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Cockle Creek

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We decided to stay another day in Southport and leave the caravan and the Motor home at the van park while we took the Nissan to Cockle Creek.

The road is unsealed and Barry and Christine are not supposed to take the Motor home on unsealed roads or their insurance is nullified.

We drove through the low stubbly scenery that comprises the vegetation in these high wind, extreme weather areas and past house after house, farm after farm that was for sale. It seems everything in this area is for sale, much like we have encountered for most of our journey except for Hobart where surprisingly few For Sale signs appear.

Why are so many regional properties for sale in Tasmania?

Is it the result of dreams not fulfilled or disappointment at unrealised expectations?
Is it Mainlanders falling in love with the place, (very easy to do as we have), and then finding the harsh realities that accompany isolation?
Is it financial – paying way too much and finding the value sliding daily?

One things for sure, of the properties that advertise price on the For Sale signs the sellers expectations and their perceived values are far away from reality unless a greater fool can be found.

Cockle creek is aptly named.

As you walk along the lonely, wild foreshore there are literally billions of Cockle shells.

Walking the foreshore of a wild and rugged bay

It must be the global Mecca for cockles offering the exact environmental conditions that are perfect for them.

After a mildly challenging walk we came to Fishers Point at the tip of the bay and we were now looking out onto the notorious and beautiful Great Southern Ocean.

We are closer to Antarctica than Cairns!

We are now closer to Antarctica than we are to Cairns!

The biting wind of the lonely coastline

There are ruins here that once again took us back over 100 years to a time when this now deserted place was home to over 400 people and boasted two pubs, both called the Sawyers Arms.

The pilot station ruins

It is whaling country where many hundreds of whales were towed after capture and flensed and their blubber boiled down for the prized oil so much on demand at that time.

This now beautiful, wild bay where any human activity seems alien must have once been red with the blood of the hundreds of Southern Right Whales slaughtered here. This was one of the many southern ports in Tasmania and New Zealand that were responsible for driving the Southern Right to within a hair’s breadth from extinction.

The ruins were of the Pilot station where whaling ships and cargo vessels were guided into the rugged shore and for anyone with a love for the wild sea this site would be perfect as it overlooks a boulder strewn beach straight out to the Southern Ocean.

People actually lived and died here raising families and at one time the inhabitants of this little house, now only decaying brick walls, managed to grow over 12,000 cabbages a year.

It would have been interesting to see what was on the menu for most of their meals.

A lonely grave with a weather worn inscription looks silently out over the windswept cove to the mist shrouded Hertz Mountain range in the distance and marks the final resting place of its solitary 29 year old inhabitant.

Crystal clear water, seemingly untouched beauty and icy winds are the feature of this beautiful cove.

We drove on to Hastings where we were looking forward to a swim in the thermal pools and then a tour of the Hastings Caves but we were disappointed to find the pools closed as were some of the walks.

Since the entry fee is steep and usually includes access to the pools as well, we decided not to spend the money on the caves and after a coffee we headed back to Southport to spend the late afternoon washing and having a nanny nap.

On returning Barry and I decided to go for a wee spot of fishing so off we went to a lonely little boulder strewn bay just a few minutes from Southport.
In the crystal clear water and the heavy kelp lives an abundance of fish and after catching about 6 of them while marvelling at the breathtaking scenery and the huge Southern Ocean breakers smashing the shoreline of distant islands, we drove back to Southport to clean up for dinner.

We again partook of the friendly, warm atmosphere in the Southport pub and had a huge meal before bedding down once again in the cosiness of our little home as a cold rain pelted down outside.

A perfect finish for a great day.

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