The Rockhopper

Revered American author Ernest Hemingway told the story of Thomas Hudson in Islands in the Stream, a posthumously published novel in three parts with the first, The Sea When Young, returning to my consciousness when recently visiting Diamond Island not far from the township of Bicheno on the East Coast.

Hudson is an artist; a painter who finds solace and productivity when moving to the island of Bimini in the Bahamas.

The main character is also acutely aware that tranquility is quickly lost on an island environment.

"He knew too what it was to live through a hurricane with the other people of the island and the bond that the hurricane made between all people who had been through it.

"He also knew that hurricanes could be so bad that nothing could live through them."

It makes me think of our island state where people come together when times are tough or a natural disaster strikes.

To that end, quite unbelievably, it has been 10 years since the Dunalley bushfires ravaged southern Tasmania.

We visit Diamond Island to rock hop.

If you own or have access to a boat, you can rock hop to a larger island and not be particularly bothered by the tide.

However, if you are watching the tide to make it back dry then you need to choose an island to rock hop that can be comfortably navigated before the turn.

I love to rock hop although a friend recently told me that I make it look difficult. Anyways, I still love to rock hop.

An exemplary rockhopper glides on uneven surfaces, anticipating their next move, and rarely needing to look down or readjust their footing or, heaven help us, resort to sliding on their backside.

Parkour is a series of movements where people get from one place to another often while climbing, running, jumping, and leaping incredible distances.

It is a sight to behold; skillful, dexterous, adventurous daredevils who tempt fate and heights and move in unique ways to traverse urban environments.

As a rock hopper I could not be further from parkour. Rather, my stiff short legs take careful steps to ensure injury or embarrassment is not my fate.

My favourite island to rock hop is Diamond Island, which is connected to the mainland at low tide by a sand spit.

It is a nature reserve protecting a penguin rookery with the little furry creatures heading to the mainland at night to nest in homemade boxes or in natural scrub habitat.

Diamond Island is a granite island with orange lichens attaching to giant boulders covering the landscape.

It's not a long walk, about 30 minutes, but much longer if you stop to explore and gaze.

There are kelp beds swishing and swooshing and washing against the shore when the swell reaches the rocky outcrops.

My obtuse mind immediately thinks of ice cream and snorkeling - at the same time.

Pacific gulls and sooty oystercatchers, which are noisy around the new year because it's breeding season, join the little penguins on the nearly seven hectares of the island.

We visit the island each year.

Following a surf at Redbill Beach, if the tide permits, we make our way across the spit for a spot of rock hopping.

Debates ensue about footwear and the direction in which we circumnavigate yet we find ourselves sticking to routine, opting for sneakers and anklet socks, and heading in an anti-clockwise direction.

My favourite section of the walk is the final part from three o'clock back to midday if you are imagining a clock face. You can clearly see back to the resort first built as a home for John and Ann Allen in 1836. But even though you can see modern life your mind continues to wander if you grant it permission.

Each year, the same island presents the final three hours of turning back time. The clearest of water, the whitest of sand, a view to the ocean, the gentle movement of waves spilling onto the spit, and the retreating swell lapping the rocks.

For the romantics among us it conjures an ideal location for a shipwreck with hectic winds, a sand spit, and a dangerous coastline presenting navigational challenges.

It also makes me think of European explorers landing on foreign shores met by the quizzical concern of locals.

In recent days we have seen how shipwrecks can still occur even with the most modern of racing yachts. The race is now on to recover Huntress which was abandoned by her crew following the loss of the rudder and seasickness during the Sydney-Hobart yacht race.

The wreckage is now stranded on Christmas Beach - truwana/Cape Barren Island. And once again, perhaps somewhat ironically, the locals are left bewildered.

We are island people who escape to islands. We move from relative obscurity and isolation to deeper isolation in the hope of finding peace.

It is a difficult to comprehend character trait for those who are not us but for those who call Tasmania home, it is the way we are - determined and courageous in the face of difficulty or challenge yet protective of our space.
And that's why I am a rock hopper, as difficult as it may seem.