Natural Wanders in Australia

By Linda Lee Rathbun

A nature-loving travel writer and her photographer/husband run away from their home in Florida to spend a year wandering in Australia. Wander with them as they enjoy the highs and lows of life on the road, and as they re-discover many of Australia's natural wonders. If you have ever been to, or would like to visit the Land Down Under, then this illustrated travel memoir is the adventure eBook for you. Join Linda and Steve on their natural wanders in Australia. With over 200 published magazine stories, with four published touring guides, and with 30 years spent living in Australia, Linda is your perfect guide to all things Aussie. Steve's photography, published worldwide, accompanies their adventures.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Linda Lee Rathbun
• Release date: May 7, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458085320

Linda Lee Rathbun

I am a dual citizen of the United States and Australia. I recently returned to the States after many years in Australia with my husband, Steve. Steve is a photographer, and together, we have had over 200 articles published in magazines worldwide. We have also had four 4WD touring guides to Australia published by Universal Publishers.Natural Wanders in Australia is a travel memoir based on a tour we did in 2000. For the photo album of this memoir, and for more information about my travel writing, please visit my website at www.lindaleerathbuncom-.Tjuringa was my first suspense novel; it was born from my travels in Australia's Outback, and from my strong attraction to Australia's Aboriginal people.When traveling, I love to find wonderful settings for my novels, such as Lamington National Park where my romance novel, Emerald Destiny is set, Lord Howe Island where Magic Surrender is set, and Melbourne where A Twist of Fate is set. Romances are fun to write since this genre is such a contrast to travel writing where so much nitty gritty information is required.I hope my writing expresses my love of nature in general, and of Australia in particular.Thank you.

Book preview

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Natural Wanders in Australia

by

Linda Lee Rathbun

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Copyright Linda Lee Rathbun, 2011

2nd Edition 2021

All rights reserved

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Published by Natural Wanders at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Statement:

This eBook is licensed for your enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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All photos are the copyright of Steven David Miller / Natural Wanders

Map design by Tim Gray

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For Steve, My Favourite Travel Companion

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Table of Contents

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Introduction

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The Island Continent's Islands

Chapter 1

Lord Howe Island

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Chapter 2

Tasmania

Platypi, Pademelons, Wombats and Devils

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Chapter 3

Tasmania

Parrots, Prisons, and Bandicoots

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Chapter 4

Victoria

Grampians National Park

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Chapter 5

Victoria

The Great Ocean Road

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Chapter 6

South Australia

A Piccaninnie, a Wonambi, a Woylie, and a Boodie

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Chapter 7

South Australia

Arachnids, Pinnipeds, and Cereopsis

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Chapter 8

South Australia

Trezona, Elatina, and Nuccaleena Formations

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Chapter 9

South Australia

Bolla Bollana and Nooldoonooldoona

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Chapter 10

South Australia

Big Bird

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Chapter 11

South Australia

In the Company of Cuttlefish

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Chapter 12

The Nullabor

Sea Lions and Right Whales

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Chapter 13

Western Australia

Pinnacles and Stromatolites

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Chapter 14

Western Australia

A Kangaroo That Boxes, a Kangaroo That Dies

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Chapter 15

Western Australia

Where the Earth Cracks Open and the Roads Eat Tyres for Breakfast

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Chapter 16

Western Australia

Bailer Shells and Bowerbirds

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Chapter 17

Western Australia

Rivers—and Yet More Rivers—Run Through It

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Chapter 18

Western Australia

Kimberley Cornucopia

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Chapter 19

Northern Territory

A Dash to Kakadu

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Chapter 20

Northern Territory

A Dash to Uluru

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Introduction

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I am an expatriate of many lands: America, Mexico, Switzerland, Mallorca and Australia. I grew up under the influence of a restless mother, a woman always seeking something better somewhere else. Without realizing it, I married an equally restless man. I am also afflicted by wanderlust, and so, at the age of 25, I moved from Seattle to Australia with my new husband, Steve. We stayed, on and off, for forty-five years (and still counting). Over that time, we travelled Australia and eventually gave up our day jobs to become a nature travel writing/nature photography team. So far, it has worked out rather well.

