Outback Eden

Anyway

The light aircraft shook itself along the runway and we were in the air, quickly leaving Darwin behind. To our right, a thin veil of olive green eucalyptus lay over red earth, thickening into a lush green border before giving way to an aquamarine sea. A dusty dirt road ended at a single lonely house in the forest, and all sign of human habitation ceased. We were over wilderness.

We were crossing Arnhem Land, 96,000 square kilometres of Aboriginal land in the far north of Australia, with access restricted to indigenous people and a tiny number of visitors fortunate enough to be issued permits. Our destination was Seven Spirit Bay Wilderness Lodge, which lies on the Cobourg Peninsula, a promontory that pushes out from the northernmost tip of the reserve like an outstretched hand. The reason for flying was simple: apart from by boat, there is no other way to get there.

Uninhabited islands, dense with forest, slipped beneath us. As we crossed the peninsula, a series of bays cantilevered along the coastline, each one an arc of untouched beach enclosing green and tourquoise waters swirled with dusky silt and yellow sand. Forty-five minutes after takeoff, we landed at the resort's airstrip, a length of rust coloured gravel amid sunny savannah. A small, open sided shed was humorously titled 'Seven Spirit Bay International Airport'. A half-hour ride in an open-sided jeep, and we were at the lodge.

The resort's philosophy is to provide a true wilderness experience in a luxury setting. That means a delicate balancing act. Rooms are comfortable rather than sumptuous, embracing the scent of the bush and the sound of the sea rather than cocooning guests in layers of indulgence. With supplies coming by plane or fortnightly boat, the restaurant serves a set menu - but the food is exquisite, making great use of freshly caught fish. The lodge overlooks a sublime bay with a golden beach, but crocodiles and sharks mean sea swimming is out of the question. Every once in a while a tropical cyclone rampages through the area, forcing evacuation of the whole facility.

The upside is that you are immersed in a glory of abundant nature. Half a dozen ecosystems, from paperbark wetland to eucalypt forest to grassland, lie within easy reach of the lodge. Birds range from soaring raptors to small, iridiscent kingfishers like the rainbow bee eater, and total well over two hundred species. Marsupials that guests are likely to see include wallabies and small hunters known as quolls, something like a native cat. The sea literally teems with fish.

While the cabins are set in native forest, the central area is an oasis of easygoing good taste. We are given a welcome drink in a lounge and bar which, with wide verandahs and dark wood floors, offers a cool retreat at the heart of the complex. Mottled cane furniture suggests the influence of Indonesia, which lies just across the sea. Through the room's open doors and glass walls, decks of dining tables shelve down to a swimming pool sculpted like a rock pool and surrounded by palms. Beyond this, a manicured lawn overlooks a perfect arc of bay and bush.  

After a simple checkin, we are shown to our cabins, or habitats, as they are termed. These simple hexagonal structures dispense with the usual pretensions in order to highlight their greatest feature, the untamed natural garden surrounding them on all sides. Louvred windows - backed by insect screens - stretch from ceiling to floor on three sides, giving guests the sense that they are actually sleeping in the bush. The forest affords complete seclusion from other cabins, but the sea sparkles through the foliage, the gentle crashing of its waves making a soothing soundtrack. Ceiling fans take the place of airconditioning - it's unnecessary in the July climate, which is close to perfect.

A few metres away in the forest, the open fronted bathroom gives a sense of being at one with the environment, notwithstanding a fence for privacy. As staff member Dee shows me the facility, she advises me to leave the gate latched - wallabies have been known to enter the bathrooms in search of water.

After a light lunch of stir fried prawns in chilli and coconut milk nicely offset by a South Australian verdot, we are invited to join one of the tours offered by the lodge. Guided walks of about two hours are complimentary; longer tours, including a trip by aircraft to a remote Aboriginal rock art site, are arranged for a fee. We opt for a two hour trek with guide Dave Freibel to some of the natural highlights near the lodge.

