Hobart Memories

 

 

There is just something about Hobart. The history seeping from the doorways of centuries old buildings. The calming effect of the bobbing vessels moored at the sea-port. The sandstone magnificence of Salamanca Place. The river, bays and waterways which envelope the city. Mt Wellington, which dominates the western vista. The unique charm of Battery Point. The glorious pubs, food, and drink. The easily negotiated traffic. Even the bracing winds which can blow harshly through the city buildings, transforming the streets into wind tunnels.

 

 

What is not to love?

 

North Melbourne’s final home game at Bellerive found me reflecting on the many weekends I had spent in Hobart over the preceding fourteen years. Ostensibly I was there for the footy, and at first I was; but really, it was the city itself that kept drawing me back. I calculated that I had journeyed down seven times, most often with my wife Marg, but sometimes with friends.

 

 

Our first weekend was spent with our youngest son, who was then still at high school. We stayed in a small cottage in Battery Point, booked through AirBnB. The view across Sandy Bay was exquisite. It was so long ago that the Tigers’ triple flag era was still a dream for Brendon Gale, to whom we said hello en route to the match. North won easily on that first weekend trip, it was serendipitous that they beat the Tigers on our last.

 

 

North did turn Bellerive/Blundstone/Ninja into something of a “fortress”. Flynny and I stood on the hill to watch North defeat the Eagles in the latter’s premiership year of 2018. Harmsy jagged an invite for a few us into a function in the TCA Library, as guests of Blundstone when they sponsored the Nac. There was the Saturday night encounter against the Blues, when my toes almost froze in the pouring rain. I later fortified myself with a tasty mulled wine. I sat on Sonja Hood’s table at a pre-match president’s lunch with my old mate Tucky, only to suffer through a humiliating pummelling by Port Adelaide. As North’s fortunes plummeted over recent years, so were the walls of the fortress breached.

 

 

There were a number of Footy Almanac lunches, which are always fun. Over the years, I enjoyed dinners at pubs, pizza places, an excellent Chinese eatery in Sandy Bay, a tiny Malaysian café, amongst others. There was the raucous birthday party in an up-market restaurant, a fabulous dinner at MONA as guests of generous friends, and the time I arrived unannounced to surprise my middle son.

 

 

We drove up Mount Wellington, where the wind actually took my wife’s breath away. We visited the Mount Nelson weather station. We picnicked by the old convict bridge at Richmond.  This time we visited the haunting Port Arthur and, for the first time, the Cascade Brewery.

 

 

Some rituals became non-negotiable must-dos. A coffee at Jackman and McRoss. A beer at the Shipwright’s Arms. A brisk morning walk alongside Constitution Dock. I hope to again partake in these activities, and I dare say that the next time the Kangaroos play in Hobart, they will be visiting the Devils. My advice to Tasmania: despite the intransigence of the AFL, just get the new stadium built. And, Hobart, I will see you then.

 

 

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