What are the just desserts for a species too selfish or preoccupied to hope for rain when the land outside is dying? Should we be buried under the topsoil in our own clean cars to make room for wiser creatures?

I came across this statement in Barbara Kingsolver’s memoir ‘Animal, Vegetable, Miracle’ recently, as I went about my daily happenings catching trains and buses, navigating busy sidewalks, riding elevators in tall city buildings and going to bed at night with only fading recollections of what it was like to look up and see a truly star-filled sky. For someone who prides herself on being fairly invested in the preservation and appreciation of our natural world, I now realise how quickly I had become seemingly (and thankfully only briefly) detached from the true weight of its call.

Enter the tiny formation of land at the bottom of Aus…

Before arriving in Tasmania, expectations shaped by words from others that evoked a certain ‘land before time’ aesthetic were all I had to go off…Coming from New Zealand, I pridefully had my doubts. But humbled I was after 11 refreshing and soul fuelling days tasting, smelling, hearing and feeling all the good earthed characteristics of the natural state.

I began a love affair with the wattle tree.

Felt rocks of ancient age beneath my bare feet.

Ran carelessly into cold ocean waters.

Watched the rising sun make its way skyward.

Heard the stories of newfound friends.

Allowed new ones to be written together.

Learned nature’s songs of silence.

Laughed endlessly.

Tilted my head to the sky exclaiming thankfulness just as endlessly.

Homecamp’s motto of indoor comfort for an outdoor life rings true;
The beach became our table, hands our knives and forks, and rocky cliffs our lounge chairs as we enjoyed cups of tea watching the sun break through where the sea turns into sky.

Although Tassie’s size may not be great, it lends a very great advantage. The convenience of hopping back and forth completing evenly dispersed overnight shack stays, various day trips, then ending with a solid three day roadie down the east coast meant our appreciation tanks were never on empty, and also meant we had some form of civilised supplies to revel in majority of the time. This may very well seem like a lesser ‘adventure’, but I was pleasantly surprised as it was revealed to us along the way that the spirit and fondness of our yearning for natural getaways can be satiated in many shapes and forms, and almost always lead us back to the old words “it’s not so much where you are, but who you’re with.”

That being said, no form of pillow laden comfort can surpass the freedom found in shoe-less, pants-less, worry-less wanderings through wild and untouched landscapes, indulging in rambling conversations as you walk with no destination and see animals joyously do what they were made to do – a gift we made sure not to forgo daily.

The Hazard Mountain trail to Wineglass bay

Day one was spent waking up in a ‘campershack’ at Coles Bay, scoffing BBQed bacon and eggs with avo before lugging our full bellies up over the Hazard Mountains saddle. Still slightly dazed and unsettled in my new surroundings I hadn’t given much thought to what might be awaiting us over the other side. Leah and I had only met once before this trip and it was in this moment we began to learn each other’s full capacity for nature stoke – hers usually accompanied by an exclaimed ‘holy buckets!’ or ‘hooley dooley.’ The stretch of shoreline was phenomenal, and with no-one around bar an old legend walking the beach in budgie smugglers it seemed rude to pass up the chance for a secluded sea dip, regardless of temperature, which we discovered very quickly to be below tropical standard!

Hartz Mountains National Park

The start of the day we tramped Hartz Peak could read like the beginning of a stereotypical ‘women + navigation’ joke. Put four girls in a 4WD and send them on a drive to the opposite end of the state. Pair that with constant yacking and an overexcitable anticipation for the sights they were about to see and you’ve got yourself a three hour drive turned into five, a mystery bush road to nowhere and a phone chat with a highly unimpressed information centre receptionist. Once we arrived in the correct location and set off on the trail it was like the whole world disappeared into stillness. We were greeted with constant surprises of snow, a couple of glassy mountain lakes, and nothing but vast rolling bush lands as far as the horizon stretched.

West Head

Leah and I welcomed in the first day of Spring with a drive to West Head. We hopped the viewing platform fence and danced around the edge of the sea cliffs in a chilly wind. From there we carried on the trail to find a picnic spot nestled between the gigantic rocks closer to the water.

The East Coast

For the final few days we set off East from Launceston with a plan to sleep at the campershack in Coles Bay once again. In true Tasmanian style, we cruised. Stopping for whatever pulled us into curiosity. Treasures were found by submitting our plans to this technique. One of which was Halls Falls rock pools near Pyengana. A simple 1km walk into the trees took us to an oasis of tan coloured boulders and bright green myrtle trees that gave way to a gentle flowing river.

We reached Binalong Bay at St Helens around mid afternoon, and a drastic change in the colour scheme and form of the land called for a ponder-some breath of fresh air as we sat on our Nipomo rug in the white sand. Which turned into a swim, of course.

We hit the Great Eastern Drive at golden hour, which painted a scene that will now forever be a moment I will tell of for all my days: Perfect white sheep grazing in green paddocks that turned into stretches of turquoise ocean that sat below the soft pink sky.

The next morning we discovered the gorge at Douglas Apsley National Park. If you think of any film that revolves around antics on a lake at some teenage ‘summer camp’ you could be looking right here, but replace temperamental groms with the sound of trickling water, wind howling through pine trees and birds literally singing a rendition of Vivaldi’s ‘Spring.’

Red Bill beach in Bicheno served us well that afternoon. After hours spent entranced by the ocean, letting our winter skin breathe, and jumping from dunes we had to drag ourselves away. This means ‘me hanging out the passenger seat window relentlessly sniffing the air in attempts to stock up on the smell of freshness for later times.’

We pulled off at Swanwick to watch the sunset at Sandpiper beach that evening – a humbling display of birds flocking in the foreground as water slowly slipped backwards with the tide. The evening was made complete with the sighting of multiple shooting stars when we indulged in some ‘5 star-gazing’ through the open skylight of the car as we reclined in the two front seats and got all sentimental listening to an entire Ben Howard CD…Because what kind of a road trip would it be without him.

Rosie Fea is a writer and visual communicator currently living in Melbourne. You can find more of her images and work on Instagram (@rosiefea) or on her website (www.rosiefea.com).

Leah Heys is a photographer and designer. You can find her hand-drawn designs on Instagram (@syehapparel).