Bucket in Coles Bay.
I DON’T believe in Destiny, yet today her winged imp Rock Paper Scissors leads us willingly by the balls.
Old Dog suggests we jump in the ute, drive down the mountain he lives on and rock paper scissor our way around Tasmania for 24 hours: whenever we reach a crossroads we’ll hand it over to chance.
I reckon it could be a ploy for him to avoid taking me to tourist trap Wine Glass Bay – now renamed Whine Glass Bay on account of the amount of driving I have to endure to get to the region – but that’s okay.
Having rock paper scissored our way to St Helens, we seek out Cuddle Cove for the night (as recommended by a sentimental soul in the petrol station), dodging as we go a wombat, hawk, owls, pademelons, baby kangaroos, possums, wallabies and one Tasmanian devil. (The wombat was a particularly impressive dodge, considering I yanked Old Dog’s arm away from the wheel and instinctively thrust a pillow over his eyes.) Cuddle Cove’s not signposted, though, so we wind up deep in the bush – with Old Dog playing “just one more corner” for aeons. We tire ourselves out dancing to the car stereo in the dark and watching Bullitt car chases on the laptop.
In the morning it’s toasty warm and we hit the track to find the sea. Rock paper scissors has other ideas, winding us up endless mountain roads until we reach Pioneer and Gladstone – battered towns with few amenities; not so much as a pub. I hadn’t held out much hope that a town called Pioneer would be a relaxing beauty spot, though.
After a stop off at Little Blue Lake – a highly toxic old tin mine some tourists are swimming in – we follow a car with a boat in tow, hoping it’ll lead us to the coast. When we stop at another glassy lake, rendered brown by recent floods washing tea tree into the water, the boat bloke recommends we head towards Tomahawk or Musselroe Bay, so it’s back to a hand of rock paper scissors to thrash it out.
At Mussellroe Bay we see a sign for tomatoes and spinach outside a house and buy some to add to the bread, cheese and pickles we bought earlier. The old woman loans us a knife, and then comes trotting out to the ute. “I thought you were moving on, or I would have given you my chopping board and good knife,” she frets. “I feel so embarrassed!”
The terrain starts to change, turning thicker, wilder, woollier. On an information board we see a picture of a nameless bay surrounded by mountains and beautiful rocks, and Old Dog’s heart is won – but there’s no indication of which way to turn. An hour of rock paper scissors deposits us right on its shores, just in time for sunset and gratuitous nudity.
Strong contender for Toilet Block with the Best View.
Keeper? Tempting to apply rock paper scissors to every decision in life, Dice Man-style, but I’ll definitely use it again on exploratory adventures.
Hey man, now you're really living 
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