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An Australian Christmas by the beach
Puppy Presence
AN EPIC TREK TO SHADOW LAKE
Our day took and unexpected turn. It started as a gentle stroll through gently mossed woodland and ended
a lurching, dizzy test of willpower to make it back.
The morning had slipped quietly away so Dylan forwent his ritual coffee and we marched off on the Lake St Clair – Shadow Lake walk. Close to the river the air was damp and cool, every moss covered corner seemed a probably hiding place for a wee team of fairies or hobgoblins. We hopped across stepping stones and over fallen trees, and crept upwards towards daylight.
Almost two hours in we reached a prehistoric looking landscape of Buttongrass and swampy soil, and I noticed that Dylan was looking grey. His head had begun thumping in earnest when we turned the corner to see the spectacular Shadow Lake gleaming in the suddenly dazzling hot sun.
I ate a solitary lunch watching ants steal breadcrumbs as Dylan dozed in his hammock, he awoke little improved. Insisting on heading back, he shrugged it off as a little caffeine withdrawal; he would be fine with a espresso back at the visitors centre… two hours away.
Dylan’s progress became more and more ragged as the headache, after a brief gestation, emerged a full blown migraine, complete with nausea and faintness. I kept a chirpy dialogue of landmarks I didn’t feel or sometimes even recognise as we trudged downwards. In hindsight a running commentary on the familiarity of various rocks is not helpful to a throbbing cranium.
We met the river with relief and I left Dylan to trek the last couple of kiliometres to the Visitors’ Centre while I packed the tent. Alone, his migraine turned so savage he lost his lunch and it was luck alone that I didn’t find it as I followed behind.
When I found him at the cafe, coffee in hand, Dylan was the picture of rosy cheeked health. Who would have thought tinkering with your dopamine system in the form of a coffee a day could reap such havoc!
A CAMPSITE BY A LAKE
We’re back from a beautiful spring holiday in Tasmania and there is so much to tell you, I’m quite overwhelmed by how many posts I have planned and how many photos I have to wade through! I have so much to tell you!
We worked to a deadline, and then in a flurry of papers bid a cheery sayonara to our colleagues and took off to meet the Spirit of Tasmania. As we hummed and whirred across the Strait the nautical novelty began wore off and we bundled ourselves upstairs with the ghosts. We just had to escape the layer of modern tackiness of poker machines and overpriced, greasy food. The way up to the top deck is hidden away and only a dozen people out of hundreds found their way up there. The little empty stage and wooden benches were from another era, the flickering soundless TVs adding to the forsaken feel.
The water raged against the ship, cold, dark and scary until morning.
The sun rose behind grey skies and we drove and drove, away from the city, past farms and tree stumps, to a wild and windswept campsite by Lake St Clair, walking distance from a not so wild cultural centre with all the amenities one could wish. Darling Paddymelons were our neighbours, so fat and furry, and cute cute cute. A baby quoll ran across our path by torch light as the fire in the hut crackled. Tomorrow would be an epic bush walk…
THE OCEAN CRASHES ONTO THE ADVENTUROUS
Tourists tend to stick together, sometimes it’s hard to appreciate something when there are so many people trying so hard to do the same on all sides. We made a plan to return to the Twelve Apostles on a day that was not sun drenched Summer.
If you just venture a little to the west and down there are wilder adventures for those who leave the guide rail behind, past the Thunder Cave and onto the rocks. As we approached our fellow wanders they were frozen on the horizon in the act of a guilty holiday pleasure. They counted down the seconds until the wave crashed onto the rocks as he stood posed on an imaginary surfboard, the ocean had other things in mind, drenching them, squeals and all, washing away their hopes for a novelty holiday photo. Tourists can be determined though and we all rushed onto the cliff edge with renewed vigor to stand in various bizarre poses, playing chicken with the surf.