South Bruny.
As the algorithms of our digital existence conspire to steer us towards the constant barrage of he said, you said, I said, she said; with mainstream media make up, soundtracks showcasing species spiraling and now sports, buy this, watch this conditioning, you cannot help but wonder where all this is leading. Standing on a bluff overlooking the Great Southern Ocean by an outdoor fire at sunset with a Cloudy Bay IPA in hand and a guitar nearby is a good place to not even contemplate all that other bollocks for a while.
If I was an omnipresent entity that, despite all the books and opinions written about me, was only really interested in creating a place where the beauty of my creation could be absorbed by all the senses, then Bruny Island would be the place that I would keep for myself as an example to remind me of what it should be. There is an energy that washes over the island brought in by the ocean. The sky is a constant changing canvas of colour, the ocean breaths blue and green pigments dreamed of by painters, the air is like a rare whisky, mellowed by the sea with nuanced tones of Wedge-tail eagle’s riding the thermals. A toughness of existence is battled out here, evolution has been harsh on the last land fall from line of sight to the great frozen continent of Antarctica. Boundaries have been established with the flora defined like the sea and land, no millimeter surrendered without a battle of will. Each layer of land from the ocean to the mountains is defined by the ability to conform to the elements. A drop in the wind a moment to be savored for the precious time given before the next front from whatever our closest star and celestial circling rock decides to formulate for us on our floating oasis of majestic chaos. Here is a place where you just exist and feel lucky to witness.
Upright apes, being what we are with some handy thumbs, have the ability to change landscapes at our desire. This means that we can ensure that those whom have not already made the decision to exist here for the duration (we toasted a four year plan to do just that), have the ability to come to Bruny Island and witness for themselves what those that already understand know. A quick shot of caffeine from the terminal shop and our fully laden chariot glides onto the ferry that sits at the end of a dutifully arranged flotilla of motor boats and yachts that, enviously, have the ability to explore Bruny Island from many different angles. We talk to a well weathered gentleman in track suit pants and ugg boots who is listening to a blues harp from his car stereo. He lives on Bruny Island and was once a rocker that now has turned his attention to making and fixing guitars as well as playing blues harp. His eyes close to the sound of the tunes as we meander our way slowly but surely to the shores of Bruny Island where a ramp awaits like a drawbridge to connect land to ferry and access to all we are about to see, feel, taste and be for four nights down at Cloudy Bay.
If I was to say to you that we feasted on the most amazing oysters ever, followed by exotic cheeses with a selection of finely crafted beers you would probably conjure up a landscape of a restaurant overlooking Sydney harbour after having made a booking a month in advance, visited the hairdresser, bought a new shirt and mortgaged your home to experience what all of your friends and colleagues have been telling you for months “you have to go to this restaurant”. But the reality is that I haven’t had a haircut for ten months, I was wearing an old billabong shirt I bought in 1994 and it was 1030 in the morning and no booking was required. I feel confident in saying that I have never passed a sign that says “open, oysters” in my life and ten minutes on island we were sitting at “Get Shucked” oysters eating plump filters of the sea with an inability to speak due to the explosion of flavour and respect for another ability of our species to capture and manipulate nature and then refine it to bring such pleasure. I pause writing this now to conjure up the memories of those oysters. A dozen added to our inventory of deliciousness and we set off satisfied and elated. But only for five minutes as the magnet of “cheese” has an equally strong pull (stronger according to my belt notch migration in the wrong direction over the years). Bruny Island Cheese baby! A paddle of hops and barley in various configurations mixed with a plate of cheeses and condiments contributed to another assault on the sensory synapsis that contribute to the forever eroding genetics of hunter and gatherer genes that are slowly disappearing due to the culinary artists that are so gifted and create these wonders of taste and nourishment. Our final destination is Cloudy Bay so it seemed more than obligatory to acquire a carton of Cloudy Bay IPA (outstanding by the way) as well as a selection of cheeses to ensure that we could replicate this fleeting experience at our will.
Our shelter from the elements over the next four days was “Cloudy Bay Vila”. After meandering our way down the island, over the sandbar (or The Neck as it is otherwise known) that separates North from South, taking in the eccentric, versus the refined, that are the book covers for the dwellings we passed, we hit dirt roads carved into the landscape that directed us to our destination. Nothing can prepare you for the sight of turning south to crest over a gap in the foliage and emerge onto the top of a point that has nothing in front of it but Antarctica and an ocean of around 4,600kms in between. Throw a wedge tail eagle riding the thermals over the roaring shoreline just as we arrived and you could not script a welcome any better than this. The villa is a dream location with a hot gas fire, large and inviting kitchen and couches that look out over Cloudy Bay that beg for you to pour a wee dram and stare for hours.
