MOT Tour Day 27 - Bay of Fires

The Gardens, Bay of Fires

 A big day on the tour itinerary started with the mundanity of doing the washing. A fellow scrubber reminded me, with no intended malice,  of my fortunate life. Her husband has muscular dystrophy which has recently cost him his voice. He eats through a tube. They are now in cabins because the van has got too much for him. This was no ordinary conversation.

We went north from St Helens to a place they call The Gardens - narrow bitumen, nice scenery. All very non-descript and short on signage but blasé ends in the car park and a few steps along a gritty path, the view takes over.

The bedrock of the area is a type of granite which is heavier in quartzites, which when broken down, creates a very white sand. Above that is a granular ground cover which crunches as you walk on it but is rarely wet underfoot because it drains so well. Then there are the granite tors which vary in size from bowling balls onto lift size or bigger. These are strewn about the shoreline, beside, on top and any other way they can congregate. Most are covered with an orange lichen which changes hue as clouds reveal the sun. Water runs between them and makes clear pools which ripple wherever the wind can reach them.

The trick is staying on the leeward side of the bigger boulders because standing in the wind, while exhilarating, takes concentration. Several times on the top of the big rocks, we found it hard to keep steady footing. We wandered to a quiet spot between and behind some rocks and sat looking across the northern section of the Bay of Fires. A little shack was tucked in behind the beach. It was as quiet as fourteen people can make it but patience allowed it to be as quieter when the others got their photo and scampered off across the landscape.

We backtracked, sidetracked, untracked our way across the rocky terrain, avoiding people and mostly keeping them from intruding on our photo frames.

The colours, especially in sunlight, are so stark and beautiful: the orange of the lichen, the whiteness of the sand, the iridescent aqua of the water.

Skeleton Bay

By the way, you, like me, may have always assumed the naming of the area is accounted to those fiery looking rocks. Apparently not. It was the English navigator of shady reputation, Tobias Furneaux, who named the area in 1773, because of the number of fires he saw burning along the coast - part of the mosaic burning Aboriginal people carried out in their land management. Furneaux captained the Adventure, which accompanied James Cook on his second voyage. During times of separation from Cook, Furneaux mapped Tasmania with an increasing level of inaccuracy. He did, however, retain his name on the Furneaux Group of islands - including Flinders, Cape Barren and Clarke - off Tasmania's north east tip. A distant ancestor of Furneaux lives across the road from us when we live in the house without wheels.

An attempt to Facebook live was posted but much of the commentary was lost to the wind.

We moved back south towards Binalong Bay, stopping several times to admire the scenery and take photos. 

Lunch was pizza and adult soft drinks at Meresta Eatery. The pizzas were spanking good and options included a gluten-free base for my highly critical digestive system. Our table and chairs forced us to look across the southern section of the Bay and the yachts moored there by those so in touch with their inner wealth that it gurgles to the surface and splashes about on their linen shoes. Great service and most amenable experience.

Click here for today's photos

After lunch, we drove to a variety of spots to further view a coastline which was by now in full sunshine and showing off. Everywhere, in a slow turn, a great photo was pleading. This included the small Skeleton Bay, which is a tiny inlet which has small cove syndrome. A little beach allows itself to be gently lapped by water exhausted from the adventure of negotiating all manner of granite obstacles but still finding its way. At Dora Point, we sighted the sea opening which gives way to Georges Bay and went for a short walk over sand and a path padded with casuarina needles. A steep rise took us over Humbug Hill and back to the main road and ten minutes drive home.

The path home detoured via the marina and some ice creams.