The first edition of Natural Wanders in Australia was based on a year-long camping trip in 2001. In the years following that, we did a lot more travelling, much of it for the numerous travel articles I wrote (always accompanied by Steve's pictures) and for a series of four-wheel-drive touring books we did for Universal Publishers and Explore Australia. We became Australian citizens and vegetarians. In this, the second edition of Natural Wanders in Australia, I have drawn from the first edition and, in italics, updated the reader on more recent developments.

Our favourite place in Australia, Lord Howe Island, was the first stop on our tour.

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The Island Continent's Islands

Chapter 1

Lord Howe Island

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Lord Howe Island lies in the Tasman Sea, a lonely stretch of the Pacific Ocean between Australia and New Zealand. As we approached by plane, a two-hour flight from Sydney, I anxiously looked out the window for it. Suddenly, from the depths of the submerged mountain range of the Lord Howe Rise, a crescent of jade-coloured land pierced the swirling blue water beneath us. This tiny subtropical gem is the remnant of an ancient shield volcano, and it abounds with unique wonders.

To begin with, the last thing you would expect to find this far south is a coral reef. Yet, this island is fringed by a dazzling necklace of over 90 coral species and decorated with neon-coloured fish and invertebrates swept down from the Great Barrier Reef by the East Australian Current. Temperate currents draw in pelagic fish and calcareous algae, forming a fully integrated aquatic neighbourhood of 500 fish species. On land, flora and fauna are also abundant, evolved over six million years in isolation.

I was so excited to be back I could scarcely stand it; it was like beholding a beloved after a long separation. At the centre of the isle is a billowing, verdant quilt of dense forests and lush clearings. To the north, the hills scoop upward and then plunge abruptly into the sea. A long sliver of sand spills into a sapphire and aquamarine lagoon, forming the reef-fringed west coast. Beaches, bays, cliffs and promontories bite wedges into the east coast, creating a jagged line. To the south, the island rears up to form Mt. Lidgbird, a colossal edifice of basalt rock that forms a virtually inaccessible tower 777 metres high. It falls and rises again to the 875-metre twin peak of Mt. Gower, which in turn drops like the wall of a citadel straight into the ocean. These two volcanic peaks are frequently covered by cloud that shrouds a mysterious mist forest.

The various innkeepers on Lord Howe met the passengers on our flight. Because everyone rides bicycles everywhere, arriving guests are picked up in minivans. There is a ceiling of 400 tourist beds on the island, and all the lodges are small and friendly. I could tell who the islanders were: they were all barefoot. With a permanent population of around 300, everyone knows or is related to everyone else. Most of the islanders are proud descendants of the first white European settlers who arrived in the early 1800s to establish businesses provisioning the passing whaling ships of the middle whaling grounds. Isolated from the mainland of Australia by over 500 kilometres of ocean, the settlers formed an independent and resourceful community that to this day remains tight-knit and resentful of too much interference from mainlanders. Some are very friendly, some not so very.

To expand the gene pool, the children and grandchildren of the settlers often married passengers and crewmembers from visiting ships and even shipwrecked sailors. The search for spouses, always in short supply, led to some unusual liaisons. In 1853, Nathan Chase Thompson, an American, arrived on the island aboard the whaling ship Belle with two south sea island women and one of their daughters. He married one of the women; however, she died about ten years later. Meanwhile, the daughter, Bogue, had grown up in a rather pleasing fashion, so Thompson married her next—just to keep it all in the family—Woody Allen style. They went on to have five children together. When a young teacher, Thomas Bryant Wilson, was assigned to a post at the island’s school in the late 1870s, he fell in love with and married one of the Thompson girls. The two families are now intertwined in more twists and turns than one of the island’s Banyan trees, and the most common names on the island are Thompson and Wilson.

I love to wander through the two cemeteries on Lord Howe: the worn gravestones hint at so many fascinating settlement tales. Under the swaying palm fronds of one cemetery is the headstone of Alan Issac Moseley, a navigating officer on board the British ship, the Jane. On a passage to Sydney in 1843, he fell so deeply in love with a young lass named Joann that he stowed her on board when his ship set sail. Joann was discovered by the captain and set ashore on Lord Howe. The dutiful Alan finished his sea voyage and then returned to Lord Howe to marry his love. They lived there together for over 50 years—until death did them part. What a romance novel, what a setting! My favourite settler of all is Perry Johnson. Perry was a former American slave who visited Lord Howe in 1855 aboard the Will O'The Wisp and decided to stay. On holiday to Sydney, he met a black South African woman, married her, and brought her back to his island home. They lived there for 60 years. I just love the idea that this man born into slavery finished his life in paradise.

