The unassuming Queensland coastal town where marine life, conservation and adventure meet in pristine waters

We’ve all been there. To places where we’ve had to navigate crowds to access ‘protected’ parts of nature, where development is taking over, and where land and marine life struggle under human pressure. There’s a quiet fear that hangs over every itinerary: ‘Am I too late?’

It’s why so many travelers are seeking out genuine wildlife sanctuaries, and it’s how I found myself practically eye-to-eye with a humpback whale feeding her calf. I’d come to Hervey Bay in Queensland, Australia, primarily for whale-watching during the peak migratory season which runs from July to September. I’d been told it was a sanctuary of sorts, with good chances of close encounters with these marine giants.

What I hadn’t been prepared for was how the unassuming town of Hervey Bay would offer up so much more. In this laid-back coastal pocket, already popular with retirees, I discovered a town that’s a true conduit for adventure, preservation, and purity. And in its surrounding waters, encompassing the World Heritage-listed sand island of K’gari (formerly Fraser Island), and the protected coral cay of Lady Elliot Island, the ocean’s largest inhabitants, the Eastern humpback whale, have found refuge—using the area’s calm, sheltered waters on their migration to and from Antarctica to breed, train, and socialize their calves.

My first night is aboard a sailing catamaran with Fraser Coast Boat Charters; I’ve barely stepped on deck when a whale glides by. As I scramble for my camera, the skipper, Scott Whitcombe, reassures me I’ll have plenty more opportunities. He’s not wrong.

There are so many that my wine goes warm and cheese plate remains untouched as I race from bow to stern in pursuit of the perfect picture. Only the next morning, satisfied that I’ve captured enough shots, do I relax, and sit with a coffee to watch the sun rise over the dunes of K’gari island in the distance.

A one-hour speedboat trip takes us from Platypus Bay to Kingfisher Bay, our entry point to K’Gari. A female whale casually flaps its tail repeatedly as we depart, a fitting farewell gesture for our first whale experience. Kingfisher Bay is home to the Kingfisher Resort, one of only two resorts on the island, and our base for exploring.

As I collapse into bed that night, I already feel I’ve seen it all: Whales, rainforests, sand dunes and pure rainwater lakes. But apparently not.

K’gari is the world’s largest sand island, awarded World Heritage status for its unique geological and biological features. The Indigenous people of this area, the Butchulla, describe K’gari as a living, breathing entity—rainforests have root systems that thrive in the sand thanks to a huge freshwater aquifier, and ferns have fronds that can grow up to 26 feet (eight meters) long. The array of ecosystems is dizzying, with woodlands, swamps and rainforests housing diverse birds, rare frogs and wildlife. Not forgetting the sand dunes and the perched lakes.

As we walk along a rainforest boardwalk with our guide Martin Goldsbury, I ask what he loves most about the island, “I love driving along the beach—there’s the whales, the dingoes, and then you’ve got the eagles, hawks and falcons,” he says. “You know, people, they get off the barge when they land here and it’s like, ‘Wow, we made it’. There’s no bitumen, no signal in some areas—it’s still a bit of a frontier.” I see what I means. As we hurtle along the ‘roads’ made entirely of sand, there’s a sense that despite a robust tourism industry, this is where nature and wildlife reign supreme.

After an electrifying drive across 75 Mile Beach, we stop to admire the rusting yet hauntingly beautiful hull of the  shipwreck SS Mahone, which ran aground during a cyclone in 1935, and the sand dunes, believed to be some of the oldest in the world, says explains. Dating back some 900,000 years, they’re formed of ancient sands that originated in eroded Antarctic mountains, later transported through ocean currents over milennia. In some areas, iron rich minerals have formed layers of color—red, orange, brown and yellow—a striking design against the blue sky.

Back in the safety of our 4WD bus, we spot a dingo on the beach, a sandy-colored wild dog native to Australia. While signage throughout the island warns of the dangers of approaching dingoes and what to do in the event of an encounter, they don’t deserve an entirely bad wrap; they help maintain herbivore populations and ultimately, the balance of the islands ecosystem. At Eli Creek, we stop for a swim. Fed by underwater springs that have been filtered by the sand over some 100 years, the water is crystal clear, and perfect for a cooling dip.

Our last stop of the day awaits, and we veer past 4WDs and people fishing en route to Lake McKenzie. K’Gari hosts half of the world’s perched freshwater lakes, and this is one. After a short walk through the trees, my eyes peeled for dingoes, we arrive at the beach. Fringed by forest, the lake has the bluest, clearest water I’ve ever seen. I learn that the rainwater collects above the water table, resulting in a lake filled purely with rainwater that’s filtered through the finest white silica sand.

