Never give a sword to a man who can't dance.

Walking to walk. April 2010.

Above you can see the MV Cartela, a fine little steamer operating out of Sullivans Cove here in Hobart. By all accounts, she is now Australia's oldest continuously licensed passenger vessel.

Take that, RMS Titanic!

Comments

smudgeon said…

I remember my high school sent us on the MV Cartela down to Bruny Island the night after our leaver's dinner.

There were a few green faces on board.

Good times, good times.

5 May 2010 at 12:29

Roddy said…

Walking to walk? Apart from walking because you want to the sentence doesn't make much sense. Unless you meant walking to work.
If good old Titanic hadn't sunk on her maiden voyage I still doubt whether she would have lasted as long as Cartella.

5 May 2010 at 12:31

Julie said…

Noice looking vessel. Noice light.

Noice photograph.

7 May 2010 at 13:19

Kris McCracken said…

I like this one. The clear mornings have been good for pics, the wet ones less so.

13 May 2010 at 15:21

Unknown said…

can remember going to O'possum Bay in the 1940's on her for a xmas holiday. magical days, that was the only access to the bay. len eaton mob 0400242077

7 June 2010 at 03:52

Kris McCracken said…

Len, Opossum Bay is one of my favourite beaches.

7 June 2010 at 15:14

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral...

There was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding; even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, good or evil, right or wrong.

Here is a self portrait. I’m calling it Portrait of a lady in a dirty window . Shocking, isn’t it? However, it is apt! Samhain , Nos Galan Gaeaf , Hop-tu-Naa , All Saints , All Hallows , Hallowmas , Hallowe'en or HALLOWEEN . It’s Theme Thursday and we’re talking about the festivals traditionally held at the end of the harvest season. Huh? No wonder Australians have trouble with the concept of HALLOWEEN. For the record, in my thirty-two L O N G years on the planet, I can’t say I’ve ever seen ghosts ‘n goblins, trick ‘n treaters or Michael Myers stalking Tasmania’s streets at the end of October. [That said, I did once see a woman as pale as a ghost turning tricks that looked like Michael Myers in late November one time.] Despite the best efforts of Hollywood, sitcoms, and innumerable companies; it seems Australians are impervious to the [ahem] charms of a corporatized variant of a celebration of the end of the "lighter half" of the year and beginning of the "darke...

Hold me now, oh hold me now, until this hour has gone around. And I'm gone on the rising tide, to face Van Dieman's Land

Theme Thursday again, and this one is rather easy. I am Tasmanian, you see, and aside from being all around general geniuses - as I have amply described previously - we are also very familiar with the concept of WATER. Tasmania is the ONLY island state of an ISLAND continent. That means, we're surrounded by WATER. That should help explain why I take so many photographs of water . Tasmania was for a long time the place where the British (an island race terrified of water) sent their poor people most vile and horrid criminals. The sort of folk who would face the stark choice of a death sentence , or transportation to the other end of the world. Their catalogue of crimes is horrifying : stealing bread assault stealing gentlemen's handkerchiefs drunken assault being poor affray ladies being overly friendly with gentlemen for money hitting people having a drink and a laugh public drunkenness being Irish Fenian terrorist activities being Catholic religious subversion. ...

This will hurt me...

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