Melbourne and Southern Australia DOUBLE HEADER!!!

I am writing this from the front passenger seat of the Rav riding across the outback somewhere between Coober Pedy and Woomara. The reason for the delayed nature of the Melbourne blog is that we were having too much fun hanging out with our hosts Sarah and Kath on the final evening before restarting the most massive road trip possible in Australia. Now sit back and relax as I fill you in on the state of the streets of the Richmond of the Southern Hemisphere.

Before I say anything else let me give a massive shoutout to my boy Stuart. He let us stay at his house and helped us locate some tires as well as feeding us. He also allowed us to use his house as the OFFICIAL START POINT OF THE LONGEST ROAD TRIP EVER. For those of you who don't know Ellen and I are in the middle of a huge road trip from Hobart, Tasmania to either Broome, Western Australia or Darwin, Northern Territory. This last decision will be made by coin flip in Alice Springs. THANK YOU STUART! As for the rest of you, I'm sure you're all eagerly awaiting the decision.

Ellen and I jumped off the ferry in Melbourne at 7:00 PM coming from Devonport, Tasmania. I am here to tell you that having your first driving experience of Melbourne should not be in the dark. I may or may not have received a traffic violation from a red light camera. The jury is still out on that though seeing as I have not heard from Craig regarding any mail from the Melbourne Police. We made our way up to Thornbury where we met our friends Sarah and Kath. Ellen and I met our Melbournian friends in the Southwest National park of Tasmania while hiking up Mt. Eliza (you may remember them from a previous post). After some conversation we realized that they wanted us to stay for the weekend and cat sit for their roommate. We were all too happy to do this to take a break from traveling.

In his book In A Sunburned Country Bill Bryson suggests that Melbourne is a city generally in decline. At least socially I can attest that this trend has reversed. Many areas North of the city are being gentrified. Never was there a city more ripe for the hipster culture to take over. The houses look Victorian, the bars look grungy and the bike paths are abundant. Gentrification has caused some of the cool places to go out of the price range of your typical backpacker but there is still plenty of room for the budget conscious traveler to hang out. Lots of the bars run specials and the beer is fairly cheap. All together it's my kind of town.

The city of Melbourne boasts old school infrastructure with a tram system running on most major streets and historic low rise housing. These facts in conjunction with their newer infrastructure has led to a commuter paradise. I refer, of course, to the world class bike trail system the city has created in the last 20 years. Most major streets have bike lanes and some residential streets have been segmented by greenways. This makes them impassable for car traffic but renders them perfect for bikes. There is also a major trail system based on the Yarra river that snakes through the town.

To facilitate this biking culture there are cafes and shops that have sprung up along the bike paths offering certain exclusive services for people who choose to ride in. There are also truly interesting attractions located on the paths. One of these is the Collingwood Childrens Farm. Someone had the bright idea of putting a farm in the middle of the city so children could gain some access to farm animals even if their means wouldn't allow them to leave Melbourne. There are also some bouldering walls scattered along paths throughout the city. A person can have a delightfully eventful day just biking through Melbourne. That is the major reason I thought the city was great. Melbourne seems to have a very flowing feeling in it. Everything feels put in place for a reason and it all feels like a well oiled machine.

Federation Square also rates mention. Fed Square has a large wooded area and boasts the National Gallery of Victoria art museum,Deakin Edge concert hall, among other interesting points of interest. While we were there they had a bat exhibit on. Anyone who knows Ellen is aware that we couldn't possibly stay away from that. The exhibit, named bat mania by Kathy Holowoko, consisted of hundreds of sculptures of the large fruit bats found in Victoria. Ellen and I were impressed.

The famous Melbourne Cricket Ground is there along with the Olympic park are very nearby which adds to the feeling that you are in a very cultured place indeed. This is a city which can do it all does do it all.

Ellen and I took advantage of all the inner city mobility while we were there. Using the old mountain bikes that we've been carting around the entire time we've been here, we explored every little nook and cranny that the Yarra track had to offer. That was how we spent our Easter Sunday :)

The next day we decided to go check out something a little more high octane. The Lysterfield Mountain Bike Park is about an hour from where we were staying in Thornbury. The trails there are very flowy with some really good downhill bits. In true city fashion they have made the best downhill “One Way” so that there is no chance of your awesome downhill bomb being ruined by some noob who is ignorant to the rule of “you don't mess with a man's downhill.” As we weaved through the track I realized that it was not guilty of a sin so prevalent in Virginian mountain bike parks today. They hadn't put a bunch of stupid man-made features in the trail every couple hundred meters. Some people like this sort of behavior but I personally think it ruins the flow and natural feel of a track. It was all true Victorian flow, very cool.

After a couple hours of bombing around the gumtree forest Ellen and I decided to head home and eat some chicken Tikka Masala. Half way through our meal Sarah and Kath showed up from their camping holiday which was a most welcome surprise because it meant we got an extra evening of hang out time.

The next day was spent getting ready to drive across Australia and working in the garden. Sarah and Kath have an awesome little veggie garden behind their house and I figured that, since I would be sitting in a car for the next few days, I should go out and put in some work. It was nice to get a little taste of the old landscaping.

That evening we went over to High St. for some Indian food. Perhaps Sarah or Kath will grace us with the name of the establishment. I just remember that a platter and a beer was $16 which is a steal in Australian money. This truly was the height of living considering the next week we would be on the road living out of the car and off the fat of the land.

The next morning we said our good byes and hit the road. Our next stop on the epic road trip was the southern Victoria coast. This is a well known tourist destination called the Great Ocean Road, then up to the burning heart.

DOUBLE HEADER!

Well now I'm sitting at a hostel in Alice springs on the porch of a very nice little flat Ellen and I rented for the night. Let me tell you right now, the shower I just took was the best I think I've ever had. We've been driving through the desert for 5 days now and at no point have we had a chance to bathe. I think last night was about the longest I could have gone given these conditions but we shall see I'm sure.

