Mackay to Isaac Region

Unfortunately, occasional melodrama can be a hitch with budget hotels. If it’s not an inconsiderate resident smoking in their room at 3am and setting off the fire alarm, it’s something else. So, while powdering our noses for our dinner date at Moss on Wood, a power outage ensues, trapping guests in the lift and sending sirens wailing in the distance. Fearing getting locked out of our room for the evening due to its electronic keyless entry, we scuttle our dinner plans and embrace an impromptu in-room meal. 

The affable Michelle from Mackay Adventure Tours collects us for our Platypus Discovery Tour the following morning. In an iconic Queensland tableau, we coach through the cicada-green landscape of Mackay and spy the ubiquitous train carriages sitting on narrow gauge rails and stuffed to the brim with sugar cane.

We pass avenues of mango trees before a pitstop to meet a gargantuan Brahman bull named Felix. He comes over for a tickle and, if likes you, gives a goofy smile, so my wife and I are clearly his new best mates. 

After passing through Mackay’s satellite townships, we make our way to the natural wonder of Finch Hatton Gorge. It’s a tranquil oasis offering a retreat from the region’s pressing heat. As we tread a path towards it, the serenity of the rainforest envelopes us; the rustling leaves, gentle burble of nearby creeks and calls from birds and frogs create a tropical madrigal.

With only a slight incline, the walk is suitable for all fitness levels and offers plenty of shade along the way. Having followed the unstoppable Michelle for 30 minutes, the beauty of the gorge is revealed under dappled light filtering through the canopy.

A long waterfall feeds a glistening rockpool that’s the perfect spot for a swim without any sneaky crocs around. Plunging into the refreshing water feels like the ultimate reward after the humid trek and is made even more special when a vivid flash of blue swoops over our faces. The famous Ulysses butterfly has a striking azure hue that surpasses any other blue in nature. Yet our serene experience is soon interrupted by a young group of lobster-tanned English backpackers leaping off the tall rocks and bombing into the water. It’s our cue to leave but the downhill return hike feels like a breeze with our bodies cooled from our dip. 

We make our way to the historic Criterion Pub at the Finch Hatton township to collect homemade lamb pies. Since I’m not at the wheel, I down a wonderfully frosty schooner, chilling my teeth. Back on the coach, I regrettably fail in my attempt to devour my pie, chips and gravy without wearing it on the bumpy ride up into the hinterland.

Our tour ends at the ‘platypus lounge’ at Broken River. As a sometime fly-fisherman, I understand how challenging it is to spot these elusive creatures in their natural habitat, yet the river surprisingly teems with the cheeky devils. 

The new day sees our compass pointed westward to kick off our road-trip proper and delve into the captivating Isaac region. The landscape resembles nothing of the spaghetti-western aesthetic depicted in its travel brochures; instead, it has transformed into a billiard-table-green expanse due to downpours some months prior. We pause along the way, held up as a drover herded cattle across the main road, and stop at a roadside stall vending juicy mangoes that are almost as big as bowling balls. 

Lunch is at the heritage-listed Nebo Hotel (1863). Clad in corrugated iron and aging timber, it’s famous for the Slim Dusty tune ‘Nebo Pub’. Its eccentric architecture and interiors have been meticulously upheld to honour and safeguard its distinct character and history. Here we meet owner Kristen who has that laconic outback-dry humour that we love. For lunch, we indulge in a delectable salad adorned with the most tender, melt-in-your-mouth Wagyu beef. 

Our next destination is nestled in the heart of Isaac. The rural town of Clermont stands as a resilient testament to the ebbs and flows of history. Established during the gold rush era in the 1860s, it lured fortune seekers from all corners. Clermont’s prosperity took a turn in the Great Flood of 1916, a catastrophic event that devastated the town and marked a sombre chapter in its narrative.

Reminders of its rich history peek through the landscape, with heritage-listed sites like the old post office and remnants of abandoned gold mines. My wife loves exploring the delightful interior design shops dotted along the wide main drag. She can’t resist picking up a cushion – yet another addition to our growing collection. Who knew we needed more cushions?

As the sun fades, we opt for a helicopter ride with Bush Heli-Services – an outback mustering chopper service that moonlights as an aerial tour operator. Our pilot, Jim, is self-dubbed ‘the real Jimmy Barnes’ and a classic outback character. He asks if I could ghost write his biography in 15 years and proceeds to navigate us over Lords Table Mountain.

The setting sun casts soft hues upon the walls of its flat summit, creating a breathtaking scene. With no doors on the chopper, I shout to our intrepid bush pilot through my aviation headphones’ mike, “Mind your iPhone on the floor, it might slide out.” “Oh, that’s happened before. I found it again but,” he yells. “Happy days!” 

Back on terra firma, our lodging choice of the Clermont Country Motor Inn is a no-frills motel, complete with a charming swimming pool nestled among fragrant frangipani trees. The rooms, however, leave my wife underwhelmed. Signs on doors remind guests to ditch their work boots before stepping inside, where we find drab, bare brick walls and budget beds (cue the Barry White soundtrack). But the motel’s Red Hide Bar & Grill steals the spotlight, drawing locals sporting their RM Williams clobber to feast on colossal outback steaks. 

Our morning excursion to Sarina Sugar Shed is an intriguing behind-the-scenes journey into the cultivation, processing and milling of Mackay’s raison d’être: sugar cane. The information is so absorbing I gain a kilo simply from listening. It also showcases the creation of its coveted distilled products where the local council makes its own rum for tourists.

Our tour guide is the delightful Betty and she leads us through the sugar milling process. With an affable demeanour, Betty chuckles and says, “My teacher once said, ‘Betty, you chat too much.’ But look at me now!” as she picks up stalks of sugar cane from the factory floor. My wife and I exchange sidelong glances, unsure if she’s being sarcastic.

The tour culminates in a fun rum tasting session. Betty’s critique of some of the sugary brews isn’t overly glowing or pretentious: “People say this one tastes like cough medicine. But mix it with ginger beer, and it’s a winner winner, chicken dinner!” if I have a severe cold, this will surely be my medicine of choice. 

At reception, my wife congratulates me on choosing to eschew budget quarters for our final night. A welcome breeze gently sways the curtains in our room and carries the ozone scent of the sea, tickling the palm trees surrounding the waterfront hotel. 

Dinner is at Mantra’s Latitude 21 Restaurant, and I indulge in the most delectable coral trout to have ever graced my palate. Unlike many chefs who tend to impose their own egos onto food, this chef shows restraint. The dish is flawlessly prepared, and the wine list pleasantly surprises with an average bottle price of $26. 

It’s a similar credit card-friendly tale at Mantra for breakfast, where I select the $12 eggs and tomatoes on sourdough after an early dip in the hotel’s pool. As I order my latte, the server politely asks if I’d like any sugar with it. I pause momentarily.

“No, but does this mean I’m robbing a local of a job?”

Originally published in Open Road Magazine. Note: The original text has been modified for clarity and style.