Pristine coastline reveals new gems

AS the cruise boat carved through tranquil waters, blinding white foam splashing behind us, I peered up the sharp Betsey Island cliff at two enormous white-bellied sea eagles and realised I’d never enjoyed a boat ride as an experience in itself.

A self-professed South Tassie buff, I had never seen the largely untouched greater Hobart coastline from the viewpoint of a Derwent sea animal, with familiar suburbs and green spaces blending seamlessly.

I have trekked the Alum Cliffs, and grew up enjoying beautiful Dennes Point beaches near our shack, but never have I sped past either location with crisp sea air filling my lungs.

Random giant kelp clumps permitting, the zippy Pennicott Wilderness Journeys naiad boat came close to the immense mudstone cliffs along the coastline of Kingston and Blackmans Bay.

Seeing the familiar sloping green hill at the northernmost tip of Bruny

Island bathed in afternoon light, I felt as if I had come full circle as I searched for my shack among the quiet dwellings.

We careered around the point to cut across choppier Storm Bay waters approaching Bestey Island and South Arm.

I have often appreciated how untouched Betsey appeared from the distant Bruny Island hills.

The rock blanketed in vibrant alpine shrub was as pristine up close, with the exception of one small cliff section painted off-white from cormorant bird faeces (“marking their territory,” as the friendly boat skipper described it).

The perfect conditions allowed us to nose into a shadowy cave lined with pink coralline algae and mussels, the sea gently sucked into the nook before pouring back out.

Circling the rugged cliffs past sea eagles and rabbits, we landed nearby the 1833 Iron Pot Lighthouse, a popular spot for sailors and fishers, including my father in his youth.

Factions of seagulls and cormorants huddled on the narrow islet next to the foundations of an old sandstone keeper’s cottage, and a crane previously used for hoisting supplies to Australia’s oldest lighthouse.

Skimming the golden-hued waterways past Opossum Bay, the boat thwacking against the silky water at 30 knots, we returned to the Hobart waterfront at sunset.

I stepped onto the docks and blended back into afternoon traffic with a new-found appreciation for our little seaside town.