Let’s be a bit low rent about this: one couple, seven nights in a resort,
excluding alcohol, excluding excursions — 12,000 quid.
But guests staying at Woodwark Bay in Australia’s subtropical Whitsunday
region are anything but low rent. Discreet murmurings suggest visitations by
the CEO of an American multi-billion-dollar corporation, by a party of
well-connected Russians and by Tom Cruise.
The Australian public are oblivious to Woodwark and so, too, is the Australian
press. In fact, since opening three years ago, there has been no publicity
and little marketing. Woodwark is quietly passed among the super-rich like a
good stockmarket tip.
Now, however, five visiting journalists are being granted access for two days
and nights for the edification of readers in Paris, Singapore, London, Dubai
and Toronto. Not that we travel hacks are anything special: we’ve barely got
12 large ones to drop on a car, let alone a holiday, so we’re all
preoccupied with the same somewhat tacky question: what the hell do you get
for your money?
Well, you get the resort. All of it. Four thousand acres of forested
wilderness, a kilometre of private beach and a 9km cordon sanitaire between
you and the nearest town (perversely, the backpacker haven that is Airlie
Beach in Queensland).
So, in fact, you’re getting privacy.
“Sometimes we’re asked, ‘Where are the other guests?’ ” says resort manager
Roger Kelly, “and I say, ‘There are no other guests.’ We have a minimum of
two and a maximum of 14 people staying. But if you book it, it’s all yours.”
Yup, I can see this working. I’m on a generous suede sofa outside the Main
House. The Bang & Olufsen stereo plays to breezes coming off the
turquoise bay; the long dinner table is being set with Moreton Bay bugs
(mini-lobsters to you), oysters with cucumber jelly and a fine coral trout;
the moored yachts in the far distance, the headlands wooded with eucalyptus,
the conical islands — all appear as insouciantly placed for my benefit as
the lime slice dropped into my cocktail.
I suppose in a different life I wouldn’t be in the company of strangers; I’d
be sitting here with my wife and kids and probably a nanny. Make that two
nannies. And in the pale light of dawn, we’d walk along our beach,
surprised to see huge fish in our shallows, exclaiming at koalas and
wallabies coming from our forests.
But even in this life I’m soon feeling at home in the white-timbered spaces of
the Main House, with its mix of nautical ephemera and antiquities from
around the world.
I’ve certainly taken ownership of my Dream House, one of Woodwark’s six guest
retreats, each with its own persona. Mine is a giant bed cast adrift on a
limestone floor, looking onto manicured lawns and the bay. It’s a temple to
tropical lounging, with lots of textures, scents and curios. I especially
like the Royal typewriter on my writing desk (very South Pacific) and the
1918 field glasses for spotting dolphins and turtles.
The property is dotted with eccentric touches. Among the great stands of
tropical flowers and bamboo groves are salt-rotted follies, fragrant nooks
and even a gnarly old “story-telling tree” for the kids, with a real
19th-century treasure chest. The heated pool has dazzling Byzantine arches
and is splendidly exotic against the olive-hued wilds of the Australian
bushland. Elevated high on a hillside is an alfresco bath on a platform — a
place to strip off, soak your bones in the bubbles and rest your eyes on the
Pacific.
But Woodwark is no gold-plated Versace palace; it’s not about showing off. The
antiques are placed to please, and the quirkiness seems home-grown, not
affected.
And you can forget servants on every corner, because you have only three hosts
to do your bidding.
Roger is the can-do man, an entrepreneur and former fishing-boat skipper who
can talk from experience about both stonefish poison and boardroom battles.
Over breakfast, he opens his palms — what would we like to do?
There’s the quad-bike safari, so we can explore the property’s 100km of forest
tracks. Or there’s Laser Skirmish, so we can dart in and out of ironbark
trees, firing off light beams (it’s huge with the kids). The 26-hectare
freshwater lake has canoe, wetbike and fishing boat primed to take on the
lake’s prizefighting barramundi. There’s also the watchtower overlooking the
resort’s other bay (yes, it has two), a 20-metre eyrie equipped with massage
tables and a throne-like seat on its roof for some truly higher-plane
meditation.
Other requests? No problem. Mr Cruise’s party wanted to build a huge fire in a
clearing — easily accommodated. A New York couple wanted a personal trainer,
so Roger had gym equipment sent in and a specialist flown up from Melbourne.
And then there are the offshore distractions — not least the 74 dazzling
islands stretching out to the Great Barrier Reef. As and when requested, a
seaplane will roar low over the Main House, practically clipping the thatch
with its floats; after it lands in the bay, it’s all aboard for diving on
the reef or lunch on Hayman Island, the five-star resort some 15km as the
cockatoo flies. We settle for a flight to Whitehaven Beach, the bone-white
sand fantasy made complete by one’s own private floatplane moored in the
shallows and a crate of chilled drinks...
The other two Woodwark hosts are chef Mark and his wife, Karen, both former
Hayman Island staff. Their kitchen is open to the main living space, and
such is the ease and affability of the couple that guests soon find
themselves drawn to the chef’s preparation bench to chat while gourmet
seven-course meals come together. One guest liked Mark’s work so much, he’s
flying the chef to New York to cater for his party.
But after our evening meal, we’re surprised to learn that, unless otherwise
requested, the Woodwark Bay hosts return to their homes. So they literally
wish us good night and drive off the property — it’s tantamount to throwing
us the keys and leaving us in charge of a house full of treasures in the
middle of a Queensland wilderness.
At first, we’re not entirely sure what to do with it. But then we do what the
super-rich would do. We pad over to the fridge to fix another drink, then
settle outside to enjoy the sound of warm waters lapping a moonlit beach. A
private moonlit beach.
Twelve grand? Strange how it doesn’t seem that much...
Travel details: Turquoise Holidays (01494 678400, www.turquoiseholidays.co.uk
) has a week at Woodwark Bay (www.woodwarkbay.com
) from £7,900pp, based on a couple having the place to themselves, or from
£4,950pp for eight people. The price includes flights from Heathrow to
Proserpine (a 30-minute drive from Woodwark Bay) with British Airways/Qantas
(via Brisbane), all meals and some activities, plus a week’s 4WD hire. Or
try Audley Travel (01993 838800, www.audleytravel.com
) or Bridge & Wickers (020 7483 6555, www.bridgeandwickers.co.uk
).
Max Anderson travelled as a guest of Outback Encounter (00 61 8 8354 4405, www.outbackencounter.com
)