After the obligatory establishment of order in transferring our precious commodities and creating our world so that our existence was complemented by ease of access to cheese, oysters, whisky, beer and some other stuff that is probably equally as important but was unceremoniously dropped on a floor in a room, we wandered down to Whalebone Point and walked between mutton bird homes currently vacant due to the inability of these creatures to be able to access the internet on route from Russia to get a permit for entry due to some virus thing (I am told all will be approved by October). You cannot help but be awed by the journey undertaken by the mutton bird of 15,000km every year to return to the same hole in the ground. We decided to take a moment to sit amongst the summer houses of these amazing (and, politically incorrect, quite tasty) birds until a moment of city dwelling clarity descended on me that if I was a tiger snake wanting some shelter from the Southern Ocean and was awaiting a meal to wander by, then I may take advantage of these conveniently vacant pre-established dwellings and wonder what that sound was when a cheese and oyster laden giant ape sat on the roof — exit stage north.
We had been to Bruny Island lighthouse some time ago on our only other “try and see it all in one day” visit some years ago. On that occasion the wind was so strong that I had concerns for my then ten year old offspring being swept up by the wind gusts and taken to New Zealand. On this occasion we had no offspring to contend with and whilst the wind map showed Armageddon winds the colour of deep purple on the appy thing I use on my phone, we remained resolute to sit next to the lighthouse and witness the beauty of this part of the planet from up high. We arrived at the lighthouse at exactly 5 minutes to 5 pm to be greeted by a sign on the still open gate that read “gate closes at 5pm”. Undeterred we made our way to the lighthouse keepers house and had a chat with the couple that had volunteered to stay there for five weeks (bucket list addition) and with “no worries mate, take as long as you like, don’t worry about the sign” we parked up and made our way to the top and marveled at the Southern Ocean swell and followed a seabird for about ten minutes as it maneuvered the ever changing thermals back to Courts Island to rest up for the night, watched the sun between swirling clouds descend to welcome other stars a bit further away to the view.
Close to the top of the list of “humans of Tasmania” that I admire is a man that has his face tattooed on the only beanie that I have ever owned. The only time I have ever worn a beanie is when I have gone on Rob Pennicott’s cruises and it has become a personal Mecca for me to tick them all off after the first cruise off Tasman Island. The Bruny Island cruise was the last on the list and after some bacon and eggs and caffeine at sunrise over Cloudy Bay our next adventure awaited. As we rugged up and prepared to leave for Adventure Bay we noticed a splash of colour floating over the beach. A rectangular rainbow of thin canvas was attached to someone that had decided watching birds was for mere humans and whilst waiting for wings to evolve would take too long, decided to use whatever tools invented to be able to experience the world from a bit higher up. We watched with amazement (and some envy) as this person was able to parasail the length of Cloudy Bay beach with ease a number of times before gracefully landing and disappearing into the salt spray. One incorrect angle adjustment would have this person in the ocean and probably out to Antarctica, but there was never any indication of anything but absolute precision and albatross like grace. I can, and will only ever only be able to imagine what that feeling must be like. Kudos to you for your freedom and ability — you are an excellent human.
“Are there any geologists on board today” was the question raised by the skipper of our ocean going machine that was about to venture out past the shoreline that up until this moment was our border between seeing and experiencing the Tasman Sea and the Southern Ocean off Bruny Island. No hands raised was met with what I am sure is a well-used line of “well that’s a relief, we can make up stuff now”. A low rumble of Jurassic forest transformed into power fed into engineering had us rocket out into Adventure Bay before turning South along the rugged east coast line of Bruny Island. Nothing can prepare you for what you experience and see out there. These words are no justification nor is there a photo or video that captures the essence of this adventure — you just have to do it. Do it. We rocketed over large rolling swells and ducked into bays and rock formations that present to you evidence absolute that we are all nothing compared to the ocean that we all crawled out off. Caves and breathing rocks, seals and sea birds, cliffs and kelp mixed with history are all explained by the two gents on board whom have obviously grown up here and made this their life with the concept of diving in one of the caves that has giant swells flowing into them as normal as cutting the grass in a suburban neighbourhood. “We usually wander out to see a colony of seals but it looks a little rough out there at the moment, let’s just poke our nose into the Southern Ocean and see how we go”. The line from the Tasman Sea to the Southern Ocean crossed and immediately we dropped about five meters into the swell. Greens and blues with white sea foam swirled around us above eye level before we powered up the edge of a wave to smash back down again. The rocks that were being pounded seemed to grow larger as we spun in what appeared to be an uncontrolled mistake save for the casual conversation that came from the skipper and his mate…..”pfft, this is a four out of ten ocean at best, been in heaps worse than this”. Coming back to the relatively calm Tasman Sea again we powered out some distance from shore on the direction of the mate who had seen a splash out there. In search of an elusive Humpback whale we circled for a bit with no cigar but were visited by a Shy Albatross for a while. On the return to Adventure Bay I channeled my inner Tibetan Monk and inhaled as much of the ocean washed air as I could before disembarking with a glow of amazingness that only could come from an experience such as this. Do it.
