Going Nuts Over The Nut
It’s always fun having a birthday when you’re on holidays, even if it means forging further into middle age. Today it was mine and my beautiful family showered me with gifts and cuddles before taking me to brunch at a gorgeous cafe in town that had postcard-worthy views of Stanley’s biggest and nuttiest tourist drawcard: The Nut. It was a nice surprise when our friend Braydon, who we’d caught up with in Richmond, waltzed right into the very same cafe we were at. What are the chances?!
The closer you get to the Nut, the bigger it gets. Way more a mountain than a headland, this magnificent coastal landform can be seen for miles around. When I had booked our accommodation here, I’d been wanting to find somewhere with a view of the Nut but now I’m here, I see it would have been actually more of a challenge to book a place that couldn’t see it.
There’s a chairlift that ascends the steep face, taking only a few minutes to deposit you at the top but Ross and Sam decided they had energy to burn and would rather walk up. You’d have to be a nut to want to walk up the Nut.
They made incredible time, arriving simultaneously to the chairlift, albeit a little sweatier than those of us who were a tad too weary for the task. (Some might call us ‘lazy’ but we prefer to think of ourselves as energy conservationists). We did expend some energy once atop the Nut, with a 45 minute walk around its lofty perimeter. Seeing our confusion as to which way to approach the loop walk, a helpful park ranger gave us the heads up that one way we’d be walking UP steps, while the other would involve going DOWN steps. It was a no-brainer for which way we’d go.
The wind was howling, the long tufts of dry grass whipping back and forth in a frenzy, while we admired the truly magical 360 degree views. We could see Stanley’s main street - beautifully restored, character-filled buildings from the 1800s, looking like they were made of Lego - from our bird’s eye vantage point. On both sides of the Nut, steady lines of surf were rolling in and on one side, sand flats stretched out like a wide plain. Photos really can’t do it justice or capture the sheer scale of what lay before us. Breathtaking!
Tasmanian Parks and Wildlife have erected great information signs atop the Nut, teaching us about the various plants and animals to look out for (or avoid - like the poisonous hemlock and hundreds of snakes that reside there!) There was a big population of shearwater birds, sea eagles and butterflies, which swirled all over the place. As we entered a shaded, woody part of the walk (Toby referred to it as “forestial”) we saw a cute little wallaby having a poke around in the trees. I say “wallaby” but am aware I do need to brush up a bit on my marsupials, not knowing my potoroos from my pademelons or my bilbies from my bandicoots. They are all furry and they all have pouches and hop. Maybe I need to buy a book?
Toby and Molly spotted a good tree to climb and couldn’t resist but thankfully no broken bones ensued.
Faced with the old chairlift vs walk conundrum for the way down, Ross and Sam again insisted on descending by foot, admitting going down the almost 90 degree slope was a little more enjoyable than climbing up.
Our next port of call today was the grand hilltop residence, Highfields House, a colonial mansion perched above the town with sweeping Bass Strait views. The whole estate, complete with barn, stables, pig sty, chapel and schoolhouse, has been meticulously restored to its former magnificence and is open to stroll through and explore, giving valuable insight into the convict history and colonial way of life of its former residents. Oh and of course it had a killer view of that iconic Nut.
One family that once called Highfields home had 15 kids! No wonder they needed their own schoolhouse. Curiosity got the better of me and I opened a shut door to peer inside. Clearly I wasn’t the first to have done so and I was greeted by a life-size cardboard cut-out of an old guy standing in the cupboard, nearly giving me a cardiac arrest and, as a highly amused Maisy can attest, causing me to jump at least a foot off the ground.
Ross and Toby had had their fill of convict history, choosing to sit this one out, but were accosted by little persistent, stick-to-your-face flies as they sat outside in the glorious flowering garden to wait for us, eventually having to retreat to the car. Should have brought the Aerogard.
Though the sky was cloudless and blue, a groundsman at Highfields (who drove around in a golf buggy; golf clubs onboard and at the ready) told us we were in for some stormy weather over the next day or two. We asked if that was the forecast and he said no but he could just “feel it”. When we told him we were headed for Cradle Mountain he’d chuckled to himself and said: “ Good luck!” Let’s hope our golfing weather savant isn’t right.
Bidding a fond farewell to the delightful town of Stanley we blew a kiss to the Nut and got back on the highway. Miss Molly took the wheel again as we set off for Cradle Mountain, back through Burnie and Penguin, where Molly hoped to visit a shop that had caught her eye yesterday but had been closed. Sadly it had a ‘back in an hour’ sign on the door and a closing time that was less than an hour away. A good ploy for finishing early. Might have to try that one Spud?
Our country drive then took us through mostly rural landscapes with bright green fields of cabbages and other unidentifiable green crops lining the highway. We were taking bets on what they were but remained in the dark with Tasmania being completely devoid of Vodafone towers. We knew we were really getting remote when even Sam’s phone was on SOS.
We had a brief visit to the quirky town of Sheffield, known for its copious murals and colourful shopfronts and offering a mural scavenger hunt that alas, we didn’t have time to participate in. Tobes has missed his piano, itching to play again so when we found a colourful street piano, he jumped at the chance to tickle the ivories, drawing a little crowd that even gave him a round of applause when he was done.
Sheffield’s Poultry Plucking place, that curiously also advertised karaoke and body art tattoos, displayed a sign that said: “service while you watch” but we weren’t sure which service they were referring to. I’d happily watch some bad karaoke but not too sure I’d want to watch me a plucking.
The big green signs by the side of the road that list all the destinations coming up soon, are a bit different in Tassie. Some place names on the list have brackets around them but we have no idea why. We are sure to whisper their names whenever we read them out.
The winding roads to our mountain destination of Moina, were full of hairpin bends and twists and turns, with barely room for overtaking, and a crazy speed limit of 100km an hour. Molly was channelling Daniel Riccardo racing through Monaco, as she rocketed round the bends.
Tobes and I kept cracking the same Moina puns at the exact same time, which was a Moina problem. Great Moinds think alike. Moina was so deeply off the beaten path, Molly suggested if there was no food at our lodge, we might be foraging for our dinner.
Thankfully our lodge did have a great little log cabin restaurant - the Whispering Woods - where we had a great dinner and everyone sang happy birthday to me. Walking back to our cabin in the woods for a few rounds of cards, we even spotted a few furry marsupials that may or may not have been pademelons…or wallabies…or potoroos….
What a memorable birthday!
