Walking through the scrub. Photo / Elisabeth Easther
Sometimes, the most memorable journeys are the ones that deepen our understanding of the past, writes Elisabeth Easther
I have a friend who knows the right book for every occasion, and when I told Katina I was visiting Tasmania, she lent me Truganini – Journey Through the Apocalypse.
Which might sound heavy for a holiday, but this haunting biography by acclaimed historian Cassandra Pybus was the perfect pick.
Recounting the journey of the resourceful Truganini, a brave Aboriginal woman known as the “last of her people”, she survived the violence that swept through her homeland by acting as a guide for colonial explorers and political functionaries.
By reading Truganini’s story while treading her ancestral lands, my heart and eyes were opened to a tragic history and her incredible story.
Bright and early, our group of nine gathered at Daci & Daci, a Hobart patisserie where cabinets burst with bright macarons and meringues. From there, our guides Soni and Michelle escorted us to the waterfront for the short boat ride across D’Entrecasteaux Channel to Bruny Island, a haven for 150 species of bird, including all of Tasmania’s endemics.
Dolphins and a peregrine falcon escorted us as our captain shared tales of geology and botany, wildlife and ecology. We pause to admire Shot Tower, a sandstone structure built in 1870, which was Australia’s tallest building for four years and remained the tallest in Tasmania until it was topped by a casino in 1973.
Arriving on Bruny Island, our van navigates narrow rural roads to the start of our first walk, a steady stride across aptly named Great Bay. As clouds cast soft mist over the coast, it’s easy to imagine we’re the only people on Earth.
At the end of the beach, we enter the bush, and tall trees give way to coastal scrub. Stopping for a breather at the halfway headland, we savour the views as our guides serve hot drinks and lunches neatly packed in silver tiffin tins.
On the return leg, my eyes are peeled for wildlife, for echidnas, quolls, and the rare breed of white wallaby that calls the island home.
Once back where we started, we stand beneath a dramatic rock formation and Soni spots some edible seaweeds: samphire with its salty crunch, berry-like warragal green, and a plump, tangy plant called pigface that reminds me of unripe bananas.
An idyllic first day. Before we reach camp, our guides park the van at a pretty cove where they wade in thigh-deep water to harvest oysters.
Served fresh with lemon wedges, we pause to acknowledge the Nuenonne People, the traditional custodians of this land, to imagine how Truganini and her people flourished here for thousands of years, sustained by the bounty of land and sea.
Thoughts of Truganini never far from mind, I’m struck by the contrast between the hardships she endured and the comforts of our camp.
A verdant 100-acre (40ha) block that sits on the edge of South Bruny National Park, the outdoor shower is a thing of beauty. Crafted from sustainably milled timber and corrugated iron, it opens on one side to a forest of towering eucalypts. Once washed, there is time to read on my veranda, until I’m lured to dinner by tantalising aromas.
Soni and Michelle have been hard at work, and it’s time to return to the present, and we gather in the camp kitchen for a charcuterie of local cheeses and delicacies.
Up at the table, dinner is roast lamb and vegetables, and almost all ingredients are sourced locally. As for where we lay our heads, the weary walkers tuck up in comfortable king-size beds made up with crisp white linen, where we fall asleep to the music of the forest.
Waking to Australia’s boisterous bush chorus, breakfast is another symphony of fine food. Fruit and homemade muesli, fresh-baked croissants and local jams – there’s a hot option too – and we fuel up for our 14km walk, almost forgetting we’re in the middle of the Australian bush and not a high-end B&B.
Walking along windswept Cloudy Bay Beach, surf pummels the shore, and the tang of seaweed hangs in the air with thick trunks of bull kelp festooning the high tide mark.
After hiking for about a kilometre along the beach, we reach Cloudy Bay Campsite, and turn inland where dragonflies and butterflies flit in the bush. Super-sized ants and wild flowers catch my eye, and with the sun out, we spy legions of languid lizards and drowsy skinks lazing on rocks.
Resting at East Cloudy Head with our Tiffin tin lunches, we gaze across an expanse of deep blue, the wild Southern Ocean fringed with whitewash on the rocks below.
Mesmerised by a mountain dragon – such an extravagant name for a tiny creature – I watch the patient lizard stand stock still as ants tread on its head, then a flick of the tongue between its brows and the unsuspecting insects are devoured.
Beyond the drama of the natural world, walking on Bruny is simply beautiful; remote, rugged yet surprisingly accessible. After a quick dip, we return to camp by mid-afternoon so I’ve time to dive back into my book.
Having seen wild Bruny up close, I am even more in awe of Truganini’s strength, not only as a hunter-gatherer, but for her extraordinary resilience in the face of all that she lost.
Pulled from the pages by the dinner bell, I’m struck again by the juxtaposition of past horrors and my present privilege, and I am grateful for the feast of wallaby fillet, charred halloumi, crushed potatoes and greens. The pièce de résistance? A rich chocolate cake with Valhalla ice cream I enjoy with a generous dollop of reflection.
After a leisurely breakfast of berries, freshly stewed rhubarb and buttery croissants, we farewell our magical forest camp, pausing only to drop our compost with the chooks at Hundred Acre Hideaway.
Barely back on the road, Michelle lets out a “wow!” from the front seat. She’s spotted the first Waratah of the season. A vivid red flower that leads to talk of another botanical marvel found on Bruny. The turning of the fagus. Found only in Tasmania, this rare deciduous beech puts on a striking autumnal display.
Arriving at the base of Mt Mangana – named for Truganini’s father, this is Bruny’s highest point at 571m – the scenery changes dramatically. Gone are the open coastal vistas; in their place is a hushed Gondwanan rainforest of mossy rocks and twisted trunks. The temperature drops noticeably too, too cool for snakes we’re told, which is a comfort to this Kiwi.
After we’ve admired the view from the summit, before we descend, Michelle suggests we try forest bathing, a diplomatic invitation for our chatty group to make the most of this final leg.
Walking slowly and mindfully, we tune our senses to the sounds, smells and sights of the Australian bush. A fitting way to conclude three very special days.
Before our journey ends, we make one final stop at the narrow spit known as the Neck.
Climbing 200 steps to Truganini’s Lookout, my thoughts return to the resilient woman who has been my walking companion and how learning about her life deepened my experience, turning a beautiful guided walk into something more meaningful, a journey of connection, reflection, and deeper understanding.
Bruny Island Long Weekend is a three-day, two-night guided eco-experience with Tasmanian Walking Company. For more information, visit taswalkingco.com.au
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