Back on land, I discover the quiet thrill of a low-tide reef walk where I get the chance to explore the shallow lagoon waters, teeming with sea cucumbers, starfish, crabs, and coral. Lady Elliot Island pulses with life, wherever you are.

As I collapse into bed that night, I already feel I’ve seen it all: Whales, rainforests, sand dunes and pure rainwater lakes. But apparently not. The next morning, even before the kookaburras had started their dawn cacophony, I’m back at the ferry pier, ready to return to Hervey Bay, where a small airplane will take us to our next spot… the marine wonderland of Lady Elliot Island.

A remote, protected coral cay, Lady Elliot sits at the southern tip of the Great Barrier Reef. Yet, owing to its inaccessibility—you can only fly in—it doesn’t receive the same crowds as some of the more accessible reef hotspots.

While I’m here for a day, there’s accommodation at the Lady Elliot Island Eco Resort. Kerry Mayer, Lady Elliot’s Hervey Bay representative, explains how the resort is powered by 100 percent renewable energy.

“We’re fully solar-powered here, and we also have a desalination plant to treat the water,” she tells me. “Plus we treat most of our own waste on the island as well. We compost, and also have a strong education program so visitors know the protocol, for example, when they come across turtles [to avoid disturbing them]. It’s a small island—you can get around it in an hour if you want—so there’s a good chance [of seeing turtles]”.

Our guides for the day are identical twins, Oliver and Ben Richardson, who take turns enthusiastically pointing out manta rays swimming around our glass-bottomed boat. They explain that Lady Elliot Island is a bona fide hot spot for marine biodiversity, its protected waters home to whales, several species of turtles, reef sharks, dolphins, giant clams and tropical fish.

Fortunately for me, as a non-diver, you don’t need to scuba to appreciate the marine life here. Snorkeling masks and clear waters are all that’s required; we’re all thrilled to encounter so much under the waves. Back on land, I discover the quiet thrill of a low-tide reef walk where I get the chance to explore the shallow lagoon waters, teeming with sea cucumbers, starfish, crabs, and coral. Lady Elliot Island pulses with life, wherever you are.

Back at Hervey Bay, we prepare for the holy grail: Whale-watching. There’s no shortage of tours, but I’d booked with the The Pacific Whale Foundation who invest profits back into research, education, and conservation. They’ve conducted long-term studies of humpback whales and the threats that they face, and carried out advocacy work that’s’ been critical in developing policies for the protection of the Eastern humpback in particular.

Our guide delivers a fascinating commentary on whales, explaining how they train and socialize their young, and the different ways they communicate. Who would have guessed that a penducle throw—when the rear of the body is thrown sideways out of the water—is essentially a form of flirting? Or that breaching, when at least two thirds of the body comes out of the water, landing with a large splash, is either a form of play or a means of removing parasites?

I come to understand that beyond the humpbacks, the beauty of this area, from the pure lakes of K’gari to the protected reefs of Lady Elliot, isn’t accidental; it’s the result of a dedicated effort by local people and tourists alike to help protect and maintain it.

I’m lucky to discover that also on board is Barry McGovern, one of the key researchers with the Foundation. When I ask him about the role that tourists can play in protecting the whales, he explains the role of citizen scientists.

“We encourage people to use our Happy Whale platform,” he tells me. “Either they can upload images to the site themselves or they can donate their whale pictures to us and we will do it for them. The site helps us identify whales which in turn gives us valuable insight into whale health, migration and the population generally”.

In just three hours on the water, I witness more whale activity than I’d ever imagined: Acrobatic sweeps of pectoral fins and tail flukes, and quieter, more intimate moments of play and feeding between mothers and calves. I’m humbled not only by their sheer enormity, but by the apparent generosity with which they shared their marine lives with boats of binocular-wielding tourists. And yet, amid the awe, I also feel invested in the role we as tourists can play in protecting these extraordinary marine animals.

I come to understand that beyond the humpbacks, the beauty of this area, from the pure lakes of K’gari to the protected reefs of Lady Elliot, isn’t accidental; it’s the result of a dedicated effort by local people and tourists alike to help protect and maintain it.

And it’s this convergence of conservation, purity and calmness that explains why these magnificent, migratory giants flock to the unassuming town of Hervey Bay and its protected waters as their nursery. And for the modern adventurer seeking a genuine connection to the wild, that same commitment to sanctuary is the most compelling reason to choose it too.

The writer traveled with the support of Fraser Coast Tourism including Fraser Coast Boat Charters, Kingfisher Resort and its Beauty Spots Tour, and the Pacific Whale Foundation.

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