Crawling out of bed at some ungodly hour just to make the weekend happen, was no fun. Peter and G had planned to head off from the coast at just a bit after ‘I have to get my hair done’ o’clock, so that meant a very early start for work.
Still, as 12.30 rolled around, we were on the road to pick up G-String but a few minutes away. We hooked up, packed few things in the fridge and marvelled at our luck that all the electrics were working just fine.
With our plan of travelling up over the Peachester Range to have a bite to eat at the lovely little café perched atop the mountain, working just brilliantly, until the café was closed, we boxed on to Kilcoy where we rounded up a reasonable pie with an apple turnover as a takeaway.
Trying out Gregors Creek Road for the first time, we marvelled at not much as we dipped and turned through some semi-lovely countryside. Popping out on the Brisbane Valley Highway, before turning right at Toogoolawah and heading west. We were arguably on track, on time on budget as the saying goes.
The road west of what normally is a ‘burnt brown, wouldn’t feed a dry log’ area was deliciously green. Fat cattle everywhere. Our conversation turned to how genuinely picturesque it all was. Until…
Peter could not but chuckle. The moment he saw her he had visions of Chuppa Chupps. Wrong in every sense, but so eloquently descried, she stood alone on the side of the road with stumpy legs, a more than rotund middle and an ‘I’m not happy with you’ smile on her face. She held a stop sign for effect. We had pulled up at road works. Our new friend Chuppa marched over.
Introducing herself with the words, “Have you ever been here before”, we acknowledged we had been, however many years earlier. In the next couple of minutes we learned that we had not seen the sign at the highway and the top of the hill telling us the road was not suitable for Trucks, Trailers or Caravans. In the uncomfortable silence that followed Chuppa melted, called her buddy on the radio and we were off uphill, on a gravel road a fully loaded road train would have been proud to call its own.
Cresting the hill at an intersection, we were faced with a magnificent sign of more than generous proportions. It read ‘Not suitable for Trucks, Trailers or Caravans’. Well, what an intelligent assistant Chuppa had been. There was indeed a sign at the top of the hill, we just had not got to it yet!
After a 26.3 point turn we bumped along a road to the right that eventually took us completely around the mountain and into Crows Nest. After the obligatory scoot around the town, we found our way to the Crows Nest Caravan Park. As we pulled up we recognised the van in front was probably that of, as yet unmet, part of our week-end group, Neil and Jenny. And it was.
We found our spots, settled in and yarned for a fair bit before hitting the hay for a prefect sleep in even more perfect temperatures.
Friday woke up as Fridays do. By seven we knew today was going to be a scorcher. That feeling of ‘I’m not actually hot but I’m already sweating from the inside’ was growing by the minute. We needed to get stuff done soon before the news read, ‘Couple found shrivelled in Crows Nest National Park’.
The short drive to the National Park was uneventful. Thankfully we saw all of the signs and got there without drama. We jumped out of Panther, water bottles in hand and strode off into the depths of the bush.
First we came upon the somethingorother pool, resplendent in its stagnant waters and baking rocks. Not beaten, we picked our way along the well-kept path to the other waterhole equally resplendent and baked. Relatively experienced in bushwalking we had been keeping our eyes open to for animals and reptiles that on, any given day, could elect to snap at our heels and send us to the great National Park in the sky, but did not see ‘Gordon the Goanna’ till it was too late. Gordon had not recently served his time with Jenny Craig, as he had an enormous girth, backed by the length of an oversized baseball bat. He leapt out from the right, not more than a metre in front of us, scurrying up hill to hide amongst the rocks. We called it even, for Gordo was obviously as surprised as us with the encounter.
We then branched off towards the Koonin Lookout and falls. The track became a little more closed-in with hundreds of rocks steps to negotiate. Other than Gordo, we had not seen much wildlife thus far. Until…..a beast Peter had never before encountered flashed before his eyes. She leapt high with a speed impossible to imagine. Levitating momentarily, whilst uttering a cry previously un-heard in these parts. A piercingly loud “Fark, fk, fk, fk ,fk ,fk Fark” on repeat mode for at least five long minutes. Fearing certain death from this creature, Peter’s heart rate spiked to 257 before finally settling back at a calm 243, for this was an encounter of a lifetime. Where’s the camera was the predominant thought.
As time passed; at least two seconds, Peter realised the bush creature was just G having seen a snake. In her defence, the whopper flew out of the bush across the path giving G’s leg a kiss on the way through. Given G hate snakes with a passion, her reaction was understandable, if not memorable. Peter led the way from thereon.
The falls had apparently fallen many weeks earlier, for now they were but a tranquil trickle unable to be seen. They led however to a lovely pool 40 meters below that met a gorge headed to a distant Perseverance Dam. Quite a lovely setting on any day the mercury had not reach 40 plus degrees.
Parched by the time we got back to the car, we motored into town, there visiting the soft drink factory, IGA and the quaintest hardware store, before heading back to G-String for a well-earned rest.
We quickly noticed that Denise and Morto had arrived and apparently left for lunch in Toowoomba. A few minutes later Morto surfaced letting us know he was in residence despite not feeling well and the girls had headed south for a feed. He must not have been that poorly though as he had clearly spent quite a good deal of time leveling his caravan to within 3 degrees of horizontal!
As the afternoon lingered the rest of the troops arrived. By night fall we had about 14 of us eating, drinking and yarning about copious worldly issues including, China, Lithium Batteries, Russia, Caravans, and Destinations. Not much was left to chance. Dinner was followed by Chris delighting us with some old favourites on the guitar backed by a pretty decent voice. As the recital went on, the crowd became progressively involved, the lyrics became less accurate and indeed G could only remember ‘King of the road’ so tried desperately to fit that chorus into every song.
Saturday was a slow morning with scoot out to Perseverance Dam, followed by a trip to town so Morto could pay his dues to the local publican who had trusted him with a wine purchase the day before when her Eftpos machine had become suddenly ill. By his description, the publican showed considerable surprise he showed up at all. There are some genuinely good people in the world.
At a bit to one we frocked up and met our appointment with the Myrtille restaurant. From the moment we stepped inside this place was a winner. Understated, yet eloquently stylish, it was definitely the find of the weekend. With outstanding staff, exceptional service and unbelievably great; not just good, but great, food, we were left gobsmacked. It was so good there would never be an argument if it was suggested the chef had won a few Akubra hats. We will be back.
Saturday night followed Fridays events but with slightly less enthusiasm due to bloated stomachs and that ‘after a great meal’ lethargy. Again the night was perfectly cool, the company first class and sleep about as good as it gets.
Most of us were up reasonably early Sunday morning to be greeted by a very pretty fog on the lake behind our vans and the implied sadness of a weekend ending. We packed up, said our goodbyes and trapsed off to Hampton and down to Esk.
Esk is never Esk unless we drop into the bakery for a bacon and egg delicious. As usual it was exactly that. Lashings of local bacon with just slight runny eggs made for a brunch of champions.
Within a couple of hours we were home, unpacked and thinking about work on Monday. It rates as a pretty good weekend when that is your only negative thought for three full days.
Crows Nest, you are a winner. So much so Denise is already planning an annual event. Bring it on.
