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Stanley Johnson gets bitten by Barry the sea lion on a tour of the wilds of South Australia

South Australia's sea lions are some of the rarest pinnipeds in the world - David Edgar
South Australia's sea lions are some of the rarest pinnipeds in the world - David Edgar

Jodie – whose hobby was, she told me, stock-car racing – picked me up at Port Lincoln airport in South Australia. “Glad to see you’re travelling light,” she said as she loaded my rucksack into the back of the Toyota Land Cruiser and drove me 12 miles (19km) south to look for koalas at Mikkira Station. It was a perfect day, with a light breeze drifting in off the ocean.

“Koalas aren’t actually native to this region,” Jodie explained. “The family who own the station brought them here years ago and they have thrived. There are probably 100 of them.” As we walked among the towering gum and eucalyptus trees we saw 20 or more of them, free to roam over thousands of acres.

“We’ve been lucky,” Jodie told me. “I’ve never seen so many koalas, so close. Often they’re high in the trees. Today, you can reach out and touch them.”

Wildlife would be an enduring theme of the next few days. On that first evening, as I sat close to the fire at Kangaluna Camp, on the very edge of the Gawler Ranges National Park, 190 miles (300km) north of Port Lincoln, a cluster of emus came up to drink from the water trough and a dozen kangaroos hopped about among the gum trees.

Geoff Scholz was my guide and mentor for the duration of my stay. He is the owner and creator of Kangaluna Camp, and he loves the bush. He can tell a western grey from a red kangaroo or a common wallaroo at a distance of 200 paces, without a second’s hesitation. He’ll take you to towering cliffs to find the rare yellow-footed rock-wallaby. And, with Geoff around, you’ll see a wombat or two at close range. That I can guarantee.

Australia’s aboriginal peoples would have gazed up at the sky in the very place where we standing - Credit: Adam bruzzone
Australia’s aboriginal peoples would have gazed up at the sky in the very place where we standing Credit: Adam bruzzone

One night, as the fire died down, he took me to a telescope he had erected a few yards from the camp. It was a highly sophisticated instrument powered by a solar cell.

“There are billions of stars out there,” he said, peering through a viewfinder. “Literally billions.” Fifty thousand years ago, I thought, Australia’s aboriginal peoples would have gazed up at the sky in the very place where we standing. It was a strangely comforting thought.

As well as building telescopes, Geoff can magic up a five-star dinner at the end of a long day – and fix the solar heating that powers the nice hot shower in one of Kangaluna’s luxury tents. He is handy in other ways, too. One morning, we found ourselves stuck in sand on a little-used track inside the Gawler Ranges National Park. The Land Cruiser’s wheels span, and we sank deeper, but Geoff seemed unperturbed. He’d been stuck before, he said; he would be stuck again.

“We’re going to have to dig her out,” he finally admitted – and that is precisely what he did, scooping out the sand with his bare hands. After deflating the tyres and sticking branches underneath them for traction, we pushed like billy-o to get the vehicle started.

Kangaroos, koalas, wombats, quolls, possums – just part of nature out here - Credit: maxime coquard
Bizarre creatures are just part of nature out here Credit: maxime coquard

Kangaroos, koalas, wombats, quolls, possums – back in the UK, these Australian animal names are the staples of many a pub quiz. But out here they’re just part of nature. Rosemary Woodford-Ganf, one of Australia’s most celebrated wildlife artists, spends much of her time at Kangaluna. She gave me a copy of a book on Australian wildlife which contains her superb colour portraits of all 159 species of Australian marsupial.

“I didn’t know cuscus was a marsupial,” I said, spotting a brown and white possum. “I thought it was something you ate with lamb tagine.”

“You won’t find the common spotted cuscus down here in South Australia,” Rosemary said, laughing. “I had to go way up north to Queensland’s rainforests to find it.”

On my second day in camp, we drove on dirt roads some 50 miles (80km) north to Lake Gairdner, the fourth largest salt lake in Australia (Lake Eyre, which lies to the north and is also in South Australia, is the first). This is a place where people come to test their high-speed cars, occasionally attempting a new world land-speed record. In fact, in May, American Valerie Thompson did precisely that with a recorded speed of 328mph. That sort of thing isn’t my cup of tea, though. As we drove up to the lake, a small plane landed on the white expanse and taxied over to us.

I sat in the co-pilot’s seat while Laura flew me over the vast salt pan. “That’s the measured mile Valerie Thompson drove on,” Laura said. She banked the plane so I could get a better look. “You can still see the tyre marks on the salt.”