After leaving Sarah and Kath's we headed down to the Great Ocean road. This is the highway from Melbourne to Adelaide on the southern coast of Australia. The road starts in the legendary surf town of Torquay and heads west twisting and rolling over the rocky landscape along the Bass Strait. There are a scattering of little towns and hamlets along the way with a charming collection of lighthouses and other reminders that you are by the sea.

Since the Great Ocean Road runs along the South edge of Victoria into South Australia the ocean we were bordering was the Great Southern Ocean. This is the ocean that sweeps right round the world only touching New Zealand, Tierra Del Fuego, and Tasmania. This ocean is notorious for its huge rollers and extremely blue water. As we drove along we saw the waves breaking on the coast and some of them were of epic proportions. The first people to come this way certainly had their work cut out for them!

Leaving the Ocean Road we came across a place called Cheese World. Ellen and I exchanged glances and I immediately whipped off the road and we were out of the car before it was fully stopped. This was your true road side attraction. A giant cheese factory right on the road with a road house outlet. Being backpackers we were in heaven. Free samples of all the gourmet cheeses you could ask for. It was like being at Kroger right when they put out the free cheese plate. Grey nomads and dirt bags like ourselves were having a feeding frenzy in there. We tried all the cheeses and perused the selection of consumables before hurriedly slinking out. There is something I find abhorrent about stopping and using someone's restroom, eating their amazing cheese, then bolting before I get the irresistible urge to actually buy something, and yet, I do it all the time.

Back on the road it was time to start thinking about where to camp for the evening. Ellen, being a prime navigator, realized that if we got off the A1 and started running up B tracks that we would not only get there faster, but run into a wonderful campsite as well. You see why I love this girl? Thanks to this brilliant stroke of logic we ended up staying our first night out of Melbourne in a place called the Annya Road Picnic Area off the C195. This proved to be an amazing decision.

We rocked up just as the sun set and pitched our rooftop tent. We quickly cooked a little dinner and then went looking for some company for the evening. The way Australia camps work, there is usually a little road side stop set about 100 meters off the road with a few weekend warriors, grey nomads and backpackers scattered around it. We went up to some people with horses and a fire but were flatly rejected hanging out with them. They did, however, suggest that we hang out with a more boisterous group on the other side of the area. This turned out to be a wonderful idea. We found a group of backpackers who had “made it” as we say, and had just received residency from a job they had taken in Western Australia. They were on holiday having just gotten their residency and bolted from the job. Excellent company on the whole and Ellen and I have been kicking ourselves that we haven't gotten their details.

The next morning we got up and had a little walk through the forest to look for Koalas. For those of you who know Ellen, she's pretty hard to get stirred up under normal circumstances, but put a fuzzy, or for that matter, a disgusting creature in front of her and she lights up like a Christmas Tree. I seriously don't know what was more adorable, the Koalas or Ellen looking at the Koalas.

After getting our fill of these adorable little creatures we packed up the car and headed out. It was to be our most daunting day of driving yet. We were en route from South Western Victoria to Port Augusta in South Australia. I didn't realize how slow moving Australian roads were at the time and we got to our camp site just after dark again. I would relate the drive across Southern SA for you but, truly, there was nothing of note. We skirted Adelaide and really didn't see much.

We camped at a place called Horrocks Pass. This was my dream campsite. It was on a mountain overlooking a large expanse of desert with the lights of trucks and cars down on the road plying between Adelaide and Port Augusta. I'm not sure why but ever since I was a little kid I've had an image in my head of sitting on a hill in the desert watching the headlights on cars as far as the eye can see moving like ants down in the valley. Well I had found this place, and as a bonus feature, there was an ocean there too! That meant that not only could we watch the stars and the headlights but there was also the possibility of lighthouses. I was in heaven.

Well, as you can imagine, this dream turned into a nightmare. As we got in bed and snuggled down for the night we were reminded what happens on desert mountain passes in the night. The wind begins to howl. We laid in bed wondering if our little car top camper would survive the blasts and generally cursing our misfortune and stupidity for camping in such a place. We figured it was time to call it quits when the wind started picking up the deck of the camper. We hustled out and folded the thing up. Quietly we sat in the car drinking our final beer and contemplating the abject wretchedness that comes with spending the night in the front seat of a smallish car.

At about that moment another trick of the wind revealed its self. The people camped next to us had built a fire earlier that evening. It being perfectly still at sunset they retired to their camper and, due to the snugness of their den, were not stirring due to what was actually quite a lot of wind. From our unique vantage point we started to see sparks and flames build up next to their camper. Ellen and I cursing these fools for their obvious ignorance of the basic rules of fire dutifully got out of our uncomfortable perch and hurriedly doused the fire with a liberal amount of our drinking water. This was a foolish idea. The search to replace our lost water would become a constant source of annoyance for us for days to come.

The next morning we woke (footnote: to actually wake would suggest that we had been asleep which was not the case) bright and early and hit the road. This was to be a landmark day and our tired grumpiness was soon replaced with giddy anticipation. We cruised into Port Augusta at 7:30 AM where we ate breakfast at McDonalds before hitting the famous Stewart Highway.

For those of you who don't know, the Stewart Highway is the road that bisects Australia longitudinally. It runs through over 3000 kilometers from Port Augusta to Darwin through some of the harshest desert in the world. In the 1800s this is where many explorers met a grizzly fate, some of them dragging boats for the inland river systems that they were sure they would find. Oddly enough that trend has continued today. We were astonished at the number of cars towing boats we encountered. We were a bit surprised by this there not being a drop of water within, sometimes, 1500km of where they were. Why would someone who owns a ranch in the heart of Australia buy a boat just to drive with it for two full days whenever he/she wanted to use it. The Australians are nothing if not hearty.

