Honey Mountain and a Hinterland Gallop to Maleny

Given the first part of our ride was to be through the inner city, we’d decided to get on the road after the clutter and gridlock of rush hour had subsided. In any case, our aspirations for the day were modest; breakfast at Honey Mountain and a leisurely hinterland gallop to Maleny. So, our start to the day was fairly relaxed; it was well on towards mid-morning before we started loading motorcycles. Then, just a bit before 10 am, we cranked over our Harleys and headed down High Street to Logan Road. Traffic was still fairly heavy but it was at least flowing.

Getting through Gridlock

We took a left and accelerated north to Holland Road where we took another left and headed west towards the Pacific Motorway. Then, just under the freeway overpass, we turned right onto Bapaume Road and merged with a river of vehicles heading towards the city.

After some twenty minutes worth of hassle and hustle with citybound freeway traffic, we crossed the Brisbane River and scooted along the Riverside Freeway to the Go Between Bridge. We didn’t cross but rather took a right and, just up the hill, a left onto Milton Road. Then we joined M5 west out of Brisbane until we came to the exit for the Botanical Gardens and Mount Coot-tha.

Climbing Honey Mountain

Once there we did a quick circuit of the Botanical Garden entrance and parking area to check whether the Cafe was open; it wasn’t. So, we cruised back out onto Mount Coot-tha Road and continued our climb towards the summit. The snap and bark of our exhausts, extracting gases from a couple of big V-Twins under load, echoed back from the trees and walls of the cuttings; I love that sound. Then, suddenly, on rounding a corner that was almost a switch-back, we found ourselves at the Summit Car Park entry.

Leaving our motorcycles locked and leaning on their stands, we wandered past the restaurant; around the snack bar and function building; and on to the lookout – overlook, if you’re American. And there it was, Greater Brisbane.

Urban Sprawl

In the foreground, urban sprawl broken here and there with trees and sundry shade foliage, carpeted the lowland from the base of Coot-tha to the CBD. In the middle distance, Brisbane City stood out; assertive and arrogant against the faded, cloud strewn, azure sky. The urban sprawl had migrated to the north and south as far as the eye could see; and, in the distance behind the city, all the way out to the bay.

At a little over three hundred metres above sea level and six kilometres from the CBD, Mount Coot-tha is the highest point within Brisbane’s urban footprint. It forms the eastern extent of the Taylor Range and is the source of Ithaca Creek. Visible from almost anywhere in the city, it is a popular bushland tourist destination. Within its precinct you’ll find the Brisbane Botanic Gardens; Sir Thomas Brisbane Planetarium; mountain drives and bike trails; parks and a waterfall; and, television towers. 

Before the Colonial Administration established the Moreton Bay Penal Settlement, Mount Coot-tha was home to the Yugara Aboriginal people. Among other things, they used the area to harvest the ‘ku-ta’ [honey] produced by native stingless bees.

One Tree Hill

Back in 1839, the Colonial Government Surveyor, James Warner, had his team clear the mountain top of all trees except for one large eucalypt; early planners used the eucalypt as a trigonometric station for survey purposes. As a result the mountain came to be known as One Tree Hill. It was not until August 1883 that this iconic landmark was officially designated Mt Coot-tha [Honey Mountain] and declared a State Park.

Wartime Contingencies

Then, during the Second World War, both the Royal Australian Air Force and the US Navy repurposed Mount Coot-tha as a military base. A massive munitions depot was developed in the area; the US Navy had more than 120,000 tonnes of explosive weapons stored there. At night, the mountain bristled with search lights that probed the darkness for enemy aircraft; and anti-aircraft guns primed and ready to shoot those aircraft down. The US Naval Munitions Depot, also located at Mt Coot-tha, supplied submarines via the Capricorn Wharf in New Farm. You can still find remnants of Coot-tha’s war service in the area; if you know where to look.

Botanic Garden Relocation

In 1970 the Brisbane City Council, with the intention of relocating the Botanic Gardens, established new gardens at the base of Coot-tha; the Gardens Point site [now known as the City Botanic Gardens] was prone to flooding and lacked space for expansion. The City Council officially opened these new gardens, initially known as the Mount Coot-tha Botanic Gardens, and designated them the Brisbane Botanical Gardens in 1976. 

