Spring Bay Mill Hobart Tasmania

Hobart, Tasmania

One autumn day in May 2024, a small white rental car left Hobart town and headed through curving Tasmanian valleys and rolling hills for Spring Bay Mill, Triabunna. I was in the driving seat, a trusted friend beside me. We chatted, laughed, remarked on the overcast weather. On this day the weather gods were wearing long raincoats in many shades of grey, with patterns of shimmering rain drops.

I knew of Spring Bay Mill as a meeting and business retreats venue which had been repurposed from being the world’s largest wood chipping mill. I had comprehended it via online research, seen it through its website and photos. It was a property built on strong sustainability practices, with eco-style rooms, smart design, and rustic finishes. I was intrigued. I wanted to experience it for myself to understand what it could offer business groups. This was especially important because more of our corporate clients are looking for a different kind of venue, one that is environmentally conscious in the true sense of the word. Spring Bay Mill is suitable for groups looking for a different experience and shift in paradigm.

In around two hours we arrived at our destination, where we stopped at a large, yellow, menacingly industrial gate. It was a unique first impression. As we watched the long gate slide across we felt anchored in the surrounding landscape but unsure if we should proceed further.

We continued bravely through, crossing the border as it were, leaving the everyday world behind us and entering Spring Bay Mill territory. I drove up a slight incline onto precisely positioned, grooved wheel marks and into a narrow metal-framed part of the road designed for some mysterious purpose. It felt like driving through a super-sized four-poster bed. Maybe we were being scanned for a bacteria or fruit fly that might endanger local flora and fauna? (We learned later that it was a giant scale for trucks carrying tree trunks.)  

We continued through the metal frame and followed the sign to reception, turning right and parking in front of a low-rise, modern building, designed to blend into its surroundings, painted in muted, earthy colours.

And then through the building’s entrance the first human appeared. Alison had bright blonde short hair, a colourful outfit and a big smile. We exchanged niceties and ventured inside the building to see the space used for the meetings, lunches, gatherings and whatever else groups come here to do. This area is a beautiful open space allowing flexible usage. Decorated in natural, earthy colours, it has a panelled wood ceiling and light-coloured chairs and tables. The windows on both sides frame views of the working property on one side and the bay on the other.

I imagine sitting here, gin and tonic in one hand, curled in a chair and drifting off into the swirl of the local weather currents. This may not be the mood that your group facilitator would invite but after a hard day of focusing on business and team goals this could work well.

We ventured out, umbrellas in hand, and met Mark, who oversees the landscape and garden work around the property. Alison and Mark wanted to give us an experience that the groups could have at the property. We headed out in the rain towards an open area of the property which had been a carpark. Still a working part of the property, it looks like an abandoned industrial site with uneven, broken concrete slabs and large pieces of equipment and structure left in one corner. Amongst all this are plantings of trees at various stages of growth.

Where are we sleeping tonight? I wondered anxiously.

Next Mark enthusiastically walked us over to the glass house where all the gardening magic happens and seeds are germinated. Here we planted our own Oyster Bay Pine seeds, placing them into narrow, black tubes marked with our names. I imagine a couple of beautiful mini trees sprouting and finding a home somewhere in the vast Spring Bay Mill territory.

After this “green and dirty” nature experience, we visited the organic garden, which is rich with herbs, edible plants, fruits and vegetables of all kinds and varieties. It is truly impressive as parts of the old mill have been repurposed for gardening activities. This too is a work-in-progress space, and I am looking forward to seeing it again in the future.

We parted with Mark and continued with Alison to see more of the property. We got into Alison’s car and drove first to the enormous, abandoned warehouse with its large, corrugated iron machinery, belts, and monster screws and bolts. This was the heart of what was once the world’s largest woodchip mill. It looked eerily Mad Max but would be a spectacular background to a truly extraordinary dinner experience.

Once back in the car and out of the rain we drove through the wild Aussie bush deeper into the property and past a large semi-circular amphitheatre in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by bush and grass, with the blue water of the bay in the background. The amphitheatre could host any style of event you can imagine. We continued on and parked in the car park in front of what looked like large wooden boxes connected together via iron bridges. In fact these were modern sleeping pods, each with its own ensuite, plus one communal kitchen and lounge area.

Then we were free to drive on to see the cottages which were our rooms for the night. I heaved a sigh of relief. We navigated slowly down the muddy dirt road, catching glimpses of the bay on our right side. There was a sign pointing to Cottage One. We were staying in Cottage Three, the two-bedroom cottage, which is closest to the beach. We will each have our own room tonight. As we rolled down in the car towards the cottage Alison commented that in the warmer summer months some of the guests had organised massages on the beach, setting up a chill zone with carpets, rugs and cushions.

The cottage was a modern house with a large living room and a long kitchen with views of the bay. The interior was sparse, clean and practical, decorated in soft, natural colours. I was looking forward to sleeping that night in the middle of the bush, in a king size bed, covered with a thick doona and listening to the waves.

We freshened up and since catering at Spring Bay Mill is organised only when large groups are staying we went out for dinner in nearby Triabunna. Our white rental followed Alison’s car to the restaurant through the misty, persistent rain. Alison hopped out, gave us the code to open the gate and asked if we would be able to drive back alone and find Cottage Three. We assured her we would, but I admit that when we drove back we felt slightly uneasy because we were now in the dark, alone, the only two people staying at the property.

By then, too, Spring Bay Mill had donned its night cloak, changing face and shape, tricking us a few times as we turned around the main building, looking for the correct road to our cottage. But eventually it stopped tricking us: we found the cottage and rushed inside, glad to be warm, inside and away from the dark, rainy night.

The next morning I got up eagerly and went out. I had to explore the property in the daylight, get a feeling for the land and place that surrounded me. The landscape glistened in the morning sunshine after the rain. It was noisy with birds singing and waves rolling in and out.

I headed up the path towards the glamping tents area. The first structure I approached contained the shower cubicles, which consisted of round, wide columns apparently made of silver corrugated iron. Then there was the amazingly modern and well-equipped, stainless steel outdoor kitchen. The light beige tents were scattered around. I could almost hear the voices of people as they ran in between showers, passing the kitchen on their way to their tents, gathering around the large circular fire pit, sipping hot coffee, laughing and enjoying the view of the rolling hills and fields sprawling around us.  

I continued walking, circling around the property through the massive, abandoned parking lot with its two large, corroded yellow machines and eery forsaken mill. The mill, with its iron wheel, its black chain carousel frozen, no longer moving and pushing large logs through its big, solid machines stood still, seeming to hover over the landscape. But though a woodchip mill ghost, dead to what it was built for, it was going to live a new life. It is waiting for guests to hold their events, weddings, birthdays and other gatherings here. It is being repurposed, recycled and reimagined.

By the time I got back to the two-bedroom cottage I was acquainted with my surroundings but still felt I needed to come back and stay a little bit longer. My friend suggested a cold-water plunge before we left the property. It would be a shame, she said, not to jump into the water on this beautiful pebbly, wild beach. Excluding birds, fish, and other wild creatures, we would have it all to ourselves. At first I thought, no, that’s a crazy idea. Going for a swim in the middle of the winter in Tasmania. Oh, no, there’s no time for that. But then I looked over Windlass Bay, water glistening in the morning sun, and agreed. We ran into the cottage and were out in a flash, walking barefooted towards the beach and the freezing cold water. We ran in, screaming, laughing, shivering and screaming some more.