The other thing about long distance desert driving is the stark beauty of everything around contrasted with the amazing mind numbing effect of it. God forbid you start thinking about something vexing like finances, or fuel economy or Miley Cyrus because there your brain shall sit until something like a road train or a road house pulls you out of it. After a couple of days of driving and nights camping in the desert we came across the first major side road we had seen. This sign said Uluru 265km. Uluru is the name of Ayres Rock since it has been placed back in the hands of the Aborigines. In fact Uluru was always the name of the rock, it just had a little stint like Prince did around the year 2000 where it was called Ayres Rock.

Uluru

The cultural center was very interesting before going in to see Uluru. The description of the various legends and aboriginal beliefs surrounding the rock. One of the things that struck me is that the Aboriginal beliefs prohibit them from climbing the rock. It struck me as odd that even though they request that you don't climb Uluru people do it anyway. There are hundreds of people a day that climb up despite the repeated requests that they do not. Personally I would have liked to climb Uluru but I couldn't bring myself to insult Aboriginal culture in such a way. The obvious counter argument to this is that if they really don't want people climbing it they should just close it to climbers. Indeed this did occur to us as strikingly odd. Chalking this up to one of the little eccentricities of life we stayed a respectful distance away and basked in the glory of a giant rock in the middle of the desert.

The next day we got up and did something that I had been looking forward to for some time. There is a 99km stretch of “road” that runs parallel to the Lassiter Highway 67 km to the north. This unlikely piece of thoroughfare is called the Earnest Giles track. It runs out through the sandy desert between the Kings Canyon road and the Stewart Highway. Ever since I had seen it on the map I had wanted to drive it. The Giles track just seemed like the perfect amount and placement of desert driving. It didn't take us out of our way but it did place us in a fairly remote location.

Not Gloating about our Rav4 or anything. Taken on Earnest Giles Highway

The road it's self was marked at it's beginning by a sign stating that four wheel drive would be required to pass and that in the wet season the road was not recommended to anyone. Excited, Ellen turned the car down the track and started in on it.

What followed was less of a road and more a place where the trees and scrub had been replaced by corrugated (washboard) segments of passable terrain. An added bonus was discovered when we saw on the sign that 11km out from the Stewart Highway there were meteorite craters to be gawked at before returning to the monotonous open road.

The track led through some amazing desert landscapes. There were hills and groves of eucalypts that looked charmingly like palm trees. There were many groups of cattle along the road giving it that true outback feel. Once we even came across a herd of wild horses called brumbys in the colorful desert vernacular. We saw only one car out there, a Nissan Patrol that came suddenly out of our wake of dust and overtook us in a surprising shower of red dirt and small rocks. We slowed to let their dust settle and continued on our merry way swooning over what seemed like our private piece of desert road.

http://youtu.be/pmU-UJ9FBMc youtube video of the Earnest Giles road.

Near the end of the trip we came to the Henbury Meteorite Craters. This was, without a doubt, the most rewarding experience of our outback adventures thus far. At the end of a 5km side track there was a very well kept little conservation reserve. A self guided tour of the meteorite craters took us on a 1.2km walk through the desert. Someone had painstakingly put signs at high points around the craters explaining the explosive formation of craters and the biologic anomalies that they were. Each crater was a more or less round hole about 50m in diameter with a little ecosystem living in the bottom. One of them was fortunate enough to hit where a wet weather stream filled it from time to time and was actually quite green. We dutifully snapped pictures and admired the silence.

I was taken back to Bill Bryson's book and his experience at the Devil's Marbles. He concluded that if you took this site and placed it in America or Europe that in every family home there would be a picture of mom and the kids picnicking under the rocks. I could very much see what Bryson meant when he observed this. Here we were at a site of no astronomical insignificance and, aside from the lizard that I scared into dropping his tail upon opening the box to sign the register, we were the only ones there. In fact we neither saw any one driving in or out on our way back to the Stewart Highway. I will grant you that it was 16km on a rough dirt road off the Highway and one would have needed at least an all wheel drive to get there but still, this place was at least worth looking at!

We cruised the last 120km into Alice Springs ready for some respite from the drive. Upon getting back in the passenger seat I consulted our book Camps 8* as to the frequency of sites like the Henbury Craters and to my astonishment they were everywhere! All along the road from Port Augusta to Darwin there were sites of infinite interest. I resolved to check out at least one a day for the remainder of our trip.

Coming into Alice Springs was a bit of a surreal experience. We had been driving for two and a half solid days and had come upon nothing more than some road houses and a curious underground town called Coober Pedy where they mined opals. Now here was a town about the size of Blacksburg VA and apparently it was inhabited by permanent residents. Charmed by the existence of such a town we immediately checked ourselves into a hostel of a quality I have rarely seen. Anyone who has stayed in a hostel will agree with me that they are indeed, a dubious form of refuge. For those interested then name of the establishment is Alice Backpackers Lodge. There was chill music playing in the background, the people were friendly and the pool was clean. We quickly resolved to stay for a couple days and relax, restock and write blog posts.

It is from the front porch of the cottage we rented for an unfathomable $68 per night that I am writing this inordinately long blog post. Ellen is talking with her brother and her mom sitting next to me as I write. And it is from this deeply contented position that I will bid you my adieu. I plan on polishing off my third cup of coffee and then setting about the wreck that is our car/living space. We then plan to tackle the upper half of the Stewart Highway and lazily meander our way to Darwin looking for jobs all the time.

View from the porch of the hostel where I am writing this post.

As my usual sign off of keep on truckin Blacksburg seems to have been rendered obsolete by the reading of this blog by our Tasmanian and Melbournian friends I will now revise it to the more contrite Keep on Truckin World :)

<3 Joker and Ellen

*I don't think I've explained this yet. Jasmine and Craig McCarter told us about a book in Australia called Camps: Australia Wide 8^thed (hereafter referred to as camps 8). It is a comprehensive guide of free camps and points of interest along with road maps of the entirety of Australia. Clearly for people like us this is a necessary wealth of information and is where we get most of our information about places to stay and things to see. We have also been annotating it and will have it available for viewing when we return home.

