just along from the Gorge, we meandered along the ever popular walking track, nestling the cliff face. What an amazing sight at every turn.

Moving from here we headed up the East Tamar to George Town, then backtracked to the Batman Bridge to cross to the West Tamar. While no evidence, past or present, of any DC characters were evident, the structure itself was impressive.

Meredith and Lily, Cataract Gorge

Beaconsfield was in our sights. A little town of which up until 2006, very few had ever heard. The world had seemingly stopped and turned their ever-watchful eyes towards the fateful events that unfolded in this sleepy mining town on that fateful ANZAC Day.

Seismic activity created a land fall at just below 1000 metres below ground, killing one miner and trapping two others. Through incredible ingeniuity, courage, persistence, patience and bravery, these two miners were finally rescued 2 weeks later. While two miners were trapped in a cage crushed by fallen rock, in a space which only just accommodated their two bodies, Australia sat riveted to their TVs.

Media from all over the world converged on this small gold mining town that through tragedy and bravery ended up on the map.

Brant and Todd's uniforms

Seeing in the flesh the actual cage lift, clocking in/out board and the iconic A frame mine shaft brought back many memories of that fateful day. Climbing into a simulated space in the Heritage Centre brought it all too close to home.

Beaconsfield Mine lift and shift board

The Beaconsfield Mine and Heritage Centre is well worth a visit. An impressive museum with several items for children to play with on their journey through. A hide and seek game throughout the museum also stimulates interest and is rewarded with a small piece of quartz and gold sample from the mine.

Lily trying out ink pen in old school desk

For a complete change of pace, interestingly, Beaconsfield was the first place in Australia to add fluoride to town water, back in the 1950s. The trial set up by one man was such a huge success that it provided the support and evidence to fluoridate water supplies throughout Australia.

Ross to Launceston

The following day saw us venture inland to the historical town of Ross. The main street is lined with many heritage-listed buildings leading towards another significant Tassie bridge.

Established in 1812, Ross became a safe haven for travellers between Hobart and Launceston, providing protection from bushrangers. 

The bridge itself dates back to 1836 and is the third oldest bridge in Australia. Two convict stonemasons were granted pardons for their efforts.

Ross Bridge

Unfortunately, the delightful old pub has just closed its doors within the last two weeks; the owners going into liquidation. Sadly this has been an all too common feel amongst the island state.  Many places are up for sale and unemployment is higher than the mainland. The locals are hopeful that a new owner will be found for the now abandoned pub, hoping to inject life back into the township.

Walking through to the edge of the town, the Ross Female Factory emerges from its archaeological digs. It lays claim to being one of only two female convict prisons in Tasmania.

Female Factory

Leaving Ross, we travelled further north towards the 1838 Clarendon Homestead outside Evandale. Glimpses through the trees revealed such an amazingly stately manor that remained just that, a glimpse in the winter months!

Travelling further north towards Launceston, we took a detour to the Lavender Farm. Whilst not in bloom, an impression was still made. Particularly by Coco the resident kitten who took a shine to Lily, which was understandably reciprocated.

The time had come for us to find our next bed for the night in central Launceston. 

Staying in the centre of Launceston enable us to get a feel for the city straight away. Taking a short stroll from our hotel we came across a lovely city park complete with children’s playground. With a swing and play gym under our belt, we set out to explore a little more. As dark approached, and weary legs started to complain, we headed back to the cosy bar of the hotel. Tomorrow we would venture further.

Swansea to Bicheno

Leaving our heritage digs and heading back out on the road, we made our way towards Swansea, where tonight we were to go in search of the fairy penguins.

Bicheno fairy penguins

After checking into our beach chalet, we headed up the east coast towards the Freycinet Peninsula and Nine Mile Beach. Further north at Bicheno we met the tour bus to take us into the penguin rookeries. Leaving just on dusk, we were treated to a display of the fairy penguins making their way up the beach. Not at all perturbed by our presence, they just waddled on by with their little knee-less legs. Fairy penguins can remain at sea for up to 12 months at a time, only coming ashore to rest and breed. They are capable of taking power naps out at sea for as little as 40 seconds. Collectively they are known as a parcel.

Whilst very cute, they are also very noisy…not unlike someone else I know.

Bicheno fairy penguins

Isle de Mort

The Isle of the Dead, a tiny island off Port Arthur, was used as a graveyard for the penal settlement from 1833 to 1877. It is thought that close to 2000 souls now lay there in comparative peace. Being such a significant historical site, only those accompanied by a guide may venture upon its banks. With strict instructions to stay on the path, visitors are treated to a mere glimpse of colonial life and death.

