When your husband loves trains and you stop by a train museum, obviously you have to go in. Of course, I make the usual wifely fuss and moan, like 'do we REALLY have to go on' but it's worth it to see the 10 year old boy come out in Jamie. Steam trains just really make him happy.

They say if you live in Tassie you learn of Deny King (1909–1991) and read his book - he was an absolute legendary Australian naturalist, prospector, and environmentalist who lived an extraordinary life of solitude and resilience in Tasmania’s remote Southwest wilderness. The southwest is one of the only remaining truly wild places on earth. It's absolutely extraordinary and people all over the world fight to save it. We have driven into part of it and walked it's edges, and even that small taste is enough to appreciate its wild rugged beauty.

If you missed my last post about Jacobs Ladder, go back and check that out. We had ascended this mad road with six switchbacks the day before, but it was far too foggy and we didn't see a thing. This particular morning though was cold, clear and bright, and we were up the Ladder before anyone else.

People say the dead are with you all the time. I don't believe them at all. When you are gone, you become the trees and the sky and the cicada song. You are the feathers flapping in black cockatoos in the stunted banksia. You are the space above a black house of Nordic design on a hillside and you are the sun glinting on its mirrored glass. You are cedar wood shavings and stolen oranges. But you are not really here. I don't let myself think otherwise. There's nought to be gained from thinking too hard.

After the coast we headed inland to Ben Lomond, an amazing prominent mountain plateau known for its rugged terrain and alpine environment. In the early 19th century, European explorers ( notably including John Batman and artist John Glover who was famous for landscapes - a local town has an art prize named after him in his honour) explored the area. By the late 1920s, the Northern Tasmanian Alpine Club was established so that skiiers could enjoy the mountain, which of course improved access and created chalets and chair lifts.

I'm not particularly sure I like caves. They certainly are a wonderment - the opposite of a mountain deserves our awe and interest - and I quite like to be a tourist in them, but they always make me quite uncomfortable. When I was a little girl, perhaps four years old, we visited some caves in country Victoria (Buchan Caves, perhaps) and my Mum turned to see little me with my red cardigan pulled over my head protectively, as if I knew even then the potential of caves to collapse on those who dared venture within.