TRAVELING IN STYLE : EXCELLENT ADVENTURES : Chardonnay and Crocodiles : Trek through the wilderness, laze in the sun, sail into the past and breakfast in the : bush--all at Seven Spirit Bay, an eco-tourist’s dream resort in Australia

THE SOFT TROPICAL AIR was thick with a heady perfume of salt tang and the scent of eucalyptus trees. I fell asleep in my bungalow in a big, cozy bed to the soothing wash of waves on the nearby beach. At dawn, I was awakened by the raucous music of the Australian bush. In the treetops, kookaburras laughed loudly and maniacally, magpies warbled, cockatoos shrieked, iridescent parrots squealed and squawked. It was as if wildlife left undisturbed for millennia were suddenly struggling to be heard.

Although I would have been grateful for a few more hours of sleep, I accepted the inevitable, got up and got dressed and went for a walk. The bush was no less busy at ground level than in the trees. Lizards, from tiny skinks to six-foot goannas, rustled in the undergrowth. Other, less identifiable, rustlings stirred deeper in the bush--possibly wild Batgeng cattle or sambar deer, creatures introduced here from Indonesia in the 19th Century to provide food for shipwrecked sailors, that now roam the bush without fear of predators. In the distance, a herd of kangaroos bounced by, pounding the ground at the end of each long bound. So began another day at Seven Spirit Bay.

THE FIRST TIME I VISITED THE COBOURG Peninsula--a jagged spit of land in Australia’s Northern Territory, poking out toward Indonesia in the Arafura Sea--I had to sleep on a yacht. There was no safe place to bed down on land--not even on the broad white beaches--thanks to the crocodiles. Even so, the region’s miles of sheltered waters, pristine bays and varied and exotic wildlife had impressed me greatly, and left me anxious to return.

That was several years ago. At the time, there had been talk of bringing a floating hotel into these waters, to make it at least a little easier for travelers to enjoy the natural wonders of Australia’s “Top End,” as the area is called. That never happened. What happened instead was Seven Spirit Bay--which its developers call a “wilderness habitat,” but which I’d describe simply as a luxury resort in the midst of some of the most beautiful and unspoiled back country in the world.

It’s impossible to discuss the Top End without mentioning “Crocodile Dundee,” whose outback sequences were shot here. Although Paul Hogan starred in the film, his co-star was certainly the splendid local scenery--and if “Crocodile Dundee” made Hogan an international celebrity, it also created a whole new audience for the Cobourg Peninsula. Depicted in the film, accurately, as not just a beautiful place but also an appealingly simple one whose inhabitants (there are only about 153,000 people in the entire Northern Territory, which covers roughly 525,000 square miles) live by old-fashioned values of friendship, loyalty and harmony with nature, the region now draws visitors from all over the world. It’s as if people want to see if such a place really still exists.

Indeed it does. But it isn’t particularly easy to get to. The Cobourg Peninsula is out of the way even by Australian standards. You can’t go any farther north without an Indonesian visa. If this isn’t the end of the world, you sometimes feel as if you must be able to see the end from here.

My own trip to Seven Spirit Bay began with a flight northwest from Sydney, across the continent to Darwin. That 2,000-mile portion of my journey alone, by way of Brisbane, took nearly six hours. At Darwin, the modern commercial center that is the hub of the Top End and the capital of the Northern Territory, I transferred to a small Cessna for the one-hour flight to the northeast across the aboriginal communities of Bathurst and Melville islands to Port Essington on the Cobourg Peninsula.

Our tiny aircraft landed on a grass runway burnished into a bronze ribbon by the tropical sun. I had come this way on my first trip here, and this time I noticed at least one small sign of progress: A tiny open shed, the size of a suburban bus shelter, had been erected. With a good imagination, it might even be described as an air terminal. The heat was brutal--we were about 11 degrees south of the Equator--so I cowered out of the sun under the shed’s corrugated tin roof. Then I looked up to find a tree python residing in the shelter’s rafters. My departure may have qualified as the fastest airport transfer ever, and I was standing in the hot sun when the next stage of my transportation, a dusty Toyota Landcruiser 4x4, pulled up in a cloud of dust.