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We checked into the Milky Way Holiday Apartments and were very happy with our modern, comfortable unit that included a kitchen, dining/lounge room and bedroom. It looked out to a hill rising above Settlement Beach, a most pleasant view. Though we usually rented bicycles, this time we opted for a small car, one of only about five for hire. It was just too hard to cycle with heavy camera packs, not to mention dive gear and underwater cameras as well. The hikes alone would kill us; biking was beyond our abilities.

Nevertheless, I much preferred cycling along the road hugging the west side of the island, with sections of it running beneath a canopy of trees. It was always fun to see what other people were transporting on two slender wheels: an outboard motor dangling from a handlebar, a barking dog in a basket, a surfboard tucked under one arm. With a speed limit set at a perilous 25 kph, and road etiquette that dictates you must smile and wave at everyone you pass, cycling is great fun. We set off in our mini car to buy some groceries, with everyone staring at us for being such lazy sods.

It only took me an hour or so to fall into the slow, happy pace of Lord Howe. I could move there instantly, but that isn’t so easy. Two-thirds of the island is a Permanent Park Preserve under the New South Wales Parks & Wildlife Service and the Minister for the Environment. At 12 kilometres long and only a few kilometres wide, that leaves very little room for development—thank God. Homes can only be built on subdivided land after a rigorous permit process. Islanders have priority, so your best chance of staying is to marry a local. Lord Howe is so ravishing, though, that the idea is worth considering.

I hope you won’t mind if I detour for a moment with a bit of background on Lord Howe. I love it for being so beautiful, but also for the way it is administered: it has evolved into a model of ecological management. Let me explain. Lieutenant Lidgbird Ball, onboard the Supply, discovered the uninhabited island in 1788. They set ashore and returned with 18 turtles, each weighing over 500 pounds. Though the island wasn’t settled for another 45 years, whaling ships stopped there for water and food. They released goats and pigs that could later be hunted for fresh meat. These introduced animals were soon scattered across the island, trampling and eating the native flora and fauna. Settlers arrived in 1833, and within 20 years, the endemic Lord Howe pigeon and the white gallinule were hunted into extinction. The Lord Howe parakeet and Lord Howe boobook owl were next, exterminated as pests. The greatest catastrophe of all arrived in 1918 when the SS Makambo was wrecked off the island and rats came ashore. These wretched creatures preyed on everything, and soon five more species of birds had vanished.

By then, whaling had declined, and the islanders depended on exporting the endemic kentia palm seeds for their livelihood: the rats threatened this too. Eventually, the vermin were brought under control through a bounty on their tails; however, the battle to eradicate them continues. Meanwhile, the islanders had slowly turned from exploiting their little oasis to conserving it. Here, the lessons of the past have been learned from, and most locals willingly sacrifice their individual wants for the good of the island. Because of Lord Howe’s natural wonders, geological, biological and botanical, it and its surrounding islets were included on the United Nations World Heritage List in 1982. Forty-eight thousand hectares of the surrounding waters form a marine park.

Today, anything that impacts the island’s ecology and wellbeing is strictly controlled. All the feral pigs and goats have been destroyed. Islanders are no longer allowed to keep cats as pets, a significant step in preserving the island’s extraordinary birdlife. The eradication of introduced weeds is ongoing, as is reforestation wherever possible. You cannot fart on Lord Howe without an environmental impact study; locals must apply for a permit to import a car. High-rise hotels: no way. Jet skis (an appalling invention that should be banned immediately everywhere), not on Lord Howe. Water skiing, noise pollution: no, no and no.

