I highly recommend making friends with people who have access to beach cabins. Every so often, usually 2-3 times per summer, a large group of us descend upon a cabin near Port Arthur for a relaxed, disconnected weekend with a spit roast and beers. It’s something we all look forward to.
It’s an hour-and-a-half drive to get there from Hobart, travelling along the Tasman Peninsula. Jamie grew up out here, he’s well familiar with the area. Get fish and chips in Dunalley. Just do it.
The cabin (or ‘shack’ as these things get called here) doesn’t sleep very many people, so a bunch of us set up tents outside. Aside from the sleeping-in-a-tent part, nothing else about this trip resembles the typical camping experience. No camp stoves, no generators, no long drops, none of that. It’s camping for people who hate camping, which means it suits me perfectly.
The cabin itself is an adorable 70s time capsule – the hot plates have decorative metal covers! – but what really makes it special are its surroundings. That view!
Hills, trees and sea. Beauty.
The little furry one is Harry. He hasn’t got a lot of brains in there, but he is awfully cute.
Our provisions grow increasingly elaborate with every trip. One guy brings his home espresso machine, there’s an industrial-sized ice chest, and of course there’s the spit roast. It’s a cooperative effort, naturally, but still: we all have it made.
Smart idea: using an old washing machine cylinder as a fire pit. The little holes feed the fire and they twinkle, it’s great.
We didn’t get to spend a day at the beach this time, thanks to the chilly temperatures and rain. Go figure. However, I did go on a walk along the nearby coast. There’s lots of these spiky tea-trees all over the area and the little red berries feel all cheery and Christmasy.
Hasta luego, Port Arthur.