Maria Island Walk: Four days immersed in Nature

“Where is Maria Island?” ask many of my friends. I too had never heard of Maria Island until a couple of years ago, when someone told me about the four-day Maria Island Walk.

Where is Maria Island?

Maria Island is a small island about a 90-minute drive east of Hobart. Pronounced Mar-eye-a as in Maria Carey, it’s a national park and known as a place to see wombats in the wild.

People go to Maria Island on day trips from Hobart or, lugging a tent and all their provisions (there are no shops on the island), they take the ferry across from Triabunna on Tasmania’s mainland to the historic settlement of Darlington for a couple of nights. There’s also basic accommodation in one of the historic buildings there.

The Maria Island Walk: Day 1

Instead of catching the ferry, our small group of six and two guides, cross Mercury Passage in a small, but fast, charter boat. The wind blows a refreshing white spray into my face as the boat bounces on the choppy water.

The boat glides to a stop at a sandy beach. Rolling my grey hiking pants above my knees, I step into the icy water and wade to shore.

Although I’ve pared down what I’ll need for the next three nights to next to nothing, my borrowed backpack is heavier than I’d like at 10kg. My drinking water weighs a tonne, then there’s lunch and wet weather gear. It all adds up.

Walking to Camp

Hoisting my backpack onto my shoulders I begin, barefoot, the short walk to camp. Rated easy to moderate, the Maria Island Walk is fully supported. With no internet or phone signal, I’m looking forward to switching off. There are no decisions to make. I just have to turn up and walk.

Our guides Izzy and Carl remind us to tread lightly on the land that the Indigenous people cared for over thousands of years. We’ll take only photographs and leave only footprints, although Izzy carries a bag that before the end of the walk is full of the rubbish we’ve picked up off the beach. 

Blue bottles nestle in clumps of seaweed strewn across the fine white sand. Waves rush gently across the shore where black and white pied oyster catchers poke their long red beaks into the wet sand. It’s a long time since I’ve seen so many unbroken shells spread across a beach.  

Excursion to Haunted Bay

After settling into our simple wooden framed canvas cabins, we set off for a 10km afternoon hike to Haunted Bay. Initially we walk along a fire trail, through groves of stringy bark eucalyptus, woolly tea trees, banksias and casuarinas. Birds trill and whistle as they flit from branch to branch in the canopy above us.

We look out for the rare swift parrot amongst the Tasmanian blue gums. Carl tells us that they look as if they’ve dipped their heads into a tin of red paint. The easier part of the walk over, we descend a steep goat track down to the bay. All I can think of is whether I’ll manage to climb up again. Thank goodness I have my walking poles.

Why is it called Haunted Bay?

The view across the clear blue waters makes it all worthwhile. Sitting on large granite boulders, covered in red lichen we learn that the name, Haunted Bay, could have originated from the screaming of whales as they were slaughtered at the whaling station here. Or perhaps the unfamiliar sounds from a penguin colony lead fishermen to think the place was haunted. The whaling station and penguin colony are long gone.

Returning to Camp

I manage the climb up from the bay surprisingly easily. We chance upon an echidna. Spines glinting gold in sun, it nonchalantly scratches its tummy with its hind leg and looks at us with small beady eyes before scuttling away.  

Back at camp, it’s just our small group, birds and the odd rustle of a possum or potoroo in the bush. Stars twinkle brightly in the velvet sky, and I fall asleep to the sounds of night birds and waves gently crashing on the nearby beach.

Maria Island Walk: Day 2

Donning the supplied red raincoat, I set off for a day discovering Maria Island’s beaches. The air is fresh, and the light drizzle does nothing to dampen my mood as I make my way along the wet sand, water rushing up the beach fizzing as it rolls back to the flat calm sea.

A Cultural Living Site

Izzy stops at a cultural living site where shells, whitened with age, have been left over time. I know places like this as middens. The local Puthikwilayti people prefer the term ‘cultural living site’ to the Scottish word which means meaning rubbish dump. The indigenous community would gather here, and feast on the abundant seafood.

