When my boss (and good friend) told me he was taking the Blugibbon Medical Recruitment team on a wilderness weekend to Bruny Island instead of a Christmas party, I initially felt slightly underwhelmed.

Pulling into the island at Dennes Point, Justin Jones aka Jonesy and his excellent assistant Fuchsia Sims, were waving excitedly at us. A few welcomes and hugs later, we trudged just a short walk up some steps to the architecturally impressive Bruny Island Wild Cafe.

A substantial feed of freshly-caught calamari and fish and chips were demolished, all of us having the back-of-mind worry that we would need as much energy as we could get over the next two days.

Jonesy gave us a health and safety briefing in the adjoining community hall, explaining some of what to expect that afternoon and evening (including its unique wildlife) and before we could even leave the cafe’s vicinity we encountered a huge echidna nestled under a bench.

An uphill trek on Bruny Island Main Road warmed up the legs and eased some of the nervous anticipation, arriving at a turnoff point onto private property that Jonesy had managed to arrange access to. A short walk into the bush and we emerged at Dennes Point Hill, and looked down to a breathtaking view of North West Bay.

While taking in the vista, Jonesy and Fuschia dived into another briefing, complete with snake-bite compression roleplay, an instructional of how to build our primitive open-ended “tent” (strangely called a Hoochie) and a summary of the creatures to look out for (potoroos, scorpions and of course the tiger, copperhead and white-lipped snakes to name just a few).

Most powerful for me was the introduction to, and importance of Truganini, a name I would hear many more times over the weekend. The indigenous woman was born on Bruny Island and her story was one of strength and tragedy. As Jonesy and Fuchsia explained, reading the book about her life was painful, yet inspiring. I made a mental note to buy a copy of the book to learn more later.

As we dispersed in different directions and descended up the steep tree-covered slope, we looked back to see a wallaby bouncing around at the foot of the hill. Directed to build our Hoochies 100 metres apart, most pairs chose the flattest ground they could, which was in short supply. Some relented and set up on sloped ground, later regretting this as they woke up to find themselves slid halfway out of their shelter and one Gibbonist found themselves straddling a tree.

My camp buddy Simon and I got a little creative. Walking just a 100 metres or so short of the hill top, we came across an abandoned shelter that had clearly been used before to camp. There were large tree branches leant against a huge tree’s branches that formed a tee-pee shaped structure. It was cozy, and after some attempted leveling of the floor with our poop shovel and placing our hoochies like tarpaulin around the side of the structure, we were set. Jonesy even named it the “Tent Mahal” (the rest of our team classed this as cheating, but to be fair, we used nature and our initiative!).

A dinner of a selection of Camper’s Pantry offerings followed, but first we had to boil our water with our billy cans resting on a nifty folding metal cooking base. Surprisingly tasty, the banter flowed as we sat in our camping chairs watching the sun go down. A rustic hot chocolate later and 8:30pm was upon us. Head torches were switched on and it was time to attempt some sleep.

Despite a tree root protruding into my lower back, I drifted off to sleep, taking longer than usual to get used to the deathly quiet surroundings. That silence was punctuated by two things: my own snoring waking me up suddenly, and the sound of a creature rustling at my feet. An average sleep followed, with a dull thumping sound in the early hours right next to Simon’s head, as well as many spiders and crawlies descending onto us. Both of us submitted to the inevitable and zipped up our sleeping bags as far over our heads we could into a cocoon.

6am Friday morning brought relief, and the sun beaming through the gaps in our shelter. A quick march to the top of the hill and the breathtaking view deserved to be absorbed. The water was flat but sparkled as I took in a view up the River Derwent and out towards the Iron Pot Lighthouse, with only the quiet hum of a distant boat breaking the moment.

The team assembled to share stories of sleep, or lack of, and get an instant coffee and natural cookie fix (one of the best I have ever tasted courtesy of Bruny Island Wild Cafe). By 8am we were off to hike back up the hill and along the ridgeline towards “Basecamp”.

Picking up what felt like the ideal walking magical stick, I forged ahead. Usually I am the reluctant leader, but with an equal mix of feeling relaxed freedom and high energy, I bounded ahead of the group through the bush, tracks and fields. So much so, I even scared a flock of sheep that darted back up a hill when they saw me coming.

During a chat about mental health and getting outdoors, Jonesy shared with me that this walk was his favourite to take with his youngest daughter, when he felt “grumpy” as he called it (if you know Jonesy, you know he does a bloody good job of masking any mental vulnerabilities with his infectious energy and personality, but in this moment, he was just like the rest of us).

The ridge line was bushy, but cleared as we got near our end destination and Bull Bay appeared on the horizon. A couple of hops over electric fences and the landscape shone with blue lapping waves, a yellow field of hay, the surrounds of green bush, several bright tents of course the stunning property. The sun blazed down, and it was time to take off some layers and tuck into a breakfast of fruits, eggs, bacon, granola, fresh croissants and more.

