A Sunday morning in Weldborough.

Locals say that noisy parties don't happen often but there was one last night, at the other end of town, and the music didn't stop till 5am. Clear blue skies, warm and sunny today, a marked contrast to the gale-force winds and intermittent rain that blew through yesterday. Jazz had her usual early-morning walk through town. After breakfast, our 'al fresco' cooking area was improved with the addition of a bench and gas cooker, all cooking can now be done outside. Ben took Jazz for another walk while I went to the local tip, stopping first at Richard's house to collect his rubbish because there's no rubbish collection and Richard doesn't drive. Richard showed me his latest painting, a portrait of his friend Hiro. Hiro seemed undecided on whether it was a good likeness or not. Met another resident, who also happens to be our landlord, walking his dog along the road then called in at his house to jumpstart the car. Back home and, to improve the poor-to-average riding skills, took the Ducati up to Little Plains and back before lunch. That was Sunday morning in Weldborough.

A night camping.

We spent a night at Cosy Corner, Bay of Fires after arriving late and setting up camp at 11pm. It was a very cold night followed by a beautiful sunny day. Jazz, now an accomplished but still annoying car traveller, came too and loved the beach. She seemed unconcerned about the legal requirement to be on a leash at all times. Ben camped at Stefan's camp site. (Stefan is a German traveller who spent many months camped at the beach, until moved on by the park rangers.) Someone had decorated one of the rocks at the camp site.

Fish oil.

It's been damp and cool for over a week now. Usually our clothes are hand washed and dried on the line and that works well with a small amount of sunshine and a favourable wind. But the clothes have been piling up while the sun hides behind cloud and a trip to the Scottsdale laundromat became the next-best option; until the Omega 3 fish oil capsules buried deep inside a coat pocket burst during the machine wash cycle. The clothes are still damp from several re-washes by hand and they still smell of fish. If we lived on the coast, we could pretend we're hardy fishermen but here, 350 metres above sea level in the hills, there's nothing else to do but wash, wash, wash.

(Posted from Cosy Corner, Bay of Fires.)

Weekend visitors.

Tess and Dan, our weekend visitors, flew in to Launceston at 10PM on Friday night. It's only 120km to Weldborough but the journey on the twisty mountain roads takes about two hours, longer in bad weather and Friday night was awful with fog and heavy rain. It was well after midnight when we arrived back at the cottage. Poor weather continued for the entire weekend but we still managed to get out and about. Our visitors tried their hand at archery and the archer's equivalent to finding a needle in a haystack, find the arrow in the blackberries. They also demonstrated their skipping skills. We had a pleasant dinner at the hotel where one of the locals told us of his struggles while lost in the bush for most of the afternoon. "I'm not going bushwalking for a while," he said. To which a farmer replied, "Good idea, you're obviously not very good at it!" The visit was all over much too quickly as two tired travellers boarded their Monday morning flight and commuted to work in Melbourne.

Targa - going nowhere... fast!

It's Targa day in the NE. One group of cars has passed through town, Porsches mainly and other expensive new models - "yuppies in their half million dollar cars!" according to one of the vocal locals. Then there's a 45 minute wait until the genuine rally cars cruise past, in between the timed stages. Rally spectating isn't all that exciting but then the verandah of the local hotel probably isn't a great place to observe the action. It's difficult to choose a suitable place and road closures mean that you'd be stuck there for over four hours; not a good prospect on a drizzly grey day and there are leeches lurking in damp places as we discovered recently. Nevertheless I'm waiting for interesting vehicles to pass by. Porsches and BMW's are fast but not as interesting as the older cars; Minis, Fiats, MG's, a Vauxhall Cresta, Zephyr Zodiac and more. (A 1950's Chevrolet sped past four hours later, with front-end damage and on the back of a tray truck.) At least one of the locals was fairly disinterested in procedings as he trimmed a shrub outside his house. "I'm baking a cake for you," he called out when he saw me on the other side of the highway. Targa, we're going nowhere and the rally cars disappear fast! The cake arrived later in the day.