The driver jumped down and walked over, offering me a firm if leathery handshake and an infectious grin gleaming out from an astonishingly suntanned face. “G’day mate,” he said. “Welcome to the Northern Territory. I’m here to take you over to Seven Spirit Bay.” Soon we were bumping through the bush along a track that differed little from the surrounding scrub. Only a few minutes later we reached the shore of an aqua-blue harbor. Travel brochures conspire to present much of the world as a polarized paradise of royal blue seas and golden sands that turn out in real life to be a uniform smog gray. This time it felt as if I’d stepped into the color brochure. I hadn’t been expecting this. Clearly, time had muted my memories of the intensity of the Cobourg experience.

We clambered out of the 4x4, along a jetty and down into a large motor launch. The launch quickly rounded a headland, and Seven Spirit Bay lay before me. This was pure frontier--dense woods spilling down to the water’s edge. The only thing missing was the resort. I soon found it, though: After a short walk to a low wooded escarpment above the beach, I felt as if I had stepped into Wonderland.

Scattered through the natural eucalyptus forest, the complex lay in front of me. Seven Spirit Bay typifies the best of contemporary Australian architecture, using simple materials to produce interiors with a feeling of space and light. The exterior of the multilevel main building, which holds the bar and restaurant, shop and reception area, is intentionally drab so that it doesn’t compete with the landscape. But inside, there are polished native timbers, high ceilings, bright fabrics and glass doors leading to the shaded decks and rock-edged swimming lagoon, and to the ocean beyond. (The resort was designed by the Darwin firm of M. L. E. & D. Architects, with Steve Ehrlich--not the similarly named Venice, Calif., architect--as principal architect.)

The guest quarters--24 hexagonal two-person huts (or, in Seven Spirit jargon, “habitats”)--are linked to the hub by paths winding through the bush. Each one is a single spacious room open on two sides (with fine-screened louvered windows to keep out unwanted intruders), offering views of both forest and sea, and is equipped with ceiling fans and two queen-size beds. Then there are the bathrooms, which are no less than astonishing: They’re free-standing units--luxury outhouses, in effect--equipped with all the most modern facilities and furnished with gleaming white tiles and well-lit mirrors, but partially open to the atmosphere, and planted with little colonies of forest flora. Spray from the shower settles on the flowers. It’s as if the Ritz had been hit by an earthquake causing the wall between the bathroom and the garden to miraculously disappear. To minimize clearing of native vegetation, these bathrooms were constructed in groupings of three, but privacy is maintained by the design itself and by a high wooden fence surrounding the units. Clearing for the whole resort was kept to a minimum, in fact, and the area was replanted with rain-forest seedlings when construction was complete. Building materials were brought in by barge, so that access roads didn’t have to be built.

SEVEN SPIRIT BAY WAS CONCEIVED BY AN environmentally conscious former corporate lawyer from Darwin named Lex Sylvester. The Cobourg Peninsula is part of Australia’s largest aboriginal reserve and was the first expanse of land in the Northern Territory to be returned to the aborigines--and the name of the resort derives from the traditional aboriginal calendar of seven seasons. Early European settlers in northern Australia distinguished only two seasons, “the wet” and “the dry.” To the native inhabitants of the region, though, the year began in November with the Season of Lightning, followed by those of Thundering, Rainmaking, Greening, Windstorming, Fire-raging, and finally Cloudless Blue--the longest season, lasting from June through September. (As an indication of how far the Cobourg Peninsula is from southern Australia, it might be noted that in the south, June through September is ski season.)

Sylvester negotiated a 50-year lease with elders of the local Ndjainabar tribe, guaranteeing the aborigines rent and a share of the profits from the resort plus the right to participate in supervisory board meetings held every three months. The project was financed by a consortium of private Australian investors.

When I met Sylvester just after the resort opened in May of last year, he told me that he regarded Seven Spirit as “a logical result of increased awareness about the plight of the environment” and that to him it represented “economy and ecology in harmony for the future.” Promotional material for the resort described it as “an ethical investment project” and suggested that it was aimed primarily at “the quest traveler who seeks the depth and meaning of wild places for cultural enlightenment, spiritual recreation, personal growth and physical enjoyment.” At the time, it was hard not to regard the whole thing as some Perrier-and-mung-beans-in-the-wilderness fantasy. I was wrong.

