After an early start in Launceston, we drove out of town with the morning 'rush hour' (two other cars on the highway) and west to Deloraine through icy valleys full of mist and cows. Strangely sinister.

From Deloraine we left the safety of the main roads and began our windy ascent towards Cradle Mountain. Cradle Mountain-Lake St Clair National Park is perhaps the most famous tourist attraction in Tasmania due to the Overland Track – an 80km, 6 day hike south through snowy mountains, moorlands and temperate rainforest – which is regarded as one of the best hikes in the world. We didn't have the time, weather, inclination or fitness for the hike itself, but in our circuit of Tasmania we were able to visit the start and finish of the route.

Cradle Valley is always a couple of degrees colder than the lowlands, so Sarah and I spent a frosty 5 minutes in the Visitors Centre car park, hopping around to keep warm by the boot of the car, putting on all the clothes we had in our backpacks. There are a number of day walks at the Cradle Mountain end of the Overland Track, so we decided to do the 3 hour walk around Dove Lake which sits beneath the park's namesake mountain. It rains 7 days out of 10 in Cradle Valley and is cloudy 8 days in 10, so we were very lucky with the weather, catching a glimpse of the 'baby in a cradle'-shaped summit as it briefly emerged from the clouds.

Back once more on windy roads and refreshed after the bracing mountain air, we drove down deeper into the west coast wilderness. The west of Tasmania is still the most underdeveloped part of the state – the small towns that hunker down into the base of the valleys exist only to serve the mining and logging industries. Strahan (pronounced 'Strawn' for some reason) is the exception, due to its location on the side of the Maquarie Harbour – one of the first harbours and site of the first penal colony in Tasmania. It was discovered by sailors in the 1800s looking for Huon pine – a valuable hardwood – and its relative inaccessibility (both from land and sea, through the treacherous 'Hell's Gates') led to its being used as a penal colony. From 1821 to 1834 (when Port Arthur was founded) prisoners on the tiny Sarah's Island worked 12 hour shifts, logging and working timber outside in the rain and cold.

In the summer Strahan must be a tourist machine, but on a rainy winter's day there's not much going on. We had a hot chocolate in a cafe by the marina, admired a rainbow that had materialised in the rain, then left. As we couldn't do the boat tour to Sarah's Island we drove out to the head to see the Hell's Gates, parking in what must be the most depressing campsite in the world. Standing on the beach, staring across the narrow entrance to the harbour and its churning brown waters you could see how intimidating the sea-route would be for any potential convict escapees. A beautiful sunset distracted us from the fast encrouching tide which snapped at our heels as we retreated to the warmth of the car.

In one final hour of driving, we sped back through Strahan and over a mountain pass (in the dark – more fun driving!) to Queenstown and our hotel. We stayed in 'The Empire,' a formerly decadent, currently decaying vestige of Imperial pretention. Climbing the grand creaking staircase to the first floor you are greeted with a horrifying 6 foot tall painting of Queen Elizabeth. Damp had eaten at the oils and her face seemed to be rotting – a zombie queen. This was all a bit too much for Sarah after our Port Arthur ghost tour, and I had to act as a supernatural bodyguard for the night - escorting her down the darkened corridors on bathroom trips.