If the pioneering stockmen who founded Wrotham Park Lodge in the 1870s had been able to travel forward in time a century or so they would have been dumbfounded. Surrounded only by sienna-colored earth, scrub and savannah, this remote cattle-station in Queensland has been transformed into a five-star retreat, complete with air-con, power showers, internet, sun-decks and exquisite Pacific Rim cuisine.
A far cry from the days of rudimentary homesteads knocked together with corrugated iron and timber, and diets of salt beef and damper.
Nevertheless, the concept of the lodge draws heavily from Queensland's past and traditional outback design. And, unlike normal hotels where guests are left to their own devices, a sense of community between the guests (maximum of 20) and 10 youthful staff is encouraged. But is it enough? With only 30,000 cattle for company and whipcracking displays as evening entertainment, will Australia's latest luxury hotel gamble pay off?
So remote is Wrotham Park Lodge that supplies (which include crates of champagne, fine Aussie wines, fresh tropical fruit, Cuban cigars and the Queensland delicacy, "1824" marbled beef) are brought in fortnightly by truck or flown in with guests by Cessna. Phonecalls -- via satellite -- are prohibitively expensive. Cairns, the nearest town of note, is about 300km due east, with kilometer upon kilometer of emptiness in between.
Wrotham Park, which covers 6,000km2, was founded in the 1870s gold rush when meat was suddenly much in demand. The scale of the cattle station means that today's "cowboys" use helicopters to muster the cattle, though horsemanship is still a necessary skill.
Guests who coincide with the mustering seasons (April to June, and September to November) may just be lucky enough to witness the real thing.
A half-day tour of the cattle station is part of the Wrotham Park experience and proves an unexpected eye-opener. After hurtling along dirt roads through the bush with one-time jillaroo (Australian for cowgirl) Terri at the wheel, we see the original pens where the cattle were once sorted before being sold on. The hand-hewn rails of the pens, with their towering ironwood posts surrounded by monumental eucalypts make an incongruous historical sight.
The image of the pens somehow adds to the epic quality of the stories we are told of outback hardships, of the cruel system of cattle de-horning and castration, of Aboriginal attacks, bush fires, disease and the tragically high mortality rate. Back in our air- conditioned 4WD, sipping iced mineral water and checking digital cameras, there is a distinct sense of time-travel.
Terri, in her mid-20s, tells us about her mustering days, though on a walk the previous day her main interest seemed to be dung beetles -- having displayed one triumphantly to us after rummaging through a pile of manure. We learn that the furthest she has ever been is to Brisbane (to be fair that's about 2,200km) and she owned her first horse at the age of five.
The tour takes in the working homestead and cattle-station HQ where, by chance, we get to see the thundering of a muster. Our smoko -- morning tea -- is at the very rudimentary stockmen's bar with a pool table, darts and TV for entertainment. The bar is popular with the cowboys at the end of a 12-hour day. Increasingly I realize the light years separating us townie Poms from the locals. Washing my hands at the sink, I notice a bar of five-star lodge soap has been laid out for us -- the alternative was a mud-encrusted sliver.
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