Wild, Wild West

Curiously, UMPH is fond of bug-spatter.  For him, the sight of mangled insects festooning the front of a car speaks of country adventures; it reminds him of night-time dashes along rural roads, moths having set their controls for the heart of the sun, dive-bombing and smashing themselves into The Galant's or Exxie's lights. 

This latest episode may have been a day-time only affair but Tasmania's Midlands Highway, the main route between Hobart in the south and Launceston in the north, was thick with all manner of six-legged flying fauna.  It didn't take long to start an impressive insect collection on the business end of The Galant.  The otherwise unrelenting ennui of Tasmania's most boring road was thus punctuated by jets of soapy washer-spume as the variously yellow, white, clear, brown and red entrails of local arthropods were scoured from the The Galant's windscreen by its hard-working wipers.

Turning left at Perth and beginning the westward bound leg of the journey towards Burnie and, ultimately, the state's wild west coast did little, if anything, to relieve the hum-drum nature of the drive.  Venturing further into Braddon - the state's most closely-contested federal seat - did, however, have its compensations, the quality and vehicle-carrying capacity of that electorate's roads increasing in direct contradiction to its relatively small population, leaving plenty of room to slip along unimpeded.  Marginal politics at their best! 

The city of Burnie provided a welcome break and a chance to fuel-up on petrol, red wine, Cascade Pale Ale and ice, ready to participate in the grand tradition that awaited UMPH.  This was no ordinary expedition; not only was it to be a three day, multi-vehicle, 900 kilometre epic, it was also a gathering of men whose commitment to the prandial arts exceeds those of all others known to UMPH.  This was to be a celebration of Goliardery!

The pretty seaside town of Wynyard soon gave way to Flowerdale which, in turn, was quickly replaced by Boat Harbour as The Galant pushed on towards Smithton via Detention River, Crayfish Creek and Port Latta, then past the iconic Stanley Nut.   A left turn just before Smithton itself was what UMPH had been waiting for as the route took him inland into dairy country, and through to the lush forests surrounding the ominously named Dismal Swamp.

Unfortunately, a light drizzle had began to fall as UMPH entered the Swamp's sumptuous esses.  A tell-tale lift in revs and some slight oversteer halfway through a sweeping left soon bought him back to his senses.  Drifting on public streets is not part of his repertoire and doing it at 90 + km/h was a little alarming, especially given the heavily wooded verges in that area! 

Once out the other side, the Swamp's drizzle-slicked road surface soon opened up for the run through the Dairy Straight and then onto the mercifully dry sweepers of the road through Redpa and on to Marrawah.  The road there is a driver's delight; long, sweeping esses roll into fast fourth gear bends that effortlessly segue from left to right and back again with clear sight-lines and gentle hills to keep the interest levels up.  No wonder its a motorcyclists' favourite. 

The final leg of the journey, from the Marrawah turn off to a shack south of Arthur River, is beautiful and could be another boon for the keen driver.  However, the area is home to one of the last pockets of disease-free Tasmanian devils, so caution is advised, unless one wishes to help hasten that unfortunate species' demise.  It's also a magnificent vista and not a bad way to wind down after more than five hours behind the wheel.

Arrival was a low-key affair.  With the driving finally over, all that was left was for UMPH to crack a Pale and set up his camp for the night.  He could have taken up residence inside the shack with the rest of his companions but for one very big problem:  They snore.  All of them.  Loudly.  Rumblings like a Harley Davidson just off the clutch emanate from each and every room, sometimes in cacophonous disharmony, making sleep elusive for anyone possessing even average hearing.  

The Serenity!

One of the first treats - of many, it must be said - came in the form of The Intuitive Cook's dinner-time offering.  TIC has no formal training.  What he does have, however, is the ability to deftly combine ingredients, flavours and textures to create meals of amazing complexity from seemingly not very much at all.  He's a dab hand with yeast, too, making all his own breads and pizza bases by hand.

The Goliards' first dinner was a magnificent Moroccan-inspired slow-cooked lamb, the main ingredient having spent several hours in a camp oven nestled into a bed of coals on the beach.  It was beautifully paired with flat-breads of the TIC's own making, lemon-infused yoghurt, tomatoes, and a tabbouleh of giant cous cous, raisins, pistachios and mint.  A few merlots accompanied the meal, followed by a Pale or two.

Morning Glory

The following morning began with expertly prepared omelettes from The Long Distance Walker.  For Goliards, omelettes are both soul food and a rite of passage.  A Goliard that can't cook an omelette isn't really a Goliard.  The LDW is an om-master! 

