Island of Animal Magnetism

KANGAROO ISLAND, Australia —  Hearing one’s sons outside yelling something about a great white shark fin is a particularly effective alarm clock, especially when one happens to be in a house perched atop a cliff overlooking the sea off South Australia.

By the time I ran to the patio in my nightgown, the mysterious fin had multiplied, and we were looking not at sharks but at a dozen dolphins cavorting just beyond the breakers, their smooth, wet skins reflecting the rays of sunrise.

This was my second stay on Kangaroo Island--70 miles southwest of Adelaide, which in itself is almost at the bottom of the continent known as Down Under--so I was no stranger to its spell. Yet watching my 8-year-old fraternal twins, Cameron and Lachlan, react to its animal magnetism was as much a gift to me as this trip was to them.

Accompanied by my Australian husband, Warren Lancaster, and his parents, Tom and Kath, we reveled in sights such as a seal bodysurfing in the Southern Ocean off Kangaroo Island’s south coast; wallabies, smaller cousins of the kangaroos; and large-eyed possums surprised by our car headlights, scurrying in the bush at night.

Kangaroo Island, first found uninhabited in 1802 by British explorer Matthew Flinders and now populated largely by farmers, is more than a mere travel destination. I learned of KI, as the natives refer to it, in 1979 when I interviewed a bearded young wilderness photographer, Mike McKelvey, who had emigrated from California to Kangaroo Island and whose photos brought Australia and KI to life for me. I swore then that if I ever visited Australia, I would go to Kangaroo Island.

In March 1992, I made my first visit to Australia on vacation. After falling in love in Sydney with the man who would later become my husband, I ventured on, solo, for the visit to KI that I had promised myself 13 years earlier.

The island was an unspoiled microcosm of Australia: pristine, deserted white beaches, rolling pastures populated by sheep and various species of gum, or eucalyptus, trees, and even its own tiny “outback,” a four-square-mile expanse of dunes called Little Sahara. I was sufficiently charmed in my five days here by the kangaroos, koalas and other critters in the wild to be temporarily distracted from my lovesickness.

McKelvey was still here, and, having become interested in wildlife research, was working with his partner, Peggy Rismiller. She is an American biologist and an expert on tiger snakes and echidnas, the quirky-looking quilled anteaters that abound on the island. He also insisted that I meet Belinda Hannaford, a creative spirit and gourmet cook who rented out lovely cottages overlooking Snelling Beach on the island’s north coast. Her own home, Cliff House, had a breathtaking view of beach and breakers, framed by native foliage and exotic flowers.

Children were only a gleam in my eye then. But after Warren and I were married in Australia and had our twins about two years after that visit to KI, I fantasized about showing the boys the wildlife here someday. That dream materialized this year when I planned a trip for their 8th birthday and invited Tom and Kath Lancaster, the boys’ grandparents who live outside Melbourne, to join us.

July falls during the Australian winter, but the temperatures can hover around 60 degrees, although it felt warmer. I tracked down Belinda Hannaford and was delighted to discover that she would rent us the glorious Cliff House overlooking Snelling. We flew from Adelaide to Kingscote, where we rented a car.

When we converged on Cliff House, the usually unflappable Australians in our group were as effusive as the Americans. The beach, bathed in alpenglow, was visible from almost every room, but the most spectacular view was from a bedroom I dubbed the Ivory Tower. Like the rest of Cliff House, it was whitewashed brick with touches of Mediterranean blue, a round turret entirely occupied by a bed. I immediately claimed it for Warren and me.

Lachlan and Cameron, meanwhile, declined the remaining bedrooms and instead ran down into the living room and staked out a space I called the “Pit”--the nook that was actually the lower part of the Ivory Tower but sunken a few feet below the living room floor, with pillows and sheepskins scattered around a glass-covered fireplace.

There is much to see on the island, so we spent too little time at Cliff House, and I wished I had allowed time to stretch out for a few hours in the Ivory Tower to read and gaze at the waves. Three days here was insufficient, and our reconnaissance fell well short of thorough, but the kids enjoyed the momentum.

