writer CRAIG SEARLE
photographers ADAM and STEVE
One of the wonderful things about spending time in wild and remote places is the people you meet. The bushwalkers who traverse the Eastern and Western Arthurs, climb Federation Peak, then complete the Port Davey and South Coast tracks – sometimes all in the one trip. The sea kayakers who spend a month paddling the ferocious Southern Ocean. Helicopter pilots who fly all over the world from the Arctic to the Antarctic. Fishermen who live and work in the most extreme conditions off the West Coast of Tasmania.
And then there are the “ordinary” people whose stories are so inspiring and touching that you feel like your heart will burst.
An elderly couple arrived at Melaleuca one morning and asked if they could sit in the bird hide with my wife Debbie and me to see an orange-bellied parrot (OBP). They had both survived cancer but were on borrowed time and decided that before they died they wanted to see an OBP. Many tourists travel to Melaleuca for this purpose and most carry with them an enormous camera with which to capture an image of this spectacular and very special bird. This couple did not have a camera. They wanted to see the birds with their own eyes and commit the moment to memory without worrying about getting the perfect picture. They sat quietly beside us, holding hands, and as our beautiful little parrots landed for their breakfast, the couple was transfixed.
Of all the people I have crossed paths with, however, when it comes to amazing, inspiring and unique, no one comes close to the peripatetic pancake men.
It was December 2006 and we had arrived in Melaleuca with our daughter Lisa and her partner Phil for our first stint observing the OBPs. On New Year’s Eve, Lisa and Phil decided to hike down to the beach at Cox Bight, about three hours walk, and spend the night, while Debbie and I continued the OBP work. The next day we would swap and Debbie and I would head down for a night camping on the beach. On New Year’s Day we completed our morning observations, loaded up our packs and headed off.
About half way to Cox Bight we met Lisa and Phil returning. “Dad, you are not going to believe what is down there on the beach!” were Lisa’s first words. They refused to divulge anything further other than that they had had a wonderful night and giggled like school kids when we pressed them on the matter. We continued on our way and spent the rest of the walk speculating on what we would find. We should have saved our energy. There was no way we could have guessed.
As we emerged onto the Cox Bight beach we were met with a large sign announcing “Peripatetic Pancakes. Now open (free)”. We stood for a moment trying to process what this could mean when we noticed some tents a little further along and behind the beach.
As we approached, two men appeared and welcomed us. “Would you like a pancake?” one enquired. He took our stunned silence for yes and started to busy himself with a container of batter, a frypan and a stove. “Take a seat,” he said. Today’s paper is on the table. Cup of tea?”
Debbie had recovered enough to accept the offer of tea. “Earl Grey, English Breakfast, Russian Caravan?”
While this conversation was going on I looked around. There were several tents, tables, chairs, a solar shower, eskies, even a chess set and a cricket bat. What was this place?
As I settled into a chair, under an awning, a pancake was placed on the table in front of me, alongside a cup of tea. I had a newspaper on my lap. I wasn’t in a café in greater Hobart, but on one of the most remote beaches on the planet. The word surreal is overused, but perfectly describes the experience I was having.
I was still coming to terms with the situation and trying to work out what was going on. There must be a catch. At any moment we would be asked for a donation to some nebulous cause or we would receive a religious lecture. But there was no catch. As we savoured our pancakes, Adam and Steve told us their story.
Bushwalking mates for a long time, they explained that they had met some really interesting people while walking, but were frustrated with the fleeting nature of such encounters. There were many times when they wanted to spend more time and have real conversations instead of the brief chats that typify the meeting of bushwalkers. Steve had had the idea of cooking pancakes for hikers for several years. He mentioned it to Adam during a rain-soaked South Coast Track walk in 1993 and received enthusiastic support. They decided that this would be the perfect way to combine their love of the wilderness, extended conversations with interesting people and some random acts of kindness.
In 1995 light plane operator TasAir agreed to land them on the Cox Bight beach and they took in enough supplies to make 1,000 pancakes. Walkers were all given one pancake and could earn a second if they helped with the washing up. Children could have unlimited pancakes (their youngest client was six years old). They had the usual pancake toppings of lemon and castor sugar along with gourmet coffee and tea.
The coffee was Adam’s favourite blend, freshly roasted and ground and sourced from a coffee house in Hobart. For many bushwalkers, the percolated coffee was as much a treat as the pancakes.
TasAir was flying in tourists to Cox Bight beach regularly around this time and would occasionally drop off additional supplies and newspapers.
The Peripatetic Pancake Men operated from Boxing Day until January 10, making pancakes for more than 200 hikers. It was their Christmas holiday and their Christmas present to the bushwalking fraternity and, indeed, the world.
Initially, Adam and Steve planned to cook pancakes for one year, but one became two and eventually their pancake venture happened six times. Although they shunned publicity, word soon spread and Steve’s brother even heard about it on Radio Australia while working in Sulawesi!
To demonstrate their global reach, after meeting the Peripatetic Pancake Men, a young bushwalker from California asked them for permission to use the name and set up his own pancake experience on the John Muir Trail, in the Sierra Nevada mountain range of California, when he returned home.
In the middle of all this, Adam even got married on Cox Bight beach.
Adam and Steve achieved legendary status in Tasmanian bushwalking circles. Hikers on the South Coast Track in the late 1990s and early 2000s, who encountered them, were left with priceless memories.
. . .
Later in the afternoon, we moved out onto the beach to have dinner and enjoy the sunset. Maatsuyker Island could be seen on the horizon and, as the sky darkened, the lighthouse began to flash its distinctive pattern. Someone in the group mentioned that there were volunteer caretakers out there. Debbie and I did not know it at the time, but that chance conversation would change our lives and we would spend two winters on that island.
As we soaked in the sunset and serenity, and devoured more pancakes, two bushwalkers appeared at the eastern end of the beach, on the second last day of their south coast trek. As they trudged towards us, we could see the puzzled looks on their faces. The husband and wife were from Ireland and it was the man’s birthday. A short time later, ensconced in a chair, eating a pancake and sipping a brandy – a birthday present courtesy of Adam and Steve – the puzzled look had not left the man’s face. After seven days of eating freeze dried meals, he was simply stunned. He finished the pancake and gazed into his brandy.
“I don’t believe this,” he said. My thoughts exactly.
Author’s note: Sadly Adam passed away in December 2018. Steve continues to be a keen bushwalker, with more than 30 trips along the South Coast Track, and I thank him for his enthusiastic cooperation in the preparation of this story and for sharing some wonderful photographs from his and Adam’s collection.
Editor’s note: In preparing this story, Craig Searle was asked not to use surnames.
Craig Searle is an eighth-generation Tasmanian who proudly hails from convict stock. A teacher for 31 years, he retired in 2011, having spent the last part of his career as an outdoor education specialist. He has a passion for wilderness, remote places and lighthouses and has spent two winters on Maatsuyker Island. He lives in Scottsdale with Debbie, his wife and partner in a lifetime of adventures.