Bikepacking Bellamarin with a 35mm Film Camera (Video)

The first thing I notice as the road turns to sand is the quiet. It’s like someone just muted the audio track, “Grinding Conveyor Belt of Stones,” previously on loop for 30 minutes. I can tune in to the peace of the bush, interrupted only by pings of long grass in my spokes, and am suddenly aware of my breath.

I’m also suddenly aware of voices up ahead screaming, “Shiiiiiiiiiiit!” That’s Rolo and Lettsy, two fellow bike dorks I’m riding with, and they’re subtly letting me know that we’ve completely overcooked our descent. In an instant, what was hard-packed doubletrack gives way to a kindergarten sandpit, and we’re fishtailing all over the place. Rolo goes down in the chaos, Lettsy cackles, and I manage to straight-line it through. In the aftermath, Rolo describes a lovely cushioning to the track that we each have a turn with over the next two days.

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We’re on an 82-kilometre bikepacking circuit of Bellamarin, aka French Island, a surprisingly isolated island less than two hours southeast of Melbourne. Sheltered in Westernport Bay, Bellamarin was once a proposed site for a nuclear power station, but it’s now three-quarters protected by National Park and Ramsar sites hosting 580 native plant and 230 bird species.

The well-known island next door has a bridge to the mainland, surf beaches, an international Grand Prix, and up to 40,000 visitors at the height of summer. Bellamarin might also have a population of 40,000, but they’d all be koalas. Less than 150 people actually live here, and even locals to the region like me rarely think to visit. That’s partly why I’m finding this trip so satisfying. I’m filling in the blanks of a mystery that’s always poked its head over the horizon.

As we progress, the island’s beauty reveals itself in subtle shifts between woodlands, coastal heath, salt marshes, and surreal mangrove forests silhouetted in the water. We disturb Cape Barren geese on a deserted cricket pitch, glimpse thousands of black swans idling off the coast, and are constantly spied on by koalas in the manna gums.

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At times, the track is a slog—uphill on sand is a lot less fun than downhill—and at others, it doesn’t even exist. Beware of route planning based solely on Ride with GPS! On day one, the thick scrub means we’re not always rewarded with a view, but when we break through to the beach, the reward-to-effort ratio balances evenly. On day two, the ratio weighs heavily towards reward when we hit the southern section. Progress on gravel backroads—which are actually the main roads—is easy, and broad vistas open up to the bay. Lunch at French Island Vinyards is a gourmet counterpoint to camp cooking, and we take our time exploring an abandoned farmstead. I realise I’ve hit peak hipster as I combine film photography, bikepacking dorkery, and urbex.

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For a moderately challenging overnighter, only 15 minutes by ferry from the fringes of Melbourne, bikepacking Bellamarin provides a sense of remoteness I’m more accustomed to finding after a seven-hour drive. I can count on one hand the number of cars that pass us on the road and we cross paths with only one other cyclist when we reach Pinnacles Lookout. She’s a cycle-tourer from Italy, and as I look back over a familiar stretch of water for the first time from the other side, she asks a simple question, “How come you never came earlier?”

Bikepacking Bellamarin Route

Further Reading

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