The Armageddon westerlies decided that we should be rewarded with a break and the world at Cloudy Bay became still. The skies opened up for full sun and a deep blue sky that seemed to beg for an open pit fire to be lit and the beers to be opened. We were joined by good friends for the remainder of the stay and a platter of cheese, oysters and pate was paired with IPA’s. Chairs were moved and guitars tuned for an evening of laughter, food and music that only stopped occasionally for un-awkward silences of deep contemplation of the view in front of us. Back into the villa for a wee dram of Overreem whisky (a bottle saved from their first release for a special occasion) in front of the gas fire before retiring to the sounds of the ocean keeping rhythm till morning. One perfect day as they say.
Our friends that joined us are gypsies of the planet and have adventure in their souls. A wetsuit and a knife with a license, and the order of the day was abalone for lunch. A drive up to Adventure Bay with a wander down to the rocks with a quick change and leap of faith into the kelp — ten minutes later five black lipped large abalone as a reward are on the shore martyred for the taste buds. A regular to Bruny, we are guided by them to an alternative route back to Cloudy Bay and we embark on to what my city domiciled vehicle could consider the Southern Ocean of roads over hills and valleys through forests to come out the other side with a new set of rattles (it wasn’t really that bad, but not for the usual suburban dwelling vehicles of today). Sliced thin, cooked in butter with some lemon and to perfection (cooked wrongly and you are eating the bottom of the blues harp players ugg boots) we are feasting on what most people could only dream of. Bliss.
Whilst the wind had picked up slightly, the allure of the fire and the view begged for more attention so it was IPA’s and conversation around the fire with Xavier Rudd singing about breathing in the air as a soundtrack. After a few hours, dusk began to descend and the desire to touch the ocean became strong. A decision was made to journey down to the shoreline of Cloudy Bay Beach via Whalebone Point. We rugged up and began an incredible journey to where the ocean meets the land. The track to the Point has been carved out of the vegetation creating a maze of well-defined paths that meander through the tough and resilient ferns and grasses before reaching the wall of the toughest of the scrubs. The morning before an older gentleman was walking his enormous old white dog across the front of the property and stopped for a chat. He mentioned that he lived in a small house not visible from the road and maintains the access down to the beach so that he can walk with his dog down there most mornings. The track that we were on was not something that had been created with an English box hedge trimmer, this took strength and determination. Carved out of the unforgiving and evolved to live on the edge of the bottom of the planet vegetation, the track narrowed to the size of a man (wide and high) and weaved its way to the beach. Turning a blind corner you are presented with the force of the ocean at its greatest. We made our way to the beach with the roaring of the waves blocking out all sound but for the occasion verbal expression of awe from our group, took off our shoes and walked to a spot to lay down and take it all in. The rumour was that penguins emerged from the ocean at dusk and made their way up to burrows in the same neighborhood as the “currently abroad” mutton birds. We settled in to observe and noticed a channel of water that washes up to the base of a sandy ramp with a pathway to the mutton bird burbs — surely this was the escalator of nature for the penguins to venture home. After an hour the sun began to disappear and the ocean moved further up the shoreline — the vision of high tide blocking off our pathway back became a news-headline in our minds so the decision was made to say hello to the penguins another day (we later learned that they probably wouldn’t come in because of the rough oceans and if so, a lot later than dusk at this location). We wandered back under rapidly fading light with the rustling sound of wallabies waking to venture out for the night. With one of our friends originally from South America, we settled in for a feast of homemade empanadas followed by the last remaining oysters and a wee dram of whiskey before again drifting off to the sounds of the ocean and rising southerly winds that were developing.
The morning came with avocado on Bruny Island Cheese fresh sourdough and dreamy (if not somewhat hung over) stares into the ocean reminiscing on what had been a most excellent adventure at Bruny Island. As all good humans should do, we left Cloudy Bay Vila with the only evidence of us being there an artistic and descriptive stamp in the guest book and took in one last glance of the view before making our way back towards the drawbridge to cross over to big island and prepare for the algorithms once again….but not before stopping at Bruny Island Cheese for a paddle of beers and cheese and one more round of Get Shucked oysters for morning tea.
PS: If you are leaving Cloudy Bay and happen to see a big white sign that says coffee — stop, say hello to David and order an espresso and vegan sausage roll. You won’t regret it!
