Timeless places
Extraordinary destinations
WORDS NATASHA DRAGUN
Timeless places
Extraordinary destinations
WORDS NATASHA DRAGUN
An unforgettable trek back in time.
The secret is out. Tasmania’s / lutruwita’s first Indigenous-owned tourism offering, wukalina Walk, has been listed as one of TIME Magazine’s Greatest Places for 2024.
The listing is an impressive feat, given TIME weighed up countless applications, plus recommendations from its international network of writers, to compile the list of 100 recommendations for extraordinary destinations throughout the world to visit and stay.
However, wukalina’s inclusion comes as no surprise to Natasha Dragun, who counts herself lucky to have already experienced the incredible guided trek around the postcard-perfect northeast corner of lutruwita.
The lush landscape stars during the picture-perfect experience.
We’re two hours into our four-day trek, and I’m already quietly confident I’m finally going to see a Tasmanian devil in the wild. Almost every step I take there’s evidence of the endangered marsupial’s presence, whether it’s fresh scat or their distinctive boxy paw prints. Carleeta Thomas, our guide and a proud member of Tasmania / lutruwita’s palawa Indigenous community, is less optimistic, but she humours me.
Our motley crew of six hikers is in a remote patch of eucalyptus forest, around 160 kilometres northeast of Launceston, a place where the mallee scrub is waist high and silvery gum leaves perfume the air. Foot traffic to this part of the state is rare. 'It’s unlikely anyone has been along here all week,' Carletta says. Indeed, over the course of our days with wukalina, we barely see another soul.
We do, however, glimpse dozens of wallabies and a pair of Forester kangaroos (males can reach 60kg and stand two metres tall), the largest marsupial in Tasmania / lutruwita. We also spot more birds than the entire human population of Tasmania / lutruwita, from pied oystercatchers and hooded plovers to bar-tailed godwits, which fly from the Arctic to Tasmania / lutruwita without taking a break. At the top of wukalina (Mount William)—technically a hill, at only 216 metres—a glorious wedge-tailed eagle circles above.
Day one starts with easy eight-kilometre walk along a track from Mount William / larapuna to the east coast of Tasmania / lutruwita.
For the next three days we’ll clock up some 35 kilometres through forest, across rivers, along beaches and around sacred Indigenous sites. We’ll stay in architect-designed, eco-friendly accommodation, learn the culture of the palawa people, and eat some of the tastiest food ever cooked over a campfire.
palawa guide Carleeta Thomas.
The sheltered campsite is warm and welcoming.
When we hear the waves hitting the shore, we know we’re close to our base for the next two nights. Sheltered in the dunes between Cod Bay and Cray River, the krakani lumi ('place of rest') campsite looks like it has been lifted straight from the pages of a glossy design magazine. Hobart-based architects Taylor + Hinds were given a brief to create spaces that were warm and welcoming, whilst having minimal environmental impact. Their charred blackwood exteriors help with fireproofing and mimic the patina of the surrounding banksias while the polished domed interiors are scented with the essential oil of melaleuca ericifolia—a flower that the palawa use to aid sleep.
The cosy krakani lumi.
Ancient practices inspired the modern architecture.
Despite the creature comforts, it’s all completely off-grid, using solar-powered lighting and a small generator to heat water. Meals, meanwhile, are prepared over an open fire—think, scallops grilled in the half shell, loaves of damper, and roasted muttonbird—which proves to be an acquired taste. While guide Warrick Daniels cooks chocolate lava cake in the coals, I lie back on a wallaby throw and indulge in some Southern Hemisphere stargazing.
The fresh food is a highlight.
Nights are spent yarning around the campfire under the stars.
On day two we stroll barefoot along Cod Bay, collecting shells and seaweed and picking saltbush that we later fry into delicious crisps to accompany sundowners. The northern coastline is marked by a cascade of colourful rocks, covered in a rust-coloured lichen and inky mussel shells. It’s also home to one of Tasmania / lutruwita's largest and most important middens, an enormous expanse of blackened sand discoloured by centuries of decomposing scallop and oyster husks. This is where palawa would feast, leaving behind piles of shells to show visitors what had been consumed and, as a result, what should be avoided.
'Middens are like the earliest form of conservation,' says Carletta. 'If there were scallop shells on the sand, the next mob would know not to touch them, so the population could regenerate, and they’d eat other seafood instead.'
We stay on the sand on day three, as we head south toward Eddystone Point / larapuna. We see our first person in 48 hours when we reach Deep Creek, where Carletta hands out wraps and fruit, while Warrick boils a billy for bush tea and homemade salted caramel cookies.
From here, our route zigzags along the coast, sometimes taking us inland on overgrown wallaby trails, at other times hugging the water. I’m struck by the raw clarity of the sunlight, dancing over the shallow lagoon dappled with coral.
We arrive at Eddystone Point / larapuna, known for its historic lighthouse that marks the beginning of the Bay of Fires. While anyone can visit, only wukalina walkers and those with permission from the local Aboriginal community can sleep here. We do just that in a renovated lighthouse keepers’ cottage, replete with plush double beds, a sunny library with games, and a well-stocked kitchen where the wine fridge doesn’t disappoint.
Lichen gives the rocks a golden glow.
Our final day is relaxed and lazy: coffee in bed, eggs Benedict in the sun on the porch, a heart-starting swim and a clamber up the lighthouse’s 100 or so stairs. From the top, larapuna stretches before us—it could easily have taken its name from the fiery orange lichen that lights up almost every granite headland along its 29-kilometre-long sweep of powder-white sand, although it was, in fact, named for the fires of the palawa, sighted by English navigator Tobias Furneaux in 1773. It’s stunning.
‘It’s kind of like coming home, isn’t it?’ says Carletta, gazing out to sea. ‘Sometimes, being here, my heart can’t help but skip a beat.’
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