It is home to 300 laid-back locals – and they will remain so as long as nobody tampers with the local government’s decree that visitors shall not exceed 400 at any time. Together these human interlopers enjoy an island so rich in natural bounty that it is one of only three in the world to be granted World Heritage listing.

It boasts one of Australia’s best bush walks, 120 species of bird, 160 species of native flowering plants and 57 species of fern, the world’s most southerly coral reef and 500 species of fish.

Located 550km east of Port Macquarie, Lord Howe Island surfaced from the floor of the Pacific Ocean seven million years ago. The remnants of the volcanic eruption that created this paradise now protrude dramatically over an 11km by 2km subtropical haven for giant banyan trees, world famous kentia palms, endangered woodhens and the extremely rare providence petrel.

Dominated by the twin peaks of Mount Gower (875m) and Mount Lidgbird (777m), the island is protected along its western flank by a reef that spawns 90 species of coral each February. To the south, the highest single rock in the world, Ball’s Pyramid, spires into an impossibly blue sky - another spectacular legacy of the volcanic activity that sprinkled 27 islands across this part of the Pacific.

I will never forget my first sighting of this geographical wonder from the bow of Moonraker with 50 nautical miles remaining in the Gosford to Lord Howe Yacht Race – one of Australia’s premier blue water events, staged in October each year. It was dawn when Gower and Lidgbird revealed themselves above the horizon - the first real proof we’d had since sailing out of sight of the East Coast that our navigator knew what he was doing. “Oh Lord - Howe beautiful!” a fellow crew member exclaimed.

After a couple of days at sea I was determined to sample as many of the island’s delights as I could before we raised the anchor and set sail for home.

The list of options was enticing: bushwalking, fish feeding, swimming, surfing, scuba diving, snorkelling, kayaking, birdwatching, reef walks, golf, tennis, bowls, fishing and bicycling.

After settling in to our modest, self-contained accommodation (no high-rise towers here) I grabbed my bicycle and pedalled over to Ned’s Beach where local resident Brian Simpson feeds hundreds of fish including huge king fish in knee-deep water every day.

It was a bit early for Brian’s show but I’d brought some bread with me and within seconds was surrounded by silver flashes as fish snapped up the free feed.

Then I had the bright idea of swimming out a bit further to see if I could attract something a bit bigger. I stuffed the remaining bread into my Speedos, pulled my goggles on and swam out into the bay.

You can imagine my panic when, after feeling a nip on my upper thigh, I looked back under my body to see a school of 50cm trevally - teeth bared - zooming in on the trail of burley that was bleeding from my private parts. Dropping my Speedos to my ankles, I frantically rid myself of every soggy crumb!

The rest of Moonraker’s crew thought this was a great joke when I returned to my room for a change of clothes before cycling off towards Mount Lidgbird, intent on tackling the walk to Goat House cave, a large overhang 400m up the volcanic cliffs.

With the sun sliding towards the horizon I parked my bicycle at the end of Lagoon Road and took to the trail at a run. This proved to be another bright idea because I’d soon run off the track and was lost in the bush.

I could, however, see the overhang above and decided that if I took a shortcut straight up, then I would find the trail on which to descend. After scaling a series of small cliffs, I wedged myself behind a rock and marvelled at the view.

Sugary surf was breaking on the reef outside the lagoon and the sun had begun to gild the island’s jungle green with a touch of gold. Wonderful as this was, the Goat House had disappeared and I concluded with growing consternation that I was stranded, unable to climb any higher and daunted by the prospect of descending the way I’d come up.

Visions of a helicopter rescue and a TV news broadcast that had everyone muttering “How did the idiot get up there?” pushed me over the edge of the daunting descent. It was dark when I stumbled into the bowling club - legs bleeding and T-shirt torn – the agreed rendezvous for dinner. My Moonraker mates were merciless!

I rose early the next morning to join a deep sea fishing charter bound for Ball’s Pyramid. The skipper soon had us over a school of king fish and we had a dozen on board before a shark swallowed a king that had swallowed the hook of the bloke next to me.

Of course at first we didn’t know this. One minute he was merrily pulling in his fish, the next he was spilling line at a great rate of knots.
His wife was giving him a really hard to time: “What’s wrong with you – why can’t you pull it in?”

The deckhand came to assist and with seasoned skill soon had a 1.5m shark alongside. Unfortunately, he was bit careless in the release and the shark lashed out lacerating his hand. That was the end of the fishing trip.

After lunch I went scuba diving between Mount Eliza and Roach Island off the northern tip of Lord Howe. The diving compared favourably with the Great Barrier Reef and while I saw a shark, my luck seemed to have changed – it didn’t bite me.

It was a rather reluctant crew that Captain Eddie mustered for the return voyage on Moonraker. We’d all fallen in love with Lord Howe and there was so much more to see and do.

I returned some years later and joined fifth generation local, Jack Shick, for the magnificent climb up Mount Gower. This day-long hike must be undertaken with a guide and is widely regarded as one of Australia’s best.

The walk is graded strenuous and ropes are fixed to assist in the scaling of awkward little cliffs along the route. The view from 875m, however, is worth the agony of the ascent.

We were fortunate that our visit coincided with the nesting season of the rare providence petrel. We were amazed when Jack, in the moss forest that shrouds Mount Gower’s often cloud-cloaked summit, called to the petrels riding the turbulent air off the cliffs. They came crashing through the canopy above our heads before pecking at our bootlaces.

Oh Lord - Howe I can’t wait to return!