Therefore, sadly—tragically, I have little chance of moving there. However, there are several government posts on the island; since I am now an Australian citizen, perhaps I could apply for one of these. A, or shall I say the, police officer doesn’t have too hard of a job, the main crime being not wearing a bicycle helmet. I met the cop’s wife on a dive boat once; she said her husband worked his beat on the deck of a fishing boat or 60 feet underwater with a scuba tank. The customs agent has little to do—just visit the odd yacht sailing in from overseas to make sure they are not importing something illegal. The meteorological station on the island has two technicians assigned for two years at a time from the Sydney Bureau. They launch a weather balloon every morning, log in all the technical data for the mainland, and then head off after lunch to catch a few waves on Blinkey Beach where perfect right-handers push endlessly toward shore in turquoise curls with foaming crests. Teachers have the crushing burden of educating about 40 children from kindergarten to grade six. Like the speed limit, uniforms are strictly controlled at the school: T-shirt and shorts, no shoes, suntan lotion, and a hat. The nurse at the small hospital tends to such emergencies as clumsy tourists falling off their bicycles and the odd coral cut. If you have a heart attack on Lord Howe, you’re in trouble. The Air Ambulance will have to fly out to get you and return to a mainland hospital or come out with a medical team. Still, I can think of worse places to die.

And what is there to do on the island? Surf, dive, snorkel, kayak, hike, bird watch, golf, fish, cycle. The tiny town hall doubles as a movie theatre, so you can catch a flick if you like. The Lawn Bowls Club has a disco every Friday night for the young folks; you can see them weaving home on bicycles around 1 a.m., pissed as parrots. We have never been to Lord Howe without exhausting ourselves completely with activities from morning to night. I adore it.

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After stocking up on a few groceries, which are very limited and very expensive, we decided to seek out Clive Wilson. Clive and his wife own the bicycle rental business on the island. Mrs. Wilson tends to be a bit cranky and abrupt, but I suspect years of being married to Clive have driven her to this state. Not that there is anything wrong with Clive—it is just that he gets to do all the fun stuff while she gets stuck with the chores and details. We discovered that they had retired, and their son and his wife were running the business. Clive was still around, though, and we asked if he would take us out to Roach Island on his boat. This uninhabited bird rookery is a fantastic birding spot, and Clive had taken us out there in the past. In fact, we had been lucky enough to go there with Fred Bruemmer once when he was visiting Lord Howe at the same time as us. Fred is a famous marine mammal photographer, and his images of baby fur seals have probably done more to raise public outrage over the fur seal’s plight than any other single factor, their plight being that the babies are clubbed to death in front of their helpless mothers for their fur. Steve admired Fred enormously for his work, and once we met him, we liked him immensely for just being such a nice guy.

Therefore, we had spent this great afternoon with Fred on Roach Island. Clive had taken the three of us there and yelled advice to us as we leapt off his surging boat onto a slimy rock ledge, skating for a moment or so until we achieved a firm footing. Clive then directed us with hand signals up a steep hill pitted with the burrows of nesting shearwaters and dotted with the fluffy chicks of masked boobies. The sky was clouded by thousands of sooty terns scolding us from above. Fred and Steve had barely had time to get into the groove of shooting pictures when Clive started frantically waving for us to come back. We pretended not to hear him for a while, but soon his cries could no longer be ignored, so we returned to the boat. On the ride back, I felt like a basketball being ferociously slammed into the floor; Clive seemed intent on setting a speed record as we bobsledded across the waves. At the jetty, he gave us a quick shove off the boat, smiling and waving as he rushed off. On an island where no one seems to hurry anywhere for anything, we wondered what on earth was wrong with him. I turned to see the sun dissolving into the ocean, and I finally understood why. It was the beginning of the Seventh Day Adventist Sabbath, and as a member of that religion, Clive had to be home by dusk, or he would turn into a pumpkin—I’m only kidding, with no disrespect intended to that religion.

We continued to nag Clive for the entire ten days we were on Lord Howe, but he never did take us out to Roach Island again. Later, I found out from one of the rangers that visitors were no longer allowed out there without a special permit. That was fine by me; I just wish Clive had explained that to us so I could have made other arrangements. He was not the type of man to say no to a visitor, though; it was far easier just to evade them with a friendly smile.

