Next Stop, Antarctica... Bruny Island, Tasmania (Tasmania)

Member Name: snowbunni

Product:	Tasmania
Date:	29/11/05 (322 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: Splendidly Unspoilt, Superb Beaches, Gorgeous Native Animals

Disadvantages: At the very end of the world... and it shows.

MY MAP OF TASSIE: Although Bruny Island is not especially well known, I’m a little ashamed to admit I’d never even heard of it before I decided to go there, on a whim, about four years ago. Having booked Ferry tickets to Davenport, I was lazily studying a map of the Tasmanian coastline, wondering where to start. It was then that I spotted Bruny, right at the bottom of the map, at the exact point where the Indian Ocean swells into the southern Pacific.
The Island is situated approx. 30km south of Hobart, and is separated from the 'mainland' by the D'Entrecasteaux Channel. It is comprised of two parts - North Bruny and South Bruny, which are connected by a narrow strip of land locally referred to as the ‘Neck'. The island is accessed at Robert’s Point by car-ferry from Kettering, a smallish town on the Tasmanian mainland.


SO WHY BRUNY ISLAND? Despite a somewhat disturbing and unsettled past, Bruny really is a place of extraordinary, unspoilt natural beauty. Its eastern coastline boasts spectacular, panoramic views, and a long stretch of wide and sandy beaches. Most of these are absolutely beautiful, and so astonishingly empty that one almost feels taken aback to discover a set of footprints in the sand. The Island is home to a stunning array of plants and wildlife, with wallabies and small kangaroos, for example, hopping about freely, as well as numerous species of rare birds. There is little in the way of development or infrastructure, and you really do get a sense of visiting an ancient Island in a completely natural state.


HISTORY: Bruny Island’s original inhabitants, the aborigines, referred to it as Lunawanna-Alonnah. It was sighted by Abel Tasman in 1642, but the first European to land on the island was a French Admiral, Bruny D'Encetastreaux, after whom it was later named. Captains Bligh and Cook both anchored on the Island in the late 18th century, with Bligh rumoured to have planted the island’s very first apple tree. Cook’s relations with the island’s natives during his 1777 visit were by all accounts amicable, and he took back the first ever Eucalyptus specimens from Bruny. However, the story of the Aboriginal people of Bruny, subsequent to European settlement, was to be a brutal and tragic one, and one that closely mirrored that of their counterparts on mainland Tasmania. It was tantamount to Genocide. Those few that escaped slaughter, or did not succumb to introduced diseases, were eventually transported to Flinders Island, where a similarly bleak fate awaited them. More than 20,000 years of Aboriginal civilisation on Bruny ended with the death of the last surviving Tasmanian aborigine, less than a century after Cook’s first visit, in 1876. This was Truganini, born on Bruny Island. Her mother had been murdered by sealers, her uncles massacred, her betrothed stabbed to death, and her sisters sold into slavery. She herself was raped at the age of 17 and contracted syphilis. In later life she was transported to Flinders Island, and when she died, her ashes were scattered into the d’Entrecasteaux channel. Thus ended one of the most shameful and heartbreaking chapters in the history of the Australian continent. The rest of Tasmania became an early penal settlement, but Bruny was largely forgotten. Today, it is a very quiet island, a small number of tourists represent its only ‘industry’, and its population numbers fewer than 600 people. There are several small hamlets on the Island, the largest among these probably being Adventure Bay.

THE POPPIES: We spent our three nights on Bruny Island in a little A-framed cottage known as The Poppies, one of a pair, which is set in perfect isolation, directly on the beach. A very friendly couple that live about 5km away, a little further along the road to ‘Adventure Bay,’ owns the cottages, which form part of their ‘Morella Retreat’ business. They themselves have a pretty Edwardian weatherboard, set on a 25 acre site that was established in the 1940’s as a flower and bulb farm. There are two further, self-contained cottages available on this larger plot, which is dotted with massive camellia and rhododendron shrubs, like an oasis of colour in the midst of the grey Australian bush. It is an exquisite setting, with geese and peacocks strutting contentedly about. In winter and spring, the entire property is covered in daffodils, a legacy of its earlier bulb-growing enterprise.