Postlude: Any stylistic or references to places and experiences that seem to bear an eery relation to Bill Bryson's In a Sunburned Country are purely incidental. I do, however, recognize that we are using that most esteemed author as something of a guide where applicable. I do not imagine that Bryson will ever read this unprofessionally (if someone wishes to pay me for writing this I will gladly up my standards :) written travel blog of a dirt bag backpacker, but should he come across it, thanks for the help Bill.  

Adventures before the Ferry Ride

Ellen was sitting in the seat across and aft from me guiding Footloose to a marker unseen across the horizon. The wind was out of the East Southeast so we were beating up out the Derwent river from the Bellerive Yacht Club towards the ocean. Damon, the boats owner, was standing on the windward side next to me working the main sheet and giving directions to Ellen. I was sitting forward working the jib sheet. There was a moderate breeze coming over the port bow and a blue sky with high puffy clouds. Suddenly Ben the bowman called out that he'd spotted the marker just to windward of us. That was why all the other boats had started in a spot where there was less wind closer to shore; they'd given up speed for a position upwind to round the marker on the first or second tack. We chucked in a tack to get in position to round the marker. The Footloose is money on a close reach so we overtook two boats that were moving slower up wind. Damon was expertly teaching Ellen how to steer the boat while Ben and I were just generally relaxing and talking about the East Coast of Tasmania. In true Crowder sailing fashion (Sandy you'll relate to this) we had timed our tack so that we would just round the marker. We believe in living on the edge to get an edge when it comes to sailing.

An array of orders from Damon and the boat came up into the wind then fell off the as the sails came out on a run for the next marker. We had been coming into the mark a little low so instead of losing valuable seconds playing it safe and tacking for the mark we let fly all the sheets and used our momentum to round the marker. Sailing with Damon is like that. He's an aggressive sailor full of tricks and maneuvers. That coupled with having a lot of natural skill and you have a man after my own heart.

Rounding the marker and headed down wind meant that we were going wing to wing so I grabbed the pole and handed it to Ben on the bow. He rigged it to the mast and soon we looked like a square rigger with our jib flying out to port and our main flying to starboard. Ellen held us on toward the next marker just off Battery Point in Hobart. The light wind meant that we were able to hold our position in relation to the other boats on the downwind leg. We came in on the second marker hot on the heels of the boat in front of us with another light sloop just off our stern. Damon said to bring in the pole and just like that we rounded the second marker back to a close reach on the starboard tack. At that point the Sundance took a lower line as we stuck high. Coming up the wind toward the gate we had an unfortunate turn of the wind. It backed into the South and the Sundance shot ahead. The Footloose being so small we jumped away from the remaining three boats that were on course behind us but the Sundance slipped away. As the light faded we came through the mark at the club and brought the sails down. Everybody congratulated each other and especially Ellen that being her first time ever steering a sailboat.

I would like to take a brief interlude to say that I really appreciate the entire McCarter family. If you're a McCarter and you're reading this blog you are entitled to a shout (I'll buy you a beer) next time we're hanging out. [/touchyfeelymushystuff]

After dinner at the yacht club we were off to Stuart's house. Stuart is a member of the Tasmanian Jet Sport Boating Club. We met this crazy band at the Lake Pedder Chalet as they were skiing lake Pedder. We moved down to Cygnet after Lake Pedder to get our bearings. While we were there two other members of the TJSBC, Kylie and Pricey, very kindly shouted us tea (dinner). They had mentioned to us that they were going to circumnavigate Maria Island the next weekend and we should come along for the weekend. We figured that was a pretty good idea so we were at Stuart's house after sailing to prepare for the coming weekend of camping and fun. Stuart asked us what we had been doing since we left Lake Pedder so recounted the following story:

Our Canadian friend Amanda was really keen to climb Mt. Ossa, the highest peak in Tasmania. Ellen and I, having nothing else specifically in mind, agreed to take her up there in the rav and hike it with her. We started at the Arm River carpark on Tuesday and went up to a high plateau on the Arm River track. The Arm River track is an in feeder to the Overland Track, Tasmania's main hiking track. As we climbed up we found some simply stunning landscapes. There were temperate forests and high tussock grass plains with thin, yet deep, creeks running through them. The mountain landscape was simply stunning.

Ellen on the Arm River Track. 

After about three hours we came up on the New Pelion Hut. It was more like a house than a hut but people do pay $200 to walk the Overland Track so you can see why it's posh. I can see why they do, the Overland is simply stunning. After leaving our packs at the hut we walked the rest of the way up the Overland Track to the turnoff to the Mt. Ossa massif. Amanda was powering up it while Ellen and I came up at a slow burn as we usually do. About 300 meters from the summit the whole thing got socked in by fog so Ellen just sat and looked at the view while I ran up to the top to tell Amanda that we were headed back down. Ellen doesn't really care so much for peak bagging and the view was stunning where she turned around. I got up there and ate an apple in the fog.

The next day, after spending an uneventful evening in the Taj Ma-hut we walked down. Saying a temporary goodbye to Amanda we dropped her in Deloraine and beat feet down the Midland Highway to Hobart and Damon for the boat race on Wednesday evening.

Stuart gave us a bed for the evening and a nice conversation which we desperately needed after a few nights of sleeping on hard wooden beds and in our camper.

For the next few days we toured the East Coast and Port Arthur camping and getting our car set up the way we wanted it. We have a book called Camps Vol. 8 that has all the free and low cost campsites in it for Australia. That coupled with the widespread availability of rooftop campers over here makes it absurdly easy to camp. Also, on a sidetone, we now have one of these campers that we've dubbed the upside down mobile hooch and it's decidedly cooler than Philip Balister's.

On Saturday we got into Triabunna for a local festival called Seafest. The jetski club had come up to give rides for charity but due to an insurance snafu they weren't allowed to do so. We made the most of it by eating crayfish (lobster) and hanging out at the resort where we were staying. We spent the afternoon chatting with the Wheatleys about jetskiing and sports and ouzo, just generally enjoying ourselves.