We started our explorations immediately. Lachlan and I maneuvered our way down the cliff path to the beach and explored the dunes until dark, and Cameron and his grandfather explored the fenced perimeter on the cliff. So we could cook at Cliff House that night, Warren and Kath made a grocery run to the little town of Parndana, a half-hour away near the center of the island. They made it just before closing time at 5.

There are no fast-food restaurants here, no strip malls, no 24/7 anything, not even a traffic light. There are perhaps two dozen restaurants, and they’re concentrated mostly in the towns. At 96 miles long and 34 1/2 miles at its widest point, the island is larger than many visitors anticipate. So it’s easy to find oneself out in the bush at lunch or even dinner with nothing to eat or no gasoline.

We had planned for the next day, picking up a picnic lunch we had ordered from Sue Pearson, who runs a catering outfit called 2 Birds & a Squid in the town of American River. Our next stop was Pelican Lagoon Research Lab, also near American River, where McKelvey took time from a field trip with biology students to show our kids and us how he tracked echidnas.

Like Hannaford, McKelvey had changed little in 10 years. (Ponce de Leon, I mused, should have come here to seek the Fountain of Youth.) He told us he was trying to track an elusive echidna named Johanna. Echidnas, which are marsupials and the only mammals aside from platypuses to lay eggs, could be important to humanity’s future, McKelvey explained. “Echidnas have survived 120 million years through all the climatic changes,” he told us. “So what are their strategies in survival?”

Around McKelvey, the Australian landscape came alive. My husband spied a scarlet robin, and McKelvey told us it was sitting on a narrow-leafed eucalyptus, the type used to make eucalyptus oil at a nearby distillery. Pointing to a fallen tree, he described how, when foliage becomes too dense, a certain species of gum tree will cause itself to fall over and let in more light. Its root, however, stays in the ground to ensure regrowth.

As my sons looked on enthralled, McKelvey explained how Rosenberg’s goanna lizards lay their eggs in one of the hefty termite mounds--we saw one 4 feet high--and their young hatch and feed on termites, surviving in a sort of greenhouse atmosphere inside until their lungs are strong enough to survive outside the mound. “We may be faced with that problem before long, so we can learn from these animals,” he said.

We piled back into our rented SUV and drove to a picnic site near the placid, pale blue waters of D’Estrees Bay on the southeast coast. There we dined on Sue’s homemade goodies, ranging from rolls, mini-quiches, roast beef, cheeses and chutney to fresh fruits and a delectable apricot pie. Then we made it a point to see as much wildlife as we could manage while making our way around the island.

Although some distances can be daunting, the island is easy to navigate. Given enough time and curiosity, you can head down “unsealed roads,” as Australians refer to those stretches of volcanic red soil. Brief showers interspersed with sun created rainbows and left glistening droplets on the trees. Occasionally, bright crimson Rosella parrots would dart near the car’s path before flitting away.

Back on a paved road, I won the contest to sight the first wild kangaroo. The youngster, however, was tame enough to hop his way over to our vehicle, parting a gaggle of gray, yellow-billed Cape Barren geese, to look for a handout. Feeding the wildlife is environmentally incorrect as well as prohibited here, but our visitor seemed just as happy to let us surround him and make a fuss over him, stroking his soft fur and scratching behind his ears. These animals, especially the smaller ones, are unlikely to injure humans, and our boys delighted in the hands-on encounter.

The next day Warren won for the first koala find, taking McKelvey’s advice to look in the area where Bark Hut Road meets Pioneer Bend Road toward Stokes Bay on the north coast. He pulled the car over so we could all jump out and scan the treetops until we saw the two gray lumps about 60 feet above us.

Their paws clutched tree limbs that looked too flimsy to hold them, and as they looked lazily down at us, the gnarled forest echoed with the cackle of a kookaburra.

Seals and sea lions were far easier to see. Visiting Seal Bay on the south coast, we joined a group of about 15 tourists and followed one of the park rangers to the beach to watch the animals interact in their natural environment. Even as we made our way to the beach on a boardwalk, built since my last visit, we could see seals curled up together in the dunes out of the wind.