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After a drive up and down the island to see if anything had changed—it had not—it never does, we returned to our place for dinner. We wanted to be back out in time to photograph the sunset and see the shearwaters returning to their burrows at dusk. That evening, we spotted many of Lord Howe’s bewitching birds. Sacred kingfishers alighted on the branches of trees like rainbow ornaments. Golden whistlers serenaded each other with songs that sparkled. Emerald doves murmured soft, worried calls that blended with the sea breeze. We even saw a Lord Howe woodhen dashing across the road, its tail feather twitching with consternation (or at least it looked like that). This species of woodhen came as close to joining the dodo as any creature dares to get. It had evolved on Lord Howe with no predators and so had lost the ability to fly. When humans arrived, the defenceless bird had little chance. Their numbers plummeted to about six breeding pairs on the summit of Mt. Gower, the only place where they were safe from rats. In 1980, a rescue plan was organized, and three pairs were captured and helicoptered off the mountain. With the help of incubators, 15 hatchlings survived the first breeding season, and by 1984, 71 woodhens had been released into the wild. By 2001, there were about 200 birds, many pairs living happily on settled land where islanders are proud to include them as family members.

And so, as the sun set, we headed over to Neds Beach where flesh-footed shearwaters return to their burrows at night. This bird flies with stunning agility, but like an F-15 jet with no wheels, it has a problem with landings. You can watch the shearwaters streaming in, dark shadows crossing the sky, and suddenly they are on the ground, crashing with a thud somewhere in the vicinity of their burrow. After tumbling for a foot or so, they shake themselves out a bit, stand up, and run on clumsy webbed feet as fast as they can to their underground shelter where they disappear for the night. I laughed aloud at their antics. You can hear them the whole night long crying to each other like a congregation of squabbling, howling babies—that they get any sleep or rest is a wonder. Then, just before dawn, they stumble back out into the world. Though I’ve never witnessed their departure for a day of fishing at sea, I’ve been told by several Lord Howe locals that they line up to take off. In one of the forests, you can see a runway beaten out of the vegetation: it extends from the forest floor to the edge of a cliff, a perfect spot to soar from. They each wait their turn and then run along the ground for a few feet, lifting into the air to again become masters of their environment. At sea, you can sometimes see vast flocks of shearwaters resting on the surface of the water: these are called rafts. There are about 15,000 nesting pairs on Lord Howe and its surrounding islets.

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Even more abundant than the birdlife is the marine life bursting beneath the transparent blue waters. Steve got up early the following day to get his underwater camera gear ready for a dive. Jeff, the divemaster, knew we wanted to go diving, and he always made the rounds of the guesthouses to rustle up divers for both the morning and early afternoon boat trips. He came by and told us to meet him down at his boatshed at 9 a.m.

Within a matter of hours, we were down there, wading out in the lagoon to the dive boat’s mooring. There were only two other divers, and we all helped load up the diving equipment, with Steve nervously protecting his cameras from the threat of tanks and wayward fins.

Jeff navigated his boat out through the channel, and soon we were around the north end of Lord Howe, anchoring off Malabar Cliffs. As soon as we geared up, we dropped into the water. It was all I had remembered it being. The underwater formations of ledges, arches and drop-offs were painted with a kaleidoscopic pallet of corals, bryozoans, anemones, ascidians and sponges. In this aquatic Eden, there is much to see. A banded shrimp waving its tiny antennae as it marches slowly across a coral wall. Sea urchins and sea stars gripping rocky outcrops. Spotted moray eels poking their heads out from the safety of small crevices. A Spanish dancer floating by like an intoxicated flamenco dancer. Nudibranchs decorating the ledges like exotic candies. And the fish: everything from tiny damselfish to huge kingfish swaying through the water like a parade of fanciful creatures. We all stayed down until our air gages hit the red zone, indicating we would soon run out of air.

Onboard, we quickly changed tanks, moved down the way a bit to a site called Landslide, and fell back in the water. Jeff told me that just a few weeks earlier, he had been diving in this very spot and seen two dolphins mating underwater in clear water. He still hadn’t recovered from the grief of not having a camera with him at the time. Steve shot frame after frame, emerging very happy with what he had. I adore diving, and although I suffer terribly from seasickness, it is always worth it for all the wonderful things there are to see.

