and then tasmania...

The 'non-plan': Hobart, up the east coastline... maybe over to the middle-ish... then, depending on our daylight situation (aka: the severity of our sobriety), perhaps back down again...

Packed the car with tents, blankets, bottles of port, and innumerable peanutbutter /banana sandwiches. Headed northeast. Found the ocean. (Go us!)

Freycinet National Park

Bay of Fires

Stopped at Iron House Brewery  along the way, for some much needed ciders in the sun. Camped in the sand... killed 4 sandbos, and 2 bottles. Nice.

Our camp spot. Money.

The next morning: a beach walk (shell-less, unfortunately), followed by apricots at the farmer's market in St. Helens... Gathered an 'itenary' of sorts from the lovely gentleman at St. Helen's info center... headed off to Pyengana for some waterfall walks, cheesery visits, and... of course... a mini (ladylike, of course) pub crawl.

Pyengana... 

St. Colombo Falls (90 m)

Full of cheese and beer, and lightly dazzled by waterfall splendor:  back in the car. Head to Blue Tier Region for the craziest, most beautiful afternoon of hiking I've ever experienced. Think Teletubbies meets Princess Bride. Bright green moss on everything, neon yellow flowers dotting the mountain. Unworldly cactus-like trees, sprouting from a spoungy, squishy hillside. We literally bounced up the hillside giggling. Felt more like a movie set than an actual ecosystem... even stumbled upon a crystal clear pond, surrounded by fluorescent flowers, and filled to the brim with giant tadpoles. Unreal.

Wildest trek ever. Blue Tier National Park.

the magical pond of eternal youth.

Head over to Scottsdale. No pics-- as we set up camp outside town, and spent the night bar hoping (from their two operating pubs), and eating steak. Oh, and getting hit on by incredibly scary men. Kill another bottle of port. And find showers. Things keep getting better and better.

Next day? Drive to Launceston. Spend 2 hours hiking around the town's 'gorge'-- discuss eating disorders and Paul Simon, amongst other things... Head north again, stop for more ciders--- wind up camping at  greens beach ... aka 'Wombat Town.'

our setup in wombat town

Spend the afternoon drinking ciders under a tree-- bond with our fellow campers, including George. A 68 year old retiree, who drives a mean golf cart, and was smashed after sharing one of our ciders. After learning of our excitement to see wombats for the first time, George reappeared hours later to literally escort us (in his cart, of course) right to the first wombat appearance. As it's our last night out-- we wombat hunt (aka sit and squeal and point at wombats) while polishing off the last of our port. 

wombats everywhere.

no but seriously. everywhere.

sunsets over wombat town...

More to come... xox