The shells left behind by others told a story. What the last group had eaten and, if the shells were getting small, that that species needed to be left alone to regenerate and replenish the stock.

The Beach as a Classroom

A ridged khaki coloured ‘seed pod’ isn’t from a plant at all. It’s a shark egg. Izzy picks up a cuttlefish bone. It has three black semicircles radiating out from the base. They are traces of black ink shot out when the fish was stressed. “This cuttlefish had a stressed life,” Izzy says.

I step around clumps of blue bottles. Izzy tells us that their sails tend to lean either left or right. This means that when the wind blows towards shore, only half end up beached. The rest survive to greet another day.

Hooded plovers, so tiny they could fit in my hand, scurry along the white sand. They nest close to the shore. To ensure we don’t accidentally step on a nest, we walk below the high-water mark.

French’s Farm

The southern part of Maria Island wasn’t ever developed and remains pristine. We’ve been walking towards the northern part that was cleared and farmed. We soon notice the first signs of early habitation. At French’s Farm, there’s a farmhouse and wool shed where we stop. Banjo frogs provide the background music to our morning tea.

Maria Island’s Convict History

Leaving French’s Farm, we walk past kangaroos grazing and resting in the grass. An echidna wobbles away across the open expanse, and we meet our first wombat. At Point Lesueur Probation we have our first encounter with Maria Island’s convict history.

A row of cells built from red bricks made by the convicts themselves tell a story of deprivation and hardship. Huge piles of rocks illustrate how convicts were punished with the mindless task of moving rocks from one pile to another and back again.

Back on a beach, a pebbly one this time, Sue stretches out her arms for balance. Thankful for my walking poles, I stick to the trails of washed-up kelp.

A bush shower from a bucket of water warmed on the stove provides yet another simple pleasure and a feeling of freedom.

Maria Island Walk: Day 3 up Bishop and Clerk

We walk along the beach from camp the next morning, heading for the settlement of Darlington. Something in the clear glass green water looks suspiciously like a ray. Or is it a rock? It slowly glides towards the rocks, moving gently over the sand.

A white bellied sea eagle perches on the silvery branch of a dead tree.

Back in the big smoke

Suddenly we’re not alone. Other hikers and day trippers pass us. Izzy jokes “It’s jarring being in the big smoke.”

Darlington is like a small village. After swapping our backpacks for smaller daypacks at our home for the night, Diego Bernacchi’s house, we head off for the challenging climb up Bishop and Clerk. It’s a steep climb, with no relief. I’m puffing and short of breath in no time.

Turning Back

A recent bout of COVID hasn’t helped my fitness and after about 20 minutes of what for me is a punishing climb, I turn back. Alone on the track now, I walk at my own pace, enjoying the quiet. Waves crash against the steep cliffs. A cooling breeze rustles through the treetops.  

Back on the grassy hill, I sit and watch a yellow belied sea eagle gliding on thermals above the calm sapphire blue sea. A Kangaroo bounds down the hill opposite. Nearby, a woolly wombat tears at the grass with his sharp teeth, his fur glistening in the sun.

Maria Island Walk: Day 4

After a good night’s sleep in a real bed with sheets, we have the morning free. I walk around the settlement, exploring the cemetery, old cement works and hospital. Today being hot, no wombats graze the grassy areas. The Cape Barron Geese with their distinctive pink legs and almost fluorescent green skin flap above the bill rest in the shade.  

At Mrs Hunt’s cottage, I try the door. It’s open. Ruby Hunt, one of the last residents of Maria Island, lived here and operated the island’s radio. What a view she had. Two lounge chairs sit facing an open window looking out to the sea.

The Maria Island Walk Rejuvenates

It has been a rejuvenating four days walking along beaches and through bushland. I feel a renewed energy and ready to step back into life. For more information on the Maria Island Walk see here.

Note: I joined the Maria Island Walk as a guest, but all opinions are my own.