Flinders Island Walking Tour: How to See it on Foot

Barely a smudge on the map and striking in its beauty, Flinders Island feels like a world all of its own.

The North East River looks like a messy painter’s palette as it drains into Bass Strait, patches of teal, turquoise, aquamarine and lapis bleeding into one another haphazardly. Following an undulating path that I’ll learn to refer to as “Tassie flat” thanks to our guides, I walk alongside shallow bays the colour of a Curaçao cocktail and ocean as vibrant as Cillian Murphy’s eyes. Miles Davis could only dream of these blues.

And yet, incredibly, these aren’t the most arresting hues around me. “You’ll see rocks covered with beautiful orange lichen everywhere,” says Tahli, a dreadlocked guide who smiles so much his teeth are in danger of getting sunburnt. “It’s why some people call Flinders Island the ‘Bay of Fires on steroids’.”

I’m with 10 other walkers on a Tasmanian Expeditions adventure on this 62-kilometre-long, 37-kilometre-wide speck of an island off the north-east coast. (It’s so small the locals refer to Tasmania proper as “the mainland”.) Over six days, we’ll walk between four and 12 kilometres a day, traversing powdery white sand dunes and golden farmland, hiking through bush that vibrates with birdsong and up steep granite peaks cloaked in lush rainforest. With fewer than 10,000 visitors a year, the island never feels crowded and we often have its landscapes to ourselves.

“There’s no such thing as an average day on Flinders,” Tahli tells us when we first land – and he’s not wrong. We rock-hop over boulders to hidden beaches where banjo sharks and parrotfish swim in the waters of Bass Strait, while countless migratory birds feed in broad lagoons. Even more magical are the days when we ascend into the misty cloud forest atop the tallest peaks and see the entire island laid out below.

Home is Tasmanian Expeditions’ off-grid camp near the isle’s northern tip, which relies on rainwater and solar power, and is packed down entirely from May to October to minimise its impact on the environment. Instead of feeling close to nature here, I’m completely immersed in it. Oyster Bay pines and twisted grass trees flourish centimetres from my large hexagonal tent, while the transparent roof allows me to watch the stars come out as I lie on my cot in the evenings. After feasting on meals that include wallaby burgers and thick lamb steaks with wild blackberry hoisin sauce for dinner, each night we’re given a preview of what’s ahead for the next day’s expedition. “It’s only eight kilometres,” begins one briefing. “But we’ll climb a mountain, come back down and visit two beaches for a swim.”

On day four, during another climb, this one four kilometres up Mount Strzelecki – at 756 metres, the island’s highest point – I lose count of the ecosystems we pass through in the first hour alone. The menthol haze of blue-gum forest quickly gives way to gullies cluttered with centuries-old ferns and gnarled dogwood trees draped in hanging moss. It looks like the world of woodland fairies. As we ascend, the altitude’s increased rainfall supports oilier, more fragrant foliage and my lungs are filled with the tang of pepperberry and sarsaparilla-like sassafras.

By this point, I’m well enough acquainted with the landscape that I can identify many of the landmarks we’ve visited from Walkers Lookout in the centre of the island. “It’s crazy how many different things we can see at once,” says Dave, a Canadian living in Sydney, who’s enjoying his first trip to Tasmania. “It’s only a small island but there’s so much variety.”

We’re only a 35-minute flight from “the mainland” but it feels like I left that world far behind the minute I arrived here. A relaxed camaraderie develops in the group (along with plenty of in-jokes) but I also notice the sense of ease that comes from allowing days to be determined by the movement of the sun. The island’s phone reception is minimal but we’re gently encouraged to put our phones on silent, regardless. “It’s amazing how much everyone changes when they turn off,” says Tahli. “I feel like I get to see people being more real than many of their friends or loved ones do.”

On the last day, as we wait for our flight back to reality, talk turns to our next trips. When Dave and his partner, Annika, reveal that they’re headed to Tasmania’s east coast, the pilot sighs with an audible groan. “I hate to tell you this but you’ve done it in the wrong order,” he says with a local’s unabashed bias. “I’m sure you’ll have a nice time but it simply doesn’t get better than this.”