With breakfast sorted, efforts were soon focused on packing provisions into one of the Gentleman Four-Wheel Driver's Landcruisers, ready for a trip to Sandy Cape.  Five largish blokes squeezed into the 'Cruiser while two more chose to venture south on quaddies, or as they should be called, quikes.  (A quad-bike - 4 x 2 - would have eight wheels!)  

Four-wheel driving in the Arthur - Pieman area has become contentious in recent times, with conservationists and members of the indigenous community pitted against recreational vehicle users of all descriptions.  Without entering into the politics of it all, it would appear that it is possible to four-wheel drive in the area legally and responsibly.  All that's required is a permit, a respectful attitude and a bit of care.  The Arthur - Pieman is no place for hoons!    

A Gentleman Four-Wheel Driver

The track that leads to Sandy Cape parallels the coastline, winding up and down and around the wind-swept dunes and characteristic low scrub of the area.  In some sections it cuts into the sandy, peaty ground and has been fortified with a coarse, rocky base that, although rough, provides traction even when it's been soaked by the west coast's unrelenting winter rains.  Sticking to the track also saves damaging the surrounding area, irrespective of the prevailing conditions.

The beach at Sandy Cape stretches for several kilometres, forming a virtual highway by comparison with the torturous, undulating inland track that leads to it, and made for a welcome relief as The Gentleman Four Wheel-Driver and his crew took in the view as they continued south.  Magnificent sand dunes dominated the the inland sky, towering like over-sized pyramids, while never-ending rollers smashed into the beach after their unimpeded journey from South America.

As far as lighthouses go, Sandy Cape's lacks the romance of, say, the Eddystone light on Tasmania's north east coast.  The Cape's version is what it is: a robust, functional building and aid to coastal navigation.  UMPH doubts that storm-tossed mariners much care about its aesthetics.

Anything that the light's prosaic structure might be missing in charm is more than made up for by its superlative location.  For the 'Cruiser crew and the two hardy souls who made their way there by quike, nestling into the lee of the rocky outcrop on which the light was located made for a breathtaking lunch-time stop.  

The Oyster Baron and The Long-Distance Walker take in the view

Lunch was a simple affair of left-over lamb, tabbouleh and tomatoes, and smoked salmon sandwiches, washed down with a dram of 17 year-old  Cradle Mountain whisky.  The atmosphere amongst the assembled Goliards was almost reverential as they contemplated the setting, the food and the shared experience. 

     

Whisky:  Another Great Tasmanian Enterprise

The Long-Distance Walker and The Intuitive Cook Discuss Whisky

As well as being a great spot for lunch, the southern end of the Cape is also the backdrop to a poignant tribute to a pod of beached pilot wales that died in a small bay beside the light.  Sitting at the end of the bay is what almost appears to be a macabre art installation:  a bleached grey and white tree trunk is adorned with the wales' skulls staring wistfully back towards the ocean.  

Pilot Wales' Skulls 

The Lighthouse in the Background

With lunch over, it was time to return to the shack and have a few beers.  Although the 'Cruiser crew and the quikers effectively retraced their route in, it didn't diminish the grandeur of the return journey; travelling in the opposite direction opened new vistas that took in the coastline to the north and, to the east, the silhouette of Mount Balfour emerging from the low, flat planes that stretch from the dunes almost to the horizon. 

The Gentlemen Four-Wheel Drivers

     

The TIC excelled yet again in the kitchen, this time producing some succulent chicken breasts that he had brined, accompanied by some gently steamed vegetables.  Beer and wine was drunk, stories were told and cards were played.  And then, as befits men of a certain age, everyone went to bed earlier than they might have done a few years back.

As they say, all good things must come to an end.  After a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs, the shack was cleaned, vehicles were packed and goodbyes said.  UMPH paired with LDW for the return trip to Burnie, thankful for the company, and was pleased to find the roads dry and with very few cars, allowing for an invigorating run back to Smithton.

Thanks to all participants, mentioned earlier in this post or not:  The Gentlemen Four Wheel Drivers for the ride to the Cape, the provision of the quikes and the use of the shack; The TIC for his impressive kitchen skills; The Long Distance Walker for his unwavering commitment to Goliardery; The Oyster Baron for just being a good bloke; and The Pimp (named in honour of his Pimp-Mobile Holden Statesman and not for any known commercial dealings with ladies of the night (notwithstanding his recent trip to South America) for being, well, him in all his irrepressibility. 


U M P H

(uppermiddlepetrolhead.blogspot.com.au).