The Mount Coot-tha Library opened in 1975 but, unlike most branches of the Brisbane City Libraries, this one specialised in botany, horticulture, gardening and landscape design. Then finally, on 24 May 1978, the Sir Thomas Brisbane Planetarium officially opened in the grounds of the Botanic Gardens. But enough of all that.

Dining at Honey Mountain

Having soaked up the panorama and atmosphere, we retired to the Summit Cafe for coffee; and to see what was on offer for breakfast. Well, probably brunch really because we were only about an hour out from noon. Anyway, after giving the matter his undivided attention and studied consideration, Mel ordered the Big Vegetarian Breakfast; and, as I usually do, I decided to have what he was having.

From where we sat, we could pan across Brisbane’s CBD and the vast urban sprawl. A steady north-easterly breeze cooled the Cafe enough to make it worthwhile keeping a jacket on; cool enough to be comfortable, but not cold enough to be unpleasant. Service at the Summit Cafe’s was efficient and breakfast, when it arrived, was as spectacular as the view. For the best part of an hour, we idled, yarned and unwound. Our sporadic conversation meandered through Covid, Vaccinations, Government Mandates, and Australia’s potential pathways out of the pandemic; or perhaps, more accurately, our nation’s strategy for living with Covid.

On the Road Again

By the time we wandered back to the car park, and our motorcycles, the sun was almost directly overhead; definitely time to get back on the road. So, we donned helmets and jackets, mounted, and fired up. As we headed back down Mount Coot-tha Road, we passed the Botanical Gardens on the right, and the expansive Toowong Cemetery on the left. At Frederick Street, we took a left and cruised with the traffic until we veered right onto Boundary Road. This took us past the meticulously manicured grounds of Government House on the right.

We meandered our way through Paddington, Ashgrove and Enoggera and then joined Cooper’s Camp Road which delivered us to Waterworks Road through The Gap, and finally onto Mount Nebo Road. Then we then continued past the Enoggera Reservoir and on to Mount Glorious Road.

A Glorious Spot

Once away from the burbs, traffic congestion eased and we had the opportunity to take in the landscape and vistas. As we climbed higher, the corners tightened, and the business of balancing gradient, gear selection and engine revs became more demanding; and the bark of our exhaust systems became more pronounced and insistent. Finally though, we crested the mountain and paused to survey yet another panorama. We were on top of the world; well, this part of the world anyway.

Mount Glorious is actually part of the D’Aguilar Range but it is also a suburb in the Moreton Bay Region; albeit with a population of slightly less than three hundred. It is roughly thirty kilometres northwest of Brisbane and part of the Brisbane Forest Park which is, itself, part of the D’Aguilar National Park. It is said that the name, Mount Glorious, derives from a random comment about the view made by Elizabeth Patrick during a picnic there in 1915. Now, I’m not sure exactly who Elizabeth Patrick was but clearly she seems to have been influential. I’ve commented on hundreds of scenes, vistas, mountains and rivers but, to the best of my knowledge, none of my observations have been deemed sufficiently important to be preserved for posterity.

What’s in a Name

While we’re on the subject of names, Sir Thomas Mitchell, Surveyor-General for the Colony of New South Wales, named the D’Aguilar Range for Sir George D’Aguilar, in 1827. Now, for those of you who don’t know, this good Knight of the Realm was the military officer who wrote Regulations and Punishments of the British Army; the Military Bible in use back in the day. It is likely that the Governor [Lieutenant General Ralph Darling], the Moreton Bay Commandant [Captain Patrick Logan], and Major Mitchell all knew D’Aguilar personally because they’d all served in the Peninsula Wars under the Duke of Wellington. What is not clear is which of these three originally suggested the name.

A Biker’s Cafe

All that having been said, once past the crest, we continued on for a kilometre or so until we reached the Mount Glorious Cafe; a favourite with bikers. Easing off throttles we slowed and turned into the car park, left our motorcycles on their side stands, and headed in for coffee. The cafe itself was clearly set up to attract the passing biker trade. There was an old 1950s style petrol bowser in one corner, and a plethora of pressed metal signs featuring Triumph, BSA, Indian and Harley Davidson among other brands, and posters from yesteryear; we felt right at home.

In due course we took our leave, headed back down Mt Glorious Road, and traced the course of the South Pine River until we arrived at Samford. If we’d continued, instead of back-tracking, we’d have ended up at Lake Wivenhoe; that was heading west and we wanted to continue north. At Samford we took a left onto Mount Samson Road; pushed on through the township, past Lake Samsonvale on the right, and on to Dayboro; and then took the Mount Mee Road through to D’Aguilar and Woodford.