One cub had even climbed up on the walk and lay there, looking soulfully at us, as my sons crouched nearby. “I’ve never had seals this close to me before,” Lachlan murmured reverently.

It was hard to believe the warning that these animals are capable of biting, but we still kept our distance from the roly-poly critters as our group of about 15 tourists trekked down the beach. We were gazing at a seal lineup just above the waterline when one of a pair that had just scampered into the surf caught a wave, his head bobbing in the foam as he shot to shore, then dove back in. “Where’s Surfer Dude?” cried Cameron, who covets that particular career himself. But the seal had submerged himself.

On our second full day of touring, the sight of seals was eclipsed by the geological wonders on the coastline of Flinders Chase National Park, a 78,500-acre area on the southwest corner of the island. I also noticed new man-made features here such as boardwalks and stairs, as well as an attractive new visitor center (with snack bar) at the entrance to the park. Even more gratifying was the fact that the natural sculptures named the Remarkable Rocks and Admiral’s Arch still knocked me out.

It was an adrenaline rush to be exposed to the strong winds unbroken by anything between us and Antarctica. Crashing on the craggy shore, the sea swells were mammoth and magnificent, their waters alternately gray or navy or teal, depending on where the sun shone through the clouds.

It was dizzying to be climbing around the towering Remarkable Rocks, rendered in abstract shapes by millenniums of rain, wind, waves and sun until they so barely touch their granite pedestal that they look as though they were lowered onto the landscape by some ancient alien spacecraft.

For all their beauty, the Remarkable Rocks seemed like an appetizer. Admiral’s Arch, several minutes away by car, was the main course. To get there, we zigzagged down a boardwalk-turned-stairway that wended its way over what looked like layers of old lava and other igneous rocks but sometimes turned out to be sleeping seals.

Around the last corner, we instantly forgot the seals as we faced the sort of natural land bridge. It looked more like an enormous gaping maw, with stalactites for fangs and smooth slabs of gray rock as the floor of its mouth. Through to the other side, framed by the arch, we could see in the wild waves a portrait of the ocean’s power.

We soon gave in to the boys’ impatience to go to a wildlife sanctuary called Paul’s Place, which they knew about from a 10-year-old photo of me with a kangaroo in my arms, a possum on my shoulder and several brilliantly feathered rainbow lorikeets perched on my head. This type of hands-on experience is what has made Paul’s Place--about a 15-minute drive north from the Playford Highway off Stokes Bay Road--an imperative stop for kids and grown-ups.

We arrived just as Paul Stanton, Pied Piper and master of ceremonies--who hadn’t aged in 10 years either--was taking a dozen visitors to feed his animals. As we took turns with yellow buckets of feed, there was a stampede of beasts and fowl from all directions, which quickly became a whirlwind of feathers and fur as we were besieged by turkeys, goats, kangaroos, emus, different breeds of ducks and chickens, cows and calves, sheep and tiny lambs, geese, deer, peacocks and ponies, all wanting a piece of the action. Our kids screamed with delight when a goat butted one aside to get to a feed bucket.

Paul vanished wordlessly and reemerged with a 9-foot python, which he placed around my neck as if it were a jeweled necklace. A ring-tailed possum, wrapped in a towel and chewing on a piece of bread, was presented to Cameron. Paul later gave the boys a koala and a kangaroo to feed with a bottle, and he showed them joeys inside their mothers’ pouches and large emerald emu eggs. The kids’ eyes shone.

So much wildlife, but I still regretted that we had not gone out to hunt for fairy penguins, which return from the sea at night to waddle back to their nests on shore. But as I woke up in the Ivory Tower just after sunrise on the day of our departure, I spied Warren below the window, beckoning. We dressed quickly and made our way across the grassy slope above the cliff down to a tiny cove. Following Warren’s lead, we lay prone and peered into the crevasses where cliffs met sands. There, spying tiny eyes, a beak, a hint of feathers and the dainty curve of a petite penguin head, we fell instantly in love. The emperor penguin, the largest of the species, is about 4 feet tall and can weigh up to 100 pounds, but fairy penguins are only a foot tall and weigh about 3 pounds.

