Part One of the Hitchhike
The ferry arrived in Devonport around 7am. The sun had risen but the air was a little chilly. At this point, the reality then dawned on me; I’m in an unknown place, with a dwindling bank balance, carrying a relatively heavy backpack on a hastily concocted scheme to hitchhike to the best nature spots on this island, and a loose aim of finding casual work. Nevertheless, rather than let self-doubt take over, I went on my merry way.
I headed East from the port to the road that would take me to first destination, Narawntapu National Park. When hitchhiking, it’s worth getting away from the internal traffic and finding a spot where cars are more likely to be driving out of town. I’m not sure what the laws are on hitchhiking in Tasmania, as I hadn’t looked it up before I left (in hindsight, it’d be worth doing so). It’s best to avoid motorways (or highways) though, given the speed cars travel at, and asking for rides where there’s space to pull over.
After a slow start, lifts picked up (so to speak) and in three rides – across a period of two hours, I was on the outskirts of the park. Perhaps as it was a weekday, traffic into the park was quiet. I walked most of the 14 km along the road through the forest. The walk itself was enjoyable, despite my large backpack, which I wasn’t accustomed to carrying for long distances. Being away from the main roads I felt I was doing what I came to do – exploring nature. The main weight was the 5 litres of water I ensured I had with me, given the heat and possibility of being stuck in the middle of nowhere. I had a small cooker and made couscous or rice-based meals, to ensure I could travel relatively light. I also had a small amount of clothing and a lightweight tent.
It was worth the effort. Narawntapu is an extraordinary combination of forest, grassland, bush, beach, and sea, all in one. As the forest subsides, the road takes you into a large open green, where you can find the campsite in the middle. Immediately noticeable was a large mob of grey kangaroos, sprawled across the grass. Beyond there, the beach is accessed by a sand dune, opening to a clean, empty bay, with beautiful, blue, clear water. A revelation of Tasmania was the number of pristine beaches it has to offer.
A walk around the plains prompted the kangaroos to bounce away in all directions – quite a sight. In the evening, dozens of wallabies and pademelons came out. Despite their smaller size, they were more comfortable around me, happy to continue as I wasn’t there. Then, just after night fall, the wombats emerged from their homes in the ground. Under the cover of dark, they steadily grazed on the land around. I imagine the park is busy in peak season but this night, there was only one other tent up and I was immersed in the Tasmania wild.
The next stop was Launceston. I was lucky with a ride leaving the park, being picked up early on. And on the main road I didn’t have to wait long for another couple of rides to get me to my next destination. The first of which was the only dodgy ride, in an old banger. The driver was fine, but the car surely couldn’t have been roadworthy.
In the City Park, there’s a troop of Japanese macaques – also known as Snow Monkeys, as part of a gift from their Japanese sister city, Ikeda, to carry on Launceston tradition of housing exotic animals. In Launceston itself, there’s a cool walk along a gorge, beneath steep cliffs above a powerful river. I stayed in a Launceston Backpackers for a night, before attempting to reach Ben Lomond and Mount William National Park. Here, I encountered my first ever failure in hitchhiking. After over three hours, and not a single offer of a lift, I decided to change course.
After spending another night in town, I headed south, then east, towards the Bay of Fires on the east coast of Tasmania. The most memorable ride on this leg of the trip was from a sweet elderly couple, who had been married for almost 60 years. They kindly provided tips for finding work, information about the local area, including how wildfires affect Tasmania – increasingly so in recent times – and the temperature would rise substantially when summer arrived.
The couple also shared a story of an infamous incident involving a hitchhiker. A few years back, a young female who had been murdered on the east coast of Tasmania – the area I was heading to. And the murderer was never caught. This was shortly before they dropped me off and wished me good luck.
There have been some horrible incidences of hitchhikers coming into trouble. Notably the backpacker killer in Sydney, who was convicted in the 90s. You are putting yourself in a potentially vulnerable situation – as are those who pick up hitchhikers. I think the risk either way is extremely low, but these stories inevitably put people off. There are some steps you can take to help protect yourself. For example, let one or more people know where you are. You could pass on the vehicle’s registration plate and allow tracking on your phone’s location, too. I’d hope all that would act as a deterrent to any would-be killer.
With a few shorter rides, I made it to the coast. I encountered a spot a spot of rain along the way, although not heavy, it can – quite literally – but a dampener on hitchhiking. Especially as I don’t travel with an umbrella. My time spent in some of the hottest and driest parts of the world on preceding Australian road trips made me grateful for cooler temperatures, plus life-giving rain. Alas, when standing around for a lift, it’s not as appreciated.
A good coat, or large, trees are your best protection from being left soggy and uncomfortable for the rest of the day. Being drenched could also make you less attractive for being picked up, as you may soak someone’s car seat.
The most striking feature of the Bay of Fires may be what inspired its name, the red colouration of the rocks along the seafront. I had a gentle walk along the beaches before finding a secluded area of the beach, with a small-wooded area between the sand and the road. Maybe on heightened alert from the story I heard earlier in the day, I was listening out in my tent for anyone nearby. Despite hearing the breaking of twigs and sticks underfoot of a nearby resident, I concluded it must have been the doing of an active wallaby hopping around nearby. I was able to overcome my paranoia to sleep.
The morning after I met an unexpected visitor. I watched as a single penguin, fresh from a morning swim, walked in rather gingerly up the beach, before making itself comfortable, just a few metres away from me. Captivated, I observed the penguin for much of the morning. Later that day I met a local who told me the penguin had arrived in the area around three weeks prior. It had a noticeable injury to his foot, although it didn’t seem to affect his swimming or, ability to walk.
I think it was a yellow-eyed penguin, which are supposed to be endemic to New Zealand. I was concerned it was alone, yet, conversely, uplifted to know it was surviving. Although part of me couldn’t help being sad at the thought it was missing its colony.
I spent the rest of the morning and lunchtime with the friendly local, Dave. He kindly offered a tour of the coast, to see more of the bays, before driving me to a point back in town where I could hitch a ride away.
