Profile

John Chapman

He wrote for Wild's very first issue. He wrote for the most recent one, too. Megan Holbeck outlines the many reasons to be grateful for John Chapman.

Words Megan Holbeck

Itold two friends I was going to interview Australian outdoor legend John Chapman, author and publisher of fifteen walking guidebooks, fourteen with wife Monica. Both responded the same way: Tell him I said thanks.

I tucked this shiny nugget of gratitude into my bag and set off for the Chapman's well-kept weatherboard in Melbourne's leafy eastern suburbs, and saved it until about halfway through our chat. By this point I'd heard about John's difficult childhood, how the Australian outdoors gave his life friendship, purpose and adventure, how he's shared his passion for wild places to help others find the same, how—by his calculations—he's spent more than 3,500 days on overnight walks, with about one-third of them in Tasmania.

And then I could no longer hold in this small but poignant evidence of what his life's work means to others. I told John and his eyes shone a little, matching mine. His smile grew wider. "In recent years, I'm getting the odd email saying that," he said with obvious glee. "People are starting to be nice."

Humble beginnings

There's not much buzz around the Chapmans. Their outsized impacts on bushwalking, environmental protection and the Australian outdoors have not led to much public recognition, profile or fanfare. And that's the way they like it: John scoffs at the 'bushwalking royalty' label affectionately attached to the couple. But accepting gratitude for helping others share the joy of exploring Australia's wilderness? That John can take.

The Chapmans' contributions to the Australian outdoors have been immense. As well as guidebooks, they've written hundreds of articles—these include John's pieces in both Wild's very first issue back in 1981, and in its most recent, Issue #199 in 2026 (separated by 45 years!), as well as almost three hundred columns for the Age. Combined, the pair have a century of bushwalking-club membership between them (including many office-bearing roles), along with decades of volunteering for Bush Search and Rescue (John for 27 years, Monica for 34 years so far, with almost half of that leading the group). And Monica has had high-level involvement with Bushwalking Victoria, and the Bushwalking and Mountaincraft Training Advisory Board. The list goes on. But more than this, it's the company and support provided by their thoughtful, accurate and confidence-building track notes.

Apparently, John is a natural guidance-giver. Before our interview, he sent an email containing his address, along with comparative walk times from the two closest train stations. (It took me longer than the estimate, unsurprising for anyone familiar with Chapman guidebooks.) John answered the door, a little greyer than when I last saw him in 2008: There was the same energy in his walk and talk, but more shuffle in his step.

The house gave few clues that it belonged to bush monarchs: no massive prints of John's award-winning landscape photography or walls of maps. Instead, there was a smattering of Indigenous art, a shelf full of the Chapmans' books in the formal lounge, and a few scattered photos of the couple out bush.

I'd met John a few times, so I knew he liked a chat, but had pegged him as a little 'engineery'—someone whose conversations leaned towards action, details and logistics rather than emotion and depth. But preconceptions can be wrong, or maybe time mellows: Before we'd finished the tour of the house, he'd gone well below the surface.