Eating Crays with the TJSBC, Photo Courtesy of Kylie Price.

The next day we got up and donned our wetsuits to go around Maria Island. This would involve 90km of riding on jetskis around an island 15km out to sea. The views were stunning. On the way out Ellen had to switch out of the over heating jet boat to Stuart's ski (I still think he sabotaged it to get her on the back of his ski :). Our first stop was off a small island to the Northeast of Maria to get everyone caught up. I was riding on the back of Pricey's ski videoing. The cliffs on the island were stunning. The shoreline on the eastern side of the island was full of sea caves and canyons. The benefit of being on a jetski is that you can ride into caves and explore due to your short height and shallow draft. We did just that. I never imagined that my first Australian cave trip would be on the back of a jetski. The cave that we were able to go through all the way looked to have formations in it, it seemed that it had possibly formed above sea level and been cut into by the ocean. Ellen noted some flowstone on the walls, very cool.

Coming out of the cave region of the island we made our way down to a little bay. There was a white sand beach with some nice rollers coming into the surf off the ocean. A bunch of the skis were playing in the surf so Pricey and I took our turn wave jumping. After all, how hard could it be to jump a jetski with two full grown men on it? After a couple jumps we got caught on a sand bank and had to jump off. I noticed another ski that had run into the same problem so I ran over to lend a hand. In true Joker fashion I bit the dust in the surf on the way over to the stricken craft turning my Hasselhoff like rescue into more of a Spongebob affair.

After getting the ski righted and back into the ocean I learned I was on with Mark. His ski had a suspension system which made the back seat much more reasonable (not that I'm complaining about Reel Pricey, it's an awesome boat with a very cool paint job). Mark and I took off around the southern end of the island where we saw a pod of dolphins. Moving on down the south coast the club was able to bring it on wide open around the southern point of the island. It took me back to the days when we'd try to make formations with the Boy Scout jet skis.

We stopped into Chinamen's bay on the other side of the island for lunch. The weather was starting to close in as we made our way back across the strait for the mainland. At Chinamen's bay I got on a ski with a guy named Trevor. He had a ski with a supercharger in it which was cool since it meant we could move fast enough to just skip over the top of the waves instead of hitting them all full on.

http://youtu.be/jlOhmRwc9T0

 http://youtu.be/HEWkII4Tz3k

These are some videos of the trip around Maria Island

Getting back to the boat ramp we said our goodbyes to the club and promised we'd be back next year. We asked Stuart if it would be ok if we came back to his house to BBQ. He mentioned that we should certainly spend a couple days relaxing for which we are very grateful. On Thursday morning we are boarding the ferry for Melbourne. We're very happy to have started our trip in Tasmania and are certainly looking forward to coming back at the end of our trip for some R&R before the next step of our trip.

Now if you'll excuse me, it's my Mom's birthday in the states and we have a date with her on FaceTime so I'm going to sign off for now. Keep on truckin!

<3 Joker and Ellen

Striking Out in Tasmania

So due to differences in musical taste Ellen and I decided to leave our job in Strathgordon. The place was really cool but the work just wasn't what we were looking for. Seeing as this is a working HOLIDAY we are deciding to do just that. It occurs to me, however, that none of you good people know how I came to be sitting on this easy chair in the house of a stained glass maker in Cygnet Tasmania across from a Canadian named Amanda. I will now attempt to enlighten you.

Ellen and I were working at the hotel, minding our own business, when a Canadian and an American showed up with our boss. She had lost her shoes in the back of a ute (pickup truck) after being attacked by a giant spider and was desperately searching for them. There being only one road in and out of Strathgordon, my boss told me to take our ute and go search for them. After cruising around with the familiar sounding couple for five minutes I realized that I liked them quite a lot. Upon our return to the hotel, having not found the shoes, I quickly convinced my boss to hire the Canadian since the American was going home in one week. It was agreed that she would return in a weeks time and begin working with us. During this time it should be noted that the Tasmanian Jet Sport Club was having a weekend at the lake and was staying with us. I know it seems like a random useless piece of information now but think about the role of Meatloaf in Wayne's World and bear with me.

The Canadian (Amanda) and the American left the next day and I continued serving drinks to jet skiers and generally working odd hours.

Now it is more or less known, by those who have been there, that the Lake Pedder Chalet is not run on the most scrupulous of principals. During the week in which Amanda was absent Ellen and I decided that we would take our leave of the place. We went on working and contemplating our next move for a week after which Amanda came back. We were told to put her to work immediately by the boss but the bosses wife countermanded that order after she had put in a days work and told us that she wouldn't be paid. In a seemingly unrelated maneuver, Ellen and I put in our weeks notice. We had gleaned a healthy profit from the place and it was time for a move. We were told that Amanda would be paid once we left but sensing an unhealthy work environment she agreed to bolt with us and take her chances.

In another instance of deus ex machina some guests turned up at the hotel with whom I struck up the following conversation:

Dan: Yes we like the area that the hotel is in but we are leaving next week. We bought a roof top camper for our car and we were figuring on living in that.

Guest: Oh well I live in a house in Cygnet that doubles as my studio and if you pay me minimal rent and work on some projects I have you can stay with me.

Dan: Can I bring my wife and this Canadian?

Guest: Of course!

Dan: Sweet

So at the end of our tenure at Strathgordon we hugged our coworkers goodbye and struck out for Cygnet. On the way there we stopped by the transport hub and picked up our roof top camper, mounting it to the top of the Rav in the parking lot. After we got that done we went to see Craig and Jasmine to tell them about our most recent exploits and coo over Freya, their newborn daughter.

A large gumtree in Mt. Field National Park. 

Our business in town complete, we rolled to Cygnet our growler full and generally feeling content with ourselves.

