Skip to main content

The deeper the experience of an absence of meaning - in other words, of absurdity - the more energetically meaning is sought.


Mussels, seaweed and a mountain. Little Howrah Beach, April 2011.

You can get a reasonable sense of Hobart from Little Howrah Beach. On the right, you can see Bellerive Bluff on Hobart’s eastern shore. Look closely and you will see the triumphant light towers of Bellerive Oval, home of the all-conquering Tasmanian Tigers.™

Behind that, and across the Derwent River Estuary, you can see Hobart’s western shore nestled in the foothills of what eventually rises up to Mount Wellington, which tends to dominate the vista of the city (except on cloudy days).

You can see the Sullivans Cove and Hobart’s waterfront area at centre-right of the picture, with the imposing flourishing meagre scant spattering of large buildings sitting just behind it. Shifting further left you’ll see Battery Point, Sandy Bay, Lower Sandy Bay across to Taroona on the left of the image.

At the extreme left you can just about see Long Beach – home of the ‘big Park’ – which has featured prominently on the blog, as the fancy-pants playground is surrounded by a nice bit of flat just right for tearing about on scooters.


Mussels and a mountain. Who ate all the seaweed? Little Howrah Beach, April 2011.

Comments

smudgeon said…
Best views of Hobart (along with those from Mt Wellington summit) are from Little Howrah Beach.

Nice weed.
Hi! Kris...
What very beautiful photographs Of
Mussels, seaweed and a mountain at Little Howrah Beach.
Thanks, for sharing the quote too!
DeeDee ;-D
Roddy said…
Who's tourist brochure are you reading from? You amaze me with the amount of useful information in your meagre brain.
Carola said…
Wonderful photos and a great quote.
Kris McCracken said…
Me, best crabbing beach in Hobart too, don’t forget! BTW, that last comment sounds like Tommy Chong.

DeeDee, always a pleasant morning there. We stop off at the French patisserie (Jen and Hen) and the Japanese bakery (Ez and I) on the way back.

Roddy, my own.

Carola, in some places it’s almost impossible to take a bad photo.

Popular posts from this blog

Something unpleasant is coming when men are anxious to tell the truth.

This is the moon. Have I mentioned how much I adore the zoom on my camera? It's Theme Thursday you see, and after last week's limp effort, I have been thinking about how I might redeem myself. Then I clicked on the topic and discover that it was BUTTON. We've been hearing a lot about the moon in the past couple of weeks. Apparently some fellas went up there and played golf and what-not forty-odd years ago. The desire to get to the moon, however, was not simply about enhancing opportunities for Meg and Mog titles and skirting local planning by-laws in the construction of new and innovative golf courses. No, all of your Sputniks , "One small steps" and freeze dried ice cream was about one thing , and one thing only : MAD Now, I don't mean mad in terms of "bloke breaks record for number of scorpions he can get up his bum", no I mean MAD as in Mutual assured destruction . When I was a young man you see, there was a lot of talk about the type of m...

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. ...

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...