Gidday all,

Flinders Island,

A gem in the Furneaux Island group, situated around 160k northeast of Tasmania. With Bass Strait to the west and the Tasman Sea to the east. First settled in 1833 by George Augustus when he transported around 13 aboriginals from mainland Tasmania because they were being harassed by white settlers. Unfortunately this failed because many died because of exposure to influenza and harsh living conditions. Today there is a thriving community and beef industry as well as fishing and cray operations.

 

We began our voyage at Bridport, a lovely little town and stepping off point to the Furneaux Islands. Furneaux Island Freight operates the only barge to the island and is primarily a freight company but transports vehicles and a limited number of passengers. We had organised the passage a week before and were lined up to board the ship, it’s only a dingy, was a comment I heard from Din when she saw the barge. When compared to the Spirit of Tasmania, the name Tom Thumb came to my mind.  Anyway, it was too late for second thoughts, so, on we went with the thrill of the adventure spurring us on.

 Had to back the truck on as there was no turning around for driving off again. When on board, they packed another few cars and miscellaneous freight around us, it’s amazing how much they crammed on to that boat. Jammed in like sardines, there we were. We could stay in the truck for the voyage, so we settled in for the duration.

As we left the calm of the river and headed to the open sea, the supposed slight swell started us rocking and rolling, and Din feverishly grabbing for the first sick bag. This was only fifteen minutes into the trip, only eight hours to go. The ocean in these parts is in the region called the roaring forties, so called because of the, sometimes, gale force winds which whip through. Today it was relatively calm, but the heaving didn’t stop, both from the sea and Din, well Din did settle down after a while, only because there was nothing left to come up, she buried herself into the bed and thought calm thoughts. But the swell rolled on. I must admit there were a few times I was about to reach for the slowly diminishing pile of sick bags myself.

2:30 in the morning we finally reached Lady Barron, the port on Flinders Island. With the relief of reaching dry land, we rolled off the barge, with Din still in bed. We headed to a rest stop just up the road at Yellow Beach, and, with our heads still rocking and rolling, and, the dreaded thought of the return journey, we tried to sleep it off.

 

 

In the morning, feeling refreshed, we continued up the fire trail to a point that the track was blocked by a low hanging tree, at a couple of points prior to this I had had to stop and cut away some bush to get through and after a walk further on it was obvious the truck wouldn’t get through the ever closing in bush and deteriorating road. So, after about a seven point turn, we were headed back the way we had come. We didn’t consider this a waste of time as this is part of the adventure, exploring our options and going where most don’t get to see. There were some beautiful views of the coastline along the way as well.

Back to the main road and on to Whitemark, the Island capital, so to speak. After stocking up on salad and veg, as you can’t bring them with you to the Island, and a quick look about town, we took off for Trousers Pt. a national park camp ground. The weather, in typical Tassie fashion, was going to change, and the next day was expected to be windy and rainy. So we parked up at the camp ground, no one else in sight, just a couple of sail boats sheltering in the small bay below us, and we sat it out.