ADVENTURE TRAVEL HAS TRADITIONALLY implied a certain degree of discomfort. If you wanted to trek uncharted jungles, sail wild seas or climb fabled mountains, you couldn’t very well expect chilled white wine and a cozy indoor bed when the day was done. But things have changed. The hot trend in the travel industry today is so-called “eco-tourism.” Instead of merely going on vacation, a growing number of travelers seem interested in using their vacation time to seek an intimacy with nature that’s missing from their computer-generated daily lives. At the same time, a new worldwide concern for the survival of our environment has stimulated a desire among us to experience the more unspoiled parts of that environment. That might mean trekking holidays in Nepal instead of merely sunbathing in the Caribbean--or a close encounter with the mountain gorillas of Rwanda instead of the usual Louvre-Uffizi-Prado circuit. It might mean a volunteer working holiday, helping geologists find water in the desert or zoologists reintroduce animal species into their natural surroundings.

Australia has been in the forefront of the eco-tourism trend: Indeed, with wilderness less than half a day’s drive from any city in the country, Australians have become the world’s leading consumers of adventure holidays. I had been on an adventure safari myself, for instance, on my first trip to the Top End. At the same time, though, not all would-be eco-tourists, however pure their motives, are necessarily willing to give up the amenities they’ve become accustomed to in travel of a more conventional sort. They want the wilderness, but they also want a safe and comfortable place to sleep; they want the crocodiles, but they also want the Chardonnay. And that’s exactly what they’ll get at Seven Spirit Bay.

The secret of the resort’s success may well be the way it has blurred the line between luxury and wilderness. There are eight tented outcamps for bushwalkers and “fisherpeople,” for instance, and hiking trails extend out into the Gurig National Park. Guides lead special 10-day treks through the bush for the truly ambitious, and there is a naturalist on staff to supervise shorter walks and answer questions about local flora and fauna. Cultural courses and lectures by visiting university archeologists and other scientists are well attended by guests, and artists are regularly invited to stay and work here to produce Cobourg-themed art. There’s even a complete photographic darkroom for the use of guests. One thing is unfortunate from the visitor’s point of view: The aborigines here generally avoid contact with resort guests, preferring to let them discover their homeland by themselves.

You don’t have to be a trekker or a student of archeology to enjoy yourself here, of course. A 50-foot yacht, a 41-foot diesel-powered catamaran and other crafts are available for fishing expeditions and exploring. There are miles of beautiful, empty beaches (at least some without crocodiles).

And the dining is superb. The restaurant is both casual and elegant, with Wedgwood china and furnishings in natural wood and cane. The menu is eclectic and unusual, combining northern Australian tropical cooking with the cuisines of Indonesia, Malaysia and Thailand. Among chef Vaughn Reader’s specialties are deep-fried Coral Bay krill (a small shrimp-like creature), salads made with pandanus fronds or green papayas, kangaroo teriyaki, crispy Japanese quail (raised on a farm in the Northern Territory town of Katherine) and buffalo steaks. Reader also prepares a steamed crocodile spring roll, and, on barbecue nights, crocodile satay. (There’s something reassuring about realizing that it’s you who is eating the crocodile rather than vice versa--and, indeed, it tastes quite pleasant, like a cross between fish and, yes, chicken.)

The Top End has one of the highest rates of beer consumption in the world, so inevitably the resort bar stocks a good range of brews. The wine list is extensive, too, and includes many of Australia’s best whites and reds, from fruity Verdelho and oaky Chardonnay to rich, complex Shiraz and Cabernet Sauvignon.

In season, some of the fruit and vegetables Reader uses come from orchards and gardens on the Seven Spirit property, and abundant use is made of local seafood and farm products from elsewhere in the Northern Territory. Reader even incorporates some traditional bush foods into his recipes--though, he confides, “most bush foods will keep you alive but they don’t provide fine dining experiences.” He sometimes has problems with more conventional ingredients, too: “Our most difficult time is in the wet season, after Christmas,” he notes, “when all our fruit and vegetables come in by plane and then come here in our launch. In high seas they have to be transferred to the launch by small dinghies. So far, we haven’t lost any over the side.”