The little cottage we stayed in had a kitchen, lounge, dining area and bathroom downstairs, and two bedrooms upstairs. As there were only the two of us it felt incredibly spacious, especially given its setting in about half an acre of private, native bush. A lounge area opened up onto a wooden patio, entirely constructed from reclaimed timber; driftwood washed up by the sea. A fabulously inventive, home made barbeque stood to the one side, also composed of reclaimed materials, as were the outside chairs and table, which were both oversized and beautifully misshapen, with their gorgeously twisted arms and legs. A mixture of spruce and eucalyptus trees surrounded the little hut, which was set about 20 metres back from the sea and private beach. A rowboat, for fishing, rested against an old Paper-bark tree. A light and airy outbuilding, to the side, contained a table-tennis table, which we made use of, with almost inexplicable enthusiasm. I certainly remember thinking, as I swung from the old truck tyre which hung from a gum tree, that it would be a fantastic for children, especially those with an outdoorsy bent. The beach is tranquil and sheltered, and at low tide it seemed as though you could almost walk across to the mainland. We frequently went beachcombing along the shore. Rarely have I encountered such a largesse of treasures; dried starfish, sea anemones, and dozens upon dozens of different shells. We were keen to take advantage of the wonderful kitchen and barbeque facilities, as well as the general setting, and to cook our own meals. Alas, this proved difficult. Having failed to secure any provisions from the Adventure Bay general store, we took matters into our own hands and set off in the little rowboat in a vain, albeit enjoyable, attempt to catch a fish for dinner. In the end, we went to bed hungry, cursing ourselves for not having bought some oysters from the man at Morella earlier, when we’d had the chance.

I really can’t recommend the accommodation at Morella highly enough. Everything was beautifully presented upon our arrival, with fresh flowers in vases, logs assembled beside the wood fire, and a little welcome basket with juice, milk and bread. Gorgeous, organic soaps are supplied in the bathrooms. As to the location, it really is beyond idyllic. Doubles cost from AU$170 a night. By the way, another great option for accommodation on the Island is in the old Light-keeper’s cottage at the historic lighthouse on Cape Bruny. There are also a dozen small B&B’s dotted around, as well as a couple of decent campsites.


THE PENGUINS: There is a lookout, high up on the Bruny Island isthmus, with some of the most spectacular sea views you are ever likely to see. From this viewing point, a narrow path winds down to a small wooden platform just above the beach. Every evening, at dusk, it is possible to see a colony of little fairy penguins swim ashore and waddle up the beach to their nests. We went to see them one evening, but being unsure when ‘dusk’ actually began, turned up about 3 hours too early. Although it was November, it became bitterly cold once the sun began to set, with the icy, Antarctic winds rushing in from the south. Furthermore, with no artificial light, and all of the stars obscured by cloud, it was almost pitch black. We waited there, shivering, and listened to the Pacific, rumbling endlessly against the shore. We had almost decided to give up when a couple of people arrived, dressed more appropriately than us, and carrying little torches covered with red cellophane. They explained that the cellophane was to protect the penguins’ eyes. Other people soon followed, until there were about a dozen of us, hovering expectantly on the little wooden platform. Suddenly, a penguin appeared in the red glow of a searching torchlight. He staggered and stumbled up the beach, almost drunkenly, perhaps from the exertion of his day’s fishing. A second soon followed, then a third. Someone to my right turned on a torch at this point; a high-beam, white light torch. Suddenly the beach was lit up, and it was covered in dozens upon dozens of tiny penguins, marching towards us like a little regiment. “Shut that bloody thing off, you stupid bastard!” barked a voice behind me. All was dark again, and we could just make out the penguins nearest to us as they scuttled up the beach. The grassy sand-hills on either side were dotted with their individual burrows, and each penguin very purposefully made his way to his own little home.


OTHER THINGS TO DO: Other than bird watching, the Island presents innumerable opportunities for swimming, fishing, surfing, bushwalking and mountain biking. The Bruny Island Surf Classic is held in February each year. The lighthouse at the southern tip of the island, built in 1836, was constantly manned until it was decommissioned in 1996, and is set in a beautiful location on Cape Bruny. It is well worth a visit. The Labilliardiere State Reserve has a 5-7 hour walk through wildflowers and past sandy beaches, and Camel tours are also available. If interested in Bruny’s history, the Bligh Museum (which is really little more than a small, stone hall with a few lovingly-presented exhibits) is located near Adventure Bay.


AMMENITIES: The subject of amenities available on Bruny is something of a sore point for me, as we arrived on the island wholly unprepared and this was something that, in our case, almost ruined our holiday. Tourist guides will make reference to a couple of ‘General Stores’ on the island, but in reality these are very basic indeed. If intending to self-cater or barbeque at all, it would be well worth stocking up on the mainland first, because there’s very precious little to be had in the way of supplies on the island itself. Hobart is home to an array of sumptuous Deli’s, supermarkets, wine outlets and bread-shops, so would probably be the best place to start. Fresh fish can be bought before crossing on the ferry at Kettering.

