Paperbark Camp

Last time I went camping I took my sons to a site my father used to take me. But much had changed. No more could we just find a patch of bushland, stake our tent and spark up the fire. Licenses were required, campfires were banned, and signs warned campers of the threat from ‘overhanging branches’. When I ignored these new-age directives, rangers fined me $350 for ‘endangering a national park’. So much for the ‘great outdoors’…

Now I’m going bush again. This time in the name of romance and recreation… the recreation of romance, that is. As such, this is far from an ordinary camping trip. It’s ‘glamping’ (glamorous camping) and ‘the wilds’ are 150 minutes south of Sydney in the hamlet of Jervis Bay. Moreover, I’m ‘roughing it’ in a tent furnished with crisp linen, a king-size bed, balcony and claw-foot bath… hence Mrs Smith, who has never endangered a national park in her life, zealously pitching up to join me.

From the moment we turn off the tarmac road onto the dirt track to Paperback Camp, we’re relaxed. Kangaroos bound through the tawny scrub beside us. Magpies issue their waddle-giggle-gargle carol from on high. And glimmering through the eucalypts we can see the slow flow of Currambene Creek. We’re within cooee of the national park named Booderee, meaning ‘bay of plenty’. From the bush to the bays to the beaches that enfold what has been acclaimed as the whitest sand in the world, this is Dhurga country, and one of just three national parks still in the custody of its Aboriginal inhabitants.

We set down our swags at ‘Echidna’, one of eight Original and four Deluxe safari tents Paperbark has had wired up and glowing on solar power since 1998. It’s a large set-up on stilts, with a wide balcony overlooking the bushland and water with an elegant floor-boarded bedroom and en suite. Adjacent is a wetland path so we set stroll, watched by a mob of ’roos, one with tiny joey on board. I feel a flicker of guilt at leaving the kids at home but it passes fast as Mrs Smith and I exult in the quiet. That guilt returns when kangaroo fillet is on the menu that night but hey, it bounds across the palate with such panache we find it hard to rue the roo.

Paperbark hibernates in the winter for repairs and sprucing. It’s a fortnight into the new season when we visit but all tents are full and booked out six weeks in advance. Most of the clientele are couples, although the Camp has become a favourite retreat for corporate teams craving off-site pow-wows. The herb garden was established by Jamie Durie on just such a team-building jaunt. Campfire gatherings, cultural performances, outdoor cinemas, drum circles and bush-tucker tours can be arranged, likewise fishing charters, whale watching trips and horse-riding in Jervis Bay.

Mrs Smith and I are happy to hang at the ranch at first, reading on the balcony, soaking in the tub or watching pygmy possums scurry through the scrub. But as the weekend unfurls we grab a canoe from the flotilla available free to guests. Lazily paddling up the Creek, watching the mangrove birds dry their wings in the warm spring air, we daydream about all the pioneering adventures had in this area since Captain Cook sighted these lands aboard the Endeavour in May 1770.

Our own adventuring is considerably more refined. We borrow a couple of Camp bikes and cycle to nearby Greenfields Beach with one of Paperbark’s signature picnic hampers strapped on the back fender. With pelicans wheeling overhead and a family of kookaburras watching on, we unfold the rug and graze on chicken sandwiches, frittatas, fresh juices and friands, all packed in camping tins and wrapped in brown paper tied with string. It’s unpretentious and delicious. So too the sundowner cocktails and nibbles we enjoy aboard a cruise on the creek that night.

Paperbark’s acclaimed treetop diner the Gunyah, with its ochre inlay, is a fine place to contemplate the simple things in life. There’s a fire roaring for chilly nights, a wraparound balcony for sunny mornings and a fairy-lights-lit arena of tables and sofas where Chilean chef Emilio and young protégé Maximilano artfully bang pans for guests and public alike. Paella nights are particularly famous hereabouts. Appetites are whet with a fresh plump oyster and a sublimely zesty ceviche of prawn, salmon and kingfish before the big pan sparks up from the corner of the dining room and the chefs dole out delicious smoky portions of slow-cooked chorizo, shellfish and chicken with snap peas strewn throughout and salads on the side.

Perched at the Gunyah, a pisco sour at hand and the southern stars overhead, the calming balm of the wilderness and its gentle, untameable rhythms wrap us up and hold us close. Even though phone reception and WiFi exist at Paperbark, it seems obscene to break the spell. For Mrs Smith and I, it’s great not to have a phone in our pockets, an email pressing or even a watch on our wrists. Instead we read, write by hand, talk, kiss and think. Paperbark is that sort of place. Its secret history is written in the waters and stones, the flora and fauna. By camping out, treading lightly and breathing deeply, we take a leaf out of the Paperbark book and feel the great outdoors for all its greatness.