A Folk Festival Town

At Woodford, we decided to take a break for a few fairly pressing reasons: we needed to stretch our legs; it seemed like a likely place for coffee and something to eat; and, most importantly, we both needed to find a bathroom. As things turned out, we found a bathroom at the local pub, and discovered that Woodford had a really good bakery just over the road. Their coffee was pretty exceptional.

These days, the town is probably best known for hosting the Woodford Folk Festival; one of the biggest annual cultural events of its type in Australia. Each year about 125,000 people converge on the little town; upwards of two thousand artists perform; and, the program includes over four hundred events featuring local, national and international guests. But, Woodford didn’t always have this celebrity status.

Yatesville

Back in the day, the Archer brothers established Durundur Station along the Stanley River in 1841, close to where Woodford now stands. At the time, this was the most northerly European settlement in the land. Then, in 1877, a parcel of land [10,800 acres] was resumed from the Durundur Pastoral Run and offered to the public for selection. Local records show that Mr W. Yates was first to take possession of his selected portion of that land and he built a hotel near the ford across the river. The town that subsequently developed around the pub became unofficially known as Yatesville and was closer to the river than the town we know today as Woodford. Local lore has it that, after a disastrous flood in 1893, local businesses decided to move to higher ground.

Naming a Town

Ultimately, the Postmaster General established a regular mail service, and so the town needed to have a official gazetted name. Yatesville, for whatever reason, was not deemed to be satisfactory. A town meeting called to address the issue, resolved to honour the senior partner of Durundur Station by putting forward his name, McConnel, as the new name for the town. Now, for reasons unknown or at least unrecorded, the Postmaster General would not accept that name as suitable; perhaps he was not on good terms with the senior partner. Consequently, The good citizens of the Yatesville called another meeting and decided to call the town Woodford; Wood, in honour of Mr H C Wood [Junior Partner at Durundur], and Ford as recognition of the importance of the ford across the river. Presumably, the good Postmaster General accepted this nomination because that’s the name we know today.

Logging and Dairy

Originally, logging was the town’s economic mainstay; and most of the timber sourced from the area was sent to a sawmill in Caboolture. Woodford became a stop on the now-closed Kilcoy Railway Line; having reached Woodford in 1909, the line connected the town to the regional centre of Caboolture. As land was progressively cleared in the wake of logging, dairy farming became an important sector in the local economy; and a co-operative dairy factory opened in 1904. Sadly, particularly for railway enthusiasts, Queensland Rail dismantled and removed most of the infrastructure and sold the land after the line was closed in the mid-1960s.

So, there you go. The next time you attend the Woodford Folk Festival in your tie-dyed shirt and faded jeans, to celebrate all that love and peace, you’ll know where the name comes from, won’t you? And, just so you know, the government ultimately subdivided Durundur Station into parcels of farming land and sold these off to encourage settlement.

Back on the Road

Eventually we decided that we’d done the Woodford Bakery; which is to say, we’d eaten our pies and polished off our coffee. The afternoon was balmy with growing cloud cover and a freshening wind; it was a bit tempting to just kick back, have another coffee and enjoy the hospitality of the town, and the old pub. But we had a plan – of sorts – that featured Maleny and overnight accommodation at the old Hotel Maleny; and besides, quite a few hours remained before sun down.

We wandered back to the hotel parking area where we’d left our motorcycle; kitted up; climbed aboard; fired up and headed east northeast on what we thought was the shortest route to the Glasshouse Mountains Lookout.

Establishing a Precedent

You might remember, from the first instalment of this Queensland Road Trip, that I talked about road trip planning; and the way these plans can so easily go sideways. Well our plan, or more accurately our loosely cobbled together intention, seemed pretty sound in theory; and, to start with, it had worked out reasonably well. We’d been pottering along for about half an hour on a narrow, black-top, dual laner that snaked through the national park and random pieces of agricultural land towards that series of odd-shaped monoliths when, without warning, the black-top ended. We faced a dilemma: Do we continue on for the next ten to fifteen kilometres on glorious gravel; or, do we backtrack and find another way that didn’t involve gravel?

Years before on a cloudy autumn afternoon, we’d been heading north through Minnesota in search of Mel’s erstwhile father-in-law, when quite suddenly we’d run out of black-top. Mel had braked hard and pulled up just before the sealed road ended. I pulled up a minute or so later.