THE COBOURG PENINSULA IS crocodile country. There are two types of crocs Down Under. One is the timid and relatively harmless freshwater crocodile that lives on a diet of fish. Australians tell stories of “freshies” that stay underwater so long to avoid swimmers that they drown. (I once asked a crocodile expert in Darwin if this could be true. He replied, “Look, mate, they might be timid, but they’re not bloody stupid.”) The estuarine crocodiles, affectionately known as “salties,” on the other hand, are like giant alligators that have graduated with honors from assertiveness-training courses. A fully grown adult male can be 22 feet long and tip the scales at more than a ton. Salties have a preference for fresh meat. Unfortunately, both types of crocs live in similar locations. They can be differentiated by the thickness of the snout--but positive identification can be tricky when you are in full retreat. I found observing sunning crocodiles from the safety of a Seven Spirit Bay boat, though, to be one of the highlights of my visit.

One morning we set out in one of the resort’s sailboats for an excursion down the bay. As we were propelled along by a brisk wind, our sailing master succeeded in teaching us landlubbers a surprising amount about this appealing form of travel. In the afternoon, moored in a quiet inlet, we took a dinghy out--and despite my thorough ineptitude as a “fisherperson,” I managed to land a 20-pound Spanish mackerel. Flushed with pride--and refusing to consider the possibility that I had encountered a fish bent on suicide--I sat at the front of the boat as we sailed for home. Then I realized we weren’t alone. Weaving back and forth around and under the prow was a playful school of dolphins that stayed with us most of the way back.

In the early evening, I sipped a glass of cool white wine by the pool while watching the sun set over the Arafura Sea. It had been a perfect day.

On another morning, very early, I drove with a group of other guests to a headland several miles from the resort. In the predawn light, we were greeted by the restaurant staff bearing steaming cups of tea and chilled glasses of Champagne. We sat down to a full breakfast, complete with linen tablecloths and napkins, Wedgwood plates and silver cutlery, while the sun performed spectacular pyrotechnics across the water beyond the head of the table. This outdoor feast doesn’t take place every day, but when it does, it’s worth the early start.

On still another day, we took a boat tour from the Black Point Ranger Station down Port Essington to the ruins of Victoria, a pioneering English settlement founded here in 1838--preceding the city of Darwin by several decades. The settlement’s failure is a tragicomedy on the theme of slow communications: When the settlement sent a message back to London--an eight month’s sail--reporting that supplies were low, disease was raging, and trade was faltering, London replied with an order to abandon Victoria. By this time, though, conditions had stabilized somewhat, and the settlers were prepared to stick it out. There was no way for them to communicate their change of heart to London quickly enough, though, to avoid later charges of insubordination--so they left the settlement behind. Rows of stone chimneys and crumbling foundations stand on the site today in mute testimony to the English inability to comprehend the strange land they had claimed.

When we got back to Seven Spirit Bay that evening, I couldn’t stop thinking about the ruins we had seen. And I couldn’t help feeling proud of the affinity modern Australians feel for their unusual continent--so different from English colonial attitudes--an affinity that has found such eloquent and seductive expression in Seven Spirit Bay.

GUIDEBOOK: SEVEN SPIRIT BAY

Getting there: There are daily nonstop flights between LAX and Sydney on Qantas and United Airlines and nonstop flights on Northwest Airlines on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays. Flight time is about 15 hours. Connections from Sydney to Darwin are on Australian Airlines through Brisbane or on Ansett Australia through Brisbane or Alice Springs; this leg of the journey takes 5 to 6 hours.

Seven Spirit Bay Resort: For information and reservations, contact Seven Spirit Wilderness Pty. Ltd., GPO Box 4721, Darwin, N.T. 0801 Australia (telephone 011-61-89-81-6844; fax: 011-61-89-81-5156). In the United States, reservations may be made through the Robert D. Zimmer Group at (800) 677-8414 or through Utell International at (800) 448-8355. At current exchange rates, daily rates are approximately $215 per person double occupancy through March 31 of next year. From April 1992 through March 1993, rates rise to $260. Prices include all meals and most activities and excursions. Round-trip transportation between Darwin and Seven Spirit Bay, via plane, landcruiser and motor launch, is an additional $165 per person. The resort is open year-round except in February, at the height of the monsoon season.

For further information: Contact the Australian Tourist Commission, Suite 1200, 2121 Avenue of the Stars, Los Angeles, Calif. 90067 (213) 552-1988.