Upon our arrival we immediately started looking for jobs in the apple fields. For the next few days we struck out in search of jobs and unilaterally... struck out. Oh well such is the life of a backpacker. After deciding that we had more or less sucked every last bit of money from Australia's island state we started looking around for another source of income. Amanda remembered, while riding in the car one day, that there is, in fact, another island to the north of here. It's generally bigger and has a more robust economy. For those of you who haven't had your coffee and weetbix (wheaties) yet today the island I am referring to is, of course, Australia. In a bold maneuver we booked the next available ferry ticket for me and the car and decided that the girls would follow either via plane or walk on the boat, whichever made more fiscal sense.

This left us two weeks on the island so we decided that we were going to see some sights before we headed to the mainland and certainly to high paying jobs with excellent bosses and rosters and other lovely things.

Now remember that jet ski club I mentioned earlier? You know, the one I so obscurely compared to Meatloaf? Well two of them live in Cygnet and they graciously offered to buy us dinner and have a yarn. They mentioned to us that next weekend there is a boating festival on the east coast and that we should certainly join them. They also mentioned that they were going to circumnavigate some island off the coast that we were obviously going to join them in that as well.

So I hope to be writing my next blog post while sea sick on a ferry headed to the mainland. If all goes according to plan I will be telling you of rooftop camping, mountain climbing, jet skiing, and harebrained adventure, but now, if you will excuse me, I must run to the tip shop (legalized form of dumpster-diving for profit, literally a shop where they grab stuff from the garbage and sell it in a store) and procure a used wet suit. Keep on truckin' Blacksburg.

<3 Joker & Ellen

Getting a Job and Hiking

Well it's been two weeks since we started work and, at first, it was really crazy. We were working 16 hour shifts and waking up tired. Now I've been working with the proprietor and the chef of the place and we've got a good roster going that lets everyone off a bit in the middle of the day. Let me fill you in on what has been going on.

It all started on the morning of the 12^th of February. I was stressing pretty hard because Craig's mom was coming to stay for the arrival of the baby and we had to be out by Monday. I had been running scenarios about what it would cost us to be unemployed and I was fretting for all the savings we had accrued over a year and a half of working for DCR and CNS. As I climbed down the ladder from the bed to the living space I said to Ellen, “what we need is a deus ex machina. For those of you who don't study obscure latin phrases in relation to popular culture I shall now explain the question that is inevitably floating around in your mind. A deus ex machina is the latin for “god of the machine.” It is every time you think, wow I really need “x” and suddenly “x” appears before you. Video games are filled with them. Ever wonder how the rocket launcher came to be laying right next to where you have to fight a giant hydra or some other such nonsense? That is a deus ex machina, but I digress.

I climbed down the ladder and got on the computer. I wasn't aware that we had about 3 mb of data left on our little portable wifi device so I haphazardly looked at gumtree, the local craigslist. Scrolling down a page of jobs that I was in now way qualified for, or wanted for that matter, I stumbled across “X2 all rounders for hotel in world heritage area.” Duh...

I screamed for the phone startling Ellen into a jerky lucidity. She yelled back that it was in my pants and that I needed to shut up so early in the morning. A short telephone conversation and some khakis later and we were on our way.

We became ever more giddy as we wound our way up the Derwent river out of Hobart and up into the bush. As we came to a little town called Maydena we realized that we were in the last named place before we would get to Lake Pedder, our destination. The lake was still 80 or so kilometers away. This was going to be an adventure.

Winding our way through an absurd number of different world heritage sites (why isn't there just one huge world heritage site?) we came across a land scape that looked like what I would imagine Utah to look like if it had foliage. I can't really give a good comparison. The closest thing I can say is take the foliage of costal North Carolina, put it with the craggy peaks of the Smokies and then bake it for a couple minutes in the oven and you've got Lake Pedder. Like I said, a weak comparison but it's all I've got.

Now let me say this. It's not as hard as Boy Scout camp here but the hours are longer. The days off are not set in stone either but all that is made up for by the fact that the pay is good and the food is awesome. Couple that with the fact that quolls and wallabies come to have a feed most of the nights and it's pretty cool.

The real point here is not that we like our job for the sake of it but that it is located in the middle of some really good bush walking. Yesterday on our first day off Ellen and I walked up Mt. Eliza. The Australians build trails much like the Kiwis do. There is none of this switch back business, instead, they just cut a straight line from the road to the top of the mountain. The steps going up the first pitch were brutal but once we got up along the main spine of the ridge it was pretty easy. We had a lovely view of Lake Pedder as we made our way up the mountain.

About half way up we ran into two backpackers, Sarah and Kath. Sarah was from Melbourne and Kath was from England. We started playing hop scotch with them until we reached the base of the Mount Eliza Massif. They were very friendly and willing to hike along with a couple of Americans and we quickly became friends. Sarah runs a website based out of Melbourne called ecoshout.com.au should anyone be interested in checking that out.

At the base of the Mt. Eliza Massif we ran into a little hut with a Swedish man staying in it. There was a place to refill water bottles which was good because the slog up the mountain had left us pretty dry. I wish I had taken a picture of the hut because it was very interesting but if you want to see it I guess you'll have to just come check it out for yourself. The water tasted very good and was very clean because someone had gone to the trouble to put a copper roof on the hut. Now think about that, someone said “I'm willing to pay for a copper roof to put on this little mountain hut.” Then they either slogged it up the mountain or paid to have it flown in by helicopter. Only the Australians would think of something like that.

Ellen looking at a small tarn on top of Mt. Eliza

After a nice chat with the Swedish man we got moving up the final ascent. Kath and Sarah had gone a little before us and we found them at the beginning of a giant boulder field. The trail, in true Australian fashion had an arrow with “good luck” painted on a board at the beginning.

Climbing through the boulder field was a wonderful experience. There were little lizards everywhere and it was more like bouldering or caving than hiking. Sarah was a bit scared of heights but Ellen and I used our VPI training to get her through it. She bore up amazingly and powered up the rocks like a good'un after she got the hang of it. Again I'm sorry I don't have any pictures of this part of the trip but photos weren't the first thing on my mind at the time.