Being in diving mode, we decided to return to our unit for lunch and then head over to Neds Beach for an afternoon shore dive. Lord Howe usually has a strong breeze blowing across it, and we wanted to take full advantage of this exceptionally calm day. By 2 p.m., we were at Neds, struggling into the tanks Jeff had left for us on the beach. After a quick snorkel out about 50 feet, we dropped below the surface to begin our dive. In minutes, we were caught in a vortex of massive silver fish. Trevally, spangled emperors and kingfish circled us, reflecting more light than a mirror ball at a discotheque. A bit further, a garden of coral gilded the seabed. Moon wrasse and parrotfish, screaming neon colours, remained by our side like over-zealous dive buddies—except of course when Steve tried to take their photos. We excitedly pointed to one gorgeous fish after another. Endemic Lord Howe eels slithered through a network of coral tunnels and holes. McCulloch’s anemonefish, also endemic, lounged in the seductive tentacles of swaying anemones. Territorial damselfish, defending their precious patches of carefully tended algae, attacked us with the vigour of enraged bulls. Finally, we used up our air and returned to shore to dump our tanks. I had had enough and opted for catching a few rays. Steve, who would rather be a dolphin than a human being, went back in the water and snorkelled on his own for another hour.

So, our first day ended, as did the following days, each more rapidly than the last. We went out photographing the island’s exquisite white terns, one of my favourite species of birds. I am haunted by the way they fly across the blue sky like silent angels. Their plumage is pure white, their eyes like liquid onyx and their beaks like sapphire spears. They lay their eggs on the bare branches of trees, diligently sitting on their future offspring through wind and rain until the eggs hatch into tiny puffballs of grey. The parents take turns fishing out at sea, returning with slender silver fish neatly grasped in their bill. Steve has spent many happy hours photographing these birds, and I watching them.

While the white terns enchanted me, the red-tailed tropicbirds delighted me. This species spends most of its life at sea, only returning to remote islands to breed. Lord Howe is blessed with one of the largest breeding colonies in the world: tropicbirds return to the same mate and the same nesting ground every year. Their iridescent pearl feathers are tinged with a hint of pink, and their tails end in one long red plume. You can see them soaring in the updraft of the island’s cliffs, and I feel sure they do this simply out of the sheer joy of flying. Their courtship involves fluttering backward up and over the top of their airborne mate, using their feet and tail like rudders to regulate their speed.

To see the tropicbirds, we hiked up to the top of Malabar Cliff one afternoon. This is a mildly challenging walk cutting up along a rocky path for 1.2 kilometres until it reaches the top of a precipice that plunges straight down for 209 metres to the sea. With camera packs, the hike was a heart attack waiting to happen. Steve is the type to forge onward when in an uncomfortable situation to get it over with as soon as possible. I had to stop frequently to catch my breath. I finally made it to the top, dropped my pack, and gulped down my share of the meagre supply of water we had brought with us. Steve set up a 300mm lens with a 1.4 converter on one tripod and a 600mm lens on another tripod, both autofocus lenses on Nikon cameras and began snapping away. Hundreds of tropicbirds soared gleefully in the wind, making little barking sounds. I took out my binoculars to scan the cliff face to the west; there were dozens of downy chicks and fledglings tucked safely into the numerous crevices. My uphill ordeal was soon forgotten as I watched the tropicbirds. I was rapt (from enraptured), as they say in Australia. Below me, in the clear cobalt water, three turtles swam along the surface, and later a mother dolphin and her baby drifted past. As the afternoon ebbed, several pairs of black-winged petrels arrived to display their flying skills. These master aviators twist and turn with such dexterity that I am always breathless with admiration for them.

Another couple who had climbed the hill stopped to comment on all the gear we had hauled up. The man made several remarks about my being Steve’s pack mule: you’ve got her well trained, mate,—the sort of remark that always annoys the hell out of me. We ran into him on a few other occasions, and he continued to irritate me with his smart-ass remarks. Australian men usually have a great sense of humour, but with some, it crosses the line into being downright mean. I could have happily smacked him. After a careful climb back down the hill, I staggered back to our car, deeply grateful that I didn’t have to bicycle home now. If I had had to, I think I would have just tossed the camera pack and tripod on the ground and crawled into one of the shearwater burrows to die.

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Hiking on Lord Howe is one of my favourite activities, even if we did have to haul camera gear around with us. We had never made it up to Mt. Gower, a day-long hike that can only be done with a licensed guide. By all accounts, it is a terrifying journey along a narrow path slicing across the cliffs and then a final rope-assisted scramble known as the getting up place. Once on top of the mountain, the reward is a forest of twisted trees festooned with ferns and mosses that drip with diamonds of moisture. The providence petrel nests almost nowhere else in the world but on Mt. Gower, and if you call out to them, they will land at your feet and allow you to pick them up.

