Did you know that a wombat can outrun Usain Bolt? I know, who would have thought? It’s true though, the man at the Bonorong Wildlife Centre just outside of Hobart said so and he looked like he’d know. Apparently they can run at up to 40 km/hr.
What I am just now pondering however is how they work that out. I mean what could possibly stir a wombat to move that fast? We know traffic doesn’t do the job, more’s the pity. So how would you work that out?
It matters not. We went to Bonorong to see Tassie Devils, not wombats. As you are all probably aware there are fewer than 10% of the original population of Tassie Devils still roaming in the wild so chances of seeing them are now slim. They’re cute little buggers, though with a jaw four times as strong as a pit-bull it’s probably not advisable to get too close. That’s what keepers are for and we applauded their bravery in dragging the Devils out of their den with chunks of meat for our viewing pleasure. Yes Bravo I say.
Bonorong is also home to some of the best mannered kangaroos in the country. They loved nothing more than a good scratch on the chest, arching their heads backs in delight and no doubt cursing their own absurd lack of elbows – what a design flaw!
After setting a new record for number of photos in a day (came in a little over 200) we left Bonorong and met up with Pete and Ann Tinson at our van park near the airport. Hello again Ann and Pete and hope you enjoyed the Mona. It was wonderful to catch up.
It rained the next day. Then it rained some more. And after that this strange wet stuff fell from the sky, rain I think it was. Perfect! We’d walked far to many walks it was time for rainy day stuff like museums and so off to the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery we went. To the curators of said institution I tip my hat. What a fabulous display and all for nix. Love it.
We learnt all about Muttabutasauruses, Antarctica, environmental campaigns, bark canoes and on a less than satisfactory note the systematic slaughter of the Tasmanian Aboriginal population. Blood curdling stuff, especially as the exhibition stands in the very building from which most hunting expeditions, and I use that term advisedly as there was a five and two pound bounty respectively on each adult and child’s head, set forth.
We also visited the maritime museum. More than 1100 ships have been wrecked along the coasts of Tasmania. 1100! The map of wreck sites rings the coast like a wreath. One of those wrecks includes a cargo ship that rammed the bridge over the Derwent. I’d love to tell you how that happened but unfortunately Amy informed me at that point that I had lost her camera and so a search ensued (found thankfully). I’ll just assume the skipper was drunk.
After a time the wet stuff stopped falling, or perhaps it was before it started… I can’t recall now. In any case when the sky was clear, and while we in Hobart for the second time we also drove the 22km required to reach the summit of Mount Wellington. It’s a big hill. A lot bigger in fact than it looks and at the top you are 1270 meters above the CBD. From here you can just see a row of icebergs floating off Antarctica. Well I could. Nobody else would believe me I’m sure– so I didn’t mention it. But you could see clear across to the Tasman Peninsula, right down the Derwent to the Southern Ocean, up and down the length of De’Encastreaux Channel and across the entire Bruny Island.
Ahh, Bruny Island. But that’s another story.