If you are lucky enough to encounter an adult seaturtle be sure to acknowledge her. Take a bow, doff your cap, curtsey, or, given the fact you are probably underwater at the time, tap your mask in salute, for she has beaten all odds. For a turtle, life over 50 is indeed an accomplishment. In fact, life over 5 hours is an accomplishment. I’ve just come back from a coral cay called Wilson Island, one of the Capricornia islands off the Queensland coast. It’s a nature reserve that allows a few humans to mingle with thousands of birds and to witness the hatching of thousands of baby turtles – if you are lucky. You can’t avoid the birds, but the turtles are elusive, appearing from nests above the beach and dashing down to the water around sunrise and sunset. I was lucky enough to see this on two evenings. The first time reminded me of the Normandy Landings, but in reverse. A troop of over 50 hatchlings sprinted across the coral sands, clambering over boulders and out of dips in the sand while we, the navy as it were, shooed off the sea gulls. A huge sigh of relief could be heard as the plucky little fellows made it to the sea and seemingly, salvation. Then the sharks arrived, first two, but before long there were over half a dozen black-tip reef sharks snapping away at the turtles. But that didn’t stop these diminutive soldiers, they kept on entering the ocean without a doubt in their mind, a portrait of determination.

The sharks got them all. They’d lived for less that 15 minutes. I finished my glass of rosé and went back to the bar, contemplating life. Interestingly, while they were dashing across the sands an adult turtle had swum along the beach, as if trying to distract the sharks. 

The following evening, another family, brothers and sisters in arms, emerged to make a dash for the sea and this time there were no sharks. As with the previous hatching, there was an adult turtle swimming along the beach. Surely this was no coincidence? I contemplated it over a Negroni.

I was lucky enough to see some adult turtles too, one large one that had become stranded in a rock-pool at low tide, and a few that swam past me when I was snorkelling. I also came across the remains of two adult turtles, one underwater being nibbled on by a couple of evil looking Hammerhead sharks and another, on land, the skeleton of a female who had ventured too far inland to lay her eggs and perished, too tired to make it back to the sea. It’s tough being a turtle. Even for an adult weighing up to 250 kg there’s the threat of Tiger sharks. But as usual, man is the greatest foe, whether it’s a plastic bag, pollution or the pot. Apparently a baby turtle has a 0.1% chance of making it to adulthood. You can Adopt a turtle through the WWF.

This island paradise, so teeming with life, was a stark reminder that death lurked just around the corner. Thousands of nesting Noddy birds – a very handsome black tern – filled the trees, while a few unlucky ones lay decaying on the ground, amongst the mutton bird burrows, these Shearwaters made such ungodly noises at night you would think the dead had risen. Rascally Rails ran around looking guilty. How these flightless birds managed to arrive on the island I do not know. A family of sea eagles soared above us, along with Frigate birds, intent on stealing the catches of the Noddies and Boobies. Maybe Mother Nature is a capitalist after all?

I can recommend a few days on Wilson Island to all nature lovers, including those with a passion for wine. Your trip is prepaid so you can drink as much as you want, and the selection is a good one – although red wine and the tropics never really work for me. These were my three favourites, a rich Tassie Chardonnay, a friendly Eden Valley Riesling and an eminently quaffable Rosé from the McLaren. They take requests too, including VB in cans, but whatever you choose while you’re there, be sure to raise a glass to those turtles.