I preferred the shorter walks on the island, like the Valley of the Shadows. Here, the palm fronds form a lacy canopy of green, letting in streams of light to illuminate the forest floor. The ground is riddled with shearwater burrows. Banyan trees, twisting mazes of trunks and branches, spread through the forest like a slow invasion of botanical aliens. From this walking trail, you can hike down to Middle Beach, a secluded shoreline where yachts sometimes anchor to escape the onshore winds.

From the small airport, there are more walks. We hiked out to Muttonbird Point to photograph the masked boobies. The walk was steep in many parts, but always beautiful. A gnarled lowland forest would occasionally clear to give a stunning view of the mountainside and sea below. The boobies themselves are secluded from humans to ensure a safe nesting area, but we could observe them from a viewing platform through long camera lenses or binoculars. Most of them were clustered into pairs like a convention of honeymooners. The happy couples nuzzled each other, with one sometimes wandering off for a short distance to return with the gift of a smooth pebble. Unlike many of the island’s species of migratory birds, the masked booby has enough sense to spend all year on Lord Howe—which is precisely what I would do if only I could. From the platform overlooking the rookery, we could get a glimpse of Balls Pyramid, a 552-metre ragged blade of basalt rock that erupts from the ocean floor like the sword Excalibur. It is the tallest stack rock in the world, and a dead-straight drop on one side. After some of our walks, we would stop by Blue Peters, a restaurant by the lagoon that served casual lunches. Their macadamia date pie drew me back more times than I care to admit to—however since I was active all day long, I didn’t worry about such minor indulgences.

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Well, I could go on and on, describing in detail our climb up to Mt. Eliza, again to see the tropicbirds—but also to photograph a colony of nesting sooty terns. The fat fledglings were larger than their parents, begging for food like teenagers with no intention of leaving home. At the base of Mt. Eliza is Old Gulch, a deep, narrow cove with a series of tidal pools that are always full of herrings. I could rave about our other snorkelling ventures, like on the wreck of the Favourite, a tuna boat that ran aground in mid-1960. It is now a shallow coral castle with hundreds of resident fish. We also snorkelled in various parts of the lagoon, catching a ride out on the Coral Princess to find massive black rays sleeping by the corals of Comet Hole like black velvet circles, and to see the coral enclave of Erscotts Hole shimmering with light streaming through the surface of the water. We found lionfish fluttering under coral ledges. We fed the fish off Neds Beach and went kayaking in the lagoon. At night, we barbecued fresh fish and island beef before drifting off to sleep to the sound of the shearwaters whooping it up like a party of New Year’s Eve revellers.

So, again, Lord Howe had woven its magic spell over me. I have never understood people who go back to the same place year after year for their holidays: there are so many places to explore in the world that it seems crazy not to branch out a bit. However, on Lord Howe, it is understandable; after all, where could you go that would be better? I once met a gentleman of a certain age there; he was visiting for the 30th time. He could remember coming out as a child with his parents when you had to go by ship, and later in the Catalina flying boats that would leave Sydney at 2 a.m. to land in the island’s lagoon at high tide. He adored the place. You meet many happy people on Lord Howe, but I think the most engaging person I ever met there was a local. She was the granddaughter of the owners of where we were staying on this last trip. At six, Jozette had all the confidence in the world and a lovely face that hinted at a South Seas background. When I went to the office to pay our bill, no one was around but this precocious child. She ordered me to come inside the house and wait for her Poppy to return. When I wouldn’t go in, she followed me, chattering all the while.

That afternoon, Jozette and her grandfather, Bryan, drove us out to the airport for our sad flight back to Sydney. Steve and I were both wearing beige shorts and t-shirts: she looked at me and scornfully announced, You have on boy’s clothes. She looked at Steve, dropped a set of long eyelashes coyly over her large brown eyes, smiled becomingly and gushed, You have pretty clothes. Great. I had a six-year-old Jezebel competing with me for my husband’s attention. I didn’t have a chance. As we drove, we asked her what she liked to do on Lord Howe. She liked colouring in her colouring book. I wanted to ask Bryan about the scenic flights out to Balls