28 August 2011 - Rifle Creek Rest Area, Mount Molloy, Queensland

The whole point of extending our stay here in Cooktown was all about the rugby, so it is with great regret I have to report that the All Blacks lost the Tri-Nations 2011 series to the Wallabies. The game was scrappy, the ball was slippery and the Wallabies played as if they were on P. The day’s events had taken their toll on my stamina and without a string of All Black tries to keep me awake, I retired five minutes before full time, to hear the end as I drifted off: “Wallabies have won! 25 to 20”.

We left Cooktown this morning soon after the church bells were heard ringing, under clear skies and with the temperature already well in the twenties.

A road retraced from the opposite direction is always like an entirely different journey, and so it was today as we traveled the 240 or so kilometres back to Mount Molloy.

The rocky Annan River

We paused at the Annan River crossing not too far south west of Cooktown to walk along the river over the huge rocks that form a canyon. The small river falls through these channels noisily and is quite spectacular. There we met up with a cyclist we had passed further back, a sun dried man of indeterminate age, bare to the waist down curled up on a rather tatty sleeping bag resting beside his bicycle. Despite his scruffy appearance, under long hair and a scraggy beard, he was an interesting, relatively intelligent individual who told us he had cycled up to Cooktown from down Atherton way, and was now on his way back. He slept by the road side when night fell and had during his trip been attended by several snakes, one last night, a black python of about eleven foot, none of whom had been a problem! Quite a character for sure and we reluctantly excused ourselves or we may have been there all day. Both Chris and I agreed that there was something wrong with the welfare system, even here in Australia, when a man capable of cycling in these parts over such distances should qualify for a disability pension.

It was still early when we reached Lakeland, the stepping off place for our canvas camping adventure, and so we continued south along the road toward Cairns, enjoying the countryside even more than on the way north.

I was astounded to see the remnants of thrown tyres on the roadside, hundreds of them. Chris suggested that it was probably because those who had deflated their tyres to absurdly low pressures for the 4WD conditions, far below the tyre manufacturer’s specifications, had not bothered to re-inflate them when they returned to the seal. In this heat and with the greater speed, the rubber swells and of course simply explodes. I guess the black shredded rubber is better than road killed feral pigs and roos.

At the lookout on the Byerstown Range, from where we could admire the relatively fertile and extensive Lakeland Downs basin, we chatted with a couple who were on their way north, towing a caravan. They had been told that the road to Weipa was sealed and were interested to know how realistic it was to consider taking the caravan right up to Bamaga at the top. We soon put him right as regards the state of the roads and told them that it would be insane to pull the caravan any further than Laura. They were at least as old as us, without a tent, and with only one sleeping bag. We suspected they would ignore our advice anyway and proceed on up regretting their decision within fifty kilometres of leaving the seal.

Our camp beside the road near Mount Molloy

We arrived here at the crossroads of the Mulligan Highway and the road across to Mossman soon after two thirty, and seeing that there were already twenty or so parties in here, quickly selected our own spot and backed in. The amenities at the rest area include toilets, cold showers, rubbish bins and an “iron-maiden” (NZMCA speak for secure collection post) to accept our $2 donation for the use of the facilities. What more could one wish for?