We still Don’t Do Gravel

‘What do you want to do, Mate?’ I asked.

Mel’s response at the time was, ‘Mate, we don’t do gravel . . . not on our Harleys anyway!’

Years later in Queensland’s hinterland Mel clearly hadn’t changed his take on gravel roads. He u-turned, pulled up at the side of the road and, when I arrived, repeated the mantra.

‘Mate, we don’t do gravel . . . not on our Harleys anyway!’

Glasshouse Mountains

So, we backtracked and headed through Peachester on the Old Gympie Road, around the base of two of the Glasshouse Mountains [Mount Coonowrin and Mount Ngungun], before turning onto the Glasshouse Mountains-Woodford Road. We stopped briefly at the Plantation Store so I could refuel; because I was running on empty again.

Then, after taking care of my motorcycle’s appetite, we pushed on to the Glasshouse Mountains Cafe in search of coffee; I was more than ready for a break and a good strong long black. The cafe wasn’t open as luck, and probably time of the day, would have it; so coffee-less, we continued on to the Glasshouse Mountains Lookout.

At the lookout, we wandered around; took lots of pictures – which never seem to turn out to be as impressive as the actual scenes; and, in my case, took the opportunity to have a cigarette. We headed back down towards Beerwah, through Landsborough and then up the range to Maleny.

Logging and Gold

Two aboriginal groups originally populated the area around Maleny; the Nalbo people and the Dallambara group. Bunya Feasts, which occurred every third year when the giant bunya trees were in fruit, were integral to the cultural celebrations in the region. Back then, rainforest covered the whole Maleny area, indeed the whole Blackall Range.

This region was first documented by the German explorer Ludwig Leichhardt; he described it in his travel diary of 1844. However, no serious incursion into the area was made until after gold was discovered at Gympie in 1867. The first road – well, only a track really – linking Maleny to Landsborough was cut in 1880.

Maleny

Given that the whole place was densely forested with Cedar and other valuable timbers, logging and sawmilling quickly became principal industries. Then, in 1878 the first selector took up farmland, and a small settlement evolved. The Blackall Range School opened in 1886; a post office opened four years later; and, the settlement adopted the name Maleny. 

Throughout the South Queensland hinterland, it seemed to have been the case that agriculture, and particularly dairy production, followed closely on the heels of logging. The Maleny Region was no exception. Dairying grew in importance, and by 1904 Maleny’s first butter factory had opened; a second factory opened in 1912. Dairy producers transported milk and cream by road to the Landsborough railhead. By this time Maleny had basic civic facilities: an ES&A Bank [1906]; a hotel [1907]; the Union Church [1908]; and, a School of the Arts. Pugh’s Almanac of 1912 listed businesses in the area including an auctioneer, a baker and butcher, a blacksmith, contractors, a plumber, a saddler, and two store keepers. By the 1920s there were additional storekeepers and a hospital [1920]. Two sawmills operated in the area, and huge stumps dotted the landscape around the town.

Hobby Farms and Craft

Although the massive stands of cedar were long gone, Maleny is still noted for its dairying; and for its orchards and nut plantations. The town now has a showground, memorial hospital, churches, and schools. And, over the last forty years, well-heeled retirees have discovered that Maleny offers allotments large enough to develop hobby farms or build ranch-style homes. 

More recently Maleny has become something of an Arts and Crafts centre, benefiting from hinterland tourism; it is an easy day-trip from Brisbane and the Sunshine Coast. 

Digs for the Night

Anyway, it was a little after 6 pm when we crested the range and cruised along Maple Street. Sadly though, we added absolutely nothing to the finer artistic temperament or quality of the town; we were just a couple of semi-decrepit bikers looking for a place to stay, something to eat, and hopefully, some good coffee.

We slipped down a lane beside the hotel that feeds into an expansive parking area; parked and locked our motorcycles; unloaded; and headed for Reception. Now, if you’ve stayed at a few country pubs in your time, it will come as no surprise when you find there is no Reception; or, if there is one, you find it shuttered and locked. In most Country Pubs, Check In is something that you do across the Public Bar.