Dave has worked at Seven Spirit Bay for three years, loving the seclusion and the pristine environment. As the staffer who maintains the lodge's relationship with the area's traditional owner, Robert Cunningham, he has collected a wealth of ancient Aboriginal knowledge about the flora and fauna.

"This place is like a supermarket for the indigenous people," he says, gesturing at what to me is a vaguely intimidating piece of scrubby bush. As we make our way through the forest, he points out plants that can be used for medicine, tool making or food. Pandanus, a small tree with a wiry trunk and a head of spiky leaves, provides fibre for basket weaving, fruit that's good to eat and a cure for diarrhoea, and wood that burns so slowly it can be used to carry fire from one camp to the next. The milkwood tree contains a sap that can be used to treat skin disorders, while its trunk, which is broad and soft, is ideal for making dugout canoes. Another tree provides red bush apples, while the ironwood tree can be used for implements such as spearheads and digging sticks, with its resin used as glue.

We descend to a beach overlooked by ruddy laterite cliffs, and within minutes Dave has picked up three small stones from the sand and scraped them across a larger rock to produce stripes of rich colour - white, yellow and red ochre. Ochre is highly prized in Aboriginal society for rock painting, and this beach produces excellent quality stone. As there are no rocks suitable for painting in the area, the local people traded it inland for implements such as axe heads made of granite, which does not occcur here. There are six Aboriginal outstations on the 10,000 hectare concession, which was acquired in the late 1980s. The traditional owners earn income from the arrangement, while maintaining their relationship with the land.

An osprey sails overhead, then a juvenile sea eagle, and Dave says he once saw an adult sea eagle pull a small shark from the water. We head back to a local landmark called Gunner's Quoin, from where we overlook thirty metre cliffs to see a bronze whaler shark languidly make its way along the coastline.

After another excursion to watch the sun sink over the Arafura Sea, with champagne and hors d'oeuvres provided, it's time for dinner. Executive chef Luke Smith comes to our table to explain the evening's menu. A set meal is offered, consisting of five entrée size dishes. This cuts waste to a minimum, essential in the remote location. Guests are asked when they arrive at the resort if there are foods they don't eat, and the menu is tailored accordingly. Many guests find themselves enjoying food they would probably not order if they saw it on a menu.

The lead item on tonight's list is strips of golden snapper fried in a wattle nut batter and drizzled with maple syrup. Wattle, the national flower of Australia, produces a nut which is the closest thing to a native coffee. The dish, which Luke inherited from his predecessor, is brisk and pleasing.

"When I first heard about it, I thought it sounded awful," says the chef. "But it's one of my favourites."

Fish is high on the list of menu items, with guest fishing trips usually bringing catches of Spanish mackerel, coral trout, or snapper. A good catch can mean five courses of fish, cooked in different ways and with different garnishes. At other times, improvisation is necessary, with staff having been dispatched once or twice to catch from a school of mangrove jack which live under the resort jetty, nicely fattened by fish scraps.

The following morning, some guests opted for a lazy day by the pool, while others joined the organised excursions. Some went fishing, with a choice of bait casting in creeks or trawling a line out at sea. A brochure casually listed 33 species that can be caught in the area, including the much prized local variety, the barramundi. Others went for a full day boat trip to Victoria Settlement, the forlorn ruin of a township founded in 1838, one of several early attempts to secure a British foothold in northern Australia. The venture was abandoned in 1849, after eleven desperate years of disease and hard scrabble efforts to grow crops. The settlers left behind wells, stone chimneys, a hospital kitchen, a magazine, and a scattering of lonely graves. But one legacy of their enterprise thrives, in the form of herds of Indonesian banteng cattle, Timor ponies and water buffalo which can still be spotted in the area.

And then it was time to leave. Resort managers Peter and Robyn Doone took us back out to the airstrip, driving the length of the runway to clear it of any buffalo which may have strayed onto it. As we reached the end of the strip, we caught sight of two males, magnificent beasts playfully locking horns. We drove as close as we could to take photos and they ambled away slowly, stopping to give us a studied look. If they could talk, they might have said, 'You may think you're in charge here, but you're not.'