Cooktown > Cedar Park
With the travelogue up to date by seven in the morning there wasn't much to get in the way of an early departure from Milkwood Lodge, and it was just after eight when the laden chariot set off down the driveway, headed back into town, where Madam had decided the bakery was a logical source for a minimum wait breakfast, while Hughesy had his suspicions about the prospects at the Cooktown Markets.
Given the size of the community and the fact that the tourist season didn't seem to have kicked in I suspected the Markets would be a sort of community get together, not that I would have ventured such an opinion as we sat outside the bakery devouring breakfast. There mightn't be much of interest at the markets, but it was an excuse for another lap of the main street, and a five minute stop there would keep the driver happy.
As it turned out, the turnout was long on local fruit and veg and a few other food-related items, with not much else, certainly nothing in the ancient and decrepit loads of paperbacks and non-legitimate cassettes and videotapes certain operators in Bowen seemed to whack out on display every week.
Cooktown may be a long way from the rest of Australia but at least they seem to appreciate the days of the cassette player and the VCR are long gone.
Back on the road heading south the weather was gradually clearing as we made our way past yesterday's destinations. By this stage I'd established that the old road from Cooktown to the Palmer followed a different line to today's Mulligan Highway, so I wasn't too concerned with trying to piece recollections together. I suspected there might be a turnoff to Butchers Hill somewhere along the way, but failed to spot it, if it actually existed.
After a brief halt at Lakeland Downs we were back on, or close to, the old road to the Palmer as we went up and over the Byerstown Range. Having halted at the lookout for a view back towards Cooktown (we'd been in a hurry to get to Laura on the way up, and, in any case, the lookout was a better fit for southbound motorists) where I'd been hoping for an aspect across the once-golden gullies of the Palmer, we headed back south, giving the Palmer Roadhouse a miss this time around and making another scenic stop at the Mt Bob lookout.
As the astute reader might surmise, there isn't a whole lot to occupy the mind on this section of highway, and the journey out always seems longer than the outwards leg, though there's no scientific reason why that should be so.
As a result it seemed like no time at all before we were pulling over near Mount Carbine to check whether we had an issue with tyres. As it turned out the wind really was that strong, and we headed off, with the odd sideward glance to check for Lighthouse Mountain and a suitable spot for a photo once we had.
When that photo opportunity failed to happen, Madam's attention turned to Lake Mitchell, which looked rather impressive on both legs of the journey without any sign of a lookout or similar venue for photographic action.
That changed, more or less, when we made our way to the Mareeba Wetlands, though getting there involved around seven kilometres of could have been better dirt road. Eventually we made our way into the Visitors Centre, which was a fairly impressive turnout, offering the sort of basic lunch we were looking at, and pretty spectacular views over an extensive stretch of water that's home to a wide range of bird life that seemed, for some reason to be missing in action while we were there.
So there you have it. Finally, a venue where a photographer could click away to her heart's content and a total lack of subject matter apart from the odd scenic shot.
After a couple of Chilli chicken wraps for lunch we were off again, pointing the chariot towards Mareeba's Coffee Works, which was reputed to be the Disneyland of the coffee world. That was the Sydney Morning Herald's description, anyway.
Hughesy's would go more like an impressive array of locally made chocolate (and rather yummy) with a similar selection of coffee and a swag of artistic bric a brac, most of it bearing the sort of inspirational slogans you'd probably steer clear of with a forty foot barge pole.
Still, the chocolate was rather good, and I escaped with some dark Chilli and lime and black pepper that'll go down a treat on a chilly night, and a sample of filter coffee.
Next stop on the agenda was the Mt Uncle Distillery, where I figured there'd be something interesting. There was, but they'd opted to close the regular tasting area and we found ourselves Ina corner of the cafe, sampling a very good (actually, seriously good) white rum, though had I seen the price tag before I decided to buy I might have had second thoughts. I'm not exactly a connoisseur of white rum, but even at $60 I thought it was reasonably good value.
With those stops out of the way it was time to head for the accommodation, which was supposed to be 26 km from the turnoff to Kuranda. We were around the 23k mark when we spotted a sign, which you might have thought was a warning that the turnoff was coming up, and have been looking for a sign on the left pointing you in the appropriate direction. If I hadn't spotted a Cedar Park Rainforest Resort logo beside a track leading off to the right we might have been looking for some time.
My prediction that we'd somehow chosen the lesser of two avenues of entry, made as a fairly rough dirt track twisted and turned through the scrub turned out to be totally erroneous. There's just one track in to Cedar Park, but when you get there the twists and turns are definitely worth it.
It's difficult, however, to decide how you're going to describe the place.
Quality accommodation is part of the package, with rooms that are much larger than you'd have a right to expect, especially for the price. There are, however, two slight drawbacks. The building was originally built in some configuration that needed to be subdivided, and the subdividing didn't deliver much in the way of soundproofing between adjoining rooms. We had what sounded like a gathering of old Teutonic speaking acquaintances next to us, and with a drink or two under their belts robust conversation went on well into the night.
Could have been a problem if I hadn't anaesthetised myself rather well.
And if you choose to go down that road and indulge yourself in a drink or three the configuration might not be stumbling drunk friendly. Our room came in three sections - a sitting room closest to the front door, the bedroom section with a double and two singles, fridge sink and so on, and the bathroom, with stone floors and more than a single step between each. Not, I think, the sort of place you'd want to be stumbling around in the dark in search of the toilet in the small hours.
But with those caveats, quality accommodation.
Then there are the grounds.
On the way in you'd probably be inclined to question the rainforest bit if you're coming in from the drier Mareeba side (and you're more or less out of the Kuranda rainforest when you hit the turn) but once you arrive at Cedar Park it's obvious, regardless of how things were when the founders found it, there's been a great deal of restoration done and the grounds are, in a word, quite magnificent. I know that's two, but you get my drift.
But the clincher comes with dinner.
The owners are a trio of chefs with impressive credentials and the menu is small but offers an impressive array of immaculately cooked dishes. They cheat a bit, but all's fair when it comes to immaculately cooked meals.
I don't know whether you'd define a request for your order by five when dinner starts at six-thirty as cheating, and, frankly, I don't care if it is if the arrangement is going to deliver the same tender meat falling off the bone lamb shank I had. If you've tried cooking lamb shanks you'd know they need a long slow cook, which isn't possible without pre-cooking if you're going strictly a la carte, and if you're headed down that road you're also headed for sorry sir we've run out or what the hell do we do with the leftovers territory.
No, ask me to order early and deliver something as good as this and you won't be getting any arguments from me.
We started the meal with a cob of rustic bread and two dips, a rather tasty exercise that put us in the mood, and Madam had the entrecôte with wild mushroom sauce. I thought I'd asked for herb butter but Madam wasn't objecting.
We washed the mains down with a Coonawarra Cabernet from Angoves that was definitely Coonawarra and definitely Cabernet. Not, perhaps, a label you tend to associate with the district, but everything Coonawarra Cabernet should be. Once again, no complaints.
And no complaints about the mud cake or lemon and rose sorbet we had for dessert. Although neither of us really needed either, both plates went back almost spotless.
Getting to sleep wasn't, as previously indicated, an easy exercise, but early to bed and late to rise delivers the required number of hours, so who's complaining?