Tiger Tales

March Of The Penguins

For a chance to see these aquatic birds up close, take a trip to Tasmania’s Bonnet Island, says Lucy Barbour

“You’ll have to excuse me if I get carried away. I’m a bit of a parrot when it comes to penguins,” laughs Amy, our guide for the Bonnet Island Experience. It’s Amy’s first trip to the island in over a week and she has missed seeing the Little Penguins, the smallest and some say, cutest members of the penguin family. “They’re really starting to get used to having us around,” she says.

I’m not quite like Amy and have only seen penguins on wildlife documentaries. So I’m excited to see them in the wild. My friend, Bruce, on the other hand, has it in for sea birds. He’s detested them ever since a seagull robbed him, mid-mouthful, of a hamburger at Bondi Beach. I don’t see how “seagull hate” extends to “penguin hate”, (for one – they’re flightless!). Nevertheless, I’ve dragged him along for the tour in hopes that it’ll change his sentiments.

And so it is that at 8pm, our group of ten penguin spotters, led by our guides, Amy and Kate, depart Strahan’s idyllic Macquarie Harbour in a small but comfortable vessel called Sophia. We’re lucky with the weather: the air is calm and light as we speed across the harbour, which, Amy proudly reports, is six times the size of Sydney’s.

We’re headed for Bonnet Island, about 35 minutes by boat from Strahan. That’s if we make it through the hazardous swell at Hell’s Gates, the harbour’s mouth, where unlucky ships and unluckier crews were once swallowed by stormy seas. But those days are referred to as “the past” and we’re assured that our journey won’t turn sour. Once on the island – all five acres of it – we’re to explore and observe the still functioning lighthouse. Later, when dusk fades to dark, we’ll have the chance to see Little Penguins, lots of them, as they come ashore after a day’s fishing to burrow, preen and do whatever else it is that penguins do.

The boat ride is exhilarating. Fresh, salty air pounds our faces as we zoom past the purplish-black silhouettes of the West Coast Ranges, shrouded by wispy white clouds. Above the motor’s roar, Amy begins a captivating account of the harbour’s history. She reveals the morbid, torturous past endured by convicts and aborigines at the Penal Station and Sarah Island and explains that people flocked here from Hobart in the 1800s and 1900s to pursue work in industries like mining and logging.

Then Kate, Amy’s colleague, appears on deck clutching a notepad and pen. “Time to take drinks orders,” she announces with a beaming smile, and turns to me. “What would you like to drink later this evening – James Boag’s Premium beer, Ninth Island wines or perhaps a soft drink?” I’m stunned by her ability to stand upright and most of all, to think of alcohol at this rather non-horizontal moment. Nevertheless, I summon the strength to order a Pinot. I tell you, it’s a tough life this penguin chasing.

We pass safely through Hell’s Gates, leaving a pearly pink sunset in our wake. It’s then a smooth ride to Bonnet Island, where we moor and disembark onto a tiny jetty. Soon we hear them – shrill trills and sprightly squeaks, as penguin chicks and their parents call to each other from the water and the shore. We follow a small set of wooden steps up onto the island’s only path. There’s an excited cry from behind as I’m told I’ve just stepped over a penguin. She or he is nestled below the top step but my clumsy footing means I’ve missed the chance to see it. We regroup at the top, eyes darting in every direction in the hope of spotting another.

Bonnet Island itself is ringed by a mass of craggy, lichen-cropped rocks – not a grain of sand in sight – while the flat above the rocks is blanketed by coastal shrubs like button grass. It’s a castaway’s nightmare – with no shelter and complete exposure to wild winds – the Roaring Forties – which bring lashing waves of up to 18 metres.

Amy’s narration continues but her expression turns grim. “Imagine being stuck in that little room at the top for 12 hours at a time,” she says, pointing to the miniscule space at the peak of the white lighthouse. For two years at a time, a lone lighthouse keeper sacrificed comfort and time with family and friends to man this station.

“Why would anyone do it?” I ask in disbelief. “It had a lot to do with the economic depression that hit in the 1920s,” says Amy. “People were desperate. They’d take any job they could get.” I silently wish I could send my soon-to-be-imbibed glass of red wine back through the ages to the lighthouse keeper to warm him up.

Soon we’re interrupted by a noisy penguin who waddles out on two webbed feet from beside the lighthouse. She has made herself a comfortable burrow next to the doorstep. Clearly, the lighthouse is still under good management.

As darkness descends, we return to the boat for a delightful spread of Tasmanian cheeses, wine and beer, while listening to the calls of the birds. “They’re the most perfectly adapted creatures,“ enthuses Amy about the penguins’ indigo skin. ”It camouflages them in the dark channel waters. When they’re coming ashore, they group together to form a raft so that swooping sea eagles can’t single them out.”

Back on the island, Amy leads us along the path, stopping to shine her large red LED light on a penguin, then another and, three steps later, another. A closer look reveals that the tiny birds cover the island. Their eyes are cute and curious and their oily backs glimmer in Amy’s torchlight. “Red is the only colour that doesn’t affect penguins,” she explains. “So we’ve coated these big lights with red nail polish.” She points to a group of chubby chicks. We’re told that their plumpness when younger aids survival. Each chick’s neck is covered in fluffy brown plumage and they look quite exotic – fit for a day at the races. We spend time bending down, peering into burrows and gasping with delight as more penguins waddle up from the rocks to join us.

The penguins don’t appear to be at all bothered by our visit. Amy politely instructs us not to touch, step on or feed them and outlines the efforts being made to help preserve the birds on Bonnet Island. Alas, the experience is over and we leave the island at about 10.45pm. As we depart, warmed by hot chocolate prepared on the boat, Bruce leans over and confesses, “I’d do anything to take a penguin home.”

WHAT IS A LITTLE PENGUIN?

The Little Penguin, also known as the Fairy Penguin, is found on the coastlines of Australia and New Zealand. It typically grows to 43cm in height and weighs one kilogram. Its diet consists of small fish, squid and krill. The lifespan of a Little Penguin is 6.5 years, although 15% of chicks don’t reach maturity. Breeding begins at age three and penguins mate for life. Nests or burrows consist of a 60–80cm tunnel ending in a “bowl” made from grass or seaweed.  

Fast facts

PHOTOGRAPHY NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC, PHOTOLIBRARY 

WHAT: The Bonnet Island Experience
WHERE: Strahan, Tasmania
WHAT: Guided boat and island tour to see Little Penguins
DURATION: 2.5–3 hours  
COST: Adults: A$85/S$105, Children: A$40/S$49 (minimum age 5 years), Families (2 adults, 2 children): A$200/S$247
HOW TO BOOK: visit www.. puretasmania.com.au or phone 1800 420 155 or +61 (0)3 6225 7016