User Profile

Jonno
Blood

Jonno Blood has been chased by angry gypsies in Hungary, arrested by soldiers in the Ukraine, and slept in a three-metre wide bed with a Red Yao chieftain and his five wives in China. He has also lived in London and Melbourne, before easing back into life in his native Tasmania. While still scratching itchy feet often, he loves his island digs, its often hidden stories, and the characters and capers that make it lavishly singular.

The Arts

Landscape-shaped thinking

by Jonno Blood

16 Sep 2023

Every second scene here is worthy of painting and prose, a collection of small events that gladden the heart ...

Wilderness

High and dry

by Jonno Blood

12 Aug 2021

Many who embark on the well-known, week-long trek from Dove Lake to Lake Sinclair are too spent, eager for a coffee or simply suffering peak-overload to be bothered with the Acropolis. Cradle Mountain is by now a fond memory. But they have likely already scaled the dolerite nipple of Pelion East, or scrambled up to the 1,617m peak of Mount Ossa. They might have crested a snow-covered Barn Bluff, and maybe Pelion West too.

People

Sea food

by Jonno Blood

14 Apr 2021

The 15-foot half-cab battles its way across Storm Bay. A 30-knot tail wind and menacing swell wrestle for control of the 70 horsepower outboard. As the vessel belly-flops off the white-crests, cold spray drenches my last patch of dry clothing. An old friend, Scott Edwards, is at the helm. As he guns to the apex of another wave he gives me a calm grin. “I love surfing home. You just pick a line and go.” My returning smile is genuine, if not so calm.

History

Sailing the Derwent

by Jonno Blood

31 Mar 2021

Grey-bellied clouds threaten from the west and kunanyi is beheaded by mist. Overhead there is no blue. The water is somewhere between gunmetal and teal, with a 35-knot wind ripping white crests from the chop. Our 33-foot yacht, Pinta, is close-hauled, on a hard lean, with water boiling over the leeward gunwales. The wind is loud and powerful. The half-dozen crew are piled on the high end to stabilise the boat. The skipper yells, “Ready to tack,” and everyone scrambles to position. The boat turns, and I pull hard on the jib sheet, dragging the headsail around to the opposite side, as another crewman adjusts the mainsail with the traveller. The wind is now behind us and the boat slows marginally.