An Island Christmas...

Day 3, Dec 22: Crazy Crayfish Man     

With all of Grandma’s amazing cooking, I decide the best plan to avoid packing on some extra Christmas pudding, is to start the day with a brisk walk. Behind my temporary home is a disused railway track. Spying steps I make my way onto the track and meander through the countryside.  

The air is crisp, and it’s so beautifully quiet. Up ahead a pademelon (Thylogale billardierii) passes me. I establish that its probably the creator the marks in the mud beside me. I snap a photo of the tracks and even some scat, to help my identification of some of the local native fauna.

It’s just a few steps more along the track that I come across a critter that has been struck dead by something. Its face is distorted and I wonder if the train track is actually abandoned. Not to be morbid, I snap the dead thing and hope to work out what it is later. Investigations suggest it’s possibly a potoroo or a bettong – most likely a bettong because of its brown-grey upper and white belly. The tail and face are too hard to distinguish. 

I return home for some breakfast. Aunty R arrives. She says she is going to Stanley for crayfish. I have visited the home of ‘The Nut,’ a sheer-sided bluff - all that remains of an ancient volcanic plug. I recall its cute cottages and restful cemetery by the sea. Keen for adventure I tag along with Aunty R and Cousin B for the 30 minute journey (57km) down the road, thinking we’ll drop in, pick up the largest of the mornings catch and head back home again.

Opium Poppies

As we head down the highway, rolling green paddocks turn to a haze of pink buds – are they-can’t be – it is! In paddocks signed KEEP OUT, TRESPASSERS PROSECUTED, float pretty pink poppies – of the opium variety. Tasmania is the only state in Australia where opium poppies are legally grown. Across the state there are 6,000 hectares of opium poppies which are strictly controlled to produce and manufacture drugs like morphine and codeine, as well as naloxone (ironically an antidote to accidental overdose of other opiates). The plant is even legally manufactured into medicinal heroin. Its seeds are collected to make to make oil - for cooking and for artists paints. A yummy use of the plants seeds are Yuletide cakes such as Beigli. The floral gem is very versatile and a major contributor to Tasmania’s economy.

Another cute and clever crop I notice is of low green bushes covered with small upstanding white flowers. Aunty R tells me it’s Pyrethrum. Used in bug killer – or insecticide, these daises, whilst not quite as pretty as poppies, have just as special a purpose – replacing harmful chemicals like DDT. Pyrethrum and Tasmania have a special relationship – as the climate in NW Tasmania allows the buds to bloom here to be ‘juicer’ than in any other part of the world – leading to commercial quantities to be produced and shipped to one third of the world’s markets. Brilliant!

Cottage in front of The Nut

Past the clever crops of poppies and pyrethrum we spot ‘The Nut.’ It’s Stanley – home of shanties and sea songs, but as I am about to find – not chivalry. It has been a little while since my last visit, this time I feel more orientated and can absorb just how picturesque the little town is. We step out of the car and notice the warming scent of open fires but still feel the sting of the 16 degrees celsius temperature.

We walk into a store which boasts a giant crayfish on its roof. At first we are greeted by a miniature person – dark hair, blue eyes – obviously school holiday help. He uggs. We ask if there is fresh cooked crayfish in. He says he’ll just get someone from outback. Suddenly appears a six-foot ‘Tasmanian’ man who’s face is etched as though, like The Nut which rests proudly behind the building we stand in, he has been battered by wind and sea.

Aunty R says she’d like a big cray – about 2kg. The man dons a thick rubber glove and lowers his arm into a tank and pulls out a spiky beast which registers as 2.5kg. That’ll do – Aunty says, feeling generous and proud to share with this fresh delight from the sea with family. Aunty R asks how much that will be – and the crazy crayfish man waffles something like a pirate (that Tasmanian accent I keep telling you about) and I make out that he has proposed that we come out the back with him for a transaction that does not involve cash or card. Aunty understands the mans wit and humour, and rather than back hand him she sternly arranges to use the eftpos machine. Crazy Crayfish Man takes the opportunity to perv on my bust and then invades aunty’s personal space – putting his face close to hers and sliding down glasses with that hand donning glove. Crazy Crayfish man soon gets his comeuppance when I ask for a photo of him and the cray – posing like a rugged rock lobster himself, the cray latches on to his finger – piercing through the glove – crazy crayfish man shouts, drops the cray and bursts his own bubble. Sometimes karma works quickly!

Crazy Crayfish Man

Hobbling back to counter with a bruised ego, Crazy Crayfish Man tells us that our cray will be boiled and beautiful – ready to take home in 2 hours. We take the opportunity to stroll the ye-olde town of Stanley! I break off bunches of lavender sitting out-front of cottages, just as they ought. Its a streetscape from the 1800’s. So quaint – words don’t do it justice. We make our way to Providore 24. I am surprised to see a mix of food, wine and clothing – as well as a host of other delights. I try on an eccentric dress which reminds me of something my favourite tv host Maeve O’Meara would wear. My homage to her does not work – so I leave it on the hanger. Next stop Chin Way – a little timber cottage converted to a cafe. We discover something in common with the owner – she too is a West Australian. It seems my family are not the only West Aussies to discover what a treasure the Apple isle is!  


Stanley Hote Historicl Cellar

Fed and watered I decide history should be our next enquiry and we cross the road to the museum. It’s not open. Devastated! I decide to have a peep at the neighbouring church, St Pauls. My Christian Cousin B reminds me to be respectful – and moves me along to explore tourists shops down the road. I side step to the historic Stanley cellar and drag them in to. It’s dreamy if you ask me.

I make a bleak request to go visit Stanley Cemetery. It’s darkly beautiful – somewhere I would not mind my body going to rest – right by the sea.

That’s it – two hours passes, purchased some peonies – Grandma’s favourites (her mother grew them in Canada).

Now we head back to see Crazy Crayfish Man and pick up our catch. He asks where we’re headed, when we plan to eat the bigfella (the cray) – then loads us with ice and the bright orange critter – once a saltwater spiny lobster – soon to be tea. Prize in the back of the four-bee, we coast up and down the beautiful hills home.

Afternoon nap, some reading and more family arrive – cuddles, coffee and catch up has us up til one in the morning – its Christmas. So lovely.



MORE PICS TO COME!