Fancy a ride on the wild side? Louise Southerden takes a drive through the spectacular scenery of East Gippsland’s remote Croajingolong National Park. Gumtrees stripe the road with shadows, the ringing of bellbirds fills the air, and when I wind down my window, a salty breeze messes with my hair – and that’s just in the car park at Merimbula Airport, on the NSW south coast. We take it as a sign – of the wilderness ahead, the 100km-long Croajingolong National Park in the top right-hand corner of Victoria – and drive on into it.

Named after the Kruaetungalung Aboriginal clan of the Ben Kurnai tribe that inhabited this part of East Gippsland, Croajingolong is one of Australia’s few remaining undisturbed coastal environments, boasting over 300 bird species (a third of all bird species in Australia), 52 mammal species and 1000 species of native plants. It’s also a long way from anywhere – seven hours’ drive from Sydney, five-and-a-half from Melbourne. This out-of-the-wayness is part of the park’s appeal, of course, but we only had four days so my companions and I opted for a fly-drive road-trip. The plan: fly to Merimbula, pick up a hire car (a Nissan X-TRAIL, in case of 4WD-ing) then travel the length of Croajingolong, from west to east, sampling three unique experiences along the way – a wilderness camp, a lighthouse keeper’s cottage and a country lodge.

Wild luxury
What better way to experience wilderness than from the comfort of a wilderness retreat? Ideally situated in the Parks Victoria-managed Cape Conran Coastal Park, each of Cape Conran’s permanent safari tents has creature comforts: a queen-sized bed, tables and chairs made from locally and sustainably-grown Southern Mahogany; towels, electric lights, a lockable door and a small fridge; not to mention the joy of not having to set up camp on arrival.

But they have tent-like qualities too: you can hear sea birds and waves through the “walls” (the beach is just metres away), see snakes on your way to the toilet block (we were lucky enough not to step on the red-bellied black snake we saw), and listen to the potoroos (more on these later) as they rustle for insects in the sand and leaves. Despite the luxury, there’s no mistaking that you’re in a spot populated by rare and endangered animals. Our first day is book-ended by two wildlife experiences.

First, a pre-breakfast bushwalk with Andy from Victoria’s Department of Sustainability and Environment, where we learn the difference between long-nosed bandicoots and potoroos (both are rabbit-sized marsupials with greyish fur, but the potoroo has a longer tail and hops like a kangaroo).

That night, park manager Josh takes us on a “creatures of the night” spotlighting mission. In half an hour, we see ringtail possums, brushtails and a potoroo. Fairy penguins, fur seals and the occasional leopard seal frequent the nearby beaches too.

In between wildlife-viewings, the park turns on a fine day for our explorations: surfing (and surf lessons) in front of the camp; an afternoon stroll along the boardwalk built by the local Moogji Aboriginal Council and sunset-viewing on the west-facing side of the cape. One of Victoria’s best scuba-diving spots, Beware Reef Marine Sanctuary, is just 4.5km offshore too. The granite reef and its surrounding 500m exclusion zone, has more than 20 species of reef fish, forests of bull kelp and the remains of two shipwrecks. From Cape Conran, it’s a two-hour drive to our next destination – Point Hicks.

Lighthouse lodgings
There’s no coast road through the national park, so we have to drive back to the Princes Highway, east to the township of Cann River, then south towards the coast on another dirt road. Which doesn’t seem so bad when we learn that, 60 years ago, Point Hicks was a sea-access-only kind of place, weather permitting.

Now it’s an hour’s pretty drive from Cann River. With no views, its hard to get a sense of how close we are to the coast – until we see massive sand dunes rising from the surrounding bush like a mini Sahara. Soon after, there’s a deserted campground, a beach with no name and, finally, a locked gate (we’d been given the combination when we booked our accommodation) and the end of the road – Point Hicks Lighthouse.

Point Hicks was the first spot on the Australian mainland to be seen by Captain Cook. Actually, the Endeavour’s second lieutenant Zachary Hicks first laid eyes on the high headland, so Cook did the decent thing and named the point in Hicks’ honour. It’s now the site of mainland Australia’s tallest lighthouse (it’s just under 40m) and a couple of old cottages, our lodgings for the night.

Although the lighthouse has been unmanned (ie. automated) since 1993, caretaker Rob Coates and his faithful brown kelpie, Keeper, run tours for visitors like us. One hundred and sixty two spiralling steps later, we’re standing on the wrought-iron balcony around its glass top, taking in the big views: pristine coves, Whale Back Rock (which bears an uncanny resemblance to a whale’s back) and, far off to the right, West Beach, where we’re to spend the afternoon. Our naturalist guide, Tony, counts 150 living things in the first half hour of our two-hour bushwalk. “The great thing about this place,” says Tony as we emerge at the wild, deserted beach, “is that it’s exactly how Zachary Hicks would have seen it in 1770.”

The visitor’s book is full of gales and wild weather, the walls of our cottages are even made of oregon and Baltic pine salvaged from an 1899 shipwreck, but our still and moonless night makes all that hard to imagine.

Despite the prospect of a fire inside, we stay out on the veranda long after the sun has set, watching the rolling swells, frolicking seals and, as darkness descends and the lighthouse blinks to life, phosphorescence that glitters on every breaking wave.

Lakeside by the seaside
After rising early to see the rising sun light up the white obelisk on the point, inscribed with the names of all the Endeavour’s crewmembers, we leave the lighthouse and retrace our steps back to Cann River. Then it’s another hour along the Princes Highway to Genoa, and 22km of winding country roads to Mallacoota.

For a small place (population 1000), Mallacoota has big ideas. “It’s like Byron Bay 20 years ago,” says Rosemary Luker who owns Karbeethong Lodge, the stylish  guesthouse where we’re to spend our last night. “It’s a community kind of place, very environmentally conscious.”

It also has some of the east coast’s most beautiful surf beaches, most of them at the ends of unsignposted dirt roads, but the “lake” (actually Mallacoota Inlet) is the hub of the town, so that’s our first stop.

Just in front of Karbeethong Lodge, we step aboard a small, 60-year-old fishing boat, the Porkie Bess, for a different take on Croajingolong. As we putter along and the wind drops away, our captain, Simon, tells us that the lake has as much coastline as Sydney Harbour. It couldn’t be more peaceful; then Simon tosses a few dead fish into the water – at least they would have made it to the water if they hadn’t been intercepted by two sea eagles. Minutes later, we find the eagles eating their catch on a branch high overhead; then we see their enormous nest, as big as a double bed, in the fork of a mountain ash tree not far from where a koala dozes, snug as a barnacle against a branch.

It’d be hard to find a friendlier town than Mallacoota. Simon oozes a sense of ease and contentment with his lot and he’s not the only one. Back at the lodge that evening, a few of the town’s musicians, including lodge manager Patrick on tin whistle and flute, drop in for an impromptu pre-dinner performance and chat beside Karbeethong’s roaring fire.

We even learn a little of Mallacoota’s artistic heritage; Henry Lawson used to visit often and, more recently, Michael Leunig (one of Leunig’s drawings, starring Karbeethong, now graces the kitchen wall).

It’s the morning of our last day and we wake to birdsong and a gentle breeze that ruffles the mirror-smooth surface of the lake. As we sit at the lodge’s sunny breakfast table, rays of light catch the steam rising from our morning cups of tea. Small things, but four days in and around the national park has slowed us down enough to notice them, and on the drive back to Merimbula where we board the plane back to “civilisation,” I’m already plotting my return. 

The writer travelled with the assistance of Tourism Victoria.