Tasmanian Tales

We've had a reprieve from housesitting and were on the road again. This time we were travelling in a shiny red ute, a Holden rodeo. I told Himself it made me feel young and adventurous.
Elsa the gorgeous German pointer had said a fond farewell to Himself, she had become very attached to him during the past week. I had been in Caloundra visiting my dear Dad.
Her family were now back with her in Launceston, before they embarked on the next leg of their adventure in a week's time.
We had been generously given the use of their second vechile.
Down the east coast we drove until we stopped at a beautiful lodge on the Freycinet peninsular. Tasmania had been visited by the Dutch, the French and then the English in turn. The French saw that the island already belonged to native inhabitants so didn't bother any further - not so the English who came later and claimed it as their own. However Freycinet peninsular was named after that first group of French explorers.
The lodge was absolutely beautiful, our cabin looked out over Coles Bay, so peaceful and relaxing. The decor, furnishings and ambience left nothing to be desired.
The next morning after a hearty breakfast at the lodge we embarked on the walk to Wineglass Bay. 18 years ago I had done it and had fond memories, white sandy beaches and green clear water set against a backdrop of the Hazards, pink and blue granite stretching endlessly upwards to the blue sky above.
We made it to the Lookout, challenging, but I assured Himself that this was the worst, it was all downhill from here. The Lookout was spectacular, they had certainly made a heap of improvements in the last 18 years, the walk to the top meandered a lot more and was not as steep as I recalled.
However Himself was recovering from a chest infection and did ask the question at the lookout "how about going back to the car park?"
You could not come this far and not go down to the bay, was my reply. Surprisingly or not, it was steeper then I remembered and as we went down all I could think about was how we were going to get back up.
2 hours later, after drinking in the beauty of the bay I believed my legs were only sufficiently rested to contemplate attempting the return trip. There were 2 options, 45 minutes of pain or 3hrs over flat terrain in the heat of the afternoon. We chose the 45 minutes of pain. I now know that I will never again do this walk, and certainly not in another 18 years, not unless they put in a chairlift.
Sitting on our deck watching the sunset and sipping champagne, I'm paying the price, I don't thing my calves will ever recover, - well I'm hoping by tomorrow they will. However, the price is worth it, it's a beautiful and ancient part of the world, somewhere where you feel such a small part of a magnificent time line stretching back eons into the mists of time. Australia certainly does not have the historical heritage the UK has, but places like this give us a real connection to our past, its natural beauty unspoilt by time.