Hiking on the rocks as part of the Flinders Island Walking Adventure with Tasmanian Expeditions. Photo / Jessica Wynne Lockhart
Hiking on the rocks as part of the Flinders Island Walking Adventure with Tasmanian Expeditions. Photo / Jessica Wynne Lockhart
For an adventure that involves tramping but no trampling, Tasmania’s Flinders Island is embracing a new wave of responsible, regenerative tourism, writes Jessica Wynne Lockhart
In the opening chapter of 1954′s Lord of the Flies, three boys who have survived a plane crash — Ralph, Simon, and Jack — summit one of the island’s highest peaks.
“They had known by some instinct that the sea lay on every side. But there seemed something more fitting in leaving the last word till they stood on the top, and could see the circular horizon of water,” wrote author William Golding.
The scene is one of the hallmarks of the castaway genre: Stranded on an island, survivors of a wreck climb to a high point to survey their new surroundings and confirm that they are, indeed, alone.
That’s the sensation I have as I stand atop Mount Strzelecki, the highest point on Flinders Island. From my 756-metre-high vantage point, I scan all that lies below. Craggy granite peaks encased in thick green bush are flanked by squares of farmland, and in every direction, crescents of white sand meet the impossibly blue sea.
On Flinders Island, crescents of white sand meet the impossibly blue sea.
Photo / Jessica Wynne Lockhart
Fortunately, disaster didn’t bring me here. Instead, I landed smoothly in a plane. The eight-seater charter flight was just big enough to carry me and my fellow hikers the 160km across Bass Strait from mainland Tasmania, and deliver us to our hosts, Tasmanian Expeditions.
The eight-seater charter flight crosses Bass Strait from mainland Tasmania to Flinders Island. Photo / Jessica Wynne Lockhart
Since then, I’ve been trekking across the 1367-square-kilometre island, charting out its topography in my mind. I’ve scrambled across boulder-strewn beaches painted in orange lichen, where coastal succulents drape over rocks like red jellybean curtains. I’ve inspected the remains of a beached whale, its spinal discs the size of dinner plates. I’ve descended through gullies where topaz treasures are trapped in the rocks. I’ve watched wombats waddle across pastures, and massive wedge-tailed eagles swoop for prey.
Coastal succulents drape over rocks like red jellybean curtains. Photo / Jessica Wynne Lockhart
What I haven’t seen, however, is much evidence of the roughly 900 islanders who call Flinders home. Days have gone by without seeing anyone from outside our group. It feels, as Ralph says in Lord of the Flies, “all ours” — even if it’s just for this moment.
This is the very quality that made Flinders Island shoot to popularity over the past three years. Considered a relatively off-the-radar destination — one even most Australians would be hard-pressed to pinpoint on a map — it became the default for Tasmanians trapped within their own borders during the pandemic. But while tourism is Flinders’ second-biggest industry after farming, the influx put a strain on the island.
Flinders Island isolation is a quality that's peaked its popularity over the last three years. Photo / Jessica Wynne Lockhart
Whitemark, the island’s biggest settlement, has just a grocery store, bakery, butcher, general store, and restaurant — all with limited hours. As a result, locals weren’t just concerned about their way of life being threatened — they were also worried about how to meet visitor expectations.
“Islanders are wonderful hosts and very generous, but there was a bit of angst,” says Sammi Gowthorp, Flinders Island’s community services co-ordinator. “The increase in visitation affected our food security — because food only arrives on the boat once a week — and put pressure on our infrastructure, including waste management.”
The community’s collective anxiety led to the creation of The Islander Way, a regenerative tourism project funded by the Tasmanian Government. Widely believed to be the first destination-wide project of its kind in the world, it’s a living lab for what regenerative tourism — a relatively new principle — can look like. Although regenerative tourism is frequently defined as “leaving a place better than you found it”, it actually requires an entire paradigm shift; one in which the needs of the community are put before profit or the demands of tourists.
“The old way of thinking is of tourism growth as economic growth,” explains Gowthorp. “Regenerative tourism is finding a harmonious balance between the social, the environment, and economic growth. If it’s done right, there’s room for everyone on Flinders.”
