Bruny Island: A Three-Day Guided - And Extremely Grounding - Adventure

It’s pouring; I can feel the skin beneath my many layers is damp, my calves splattered with mud. Head down, I march along the flat dirt track, past Native Tasmanian Cherry bushes bearing sharply sweet, tiny fruit, and Kangaroo Apple plants that our guide Lucy told us were once used as contraception. Envious of fellow walkers equipped with poles and far better raincoats than mine, I trudge through deep puddles, reassuring myself that the cream trail shoes I bought just yesterday will bounce back after a good soak in Napisan.

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Image: Walking into a storm at Adventure Bay. 

Twenty minutes ago, I was shedding my polar fleece and gulping water on the beach in the sun after descending Cape Queen Elizabeth, a pointy headland on Bruny Island’s north-eastern side. The climb had been steady along an uneven track, passing stringy bark, banksia, and the conspicuous burrows of Short-tailed Shearwaters (or muttonbirds) that migrate from the Arctic, and brushing the knotted bark of arched eucalypt trees. Lucy explained that their unusual shapes were the result of human manipulation, though the reasons remain unknown — shelter or rivalry among the possibilities.

Views atop the Cape were vast and clear toward the Tasman Peninsula. It’s here we discovered that guest Rick was no good with heights, and guest Meredith had climbed Kilimanjaro. Our group of ten included a mother and daughter from Queensland, two couples from Melbourne, a Sydneysider, and an American who was escaping sub-freezing temps back home in Boston. An odd bunch, brought together in the pursuit of nature with a side of luxe — this three-day escape would show us the very best of Bruny on foot, followed by hot showers, a glass of wine, decadent dinners, and lush beds for weary bones to melt into.

The thought of a hot shower kept me trudging through the downpour until, eventually, we jumped — dripping — into the minivan. Given the conditions, we skipped slurping oysters outside; instead, Lucy waded into the shallows of a private oyster lease and gathered enough molluscs for entrée back at camp: an isolated, off-grid cluster of safari tents, outdoor showers, fancy long drops, and a central timber hut, all sitting unobtrusively amid a forest of blackwood and eucalypts.

The sudden shifts in weather shaped our three-day guided hike on Bruny Island, and we — guests, myself, and my husband Will included — were richer for it. We were fully present in it, attentive to its moods, and changed by the experience.

Let me take you further through the trip (and check out Tas Walking Co on instagram for videos of my Bruny Island hiking journey...) 🌿🌿🌿

Day 1

We met at Daci & Daci Bakery on Hobart’s bustling waterfront. The pile of poles and backpacks made it clear that Will, a builder who had just turned 40, and I, a Marketing Specialist for Tasmanian Walking Company (surprise!), were in the right spot. Roundtable intros included how we take our coffee, followed by a briefing from our guides, Lucy and Amelie, about the day ahead.

First stop: a speedy boat ride to Barnes Bay, where Captain Pete dropped us off. With lunchboxes and coffee collected from a café up the road, we set off to climb Cape Queen Elizabeth. On the descent, before the rain picked up, we passed immense rocks carved by time and cliff faces speckled with nesting gulls.

Back at camp, we threw back oysters and a Bruny Island Cheese platter with homemade pickles, then fish, saffron, and white-wine stew, grilled lamb with chimichurri, and quinoa roast-veg salad. To finish, an enthusiastic toast to our guest, Kim, who had tried an oyster for the first time ever that evening, and chocolate cake by local cook Ray. I barely had time to settle into the generous, soft bed before sleep found me.

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Image: Safari-style tents that sleep two at camp.

Day 2

I was hardly disappointed by the patchy phone reception at camp; a forced switch-off from digital demands was welcome. With no alarm set or toddler to nudge me awake, I drifted awake naturally and arrived late to my egg-and-bacon breakfast. Somehow recalling the whole group’s morning caffeine orders, our super-powered guides produced strong coffee and enquired about everyone’s rest.

With no rush to return to the trail, I took another shower among the trees and the acute calls of a bird — I liked to think it was the endemic, rare Forty-spotted Pardalote — and laced up shoes that were filthy but dry after a night beside the hut’s smouldering woodfire. We piled back into the minivan and drove a short distance further south — past the famous Bruny bread fridge — to Cloudy Bay, a generous, exposed sweep of beach that we crossed in more rain before tackling the day’s big hill: East Cloudy Bay Head.