An Old Pub

Notwithstanding old pictures on the walls, it was not easy to arrive at a coherent narrative of the hotel’s history. But, for what it’s worth, here’s what I did manage to learn. The Maleny Hotel was built in 1907 by Harry Bate and Sam Salaway for one, Alfred Pollock; the original licensee. Wholly constructed of pit sawn timber [mostly White Beach] from the local area, the original hotel was a single storey structure sited on the eastern end of Maple Street and overlooking Obi Obi Creek.

Records have it that A. C. Cooke acquired the licence in early 1908. Then, Arthur Edwin Goodwin purchased the hotel in late 1909 or early 1910. He seems to have owned and operated the establishment until the Burnett Family purchased it and added a second storey in 1921. And, for our part, it was this second storey that provided our accommodation for the night. Our room was at the end of a long hall; neat as a pin with high ceilings, two single beds, a stand-alone oak wardrobe, and a sink. Shared bathroom facilities were at the other end of the hall.

Settling In

After hauling our T-Bags up the stairs, I kicked off my boots and stretched out on the bed; Mel unpacked his stuff and headed for the showers down the hall. Throughout the afternoon we’d been aware of increasing cloud cover and the stacks of cumulonimbus that had been building and moving in from the west. We’d managed to get up the range to Maleny and into the hotel without getting wet but, just as my head hit the pillow, the first bloated raindrop splattered on the old corrugated iron roof just above our room.

I must have drifted off to sleep almost immediately because the next thing I heard was Mel opening and closing doors and rummaging through the drawers of the old wardrobe; presumably looking for something to wear.

‘Good shower?’ I queried.

Up and About

‘You awake? Thought you were out for the  count Mate’.

‘ I was . . . until you started ferreting around in those drawers,’ I said, in mock annoyance.

‘Yeah? Well . . . sorry about that.’

‘Mate . . . you really need to do some work on the whole sincerity thing,’ I quipped.

‘Well . . . anyway, what do you want to do about dinner?’

‘Have some,’ I returned.

‘Yeah, Yeah, very funny . . . what do you want to eat?’

‘Ah Mate, you know the routine. You decide what you want . . . and I have what you’re having.’

By the time we’d achieved a modicum of respectability it was going on 7pm. We headed downstairs to see what kind of pub food was on offer. The bar was doing a brisk trade, Achie Breakie Heart was thumping out of the sound system, and shouted conversations reverberated from the walls and spilled out into the foyer.

How do you feel about Chinese?’ Mel shouted over the clamour from the bar.

‘Not overly keen on the blokes, but some of the ladies are fairly attractive.’

‘Chinese Food, you fool! Chinese Food!’

‘Yeah, I know . . . sounds good to me,’ I returned.

A Place to Eat

Well, there’s an Asian Restaurant of some sort just up the road . . . want to check that out?’

As we headed across the foyer, out the doors and down the stairs, misting rain drifted up Maple Street. We took a right, headed towards Obi Obi Creek and, sure enough, there it was; open and spilling light over the rain slick sidewalk. We let ourselves in and took a corner table at the front adjacent to the door. True to form, Mel gave his studied attention to the menu while I attempted to share the highlights of the day on Facebook; and, you guessed it, I had what he was having.

We weren’t the last people to leave; but pretty close to it. After settling the bill we stepped out into the misting rain. Back at the Hotel Maleny, the bar was still jumping, the music still thumping, and voices still raucous. The cacophony became unnaturally loud as we pushed open the heavy front doors; so we retreated and made a beeline for the stairs. There was a time when I would have dived right into the ruckus but those days were long gone; I’d eaten too much, I was tired, and my butt hurt from the day in the saddle.

Slow Time

Mel headed out to the verandah while I slipped back to the room to ‘boil the billy’ so to speak. A little later I joined him with a couple of wicked looking brews of instant coffee; OK, when you’re desperate – and we were – but otherwise to be avoided like the plague. We had the whole area to ourselves and so we kicked back; propped our heels on the lower rail of the balustrade; and watched misting rain coat Maple Street with random luminescence and shroud street lamps with opaque halos.

In low voices we talked about our kids and grandkids. I have five grandchildren; the oldest, 25 and a University Graduate; the youngest, 3 and ready to rule the world. I’d become a grandfather at the ripe old age of 45, and so I was a 24 year veteran. Mel’s initiation into grandfatherhood had been considerably more recent; and so, he was still something of a novice. But neither of us had any illusions about the ease with which little ones could purloin affections and abscond with hearts.

Click Here to Continue Reading: Historic Larceny and Superstorms on the Fraser Coast