Kangaroo Island: One bloke, one car, infinite views

I had been meaning to get to Kangaroo Island for years. Every time someone mentioned it—whether it was the epic coastal views, the sea lions at Seal Bay, or just the fact that it’s “like another world”—I’d make a mental note: soon.

But as with most things, life got in the way. Now, finally, I’ve cleared the calendar, fuelled up the car, and booked the ferry. I’m going solo, which feels oddly perfect. Just me, the open road, and two days to see what all the fuss is about. No deadlines, no company—just the Island and whatever it throws at me.

Why solo travel to Kangaroo Island just works

There was something bloody satisfying about solo travel. No debates over where to eat, no one telling me to turn off at the next lookout—it was just me, rolling along at my own pace. Kangaroo Island rewarded that kind of freedom. I pulled over whenever something caught my eye (and it often did), wandered down random paths, and didn’t once check the time.

The locals noticed too. From the bloke at the servo who gave me a map with handwritten notes to the café owner who insisted I try the honey ice cream, there was this quiet warmth in every interaction.

A self-drive adventure: freedom, fuel and dirt roads

Kangaroo Island was far bigger than I’d imagined—over 4,000 square kilometres of sweeping coastline, bushland, and bendy roads. Doing it as a self-drive was the only way that made sense. I was in a small SUV which handled the sealed and dirt roads without fuss. No need for a hardcore 4WD, but anything smaller would’ve rattled like a tin can.

Fuel was pricey, but that’s the price of freedom. I topped up in Kingscote and again in Penneshaw before heading back. Reception was patchy out west, which added to the adventure—like relying on signs again instead of Google Maps.

Seal Bay and the beach crowd you don’t mind

Seal Bay was my first major stop and hands down one of the highlights. No fences or theme-park tricks—just wild wildlife on Kangaroo Island doing their thing. I joined a guided tour and got within a few metres of the sea lions, sprawled across the sand like napping footy players.

Watching the pups slide through the dunes and the older bulls grumble at each other was unreal. It was wild, raw, and quiet, apart from the ocean and the snoring. That salty breeze, the sun on my back—felt like I was crashing their lazy beach day, and they didn’t seem to mind.

Flinders Chase, Remarkable Rocks and Admirals Arch

Later that day, I drove out to Flinders Chase National Park. That western side of the island had this wild, desolate beauty about it—burnt bushland regenerating, cliffs that seemed to drop into the sea, and not another car in sight for long stretches.

Remarkable Rocks were just that—massive, wind-sculpted formations sitting on a granite dome. I timed it for late afternoon and the setting sun lit them up like fire. Admirals Arch wasn’t far away, tucked under a cliff, with fur seals surfing the waves below. I stood there for ages, watching the swell crash and the seals play in the foam.

Overnight in Kingscote and the night skies

I spent the night in a modest cabin just out of Kingscote. Clean, warm, and with a handwritten welcome note from the host. I grabbed takeaway fish and chips from the local shop and parked myself on the wharf with a cold Coopers.

No noise but the occasional splash and the wind in the rigging. The stars overhead were ridiculous—like someone had dusted the whole sky with glitter. Without city lights, it felt like the world had zoomed out, and for a moment I was just one tiny bloke in a very big universe.

Second day: oysters, echidnas and hidden coves

Next morning I swung past American River for a tray of fresh oysters and a long black. The café had this killer view of the bay and a bloke playing acoustic guitar quietly in the corner. Doesn’t get more laid-back than that.

Later on, somewhere between Emu Bay and Stokes Bay, I pulled over for an echidna ambling across the road. I sat on a log and watched him forage for ants for about twenty minutes—no rush, just one of those little travel moments you don’t plan for.

Stokes Bay was the last stop—a hidden gem you reach through a tunnel of boulders. On the other side: white sand, clear water, and only a handful of people. I had a swim, lay in the sun, and just soaked it all in.

Returning via the ferry: a final glance back

I made it back to Penneshaw with enough time for a quick stroll and a pie from the bakery. As the ferry to Kangaroo Island pulled away from the dock, I looked back at the cliffs catching the last of the afternoon light. Felt a bit like I was leaving something behind—like I hadn’t finished the conversation with the place.

There were things I’d missed—Vivonne Bay, the honey farm, the gin distillery—but that just gave me an excuse to come back. And I will.

My verdict

Kangaroo Island was everything I’d hoped for and a bit more. Rugged, quiet, packed with wildlife and the kind of beauty you don’t need to dress up. Travelling solo made it even better—no compromises, just a proper reset. Driving myself let me go at my own pace, veer off course, and follow the unexpected. I’ll be back for sure, maybe with a few more days and fewer sandwiches. But even as a short solo escape, it was one for the memory bank.

More information

Practical information

  • Getting there: Ferry departs from Cape Jervis to Penneshaw (approx. 45 mins). Book via SeaLink in advance.
  • Best time to visit: March to May or September to November (mild weather, fewer crowds).
  • Fuel: Limited stations—top up in Kingscote or Penneshaw.
  • Dress code: Layers—weather turns quick; bring a windbreaker even in summer.
  • Wildlife caution: Drive carefully, especially at dawn/dusk.
  • Road conditions: Mix of sealed and unsealed roads. 4WD not essential but helpful.