Few tourists however, are ever able to experience the real atmosphere of the Isle of the Dead like that of a parent. How many tourists can claim the privileged position of being able to take leave of the path and explore the tiny reserve in a more intimate manner?

Anyone who has ventured onto the Isle of the Dead well knows that the island is roughly the size of 2000 odd bodies, several convicts interred on top of each other, with little room for much else. Maintained in its most natural morbid beauty, the island has been largely left untouched by human hands.

That was until the O’Connors landed.

Doing her best impersonation of a one woman gas chamber, the short one brought the tour guide’s commentary to a screaming halt and the tour group to assume the best synchronised poltergeist head spin I had ever seen. Quickly realising that they were all looking in my direction, assuming nothing of the like could possible emanate from one so small, I had to do something to save face. Mouthing, “It wasn’t me!’ seemed woefully inadequate and clearly improbable.

It was about then that we should have realised what was to ensue; establishing our premise for a unique holidaymaker experience.

Not generally promoted in the tourism brochures, but anyone in need of emergency toileting in the remotest colonial cemetery in Australia will be directed to leap over the fencing and go in search of a discrete tree. Pulling up a patch of dirt, all I could think of was hopefully we weren’t committing the greatest insult known to man…

Whilst probably not a Lonely Planet recommended strategy in order to have that once in a lifetime experience, but having a toddler-in-need-of-a-poo scenario certainly opens the doors to so much more…

Port Arthur

Port Arthur is probably the most significant colonial penal settlement in Australia. Being purpose built within a remote coastal landform, it ensured nature formed the prison bars of years gone by. Throughout its long history, only two escapes were ever recorded.

A place of degradation and deprivation; horror and reflection, Port Arthur will be tragically remembered as much for its penal history as it will be for the horrific events of 28^th April, 1996.

Death has taken its toll

Some pain knows no release

But the knowledge of brave compassion

Shines like a pool of peace.

May we who come to this garden

Cherish life for the sake of those who died

Cherish compassion for the sake of those who gave aid

Cherish peace for the sake of those in pain.

Margaret Scott 2000

Reflective mood in
Memorial Garden within ruins of Broad Arrow cafe

Historic Richmond, Tasmania

With the passing of time, came the proportional passing of energy. It was time for Team O’Connor to launch themselves into another adventure of winter travel. Why can’t we holiday in the warmer months, you may well ask? I frequently ask myself the same question, with a less than satisfactory response seemingly forthcoming.

Not content with just travelling in the winter – we decide to venture to the coldest part of Australia, at the coldest time of the year.

Richmond bridge, 1825, oldest bridge in Australia

Arriving in Hobart, we promptly took possession of the inevitable family car complete with baby seat. Richmond was to be our first port of call, just a few kilometres from Hobart airport, where a heritage cottage awaited our weary souls for the evening. Gently taking our hands as we stepped over the threshold, ghosts of times gone by welcomed us into the c1830 cottage that once embraced the giggles and laughter of ten children.

Laurel Cottage, Richmond

Beautiful Laurel Cottage is nestled along the way from Richmond Bridge, Australia’s oldest bridge. Both constructions laying testament to the hardships of early colonial life, painstakingly built from hand hewn convict bricks.

Quickly dubbed ‘our new home’, it was to become our perfect base for touring the convict trail along the south east coast. Tomorrow would see us visit Port Arthur, a site of significant colonial history, pain and tragedy.

1835 Catholic Church Richmond 

Sorrowful delight

Today was just another day, much like any other day. But today gently guided us through yet another milestone of grief. While time most definitely eases the intense, raw pain, there will always be times when you are stopped in your tracks, times when you are drawn back, times when you just smile in front of the hurt.

“When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.” Kahlil Gibran

A bespoke life

Strange how you can be oblivious to some things and as soon as they are brought to your attention they instantly become ubiquitous.

Language is just such an interesting phenomenon. While meeting a very specific need admirably, it does take on a life of its own. Just like fashion, music, and wine, words come and go; are hot or not; are in or out.

Akin to shoulder pads, Phil Collins and chardonnay, words can become fashionable and unfashionable. Words lose their meaning, gain association, inflate, flatter, insult and condemn. Words change so much over time that one could be forgiven for missing the fashionable point.

Once upon a time, things were considered ‘uber’. Now you would be frowned upon if you trotted out your high school German. Instead things are now to be considered bespoke.

Just a few short months ago, the word bespoke was relegated to the annals of rarely used words. Now, everyone who is anyway is trotting it out at every possible convenience. No one seems to know what it means, but just like any good trend, why let sensibleness get in the way of fashionage (fashionable language)!

If it sounds good for you, it must be good for you!