Travelways

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Maria: the walk to fascinate

We take a breather for lunch. Our backs rest on convict ruins. To our left, two wedge-tailed eagles circle a mob of forester kangaroos. Directly ahead, a brisk breeze races up a gentle, grassy hill from the turquoise waters of Booming Bay. Our lunch boxes brim with gourmet tucker _  just like breakfast, and dinner the night before. Our guides tell us about the trees and the wildlife of now; about the convicts and farmers of then. This is luxury bushwalking, Maria Island style. The little island off the East Coast of Tasmania  has been mesmerising visitors since explorer Abel Tasman named it after the boss's wife, Maria van Diemen, in 1642. Some fell so madly in love with the island they stayed and raised stock or started vast enterprises. It was a home for the Tyreddeme band of Aborigines and since European contact it has been a prison, a base for sealers, a 19th-century tourist attraction, a farming breadbasket, a Noah's Ark for wildlife, a museum and an outdoor adventure paradise. This national park is at the forefront of the ecotourism revolution. Temporary wood and canvas huts are erected so that bushwalkers can camp out in style and comfort. Most years, as winter nears, the huts are dismantled and taken off the island, minimising the human footprint. No waste remains; Maria Island Walk is a private company treading lightly on public land. Day 1: Walkers meet in Hobart and are driven 70 minutes by minibus to Triabunna. Here we meet our lift,  a swift, comfortable boat  to Chinamans Bay, so named because Chinese divers worked here collecting abalone to sell to the Victorian goldfields in the 1800s. We drop anchor and are relayed ashore in a little dinghy. Shoes come off, bare feet sink into wet sand and the adventure begins. There are two guides, Stefan and Lily, and six walkers ranging in age from 43 to 72. Stefan offers words of respect to the Tyreddeme people and we walk a few hundred metres along the beach, still barefoot, before sitting under casuarinas for lunch. After lunch, we continue south and cross the lightly-wooded isthmus linking Maria's land masses. In a few minutes we've gone from white sand, blue water facing west to the Tasmanian mainland to white sand, blue water facing east to New Zealand. The walkers string out in single file, hugging the tide line, and stop to inspect a dead seal washed ashore. The seal colony on Isle des Phoques to the north contributes a regular stream of flippered visitors to Maria. Their land incursions were known to flatten wheat crops in the early farming days. We arrive at the first camp: canvas tents on wooden bases among the casuarinas. Tanks collect water from the kitchen roof and there's a composting toilet. All waste is taken off the island. With the heavy packs off, university student Lily leads the afternoon walk, a pleasant four-hour venture among blue gums, stringybarks, native cherries, orchids, casuarinas, even a blue love creeper. I start to wonder about these guides, with their astonishing knowledge of flora and fauna, their fitness, confidence, group management skills and ability to whip up a gourmet meal at the end of the day. They must be recruited from another planet. Krypton springs to mind. We trek south to Haunted Bay, where penguins have nested  high above  boulders plunging to the sea. Their murmurings led exiled sealers and whalers to credit the bay with supernatural qualities. On the far side two sea eagles flirt high in the gum trees while a seal bobs around in the water. We sit on bright orange granite, munch on scroggin and reflect on a scene of exquisite beauty. Back at camp I take a swim in the brisk brine of Riedle Bay and chat to Stefan, who has been preparing food in our absence. It's a bushwalking conversation, about highland huts and winter temperatures, then Stefan says something that I've never heard on the first day of a four-day walk: ``Speaking of cold, would you like a cold beer?'' Just in case I am still clinging to the notion that this is typical bushwalking, the evening's candlelit dinner is preceded by a selection of Tasmanian cheeses with antipasto and a glass of Wellington Riesling. Mother Nature chimes in with the sight of a rare bird, the endangered forty-spotted pardalote, flitting in nearby trees while walkers sample a Meadowbank Pinot Noir. It's getting dark as the main course arrives: pan-fried Spring Bay scallops on a risotto with zucchini, asparagus, chives and saffron. We've walked about eight kilometres to work up our appetites. Each camp has a small library, so I retire with a book on old Maria and drift off to sleep with thoughts of the explorers and sealers, convicts and soldiers, farmers and entrepreneurs who came this way before us.