Tasmania - Day Seven - Spikey Bridges and frightened Fairy Penguins

The next day, we decided to go and see the infamous “Spikey Bridge”, a bridge said to have been built by convicts in about 1841.  It has lots of amazing looking spikey stones and rocks on top of it.  No-one seems to really know why the spikes are there, but it’s certainly something you don’t see every day.

I was standing there feeling a bit amazed by the history of it all, when Daniel walked up to me. 

“Just imagine how old these stones are” I said, in that voice I get when I’m looking at something old.

“They’re not old” he said.

“They are” I said.  “This bridge was built by the convicts.”

“The bridge may have been built by the convicts” he said, “but those stones were probably put in by the local council 20 years ago.”

“How can you even think that?” I growled at him.  “This is a genuine, historic bridge!  How can you possibly say that?”

I still don’t know whether he meant it or whether he just said it to upset me, but I made up my mind not to talk to him for the next couple of hours.

That night, we went to the “Bark Mill Tavern” for a counter-tea.  This area has a huge timber and bark industy, and the pub has huge wooden beams across the ceiling.  I decide that these beams would probably make quite a suitable area from which to hang my husband from, but realise that a disagreement over a spikey bridge’s authenticity is probably not worth the attention such an act would have drawn to our table!

Afterwards we decided to go to a local beach, where we had been told, fairy penguins come out at dusk.  Unfortunately we arrived at about 8.45 pm, still quite light, but the girls amused themselves by running away from the waves as they came up onto the sand.  Being overwhelmingly sensitive to the cold (some would say sooky), I took shelter in a tiny corner between two of the biggest rocks I’ve ever seen, and was silently cursing myself for not bringing my triple-layer woollen jumper.  At last, the sky grew dark.  And there they were.  Eight little fairy penguins, waddling out of the sea, up the sand and into their burrows.  They were the cutest things ever!  After a few moments, one last straggler came up by himself.   On seeing us, he hesitated, a little alarmed at seeing people hanging around outside his home.  He made a little squeaking sound, which we think meant he was scared, so we quitely walked away to let him continue on his quest.

At last, we could go back to our cottage and snuggle up, dreaming of waddling penguins or spikey bridges or husbands hanging from wooden beams.

Aah, sweet dreams.