East

Captains Log - 0019/ 19th January 2025 / 0530hrs

There is a mythical evolutionary event that happens down here on the edge of our island that rests on the Tasman Sea. Behind the main beach that has a car park and a change room, opposite the Pizza heaven that is “The Hub”, and a short barefoot walk from dedicated path to the white sand, is Grants Lagoon. With the incredible sight that unfolds as you emerge from your drive from St Helens to what Lonely Planet once voted the best beach in the world, you could be forgiven for giving Grants Lagoon a passing glance as you hit the beach. We have over the years. It is easy to do with such an incredible coast as your vista. Besides, Grants Lagoon is usually in stark contrast to the white sands and clear waters that we have been diving into most days since the earth tilted a little more closer to that warm glow in the sky and to be fair, it is usually dark brown from the talons that leak from the hills into the water that Grants Lagoon captures. Enter mythical evolutionary event……

Between the sea and the lagoon is a stretch of sand that holds the accumulated years of water that have made its way from the hills to the coast - indeed on our twenty seven hectares there is a gully (Murphy’s Gully) that feeds into Grants Lagoon. With this stretch of sand in place there is a natural barrier, or a dam wall if you will, that for the last five years has filled Grants Lagoon to its natural capacity (especially after some of the significant rain events that have kept our tanks full). Whilst it would be more poetically appeasing to state that the sand dam wall naturally moves to allow for the trapped waters of Grants Lagoon to make its way to the Tasman Sea, the reality is that when the tide is right and the moon is full, mythical creatures appear from the shadows to provide mother nature with some muscle and tools, and the morning after there is a raging torrent of half a decade of water that cuts a channel into the Tasman Sea. Fast forward three weeks and Grants Lagoon is now as clear as the Tasman Sea waters with the twice daily tides flushing the lagoon with fresh seawater from between our island and New Zealand.

Yesterday we parked our car at the wooden walk bridge at Grants Lagoon and walked into the warm water on the outgoing tide. Laid our bodies out on magic floating salt infused water and floated for around half an hour around the channels until we emerged at the Tasman Sea at Binalong Bay beach. The slow moving conveyor belt of water carried us like those moving walkways at airports (but a million times better) past sand banks, pristine coastal landscapes under a pure blue sky until we reached the main beach with the channel lined with tanned, water dripping, towel carrying humans who must have wondered where these two upright apes floating on top of the water emerged from. At one point there is a mini whirlpool as the current speeds up as it gets closer to the Sea, on one of of the rocks at the edge sat a young eagle eye beach dweller who was pointing into the whirlpool with father near by holding an even younger human who mentioned to us that she thought she could see a stingray at the bottom of the swirling waters she was staring into. I dived down into the deeper waters of the channel and floated over a baby stingray, emerged from the depths and confirmed that indeed she was correct. When the sands become shallow just before the water is dragged into the Sea, we emerged dripping and smiling from ear to ear, amazed that two minutes drive from where we live, such an incredible experience has presented itself to us to enjoy. We will be back there today.

On my resume now there is a line that I would never in a million years would have thought would be put there. “Triple Sheeter and cleaner”. In that next world where my Mother is, she is sitting with my Father laughing at the memories of the cry of “make your bed” that she endured during my teenage years. The penance for those “lazy teenager boy” years is that now, most days, I am making two beds with razor precision (well, maybe not razor - but a hell of a lot better than throwing a doona back on the mattress). A vacuum and mop as well as a bottle of organic cleaning stuff with a cloth have become my (our) best friends as we find ourselves in the world of “hosting” the united nations of travelers that have chosen The Ship - Bay of Fires as the place to rest their head and hire car on their journey to Tasmania. We could write a sitcom about our “hosting” world - especially with the strange compulsion that Debi has developed in hitting the bell as she goes down the stairs declaring at the top of her voice “I ordered a room with a view” in her perfect Fawlty Towers deaf guest voice. We have had couples from China, Taiwan, Korea, The United Kingdom, Italy, Spain and even The Reunion Islands in between city dwelling urbanites from Sydney, Adelaide, Melbourne and Brisbane. We even had some from Launceston. We are more social in our own home then we have ever been outside of it! We must be doing something right though as the social credit system that drives the algorithms of digital acceptance of a “good place to go” have shined on us with five star reviews and notes in our guest books saying how much they loved staying here and wishing they stayed longer - also promising to come back and inviting us to their homes if perchance we travel to the Reunion Islands one day….it’s tempting! The breakfast buns (Oldway Farm bacon, eggs from the resident chooks, Tasmanian Gourmet Sauce Relish, Pyengana Cheese on a Cripps Newbake English muffin) have gone down a treat as well as the Tasmanian Roasted Organic Coffee. We had one guest that on showing them around the BBQ area and pointing out that we sell Furneaux whisky by the nip, bought the whole bottle. Pleased to report from the Bridge of The Ship, that all is well and from various perspectives, the accommodation side of things is a success!

Obviously it has been some time since my last “Captains Log”, the distractions are real and as said previously, enjoyable. Lawn mowers, chainsaws, potato and tomato harvesting, morning saltwater dips, jam sessions in the band room, kookaburras, wallabies, black cockatoos, family and friend visits, occasional tiger snake avoidance and being part of a bustling tourist mecca location (Binalong Bay is full of humans this time of year) has been fun to say the least and the tolerance for our visitors from Asia stopping in the middle of the road to take a photo of an echidna is just fine. I have traded in the digital and physical supermarket of new consumer goods for the St Helens Tip shop and Facebook market place where everything has significantly more character and is usually bought with gold coins. The power comes from the sun and the water from the sky. The eggs and the vegetable aisle from the local shop has been replaced with a walk down the stairs and across the lawn to the chook pen and garden where a treat of raspberries and a chat with the chooks gives us our eggs and water and compost gives our vegetables and fruit. We make up most mornings early and say g’day to the now 12 Bennett wallabies that use our front lawn as their breakfast meeting place.

As we enter this new year and brace ourselves for the tv show of the planet that you can’t help but watch (it is future history after all), we feel content that our perspective of the world is through rose tinted glasses on an island that is such an incredible ark of nature, food, clean air and peace that from an alternative perspective, would appear to be unique and privileged - it certainly comes across that way from the united nations of guests that have passed through The Ship. I can’t commit to writing more often, but when I do the chances are it will be with a smile on my face and with a tanned sun and salt soaked well nourished torso (ego statement here…..we have not thrown out a thing in the thirty odd years of Tasmanian existence and our shed is a museum of our lives that always sits on the precipice of a garage sale. That said, I seem to have lost a considerable amount of sedentary office body and when the clothes I traditionally wear become like tents on my body, it is pleasing to wander over to the shed and pick off the rails of “used to fit me clothes” a shirt that I impulse bought from the internet with the labels still attached and pop it on comfortably. I even fit into the leather jacket I bought in Florence those many moons ago).

Thank you for reading my ramblings again – keep safe and see you next time.