R. Chuggy.

We travelled the 120km to Launceston on Monday, to do some shopping for items not available locally like arrows for the bow, Warhammer paints and a good electric heater. On the return trip we stopped to take a photo. Ben thinks that I look like R Chuggy, but I can't see the resemblance. Mr Chuggy dwells beside the highway, on a long sweeping curve below The Sideling. He's lost an eye since we last saw him.

Every day's a bad hair day.

Commuting to work.

Every day's a bad hair day, for me anyway, and it's because we're wearing hats all the time: beanie for cold nights, baseball cap for bright sunny days and motorbike helmet for safety. But then, fashions are refreshingly casual in this part of the world.

I commuted from "home" to "work" during the week. The little Honda's more of a commuter bike than a highway tourer but it gets along quite well and the aftermarket Staintune exhaust has a nice note (toned down with a restrictor and too loud otherwise). There are three computers in the access centre and supply exactly met demand on this occasion. No parking problems either, just left the bike at the front door.

Big Ben and Little John.

Ben at Legerwood,
on the road to Ringarooma.

Dean and Tony, the butchers at Ringarooma, were very impressed by Ben's height. They dubbed us Big Ben and Little John and then asked if we were locals, which we are, in a way. People travel a long way to go to that tiny and traditional butcher shop in a small country town. Dean has a loud voice and a welcoming smile and it's very reassuring when a man wielding an extremely sharp knife is so friendly. It didn't seem wise to mention that Little John is a vegetarian, at least not on the first visit. Big Ben purchased three large steaks for a very reasonable $18.

Dubbin da boots.

It’s been a soggy Easter Sunday but we’ve managed to do a few things. Boots were cleaned while the sun shined and then the house was cleaned when the rain started. We made pumpkin soup and Ben took some to a mate’s house. When the showers stopped briefly, Jazz got a walk through town, past the busy pub and further down the road. Easter’s the last of the big weekends before things quiet down for winter. Today the pub has a small damp village of campers in the grounds and a row of wet cars in the new parking area. The highway has provided some interesting viewing: rain-soaked motorcyclists, muddy four-wheel drives and even an early 1900’s vintage car with driver, passenger and, for some reason, the roof down. Full credit to anyone willing to pilot an underpowered vintage car on its four skinny tyres over these mountain passes, in the rain. And full credit to anyone willing to ride an overpowered motorcycle on its one skinny and one fat tyre over these mountain passes, in the rain. I did what I always do in the rain, cleared downpipes, and the water tank is full to the brim. Not only was it wet but also very cold, both outside and inside the house – nothing that an extra layer of clothing couldn’t fix. Hope you all had a happy Easter. JH (posting from Little Plains lookout).

No TV or internet.

Having no TV isn't a problem but it does take time to adapt to not having readily available net access and mobile phone reception. There are so many people to call and message, and it's proving difficult to keep up. It feels ever so awkward working on a laptop computer at a picnic table near a scenic lookout while the campervans roll up and tourists climb the steps to see the view. Also, Moorina cemetery isn't a very practical access location and the signal's poor there anyway, there can’t be much demand for a boosted signal at a cemetery.

Our little cottage has a few faults but in many other ways it's ideal. Unlike some of the other old houses around here, it's bright with plenty of ventilation. The water supply consists of one small rainwater tank for drinking and washing with a dam supply (supply from a dam) for bathroom and toilet. At the moment, the dam supply (damn supply!) isn't working and no one's sure where all the plastic pipes and valves are. We've used about a third of the tank but rain is forecast and it should fill quickly.

What’s happening in Weldborough on Good Friday? Well, it is fairly quiet, except for the black cockatoos calling in the trees. Jazz has had a good long walk and the trees have been trimmed along the driveway. Weather is misty damp but warm and, when it clears, the bikes might get a run. It may even be possible to set a watch by the tourist traffic on the highway. At almost precisely 10am the first of the camper vans, caravans, Winnebagos (strange word, is that how to spell it?) and motorbikes drive past. A good project would be to photograph the variety of passing traffic, not that there’s much of it.

No TV or internet isn’t really a problem. There are other, more old-fashioned but more active, things to do.

The locals.

Fossicking.