We had time to offload our bags, with the girls taking the guest house, the boys happily grabbing the tents with an unbeaten view out to the ocean, complete with comfy camp bed, rug, side table, light and two gifts of local honey and a pre-loved book about Tasmania. Somehow my book was perfect, Tasmanian Mammals by Dave Watts. Just a few hours earlier I had told the group my eldest son Finn is obsessed with Australian wildlife and had stumped me with a question before I left, “What animals will you see in Tasmania dad?”

Next on the agenda was a selection of activities, snorkeling/diving for abalone and crayfish, a slightly less taxing experience of picking up our oysters from Get Shucked and a quick visit to Truganini Lookout (aka “The Neck”), or a wander around a market garden to scout out the vegetables for our dinner that night. I craved some peace so picked the market garden along with three other gents on our team.

A short journey in our classic green Land Rover Discovery brought us to another impressive property, and the Bruny Island Market Garden, owned, created and tended by Jo Smith. Perched high-up overlooking a valley, handful of properties in the distance, and a large tee-pee used for Jo’s yoga lessons, we checked out the variety of 60 roosting chickens in their mobile barn and held the still warm eggs as they rolled down into the basket. Jo’s “free-range children” helped us, clearly excited at their city-folk visitors.

A lemongrass and elderflower tea with honey went down a treat, followed by a bowl of freshly-picked berries and cream. Jo patiently answered our curious questions about their off-the-grid organic lifestyle and the clear health benefits. Jo explained that if all we took away from this experience was the message to slow down, then that’s great.

Ambling around a couple of vegetable plots we expected a modest-sized operation. It quickly became apparent the garden cascaded into multiple areas, teeming with plant life including vegetables and fruits of all kinds. Around every corner was a pleasant surprise. Jo effortlessly explained each area, her love and care oozing out, educating us on the process and challenges small farmers face daily, and encouraging us to pick and taste the spinach (topped with local olive oil), wasabi plant, Thai basil, green beans, edible flowers and much more. This garden was responsible for feeding many people on the island, including the Bruny Island Wild Cafe.

Reluctantly saying goodbye, back down the windy roads we descended to the cafe again to meet with the rest of the team. Before we could even sit a freshly made tomato soup with home-made garlic bread was thrust into our mouths. It was simply delicious.

Upon our return to Bull Bay basecamp, everyone took a spot near the campfire, ready for a demonstration and education from Aboriginal man, Danny Gardner and his 9-year old son Mani. What followed was powerful.

Father and son prepared the fire for the Smoking Ceremony using the sweet-smelling Balga resin and in pairs we knelt in front of them as they welcomed us to Country, the home of the Nuenone People. Danny spoke quietly but confidently, and some of the team could not hide the tears welling up as they were blessed by the smoke.

Watching Danny’s pride as he taught his son his practices was almost heart-stopping, the world went deathly quiet and you truly felt connected to the land.

As the fire smoldered Danny displayed artifacts, tools and gifts, with the team being shown how to make rope and bracelets from bark, as he explained the bushfire worries he has for Tasmania given the current Government authorities often refuse to use traditional indigenous methods for dealing with the risks.

As Danny and Mani departed, our chefs for the evening arrived. We were to be treated to what I can only describe as a life-altering meal, prepared in the house kitchen as we chatted and laughed on the deck at sundown till our cheeks hurt.

The feast included endless oysters, mushroom arancini, duck and mushroom hors d'oeuvres, crayfish, beef, locally grown vegetables, fine Tasmanian wines, beers and a keg full of gratitude. Along with some distinctive spirits such as scotch from Lark Distillery and the alcohol-free Hellfire Bluff Inspirit Pink Gin.

On the final morning of our trip there was an air of sadness that we had to leave this special place. I stood in the outdoor shower watching both the black cows graze in the next paddock, and then the annual Bruny Island Ultra Marathon participants run down the adjoining road in the distance, cheered on by locals in cars that got ahead of them. A handful of the people we had met the day before were running in the race too. 

One last inevitable visit to a home from home, the Bruny Island Wild Cafe, brought a superb breakfast of mushroom, eggs, spinach and tomatoes on toast. I then took a moment with a few of the team to head down to Nebraska Road and the Dennes Point Jetty to wait for the boat back to Hobart.

We sat on the small beach, taking in the last of the calm, tranquility and picturesque backdrop. I reflected on the community, the willingness to help your neighbour, to connect with others you may not usually get the chance to meet, to do things that help you grow, and open your mind outside of the rat race. The intention to slow down. These were the real gifts I would be taking away from Bruny Island.

When the boat left the jetty I watched a dad play cricket with his son on the beach and I made a vow I’d be back to do the same.

The biggest gift I can give back, is sometimes to just write about a person or an experience, and Bruny Island provided an abundance of material.

Hopefully you will visit Bruny Island soon, either solo, with family or with your employer.

To experience just what the Blugibbon Medical Recruitment team did, send a note to Jonesy of Adventure Thinking Expeditions on justin@justinjonesy.com