Ellen and I at the top of Mt. Eliza.

At long last, and after many cuts and bruises in the boulder field, we reached the top of the Eliza massif. The view of Lake Pedder and Mt. Anne was breathtaking. There were also some tarns near us and some high altitude lakes in the distance. We sat down, had a snack, and reveled in our glory. Starting at 307 meters above sea level three hours before, we had achieved a lofty height of 1250 meters.

View from the Top of Mt. Eliza

Sarah and Kath turned around to make their way down the boulder field while Ellen and I pushed on across the high altitude meadow. The flora was mainly moss with some low shrubs and the walking was a bit treacherous. The problem was caused by a quartzite layer that, when absent, caused mud holes that a person could sink into up to their knee. Not by any means dangerous but very annoying if not noticed in time. As we walked out across the top of the mountain we started to notice the weather changing for the worse to the windward. We reached a promontory about half way to Mt. Anne and turned around to start heading back down.

The boulder field was much quicker on the way down. About three quarters of the way through it we caught back up to Sarah and Kath who were diligently making their way amongst the rocks. As any caver knows bouldering can be a team sport so we all pitched in and got the rest of the way out of the field in good time.

Coming out of the boulder field we found the hut with the seemingly permanent Swedish guy. We reloaded on water and had a yarn with the fixed European. Seeing that he didn't really have anything interesting or original to say I mentioned that the weather was closing in and that we needed to get moving if we didn't want to get caught out in one of Tasmania's signature storms.

Moving down the trail I had a nice chat with Kath about all the things you talk about when hiking. You know like, weather, home, political structures, the various meanings of the word pie, etc. Eventually we dropped back down to the lake level and hit the car park. This is when we found something unexpected. Kath and Sarah were traveling in the coolest old VW camper van I've ever seen. This thing was an 80s model tank with four wheel drive and a bed in the back. It was like seeing the inner mind of the designer of the Chevy Astro van before GM took his design and bastardized it by taking the little diesel out and put a huge V8 in. We exchanged goodbyes and emails and all the other stuff you do when you've just met someone on the trail and want to say hi and maybe grab dinner and a beer next time you are in the same part of the world.

Driving back the dirt road Ellen and I talked about all the cool scenery we had seen and how much our legs hurt. We also talked about the giant steaks we were going to order once we got back to the hotel. Let me just say this, the chef did not disappoint.  

Hobart: An Overview

Sorry this isn't of the absolute highest quality, I wrote it while I was still laid up sick and it seems a bit incoherent to me. That being said the ever triflin Dr. Stanley demands a blog post, so, a blog post he shall have!

Hi Everyone,

Well we've been in Hobart a couple weeks and the deal I made with the devil has come to fruition. If you'll remember I was very worried about getting sick on the plane ride. In lieu of this feeling I made the passing remark on more than one occasion that I would be happy if I was sick once I was here. I'm now on day five of the most annoying stomach virus that I've ever had. Oh well c'est la vie, and kids, don't tempt fate.

That being said, this annoying and untimely illness has given me time to write a blog post about where we are. Hobart, Tasmania is a beautiful city situated on the Derwent River in the shadow of Mt. Wellington. It is at 43 degrees South so it's pretty far down there. There isn't a continental climate however, so you don't have to worry about the extreme weather like you do at home. What you do have to watch out for are atmospheric changes on a level to leave one stupefied and often quite chilly coupled with the unpredictability caused by having the Great Southern Ocean just to the South. Weather wise, the place is hoppin.

No where can the turbulent weather be better illustrated than in the yearly sporting spectacle of the Sydney to Hobart yacht race. This is probably one of the worlds premier ocean going yacht races. Now, one would think that when you round the headland and enter the Derwent from the open ocean that a boat would be home free. Often this is not the case. Many Sydney to Hobart races have been won and lost on the river. Just this year there was a scene of mass carnage as a bunch of Maxi Yachts rounded the corner to come up to Hobart. The winds were so high that the light and fast, but brittle boats tore apart. If you don't believe me look up the pictures on the internet. There are some pretty good shots of sailboat destruction. One captain was reported to have actually shot his flare gun through his main sail in his desperate bid for salvation. My host, Craig, and his brother go out on it every week to race on Wednesdays.

The general feel of Hobart is sort of like Richmond. You never know when you might step out the back door of the pub and find an old bus sitting in the beer garden, full of people committing all sorts of acts of violence over a game of Uno. There are some hipsters cruising around on their fixed gear bikes but, much as in Blacksburg, there are hills so riding a bike with no breaks is a perilous affair. 

A native who made his pile and returned to the city has recently opened a museum called Mona. This is supposedly a museum of all things weird. Ellen and I haven't visited yet but they have ferries that leave from the main dock in Hobart and run up the river to the peninsula where Mona is located. The ferries are painted in trendy grey and pink camouflage schemes and have things like victorian couches on them next to statues of cows. Make no mistake, this place is hip.

This weekend has been the Royal Hobart Regatta festival. This is a long weekend (of which there are many in the Australian summer) where military planes fly over the city in close formation and Royal Australian Navy ship usually comes to town. There are bands and a wooden boat festival culminating in a sailing regatta on Monday. I am told that the wooden boat festival only happens bi-annually so it is lucky that we got to see it. The whole weekend basically feels like a state fair for which everyone in Southern Tasmania gets a day off. There are stalls selling fried food of every kind complete with a steam powered merry-go-round on the wharf. From what little I have seen of it, the Regatta Day celebration seems like a whole heap of fun. I was able do drag my pitiful self down the other night to see the Navy rock band perform a set. It was nice to see a Navy band that wasn't obviously selling it's self as a recruiting tool. I'm sure upon it's inception the creators of the Navy rock band had numbers in mind but, over all, the musicians seemed to just be there for the entertainment of the people and to playfully harass the army. In the states there would have been recruiting officers set up on either side of the stage. It was nice that they were keeping it subliminal instead of super-liminal.

