Cradle Mountain at last.

We checked out of our little cottage this morning, leaving it somewhat cleaner than when we arrived. The drive to Sheffield was made all the more exciting thanks to the GPS lady's mountain road tendencies. Many hair-pin turns later, we stopped briefly at the 'town of murals' to fill up on petrol before setting off for Cradle Mountain.

The landscape starting taking on a definite alpine aspect, and we noted some dusting of snow on some of the more craggy peaks. We realised gloves and beanies were essential as soon as we got out of the car at the Visitors Centre - the Martin children finding the face-numbing temperatures hilarious.

'I can't feel my fingers - hilarious!'

We spotted an impressively long line of outdoorsy-types, which turned out to be the queue for the Shuttle Bus up to Dove Lake (and the start of the epic Overland Track). During the hour (!) wait, we spoke to an older couple who were lugging their accommodation and foodstuffs for the next couple of nights. Anticipating snow tomorrow, the gentleman wisely wore his shorts (but he did look dapper in his tweed cap). Upon our eventual arrival at Dove Lake, we noticed a number of spare parking spaces (something we'd been advised would not be available - hence our usage of the bus service). We signed the Register Book, stating that we anticipated returning that day, and we were off.

The path became more 'damp' than this further around the Lake.
We found ourselves essentially walking down a mountain stream.

Cradle Mountain - with actual blue sky.

Obligatory photo of the boat shed on Dove Lake.
I have no idea either.

The walk was over 5 kilometres long, and was wonderfully scenic. Despite the freezing conditions and fog, everyone we encountered marvelled at how nice a day it was (it had been snowing yesterday I guess).

We waited another 30 minutes or so for the Shuttle Bus to take us back to the Visitor Centre. While waiting, we overheard a few American girls discussing which walk they should undertake (keeping in mind it was now 2:30pm - the temperature falling again). They were toying with the Overland Track (they had no gear with them at all), and belatedly wondered where they'd stay once on top of the mountain. One reassured the rest that they heard that there was a shack up there somewhere. Scary.

Back in the car, GPS lady once again favoured us with a tortuous goat-track (complete with goat at one point) of a road all the way to Devonport. We made it through security at the Ferry Terminal, with the friendly customs guy 'warning' Hamish that he'd better behave or else (he also offered to take my couple of bottles of Boags off my hands - which I declined).

We've managed to secure cabins with windows (or portholes in non landlubber speak), allowing me to send off my final post from Tasmania before we get too far offshore.

Tomorrow will see us berth in Melbourne at an obscenely early time, before catching up with some friends. Later in the day - we will make our way along the track winding back along the road to Gundagai (Jen is threatening to sing this ditty to the kids on our way there - they now know fear).