We watched the scenery spool by, a fairyland of miniature mountains given scale and gravitas by the way trees struggle to grow over most of this wind-dominated landscape. We also considered the weather; in Tasmania, you must always consider the weather. An approaching front promised hard northwesterlies going to harder southwesterlies, with associated gloom and rain. We pulled into little Casilda Cove, the banner bad-weather anchorage in the area. The coming winds were meant to barely reach gale strength, so we could anchor most anywhere, but there was something attractive about the cove, where you tie to the shore and let the winds whip overhead, Patagonia-style. Port Davey is beautiful unto itself, a delightful little corner of the world, but it’s also something of a theme park for Southern Ocean sailing. The mountains are small, the anchorages are close together and secure, and everything is on a miniature scale when compared to someplace like the Chilean fjords. The wind blew like stink, but the protection was so perfect that we tied stern-to as a diversion rather than a survival strategy.