The place we have been staying is in South Hobart up the side of Mt. Wellington very near to the suburb of Fern Tree. This is cool because we're just a hop, skip, and a jump from the Mt. Wellington park. The hiking and biking is fantastic with miles of trails some of which are shared between mountain bikers and hikers and some which are hiking only. There are also lots of dolerite rocks which have some exposed areas and some really cool looking bolted climbing routes. This being the realm of the hipster, there are mountain bike tracks going up everywhere around the area. Once I get better I'm going to get a beater mountain bike off Craigs brother's company and start riding the trails.

A wallaby in mid hop. Also it should be noted that this is picture 2112 off Ellen's camera. Therefore, I assume the Wallaby is saluting Neil Peart; the greatest drummer of them all. 

Hobart is also a city of naturalists. The University of Tasmania is located here and there is a general feel of conservation. Just to the North of town there is a wildlife preserve called Bonorong. Ellen and I went there on our first week in the country. It is a very cool wildlife park where they have some of everything that lives in Tasmania natively. We got to see echidnas and quolls and even some Tasmanian devils getting their mid afternoon snack of chicken. The girl giving the tour asked us if we'd seen the cartoon of Taz spinning around to the general destruction of everything around him. When we answered yes of course she dove into a discourse about how devils are actually sort of slow and lumbering critters with poor eyesight. Because of this, they often eat road kill and are apt to end up as road kill themselves. There is also a type of virus that is causing them all to die off. Bonorong is taking measures to try and save them by breeding populations of devils and putting them on islands surrounding Tasmania. Hopefully this will act as a stop gap measure until a vaccine can be administered to these populations. Hopefully we won't lose these derpy cute little guys forever.

Tasmanian Devils at Bonorong

For Ellen and I the game is feeling better and finding jobs. She, of course, didn't catch the flu like I did. In fact it has just occurred to me that the only people I know who have gotten it have been males.

Well that's all for now folks. I promise I will be more attentive to the blog once interesting things start happening again. Right now we're just finishing getting all the paperwork done. Stay tuned and keep the Northern Hemisphere warm!

<3 Joker and Ellen 

  

Touchdown

Well, as some of my more astute Facebook companions may have observed, Ellen and I have made it to Australia. For those of you thinking of coming to visit I will say this; Etihad is a lovely airline and the United Arab Emirates is a lovely country but that flight is unacceptably long. Add to this that a delay caused us to miss our connection in Melbourne, and you have the basic tone of how we felt for most of our trip. We were getting ready to get off the plane and the loudspeaker called our names telling us to report to the ground crew upon disembarkation. We figured they were going to rush us through security to board our final flight but instead the guy at the gate handed us a voucher for a stay in a five star hotel with $45 allowance for dinner and $28 for breakfast. We were entirely appeased by this gesture. What didn't appease us was the untimely disappearance of the bag containing almost all of Ellen's clothing. We registered the appropriate claim and were subsequently given the $45 you get when they lose your bag. We were also given emphatic assurances that at a point no less than two days but certainly no more than two millennia away, a car would arrive at our residence with a bag that at least resembled ours. We counted our blessings that they hadn't lost our cave gear and have been looking for a thrift (hereafter referred to as an op) shop ever since.

All the rigor of international air travel behind us we settled in for a relaxing stay at the park hotel in Melbourne (who by the way are about to get harangued as to why they still have a hold on my credit card account, I imagine a long winded dissertation about international business and the influence of Australia Day.) The steak dinner was excellent even if the waiter was a great hulking mule and the beer was welcome after flying half way around the world.

The next morning, with assurances that our luggage was not found but certainly was not lost either, we boarded our final plane to Hobart. I would like to take a moment to recognize Virgin Australia. Never before has an airline restored my belief in the free market economy like this one. It was amazing to watch the flight attendants disperse tea and biscuits like a nascar pit crew on the 45 minute flight to Hobart. The pilot was a jock who I believe must have spent time flying fighter jets with the Australian Airforce because he got us there 10 minutes ahead of schedule and the banking turns were nothing short of awe-inspiring. We registered our complaint about the baggage with the Virgin representative in Hobart where we got the most interesting response I've ever heard in my life. Apparently, the king of Saudi Arabia just died and if a person is related to him they aren't allowed to work for two weeks as a time of mourning. This must cause some sort of genealogical frenzy on and around the Persian Gulf because because since the poor gentleman's passing last Friday the entire region has been in mourning and, therefore, not at work. If the lady at the counter made this up I certainly wish her well because that is by far the best excuse I've ever heard for our continually missing baggage.

Enter Craig and Jasmine. For those of you who weren't at our wedding or were there and were simply too inebriated to notice the Australians, Craig and Jasmine are, respectively, the cousin and cousin-in-law of one Mr. Brian McCarter. For those of you who know Brian, imagine a sandy haired Antipodean version of Brian and you've got the man. Jasmine is his lovely wife and together they live in an abode on the side of Mt. Wellington in South Hobart that I can only describe as something out of a picture book. The view is gorgeous, the gumtrees are enormous and Craig, the man that he is, has been working on building his own house for a couple years now. There is a little sleep out (Australian word of the day; Sleepout: a small shed or outbuilding that is converted into a guest house in the yard for the use of friends and relations during short or extended stay) in their back yard and at this moment that is where Ellen and I are. She appears to be looking for pesto to go with her breakfast in the ice chest and I am sitting here writing to all you lovely people.

View from deck of Sleepout. 

Craig warned me while we were staying in Melbourne that he and Jasmine were to go away until Wednesday for a 60th birthday party. He calmly handed me the keys to his ute (truck) and his GPS saying, quite literally, go to town. This kind of gesture is why I have, for some time, considered the McCarter clan as a group of people akin to family. For those of you who know Brian and Deborah, go visit them, that's an order.

Now if you'll excuse me. I have to go pay an exorbitant fee to genealogy.com to figure out how I'm related to the former King of Saudi Arabia.