The group spread out along the trail, settling into our own rhythms, dropping into conversation now and then, and admiring the undulating landscape dotted with flowering tea trees. Lunch at the top was last night’s leftovers: lamb stuffed into fresh bread with a wedge of cheddar and hummus. Lucy passed around a block of chocolate and a cup of coffee just ahead of the next brief shower. On went the raincoats — but not for long — and back on the beach, some of us took a dip at the sheltered end of the bay.

At camp, refreshed, we sipped House of Arras bubbles and nibbled more cheese as Amelie battered blue-eye fillets to serve with smashed roast potatoes and green beans, alongside grilled wallaby, haloumi salad, and more of Ray’s cake. Sitting around the old timber dining table, we swapped Netflix recommendations, (briefly) touched on politics, inevitably compared football codes with the Queenslanders, and heard an Aboriginal creation story about the echidna. Will stayed up with chardonnay and more of Meredith's travel tales while I secured another deep slumber.

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Image: Guide Amalie preparing a hearty meal for ten guests. 

Day 3

Our final day began with gluten-free French toast and farewells to camp, before setting off on our last — and highest — hike: Mount Mangana. Mangana means black cockatoo, and was also the name of the father of Truganini, an iconic Nuenonne woman. Here, rainforest of myrtle, ferns, and fungi enveloped us, and sunlight slid through the canopy, creating a feeling of quiet, contemplative magic.

The steady climb, with its rocky steps and uneven ground dusted in tiny golden myrtle leaves, was rewarded with sweeping views across the D’Entrecasteaux Channel. Lunch at Bruny Island Wild Café at Dennes Point, on the island’s northern tip, came with Riesling and views of yachts gliding past, before we reboarded the boat back to Hobart. Wind and sea spray whipped my face as I soaked in the final moments of our Bruny Island adventure — without emails, without shopping lists, without hunting for missing school socks. 

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Image: Me (Claire) soaking up the forest on Mount Mangana. 

Trip Highlights

💚This compact adventure reminded me of lots of things — largely thanks to our instinctive, affable guides: to pause, listen, smell, feel. The earth is alive with texture, movement, stories, and life. We just need to take a minute — or three days — to give it our fractured attention, and the results are remarkable.

🍃In the sand of Cloudy Bay, Amelie used her walking pole to etch a timeline telling an aeons-old story of place and people: how land masses changed and communities moved accordingly, how the island now known as Tasmania was cared for by clans including Bruny Island's Nuenonne nation, how the Aboriginal population was decimated by European arrival, and how truth-telling in moments like these is helping educate and celebrate an ongoing culture packed with invaluable knowledge, skill, and customs.

✅I could go on — about the nourishing food, the attention to detail, and the joy of not carrying a heavy backpack — but another highlight deserves its own mention: Lucy and Amelie. The duck-paddling metaphor couldn’t be more apt. Both guides embodied hospitality at its finest, in the most Tasmanian way. They ferried us, fed us, and filled our cups — metaphorically with thoughtful insights into place and its First Peoples, and literally with fresh-brewed coffee, even atop a mountain. There were no chefs, drivers, or subject-matter interpreters behind the scenes; it was just the two of them, wearing every hat and doing so effortlessly, and genuinely.

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Image: Smoke rises from the camp's main hut. 

Trip Surprises

Making new friends. I was confident I’d get along just fine with other guests and guides, but we ended up enjoying big, honest conversations, many laughs, and I felt a pang of sadness when we all hugged goodbye back on Hobart's docks. Thank goodness for our WhatsApp group!

Another plot twist was the challenge: I am reasonably fit and don’t mind hills, but there were some inclines and track sections that tested me, my focus, and my balance. Things to work on before the Overland Track 😉

I also found unexpected pleasure in this small island’s various landscapes. From iridescent beaches to rocky rainforests and scrubby heathland, Bruny Island contains diverse scenes I thought impossible in just 100 km.

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Image: Meredith and Lucy atop Mount Mangana.

Trip Tips

  • Pack layers, including thick socks and a very good, actual waterproof jacket — Tassie weather can be inconsistent and extreme, and you’ll thank yourself for having options (and dry socks) to choose from.

  • Put your phone away and let the birds wake you, and guides point out the best selfie spots.

  • Go at your pace: there’s no need to rush or race to the top, but if you do want to speed things up, you’ll have more time to admire the views.

  • Use the bottom toilet building at camp — best views in the house. No, really.

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Image: The Bruny Island Camp's loo with an incredible view.

Find out more about the Bruny Island Long Weekend >>

Last updated: 11 February 2026.