It feels like I’ve fallen headfirst into the realms of a
children’s storybook.
A wisdom of wombats is mowing the grass around us,
mobs of Tasmanian pademelon (small, kangaroo-like
creatures) leap past, and a kookaburra sings from an old gum
tree. Blue skies arch above us as we rest on the grassy edge of
sea cliffs, on the lookout for humpback whales. “It is surely
hell on earth,” says my guide Di Hollister, paraphrasing a
19th-century description of Tasmania. “The swans are black
when they should be white, and devils cry out in the woods
at night.”
“Just awful,” I reply with a smile.
We’re on Maria Island, which lies in the bright blue
Tasman Sea, a 30-minute ferry ride from Triabunna on the
east coast of Tasmania. European explorers first set eyes on
the island in 1642; settlers arrived in the late 18th century,
eking out a living as whalers and sealers, while establishing
smallholdings, prisons, and penal colonies. Various
industries came and went over the following century: wheat
and sheep farmers; Chinese abalone fishermen; an Italian
silk merchant with aspirations as a hotelier; and a cement
works, its old silos still sitting at the end of the pier like giant
exclamation marks. Every venture was unsuccessful and
short-lived, and nature now reigns supreme in this southern
wilderness. Today, Maria Island is a national park without a
permanent population, and visitor numbers are restricted to
just a few ferry-loads of sightseers per day in the summer and
a handful of outdoorsy types who come year-round to explore
its beaches and bush trails with award-winning, family-run,
Maria Island Walks.
I’ve arrived just after the summer crowds have cleared
and a few weeks before the chill of winter sets in. It feels
like we have the island to ourselves — just me, Di and our
walking guide, Georgie Currant. I’m bowled over by the
natural beauty that surrounds us: glorious beaches, fragrant
forests of eucalyptus, ruffled cliffs, tranquil reservoirs,
and bountiful wildlife. On the crossing from Triabunna, I
eyed fat, shiny seals bobbing in the bay and enormous sea
eagles circling overhead. Within five minutes of stepping
off the ferry, I cooed over a mother and baby wombat, both
entirely unperturbed by my presence. I’ve since seen dozens
of the furry cannonballs, as well as kangaroos, wallabies,
possums, and a colorful cast of pink robins, yellow-throated
honeyeaters, and Cape Barren geese with pearl-grey bodies
and sherbet-green beaks.
As the daylight begins to fade, I’m blessed with a crisp,
bright evening for my first night on Maria Island. The
moon appears — seemingly upside-down, as I’ve come from
the Northern Hemisphere — and is so luminous we don’t
need our flashlights to wander across the fields. Di points out
constellations as we go: the Southern Cross, Alpha Centauri,
and Orion’s Sword, which points upwards at this end of
the earth.
The next morning we head to Riedle Beach, a streak of
diamond-white sands and azure seas, and the first beach I’ve
seen in years without even the tiniest scrap of plastic on it.
What we spot instead are the clear pawprints of Tasmanian
devils — an endangered species, released onto the island
in the 1970s and now thriving, free from predators, car
accidents and disease. If I see nothing else of Tasmania,
IM my time on this Edenic isle alone will have been enough.
AG
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PARTNER CONTENT FOR TOURISM TASMANIA