Trevor Wright, founder and owner of Wrightsair, based in nearby William Creek, had flown in to join us. Out here, having a plane is a bit like having a car, only more useful.

Geoff had brought a picnic lunch. He introduced me. “Tell Boris to visit us next time he’s in Australia,” Trevor said. “We’ll put his photo up in the William Creek pub!”

Lake Gairdner, South Australia - Credit: robert blackburn
Lake Gairdner, South Australia Credit: robert blackburn

The highlight of my Gawler Ranges safari came on the third day, when I swam with Australian sea lions in Baird Bay. It lies on the eastern edge of the Great Australian Bight, a stretch of ocean that separates South Australia from Antarctica, and must be about 60 miles from Kangaluna as the Australian wedge-tailed eagle flies – and I saw at least half a dozen of those.

We left Kangaluna straight after breakfast, reaching Baird Bay in time for a quick coffee before heading for the boat. If Geoff Scholz is the life and soul of Kangaluna Camp, then Alan Payne and his wife Trish are the inspiration and motivating force behind Baird Bay’s swimming with sea lions adventure.

“We came from Western Australia 25 years ago,” Alan told me as I pulled on my wetsuit. “I bought a diving licence, went fishing. Trish and I thought we were going to retire, but we were mistaken. I found myself surfing with the seals instead.”

If any team deserves to win the South Australia Conservation Award, it is Alan and Trish Payne. For more than a quarter of a century, they have guided and guarded the important Baird Bay population of Australian sea lions. There were only 25 when the Paynes first came here. Now there are said to be about 1,000.

The Australian sea lion – Neophoca cinerea – is the rarest pinniped species in Australian waters and among the rarest in the world. Its total population is approximately 12,000, so the Baird Bay colony is of critical importance.

Alan, a hardy soul, doesn’t bother with a wetsuit. We motored out across the water to a rocky promontory at the eastern edge of the bay and he guided the boat close to the coast before cutting the engine. There were sea lions everywhere – in the water next to the boat, on the rocks where the waves broke. I was amazed by the sheer size of some of the adults.

“A mature male can weigh 771lbs,” said Alan. “See those flippers? All four of them, front and back? These animals can haul themselves up a steep cliff.” He pointed. Half a dozen large sea lions were basking in the sun on the cliff edge high above us.

If Alan Payne knows virtually every sea lion in the Baird Bay colony, they seem to know him too. He doesn’t feed them or bribe them in any way. There are no buckets of “chum” waiting to be tossed overboard. Having got to know Alan so well over the years, the sea lions just seem to enjoy human company.

They certainly appeared to enjoy mine. When Alan climbed back into the boat, Jake – one of Alan’s team – stayed in the water with me. He was fully kitted out with mask and snorkel.

“I’ll go and find Barry,” he said. “I’ll try to persuade him to come up.”

Jake quickly dived out of sight to re-emerge a minute or so later in the company of a huge sea lion. “This is Barry,” said Jake, as he removed his mouthpiece. “Say ‘Hello’ to Barry, but watch out. He can be a bit frisky.”

Stanley gets friendly with Barry - Credit: Sebastien Cros
Stanley gets friendly with Barry Credit: Sebastien Cros

I wouldn’t say I was nervous. Cautious would be a better word. I had never gone head-to-head with a fully grown Australian sea lion before.

I spent some time in the sea that morning, getting up close and personal with Barry – and it was an extraordinary experience. I wanted to give him a hug. He had such a friendly face, a bit like a large labrador. But it wasn’t easy. In spite of his size, Barry moved quickly. He was here one moment, gone the next.

After a while I gave up. In spite of my wetsuit, I was beginning to feel cold. “Bye-bye, Barry!” I called before swimming back to the boat. As I climbed aboard, I noticed that my forearm was bleeding slightly. “Was that Barry?” Alan asked. “He can get a bit playful.”

I laughed it off. “I’m honoured; I’ll post a selfie. Just a scratch. Hardly the Great Australian Bite!”

Our marine excursion ended with a trip to the far side of the bay where a 20-strong pod of bottlenose dolphins zigzagged round the boat, rode the bow wave and jumped clean out of the water ahead of us in a burst of spray. The animals of South Australia seem only too pleased to see you.

The essentials

Trailfinders (020 7368 1200; trailfinders.com) can arrange an itinerary similar to Stanley Johnson’s, to include flights to Adelaide, four days’ touring with Gawler Ranges Wilderness Safaris, the sea lion swim at Baird Bay and a scenic flight over Lake Gairdner.

Return flights from London to Melbourne with Etihad Airways (0345 608 1225; etihad.com) cost from £687.

Further information: southaustralia.com