Driving Tasmania
Tuesday, February 24th, 2009“The Wry Drive”
By: Megan Anderson
Snug. Penguin. Flowerpot. Paradise. These might sound like the makings of an enchanting fairytale, and they are. But it’s not a fairytale you read. It’s one you drive through.
As if Tasmania’s beautiful landscape was not enough, there’s endless charm, intrigue and oddball flavour to be found in many of its place names. Be they major towns or faint specks on the map, they add a fun dimension to driving the picturesque peninsulas, forests and mountain roads of the island state in Australia’s south east.
Heading north from the capital Hobart? Stop in for the curiosity value at Bagdad, Ouse and Nowhere Else (where, incidentally, the usual signifiers of a township – shop, hall, council chambers – are elsewhere). At Penguin, the townsfolk have taken their moniker to heart, festooning the footpaths – even the rubbish bins – with motifs inspired by the local fairy penguins. While you’re near the north coast, you’d be churlish not to stop at Nook. It’s not far from Paradise, in the vicinity of Promised Land.
Going south, it’s all charm on the scenic route to Cygnet, an easy loop from Hobart. Travel down through Bonnet Hill, and hug the winding coast line to see the picture book settlement of Tinderbox, where dirt roads amble high above the water. The Chimneys heralds the entry back onto the main road, which leads to the delightfully named coastal town of Snug (and, just to be thorough, Lower Snug), said to be named by sailors who were able to snugly anchor their ships in the D’entrecasteaux Channel alongside it.
Across the channel is Bruny Island, to which you can catch a car ferry from the pretty, yacht-dotted cove at Kettering. There’s more name game to play on arrival. Trumpeter Bay, Fluted Point and The Neck grace the island that’s home to sheep, artisans and a colony of fairy penguins. Locals have their own irreverent description for people who reside in the settlement of Lunawanna.
Back on the mainland, it’s hard to resist just selling up and moving in to a town called Flowerpot. Honeys Road and Fleurtys Lane are possible addresses at this tiny settlement on the flat, sheltered coast. Perhaps as a backlash to all this whimsy, Flowerpot’s near neighbour is simply called Gordon. Now there’s a good, honest name. But the trend didn’t catch. Further around the peninsula, Eggs and Bacon Bay proudly declares wryness alive and well. By the time you reach Cygnet, things are soft and fluffy once more.
On the neighbouring Tasman peninsula the place names take on a more sinister tenor. It’s perhaps fitting for the route that leads to Port Arthur, the old convict prison site with a dark and torturous history.
The road signs begin harmlessly enough – Primrose Sands, Dodges Ferry – and the landscape is magnificent. Gently winding roads tease with watery glimpses of jade coves carrying kayakers from point to point, and playful boat sculptures grace paddocks where sheep get fat on life. The terrain is by turns lush, sheltered and ruggedly rocky. It’s dotted with ancient oaks, thick copses of upright silver wattle, a few chicken sheds and the very occasional remnant of the peninsula’s once thriving apple industry.
But once you hit Eaglehawk Neck, a distinct aroma of toughness creeps into the map. Not just at Stinking Bay. There’s also Pirates Bay, Penzance, Isle of the Dead, Purgatory Hill, and sites like Tessellated Pavement and Devil’s Kitchen. The views are breathtaking, but the map is riddled with portent. There’s even a place called Dog Bark. And, to curb any complacency, Frying Pan Point.
As if in defiance of this trend, the tiny holiday settlement of Doo Town (near the equally light hearted Egg Beach) flies the flag for whimsy again. The modest shacks bear silly names that inspired the town’s comic moniker. Doo Nix. Just Doo It. Doo Us. Much-a-Doo. It’s clear that the Tasmanian sense of levity and lack of earnestness has won out on this patch of coast. Except for that one house that doesn’t want to play ball. Erect a sign in keeping with the town’s spirit? No can doo. It calls itself Highfield. But what’s in a name.