The Islander Way, a regenerative tourism project funded by the Tasmanian Government and implemented on Flinders Island. Photo / Jessica Wynne Lockhart
Since its launch two years ago, the Islander Way has gained international attention, with implications for destinations worldwide.
“Every place is different, but we believe this project is scaleable and that we can lead the way in providing some general principles around what regenerative tourism should look like in practice,” says Sarah Lebski, co-director of tourism strategy agency Designing Tourism, which is managing the project.
Already, Flinders has launched food security and visitor experience committees, and in the future, a website will outline short-term volunteer opportunities on the island. As a result, tourists will soon be able to both give back and interact with locals on a deeper level. Tourism operators are also making changes to support the project’s goals. This includes Tasmanian Expeditions, which will integrate regenerative tourism programs into all its operations by 2030.
Michael Buggy, general manager of Tasmanian Expeditions, says that the company has been working closely with businesses on Flinders to ensure its operations aren’t placing a strain on infrastructure, or disrupting the way of life held so dear by locals.
“We want to shift away from eco-tourism and leaving places as we found them — and towards improving them and making them better,” says Buggy. “Hopefully, we can play a small part in bringing it to the next phase of tourism on the island and doing that in a constructive and collaborative way.”
When it came time to find a spot for its new eco-comfort camp, for example, Tasmanian Expeditions sought out a seaside spot where it would have minimal impact on the surrounding environment. The result is a step closer to camping than glamping — but inventive and eco-friendly solutions only further add to the fun castaway vibes. At a sink near the composting toilets, a cup with holes poked in its bottom serves as a faucet. Showering involves a heated bucket of water and an innovative pump system. Each of the individual pods are equipped with camping cots, thick camping mattresses, solar chargers, and a see-through roof for in-bed stargazing. There’s even a space set aside for foul weather days, with plenty of reading material and board games on-hand.
“It’s like something out of Gilligan’s Island,” says Laura Waters, a fellow hiker.
Despite the reliance on solar power and rainwater capture, Tasmanian Expeditions’ guides manage to churn out multi-course meals for hungry hikers, with a few surprises thrown in. One night, our group is served muttonbird with crispy saltbush, courtesy of a local seller. Another afternoon, we visit the award-winning Furneaux Distillery, which produces a smoky whisky made with peat foraged from Flinders’ eastern lagoons. Ultimately though, most of our time is spent walking, with the six-day tour exploring nearly every corner of Flinders, including the Furneaux Museum and former Aboriginal settlement of Wybalenna.
Most of the Flinders Island Walking Adventure is spent exploring nearly every corner of the motu. Photo / Jessica Wynne Lockhart
In the castaway genre, there’s always a monster — real or imagined, figurative or literal. But what if the story wasn’t about survival of the fittest? What if, instead, the plot took place in the most idyllic of settings, where the water was pristine and the days were whiled away walking along beaches, summiting peaks, and swimming in crystalline bays? What if the food was filling, the wine was plentiful, and the company was good?
Granted, it wouldn’t make for a particularly gripping book or movie — but it is the ideal storyline for restorative time away.
On our bus back to Launceston, Waters confides in me that as we flew away from Flinders — its turquoise-hued water sparkling in the sun below — she felt tears well up in her eyes.
Shelby Pinkerton, operations manager for Tasmanian Expeditions, overhears our conversation.
“We’re calling it ‘Flinders Fever,’” she says. “You don’t understand it until you arrive — but then you get all the feels. You’ve got it now. You’re all afflicted.”
CHECKLIST: HIKING FLINDERS ISLAND
Getting there
Air NZ flies non-stop from Auckland to Hobart in Tasmania. The Tasmanian Expeditions’ tour includes return flights from Tasmania’s Bridport Airport to Flinders Island.
Details
Tasmanian Expeditions’ new Flinders Island Walking Adventure is a six-day, five-night guided hiking holiday. Daily walks range in length and intensity — including the opportunity to summit Mt. Strzelecki, the island’s highest point — while learning more about the island’s geology, history, and wildlife. The walking season runs from October to March, with tours starting from NZ$4703, inclusive of meals, accommodation, and return scenic flights. tasmanianexpeditions.com.au/Walking/Flinders-Island-Walking-Adventure-In-Comfort
