Tasmania: Bay of Fires

We left the bucolic farmland and blink-and-you’ll-miss-it towns for a sun-burnished coastline that has long enraptured travelers with its enigmatic beauty.

The Bay of Fires.

Even its name is steeped in allure and mystery.

We craned our necks for a better view as the road snaked its way down to Binalong Bay, a small coastal town strung with holiday homes, but Mother Nature is coy and the Tasman Sea remained invisible behind a thick cloak of acacia trees.

And then…and then…and then, we saw it.

Aussie Sheila.

Not just the bikini-clad, Christmas hat-wearing sculpture of an Aussie Sheila — although that was no less thought-provoking — but also the rocks that made the Bay of Fires famous.

Glowing orangey-red beneath the fading sunlight, these boulders — I later learned — get their color from a type of algae called lichen. The striking hues contrasted sharply against the blueness of the ocean and sky, as if anointed by God’s own paintbrush.

Well, blow me down.

The waves were powerful and relentless, but some of these rocks form natural pools that you could wade in without the risk of being swept away like little Lucy caught in a tsunami. These waters are allegedly filled with crayfish and abalone, but you would need a license to pluck these straight off the seabed and feast like a king.

Our 4 and 6 year-old, however, has suddenly developed a keen interest in parkour — or more specifically, scaling the biggest boulders and bounding from one rock to another like Spiderman. We followed closely behind, feeling as agile as two lumbering mammoths until the husband shouted.

“Stop! You might fall!”

“But the crabs will save me with their pincers, daddy!” replied Ari without missing a beat.

Nature’s playground.

We stayed in NRMA St Helens, a holiday park run by a family for families. The chalets are arranged neatly around a small, sandy playground and, every half an hour from 4pm, one of its owners will bring the mini train around so kids could go on a joy ride.

It feels like a good ol’ suburban neighborhood, albeit one without the occasional dog attack or a mass murderer masquerading as a regular guy-next-door.

Spot the grown child.

Once a hub for whalers and sealers, St. Helens is a small, laidback town that shuts down by 8pm. The dining scene here was duller than David Duchovny’s acting: fish ’n’ chips seemed to be a local staple, judging from the number of shops that offer it for takeaway.

It was little surprise, then, that we ended up dividing our time between the holiday park’s great in-house restaurant…

The Italians would be jealous.

…and The Wharf Bar & Kitchen, St Helen’s smartest restaurant with incredible wraparound views and a contemporary menu that succeeds in pushing the small-town envelope.

Gorgeous.

We skipped the oysters and instead had them straight at the source, a working oyster farm called Lease 65.

This ugly little facility is run by a no-nonsense chap in overalls, who ushered us into his office strewn with paperwork and junk before demanding cash. It felt like we were engaged in a shady deal, except that the crack in question was two dozen shucked oysters, which we proceeded to wolf down like criminals by the seaside. Customer service may be severely lacking, but the product was among the best we’ve had.

Nicking an oyster while my head is turned.

There was little to do otherwise. We spent the next day exploring the vicinity, and along the way, spotted a retail store aptly named The Shop In The Bush in the middle of the long and dusty road to nowhere.

We’re both est. since 1982.

It’s been around for decades, selling all manner of dusty antique and curiosities, including heads that you can drink out from…

Fancy some brain juice from Henry V?

and yellowing books.

Australian Colonial Medicine, anyone?

Further inland is Pyengana Dairy, a 130-year-old milk-and-cheese factory overlooking rolling pastures where happy cows frolic. We had freshly made ice cream from the cafe and watched as the animals line up for a back rub and to be milked — by modern machines in the paddock — and wished we were cows for a second.

Shangri-la for cows.

However, the wild coastline beckoned after awhile, and we returned to the beaches where scrubby bushes hide cozy campsites. There were families with young children huddled around the campfire, and it all seems so romantic and adventurous until two beetles start having sex in your hair.

The Gardens is where the Bay of Fires Conservation Area — and our trip — ended. Here, at the endless swathes of white, powdery beaches rimmed with red rocks, the kids had one last parkour showdown. Since they could’ve easily knocked their teeth out or suffered a concussion but didn’t, I’m calling our trip a resounding success.

Although we may have taken way too many pictures of me.

(I still wish I had bought that Henry V mug though.)

STAY

NRMA St Helen’s Holiday Park This new establishment is geared towards family with young children and offers clean, well-equipped two-bedroom and studio chalets as well as powered campsites. There is also a playground and great pizza restaurant onsite. $

TIPS

• The Bay of Fires is a short detour if you’re heading from Launceston to Freycinet National Park or vice-versa. It is worth an overnight, but not if you have a limited amount of days in Tasmania.
• The Bay of Fires is a conservation area and not a national park, and so it is free to enter. It is not one spot, but stretches over 50 kilometres from Binalong Bay to Eddystone Point.
• There are designated areas for bush campers while the nearest accommodation and restaurant is located in the town of St. Helens.
• There are several good swimming spots but be aware that Tasmanian waters can be chilly even in summer.