Back home in Connecticut, we are already saddled with a menagerie that includes a dog, a cat, a ferret, three parrots and a pair of Japanese fighting fish. My husband and I rolled our eyes on the flight home as Lachlan and Cameron recited their new wish list: a kangaroo, a koala, a baby Australian fur seal and perhaps a pair of fairy penguins.

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Debbie Seaman is a writer based in Connecticut.

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Guidebook: Kangaroo Island Hopping

Getting there: From LAX, Qantas flies nonstop to Sydney, then to Adelaide. Restricted round-trip fares begin at $1,598. Round-trip fares from Adelaide to Kingscote on Hazelton Air begin at $60. Emu Airways flies six times daily to the island; restricted round-trip adult fares begin at $112.

SeaLink, 8553-1122, fax 8202-8666, www.sealink.com.au, operates ferries from Cape Jervis on the mainland to Penneshaw. The 10-mile trip takes 45 minutes. Round-trip fares are $35 per adult, $18 per child, $76 and up per vehicle (depending on length).

There is no taxi service, but Budget, (800) 527-0700, www.budget.com, and Hertz, (800) 654-3001, www.hertz.com, have local offices. Cars may be reserved in the U.S.

Telephones: To call the numbers below from the U.S., dial 011 (the international dialing code), 61 (country code for Australia), 8 (local code) and the local number.

Where to stay: Hannaford’s of Kangaroo Island, Snelling Beach, 8559-2248, fax 8559-2292. Cliff House has three bedrooms and rents for about $137 a night, and Hannaford’s also has two other self-catering cottages with beach views nearby.

Hannaford’s is one of six beach-side properties in the Kangaroo Island Coastal Connections network. For more information, go to www.kangarooislandcoastalconnections.com.au.

Kangaroo Island Wilderness Resort, 8559-7275, fax 8559-

7377, www.austdreaming.com.au/ki_resort.htm, opened last December on 113 acres of bush land near the entrance to Flinders Chase National Park. It has 25 doubles with upscale rustic decor, which start at about $88. Breakfast is included. The resort has a restaurant and will arrange tours.

Wanderers Rest of Kangaroo Island, Bayview Road, American River, 8553-7140, fax 8553-7282, www.wanderersrest.com.au, has nine simply decorated rooms with calico spreads, balconies, views of Eastern Cove and American River and rates that begin at $104, double, which includes a cooked breakfast. The restaurant is a la carte, specializing in local produce. Be sure to sample the bread-and-butter pudding served with ice cream. Another house specialty is grilled King George whiting at $12. Wines, including local ones, are served. Non-guests are welcome, but bookings are essential. The hotel has a pool and full facilities; no children younger than 12.

Kangaroo Island Lodge, 8553-7053, fax 8553-7030, www.kilodge.com.au, has bay-view and poolside rooms and holiday packages that include room, continental breakfast, ferry round trip out of Cape Jervis for two adults and a car, and a discount voucher for fishing and touring. Doubles without breakfast start at $69 a day. Where to eat: 2 Birds & a Squid Food Co., Redbanks Road, American River, 8553-7406. Chef and owner Sue Pearson caters picnics

as well as meals at your accommodations. Our ample picnic lunches were about $13 a head. (There is an extra fee for delivery, based on the order.) Menus are made using mostly local products. The company requires seven days’ notice to guarantee menu availability and a 50% deposit. Its chefs also will come to the visitor’s location and cook. Quotes available on request.

PK’s Lighthouse Cafe, Shop 7, Queenscliff Village, Dauncy Street, Kingscote, 8553-2089, does breakfast, lunch, snacks and catering and has the island’s largest choice of teas and coffees. Open 8 a.m.-

6 p.m. Monday-Saturday. Fish and chips is about $7, and the plate of Kangaroo Island cheeses with coffee or tea is $8.50 for two.

For more information: Kangaroo Island’s Gateway Visitor Information Centre,

P.O. Box 336S, Penneshaw, Kangaroo Island 5222, Australia; www.tourkangarooisland.com.au.

Australian Tourist Commission, 2049 Century Park East, Suite 1920, Los Angeles, CA 90067; (800) 369-6863, www.australia.com.