The truth is that there isn't a catch, or at least not much of one. You do have to hike in a bit and there is very little water on the peninsula, so you must either treat the water at Hazards or hope for some in the rain water tank at Cooks Beach. But these distances are not great, and surely a very small price to pay for such a fabulous paradise.

And I do mean paradise! Rarely have I camped in such a beauty spot, just off a pristine beach looking out over Promise Bay and Great Oyster Bay, with red granite hills behind me. A tiny preying mantis lands on my hand. Small yellow and blue birds flit about with the many butterflies. A wallaby munches lazily nearby. A kukabera laughs maniacally, as if madly overjoyed to be able to live here.

This East Coast gets much less rain than Tasmania's West Coast, so the day is typically warm and sunny. I jump out on some rocks that jut into the bay and sit on the end. Fantastic seaweeds of many different types surround me, rocking mesmerisingly back and forth. Sea birds pick through beautiful shells nearby. All is peaceful and quiet, furthering the impression of a dream.

Early the next morning, I hike over to the famous Wineglass Bay for the sunrise. It's all as perfect as it looks in the photos, spotlessly white sand and clear blue waters whose waves break in a symetrical pattern, and stately mountains over each side of the bay. However, I learn that it is neither more nor less beautiful than everything else in this fantastic park. Wineglass, whose name comes from the days when the whaling ships would carve up their catch in the bay, turning it as red as wine (Slaughterhouse Bay is just down the coast), is simply the first beach tourists can reach from the parking lot. Fortunately, it is the only one they go to and their numbers are somewhat limited by the small hill you need to climb.

Later, I attempt to travel to Cooks Beach from Hazards Beach via the shoreline, rather than the usual trail route. Like the frogs in the slowly boiling water, I don't realize how dangerous this is until it is almost too late. The way starts out easy enough and plenty scenic as well, with few scrambles and just a few short bushwalks between beaches. The way gets tougher and tougher though, with thicker bush and steeper slopes and I'm doing lots of bouldering. At this point I'd be happy to switch to the trail but the bush doesn't give me that option.

Then I have one of those incredibly dangerous moments that shakes you up so much that you can never completely shrug it off. I jump on a large boulder and it starts to slide. Reflexively, I leap up onto another, larger boulder and it starts to roll! This second boulder has a diameter that is greater than my height, so when it rolls, lots of things start rolling with it. I slide off the behemouth and, leaning against it, ride down on this mini-avalanche towards the sea. Just before we get there I hear a great crash and much grinding and we stop. Miraculously all of my limbs are accounted for. I can still smell the smoke from the ground stone, like something from a dentist's drill. I'm very thankful the rocks rolled the right way for me this time.

The hut at Cooks Beach another historical wonder, with an ancient iron stove and a room covered with newspapers from the 1950's. A short hike away is Bryans Beach, truely a stunner, even more lovely than Wineglass and completely deserted outside of three boats in the bay. I swim here and laze about, feeling like Robinson Crusoe. I hike the famous Peninsula Trek, climbing atop Mt. Freycinet and Mt. Graham, the two tallest in the area. You can see it all from these peaks (including God): lots of wonderful Tasmanian coast to the west, Schouten and Maria Islands to the south, ocean to the east that (as those convicts discovered) doesn't meet any land until South America, and the famous view of Wineglass and Promise Bays to the north, framed by the picturesque Hazards above them. Truely an incredible sight.

Despite the dryness of the area, nature abounds. Metallic skinks rustle every bush, tiny blue butterflies look for flowers, yellow throated honeyeaters and yellow wattle birds call in the trees. I spot a wrinkley southern dragon and a swarm of what could be dragonflies that disguise themselves by landing on pines and pulling in their wings so that they look exactly like twigs.

After four wonderous days I hike out. Just to demonstrate how lucky I was to visit, a rare downpour starts the instant I walk into a bus shelter. I'll never forget my time here.