The island drop-in
A self-guided wildlife tour out into the ocean that, for obvious reasons, does not include Snake Island.
If, like me, the only form of water exploration you enjoy more than a meander down a river is one where you set out into the ocean and arrive at an island where you can observe some wildlife, then the great news is that there is a place that can satisfy that very particular preference, one hour south of Perth, Western Australia.
The island in question is called Penguin Island. And despite being Western Australia and thus blazing hot for a large part of the year, it has actual wild penguins on it. I had no idea.
It is part of a cluster of other little islands that make up the Shoalwater Islands Marine Park, that also include Seal Island, Bird Island, and Gull Rock. It’s also my favourite way to enjoy wildlife, which is when it has been neatly categorized into separate islands. To me this is a much more efficient system instead of this 'letting them all mix together' business that normally happens out in the wild, which seems far too disorganised.
It's not an entirely perfect system, the most frustrating aspect being that animals pay very little attention to which islands are assigned to them. Birds, for instance, quite like to use their wings to visit other places. Not to mention, and without knowing the full details or wanting to get pulled into the politics, tensions on Bird Island have obviously boiled over at some point in time, leading to the seagulls being exiled to their own rock. Which, if you’re ever had to spend time with a seagull, let alone share an island with one, is understandable.
Beyond the marine park, there is Garden Island, which can be reached by car from the mainland and is home to a naval base, as well as Carnac Island, which also goes by the nickname Snake Island, due to the estimated 400 or so Tiger Snakes on the island. A lot of mystery surrounds Carnac Island and how the snakes got there. One rumour being that a snake handler named Lindsay 'Rocky' Vane released his snakes there in the 1900s after his wife died from being bitten by one. And since then, despite the lack of water and many of them suffering from a lack of eyes, apparently having been pecked out by birds protecting their young, the snakes have flourished. Partly due to a lack of predators, and also I’m assuming a burning desire to one day seek revenge on all humans on the mainland. There are so many of them in fact that you’d be hard pressed to find a more densely populated area of venomous snakes in the world, with an average of 1 tiger snake per 8 meters. You can certainly understand why when naming the island they chose something like Carnac Island, and not Heaving Hellpit of Furious Blind Venemous Snakes Island. A much more accurate name but one that would most likely turn people off. Despite all that mind you, for me it only slightly edges out Gull Rock. I mean come one, imagine sharing a rock with seagulls.1
All this, not including Nightmare Island, is ahead of us as KB and I set out on our first stop to Penguin Island.
Our water transportation method today is stand up paddle board, but the island - which is 600m offshore - can also be reached by kayak, ferry, or if it's low tide, by walking, as there is a sandbar all the way out the island. It should be noted however that walking out to the island is considered dangerous and is not advised, also it doesn't half diminish the impressiveness of the feat when you tell people you paddled out to an island if you also include the detail that there were people walking next to you the whole way.
I see some people up ahead, waist deep in the water doing their best to belittle our whole adventure but I ignore them and switch my attention to what's below me. The first one hundred metres we drift over a green carpet of seaweed which occasionally pulls at our fins, before coming clear of it and seeing the sea floor below, sparkling and picture perfect with a turquoise tinge.
As per the paddle guide, I do my best to look to the horizon so as to remain steady, but it's difficult as there is lots to see below me. This is the opposite problem I have to when I'm on a hike or a bush walk where I'm often looking down at my feet to watch where I'm stepping, and thus remain sturdy, but in doing so very often forget to look up and see what's around me. If we're too careful, we'll forget to enjoy the journey.
There is very little breeze to speak of and so the water is calm and it makes for an easy paddle. Our eyes darting and scanning above and below, small sand-coloured fish zip around the water. Pelicans whoosh by overhead and hit the water like sea planes.
As we get closer to the island, we can see a number of boarded walk trails veering off either side of the Discovery Centre building in the middle, which is where you can watch the penguins feeding at various times during the day, and is also the only guaranteed way to see the penguins on the island. As we near the shore, a lady near the jetty shouts out to us that we can't come ashore. Only via the jetty, which is strictly for ferry passengers. We call out to her that 'it's fine' and 'we weren't planning on coming onto the island', and in doing so we are very cleverly rejecting both her and the penguins before they can reject us.
This news throws a slight spanner in the works. A tiny spanner with a special fin grip. Fortunately, as this is not the only ticket in town and there are other islands to visit, we decide to continue on, pretending we aren't feeling the sting from being turned away by the bouncer.
We drift past the jetty which is covered in various seabirds, seagulls, C-listers and other hangers-on. All desperate to get an invite to the hottest venue in the marine park. On closer inspection though, I realise the seagulls I've spotted are actually completely different to the standard gull. These ones are sporting a black slicked-back hairdo, as if some of the seagulls have grown out the feathers on their heads and dyed them black2. Something I still haven't completely ruled out, knowing what seagulls are like. It's a real frenzy and exactly the kind of pomp and posturing you'd expect to see outside an exclusive club. It's also not at all our vibe and we decide to move on. On the way past, a seagull tries to hand me a flyer to Gull Island but I wave it away. 'No thank you'. We're not quite that desperate yet. And so we hurry along again, continuing north and following the shoreline towards the rest of the islands.
