We drove onto the car ferry in Kettering, a picturesque little fishing village half an hour’s drive south of Hobart, and fifteen minutes later we arrived at Bruny Island. It was mid-morning and we planned to while away a couple of hours and catch the 1.45 ferry back. After all, what could possibly detain us on an islet the size of an apple seed?
After driving through pleasant sheep farming country without coming across any sign of habitation, we came to a long narrow isthmus called The Neck that links the two parts of the island. A steep grassy slope led to the lookout and when we climbed to the top, spread beneath us on both sides of isthmus were two magnificent beaches, biscuit-coloured parentheses enclosing an emerald saddle of woodland.
Mutton birds and fairy penguins nest in the sand dunes of the Neck Beach Game Reserve, but as warm evenings were the best time to see them, we drove on.
Bruny Island has over 200 kilometres of almost empty roads, and as we followed the northern coast road, past miles of white beaches and dark wooded hills, I started to fall under the spell of this delightful place. Masses of fragrant wild lupin grew by the roadside, tiny native orchids hid among the grasses, and birds whistled in the trees. This was an unspoilt little Eden, and the black snake that slithered in front of our car confirmed that impression.
Adventure Bay revealed another unexpected side of Bruny Island. I’ve noticed on my travels all over the world, that wherever I’ve been, the ubiquitous Captain Cook has been there before me and Bruny Island was no exception. On the shore of this tranquil bay I came across the remains of the tree to which Captain Cook tied his ship in 1777 while its hull was being cleaned. Intrigued by this scrap of history, I dropped into the Bligh Museum of Pacific Exploration nearby and was thrilled to see Cook's handwritten description of the island's beach and wooded landscape, as well as the chart he drew of southern Van Diemen's Land.
As I browsed around this small museum, I realised that from a historical point of view, Bruny Island was remarkable. The notorious Captain Bligh visited the island four times and planted Australia's first apple trees here. Several years later, Matthew Flinders arrived on the island too, but it was French explorer Bruny d"Entrecasteaux after whom the island and channel were named, who actually proved that it was separate from Tasmania. From the 1820’s until the 1840’s, the area around Adventure Bay was used by whalers.
The Penguin Café, near the museum, resembles a gallery with photographs of Bruny Island, taken by the owner, Martin Watson. The menu included curried wallaby with native pepper and lemon myrtle, but being lunchtime, Bligh’s apple and rhubarb pie, made with local fruit, seemed more appropriate. Martin, an Englishman and his wife Mary, a Brisbanite, came to Bruny about eighteen months ago and decided to stay, bewitched by the island’s lifestyle and its beaches. `Life doesn’t get any better than this,’ he said.
As we drove on and gazed at this unspoiled wonderland, I could see what he meant. Past a forest of eucalypts that seemed to reach into the sky, a dirt road led up to Mt Mangana. The road looked enticing but making this detour would add about two hours to our drive which would make us late for the 1.45 ferry. Michael looked thoughtful. I suppose we could take the 3.15 ferry back, he said.
The remote road wound to the highest point on the island from which we had glorious views over forests, bays and beaches. A track past stringybarks, myrtles and tree ferns led to Mavista Falls. Perhaps this bush walk would have given us a chance of spotting the forty-spotted pardalote, which is an endangered bird. I was tempted, but reason prevailed. We would have needed far more time and sturdy walking boots, and regrettably we had neither.
At Lunnawanna we came across some signs of habitation: the simple Anglican church of St Michael's, and a little white farmhouse down by the bay. The water was so transparent that I could see every pebble through its pale aquamarine waves, and Michael, entranced by a wooden fishing boat on the pale sand, couldn’t stop taking photos.
Near Cloudy Bay Lagoon, we lifted a chain across a dirt path and drove down to an idyllic spot where rugged mountains rose above turquoise bay edged with caster sugar sand. A lone angler fished in the lagoon while a couple sprawled on the beach with their backs to the view, engrossed in conversation.
We headed for Cape Bruny Lighthouse, the third oldest lighthouse in Australia whose tower was built in 1836 by convict labour. The road leading to the lighthouse had a desolate splendour, and we kept jumping out of the car to marvel at the views. We had to move on but couldn’t tear ourselves away. Why not catch the 5.30 ferry instead?
Although we didn’t have a large distance to cover back to the wharf, Michael kept stopping to take more photos, so we missed the 5.30 ferry as well. As we rushed onto the last ferry back to Hobart, I understood why people who came here never wanted to leave.
PRACTICAL INFORMATION
Website: www.discovertasmania.com
Fill up with petrol before arriving on Bruny Island.
Story by Diane Armstrong.
4WD
