It's Raining in Tasmania.

Rain clattered on the roof all night long. Our friends got up at cold and miserable hours and went to work, leaving us to our own devices in their house. Being part of the leisured class, we dawdled over cups of tea and forlornly checked the weather forecast, which was unrelentingly wet. Eventually we left, because it would have been embarrassing to still be there when our friend finished the first part of her split shift and came home.

Soggy.

We ambled in the rain through Deloraine and up to Parangana Dam. At the dam wall water cascaded down the rock walls beside the road, gurgled through a culvert, and tumbled down into the dam. An excavator scraped the gutters, guarded by a lackadaisical stop-go person who struggled to get out of the car to change his sign from 'Stop' to 'Slow'.

The weather lifted briefly as we came over the range and there were actual views of the Mersey Valley from Oliver's Lookout. Ribbons of clouds billowed up from mountain valleys, all overseen by the bulk of Mt Roland.

Mt Roland was the backdrop to Gowrie Park, a former hydro town in skeleton state, rapidly being reclaimed by bush and unrecognisable from the days when Roger lived here as an infant, not that he remembered any of it anyway.

Rain curtailed my attempt to look at the murals in the town of Sheffield. I gave it a go, but ended up taking my soggy self back to the relative warmth and dryness of the car to wait for Roger, who had a more waterproof jacket.

In Devonport we finally conceded to the weather and booked a cabin. Having achieved victory, the rain promptly stopped, allowing us to go out for a walk on the pebbles of East Devonport Beach. I saw a rainbow, found the skeletal remains of a shipwreck, and watched the Spirit of Tasmania set sail for Geelong.

Searoad left first.

By the time I went to bed the rain was back and had brought its good friend Wind along to play. I didn't care. I was snug and warm in my cabin.

Home for a couple of nights: Discovery Park, Devonport.