Things quieten down as we leave the sandbar and head out into deeper water, and as we come towards a thicker carpet of seaweed, an enormous dark shadow of a stingray appears beneath us, gliding past like a floppy, aquatic stealth bomber. It's only visible for a second or two, but it’s long enough to see its beautiful rippling wings soar through the water before disappearing into the thick shag rug and going off the radar. Doing what a stealth bomber does best.
It's a fleeting but glorious encounter with nature and we follow the stingray off-grid into the seaweed.
As we pull away from Penguin Island, it feels as if we are leaving the orbit of one planet and attempting to bridge a gap to another. No longer protected by the island, we're now face-to-face with the enormity of the ocean. Looming large out to the left of us, it feels vast and imposing, and thick, slow moving ripples move past us powered by the weight of an entire ocean. Perhaps this is how astronauts feel outside the airlock, staring out into the abyss. It feels both terrifying and humbling. Almost as if at any moment we might suddenly get sucked out into the open ocean.
The only thing out there is a solitary sailboat, appearing as two perfect white triangles painted on the horizon. They look slightly too perfect though. As if it might not actually be a real boat and perhaps just an unfinished painting.
After about ten minutes of steady paddling, we cross the gap and feel the gravitational pull of the approaching islands guide us in. Up ahead is Bird Island and Gull Rock, and as suspected, there doesn't appear to be a whole lot happening. We paddle in between them and they are virtually empty aside from a solitary bird on Bird Island keeping an eye on things and I'm assuming staffing the tourist information desk. He doesn't seem too chuffed about it. It's a slight letdown from the birds, and from an island claiming to be Bird Island, which by the looks of it seems more of a tick box exercise - so long as there is always one bird on the island fulfilling the quota. It's more than you can say for Gull Rock which is grey and drab and completely empty. It's barely holding off Hellpit Island in last place at this stage.
We are zero from three. One from three if I'm being generous to the birds.
All hope now lies with Seal Island which is slowly coming into view from behind Solitary Bird Island. There is a bit more of a crowd now too. A few more paddlers have turned up along with some small boats. Everyone is here to get a glimpse of the seals.
I catch sight of the beach and see five or six dark shapes on the sand. If I didn't know any better, it looks a little bit like someone has left a pile of black bin bags to bake out in the sun. But then, as we get closer, there is some movement. What looks like a flipper raises up momentarily, holding in the air for a second or two, before slapping back down again.
Finally, after a number of letdowns, and potentially a forced life-threatening detour out to You're Definitely Going to Die Island just to have an encounter with wildlife via the island delivery method, Seal Island has saved the day and come up with the goods.
There are markers in the water to stop people from getting too close, so we float up as close as we can and settle in for a look. There isn't much movement, just a lot of big, wet bods laying on the sand. But there they are, actual wild seals. It’s thrilling to see them right there on the shore.
The signs tell us that the seals are most likely tired from being out hunting fish, but the scene feels a little bit like we've turned up the morning after a big night. All the seals are slumped tragically on the shore as if nursing giant hangovers. One seal tries to roll over and lift up a flipper, but then gives up and flops back down again. Another drags itself up and rolls its head back, before falling dramatically back to the sand.
If Penguin Island is the classy exclusive part of the marine park, this feels like the wild part of town where all the raging parties happen.
As we drop into the crystal-clear water to get some relief from the rising temperatures, the scene in front of us reminds me of a particular New Years Day a few years back when some friends and I spotted a man lying face down in the sand dunes. Someone in our group had run over to check on him and thankfully he was ok. The man was slightly overdressed for the beach in that he was wearing trousers and a collared shirt, and so I'm assuming had ended up here after consuming a significant amount of alcohol the night before, then deciding he might just settle into the sand dunes for the night, opting for the 'face down in the sand' sleeping position. After being woken by my friend, he very gingerly propped himself up, emptied out about two pints of sand that he'd been storing in his month, and then staggered off into the day to endure the worst hangover of all time.
Looking back, I was impressed that the man had been able to dust himself off and handle it as well as he did. The seals on the other hand appear to be handling things with far less stoicism. It's all very entertaining to watch and truly a beautiful thing to see them up close like this. I feel a moment of real appreciation and gratitude for the whole experience as we float in the turquoise water watching from afar. Life seems simple in moments like this. Perhaps because watching nature unfold like this is a reminder that we're all just animals flopping about in the wild. Our instincts muted and hidden behind these carefully constructed lives we all lead.
One of the seals has propped itself up onto its flippers and is trying to move up the beach with the grace of a dog trying to manoeuvre out of a wet bin bag. I could quite happily stay here and watch this for several hours, but the morning is getting late and the day much hotter, and so we set off again.
KB and I feel well and truly nourished having received our fill of wildlife and adventure, and are ready to return to Human Island. Back to normal life, where I'll wait out my time until the eventual invasion from our blind and furious island neighbours.
Fingers crossed for a peaceful transition with not too much biting.
Another interesting fact about Carnac Island is that it was once visited by international treasure Sir David Attenborough, who filmed a documentary there about reptiles, and I'm assuming, a separate documentary about what my nightmares would look like if they took place on an island.
It turns out it wasn’t a seagull with a dyed black head and hair feather gel, but a Greater Crested Tern. There is also the Lesser Crested Tern which just looks like a slightly bald version.
You are braver than I for getting up close with the water! I'm always afraid that invisible jellyfish are lurking about, the venomous snakes of the sea, ready to paralyze and send me to the bottom of the ocean. 🤣
That island full of snakes is absolute nightmare fuel