The Bruny Island Pub is located on the west coast of the island, and its great claim to fame is that it is the most southerly pub in Australia. When we were there, it seemed a rather strange and desolate place, set in an ugly 1960’s brick bungalow. Inside, imitation wood and bordello-red carpets reigned supreme. In the front bar, two sunburnt men were hobbled on bar stools, fiddling about with rolling tobacco and grimly watching some greyhound race in Sydney on a mounted television. A couple of stuffed fish and native mammals graced the walls, none of which, to put it politely, could ever have been considered triumphs of the taxidermist’s art. In the bistro, to the side, about twenty pensioners, some of them clad in lawn-bowling whites, were silently tucking into what appeared to be Shepherd’s Pie. From the large coach parked outside, we could only deduce that they had been bussed in from some nursing home on the mainland for a treat. We each had a glass of Cascade Ale from the tap, and a serving of fish and chips that, sadly, had all the hallmarks of a microwave meal about it. Pity, really, given the quality of fish that was splashing about in the bay, just outside... I’ve subsequently had a look on the web, and the Bruny Island Pub is now under new ownership, and appears to have been completely transformed of late. There’s even a website. Pictures on it reveal the new interior to have an attractively casual, beach-hut sort of a feel. The inevitable ‘Most Southerly Pub’ tag remains prominent, however.


ON THE DAY WE LEFT:

We stood at the shore and stared. The ‘mainland’ seemed infuriatingly close. Anyone with a half-decent stroke could probably have swum across in less than thirty minutes. But of course there was the Hire-Car to consider. And our luggage. All we could do was watch the virtually empty craft draw away from us across the water, leaving nothing whatsoever in its wake. Nothing, that is, except for a sad & long-unoccupied ticket-sales booth, a weather-beaten old sign announcing departure times, and an empty, wooden shack concealing an outdoor (read: unplumbed) toilet.

Having missed the morning’s last car-ferry, we found ourselves stranded with two full hours to kill before the next one. We hadn’t eaten any breakfast; in fact we hadn’t eaten anything at all for almost 24 hours. Dejectedly, we consulted the only useful item at our disposal - a rudimentary little map produced by the Tasmanian Tourism Board. It was then that we spotted, with an almost irrational gratitude, one of those universally known little symbols, a crossed-set of cutlery. According to the map it was located somewhere near the very northern-most tip of the island, an area we had hitherto neglected to explore. It was about 30km away. We quickly got back in the car and set off in search of it.

After a very pleasant and winding drive through Eucalypts, we finally saw the signs. Café. Restaurant. B&B. Turn Left. Although attractive, and set in an almost impossibly beautiful location, it didn’t seem like the sort of place where you’d ever need to book a room, let alone a table. In fact, we appeared to have the entire place to ourselves. The owner, a ruddy German in his mid-fifties, seated us at a prime spot on the veranda, a table with exquisite views out over the Tasman Sea. He scurried off to find menus, returned with our drinks, and then, having settled himself comfortably at our table, his Pils at the ready, proceeded to indulge in one of the most relentless and frantic monologues I have ever been subjected to in my life. It only really ended when we finally stood up from the table to leave. It was an extravagant account, and afterwards, we concluded it to have been either a confessional or a collection of outright lies. But oh! What a glittering tale it was, filled with international accolades, highborn mistresses, and drama on the high seas. At one point, his conspicuously long-suffering wife appeared, with our meals. These were Scandinavian-style open sandwiches, with wonderful, plump slices of local smoked-salmon layered over some very decent sour dough, and served with a little home grown rocket and a sliced, boiled egg. Absolutely delicious. At this juncture I had fully expected our host to make his apologies and politely withdraw. To leave us alone with the view, the salmon and the sauvignon blanc. Not a bit of it! He continued on, unabated, occasionally assailing us with unanswerable questions that, our mouths generally being full, we would probably have been incapable of answering anyway.

Afterwards, I imagined he was probably on the run, but from what? Whatever it was, he was clearly stuck on Bruny, possibly for good. Up until this point, I’d been quite entranced by the island, but the expression I caught on that man’s face as we ambled off to our hire car and drove away, was more than a little forlorn. Perhaps similar expressions might once have been seen on the faces of those long-ago convicts, finding themselves condemned to a lifetime on this isolated little place, at the very end of the earth, a million miles from all they knew and loved. In any event, however beautiful, however unspoilt, the place was beginning to seem just a little bit menacing, and I was rather pleased to be leaving it. Looking back, I doubt whether I have ever felt quite so ambivalent about a holiday in my life. Bruny Island was tranquil, its forests were dense, its beaches sublime and its little penguins enchanting. Yet all the while there was a sadness there that for me at least, was inescapable.



http://www.brunyisland.net/
http://www.morella-island.com.au/
http://www.brunyisland.net/Alonnah/brunyislandhot el.htm

Summary: A Delightful Little Island on Tasmania's Southern Coast