Looking for an adventure beyond Adelaide? Here's how Yorke Peninsula quietly rivals Australia’s famed coastal hotspots. Photo / Bayside Glamping
A genuine hidden gem and just two hours from Adelaide, Yorke Peninsula boasts hidden pink lakes, abandoned towns and sugar-white beaches, writes Isabelle James.
“Welcome to Yorke Peninsula: agriculturally rich, naturally beautiful,” a sign reads as we turn on to a long, quiet road.
We’ve been in the car for two hours since landing at Adelaide Airport, and despite it being Good Friday morning (prime traffic time) there’s barely a car in sight.
This isn’t unusual in South Australia. The state is often overlooked in favour of the East Coast or Western Australia, and even when it does come to mind, it’s usually for the Barossa Valley’s cellar doors or Kangaroo Island’s wildlife. So when my partner suggested a trip to the Yorke Peninsula, a place I’d never even heard of, curiosity took over.
A little research uncovered images of pink salt lakes, white-sand beaches and haunting shipwrecks. How had this coastline slipped under my radar?
It was enough to convince me to book us flights to Adelaide, where we set off for Dhilba Guuranda–Innes National Park, planning to detour via the pink lakes, camp for a few nights in the national park, and return via Flaherty Beach.
The pink salt lakes of the Yorke Peninsula are clustered around Yorketown, a small hub in its southern reaches, about two and a half hours from Adelaide. From here, there are various Salt Lake Trails: self-drive routes linking lakes recommended by the Tourism Board.
We followed a 9km trail, taking around 20 minutes, connecting Domaschenz, Geitz and Pink Lake.
Each lake varies slightly in colour. Geitz is the most vivid, but we linger at Pink Lake, where benches make it the perfect place to stop for a picnic. A sign explains the science behind its colour: algae and bacteria in the salt crust produce pigments, creating shifting pink tones.
Looking out across the flat expanse, the colours ripple and merge in a way that feels otherworldly, more Mars than South Australia. We snack, take far too many photos, then pack up and continue south.
Around 45 minutes later, we arrive at Dhilba Guuranda–Innes National Park, where the landscape shifts. The pink lakes are striking, but they sit within flat farmland; here, the scenery feels wilder, more dramatic.
As we enter the park, an emu darts through coastal scrub, weaving past dense vegetation rooted in bright white sand.
At the visitor centre, we leave laden with leaflets and far better informed. Pronounced “Dil-pa Koor-ran-da Innes”, “Dhilba” refers to the southern clan group of the Narungga people, while “Guuranda” means “southern land”, a name that reflects enduring connection to country and ongoing care for the landscape.
We arrive at Cable Bay Campground to find a tranquil site nestled in a clearing in the bush. As we explore, it becomes clear that each campsite caters to a different traveller.
Pondalowie Bay draws surfers with its smooth waves, while Stenhouse Bay suits fishers, its jetty an easy place to cast a line. Cable Bay has access to bush walks and is one of the smaller, quieter sites.
Not a camper? Not a problem. On one walk, we stumble across Inneston, an abandoned town offering accommodation in beautifully restored cottages. Just a 30-minute stroll from the coast, you’ll get a roof over your head and the chance to stay in the remnants of a once-thriving gypsum community. Spooky, but fascinating.
The peninsula’s history extends beyond Inneston. At Ethel Beach, 10 minutes from our campsite, the skeleton of Ethel, a three-masted barque wrecked in 1904, lies on the sand.
We arrive and find the beach completely empty. Reading about the wreck, one story stands out: a crewman who attempted to swim ashore with a rope tied around his waist but never made it.
There’s a weight to the beach, shaped by its tragic history, yet it’s also beautiful: wide, windswept, and edged by rolling swells. Dolphins glide in the surf beside us, bringing the landscape to life.
Eventually, it’s time to leave the park. We’re sad, but also placated by the promise of our last stop.
We’d seen pristine images of Flaherty Beach, though we weren’t sure whether the algal bloom, which has affected South Australia’s coastline over the past year, had impacted its waters. Throughout our trip, we hadn’t noticed any visible impact along the beaches, and a local surfer at Pondalowie had reassured us that the sea was safe to swim in, so we arrived without much concern.
The beach lives up to expectations. White sandbars stretch through crystal-clear water. At low tide, you can wander out far, the water barely rising above your ankles.
Like the pink lakes on our journey down, a stop at Flaherty Beach on the return to Adelaide feels less like an option and more like a necessary chapter.
As we head back to Adelaide, I reflect on how much the Yorke Peninsula packs into one trip: otherworldly landscapes, rich history, undisturbed coastlines.
It may not have the profile of Australia’s more famous destinations, but that’s what makes it special.
The writer travelled at their own expense.