About an hour’s drive northwest of the Sunshine Coast, the Conondale Range rises like a hidden playground, with Conondale National Park tucked within its folds. I’d been teased by images of crystal-clear, aquamarine rock pools shimmering in the sunlight and I wanted in! Spanning 35,000 hectares, the park is a breathtaking tapestry of dense jungle, towering eucalypts and meandering creeks, and is home to some of the region’s best hikes – including the 56km Great Walk. I was eager for a hike, but also mad keen to get to the Booloumba Falls, and my less than rigorous research revealed it was a 3km walk from the carpark.
The closest town to Conondale National Park, Kenilworth is a tiny village nestled in the heart of the Mary Valley, with the Blackall Range a dramatic scenic backdrop. In the 2021 census, Kenilworth’s population was 604, but what it lacks in people, it makes up for in cows! With rolling hills and lush green pastures, picturesque dairy farms proliferate, and if you haven’t eaten Kenilworth yogurt or cheese yet, commiserations to your palate.
Armed with just enough research to get ourselves into trouble, we knew that Conondale National Park is mainly accessible by high-clearance four-wheel-drive vehicles, due to gravel roads and creek crossings. That said, a recent visitor mentioned she’d gone into the park with a local, in a 2WD. Hmmm….
We have a “pretendy” 4WD – Mitsubishi Outlander – and had thoughts of putting it through the wringer. We parked at the cattle grid just before the first creek crossing, joining a handful of other 2WD cars, and did a little recce. The ruts in the road before the creek were big enough to swallow our car, so we tapped out. Prepared for this eventuality, I threw on my pluggers (thongs) for the crossing, and as we skittered around the water’s edge, 4WD’s with big ass tyres were up to their axles in creek!
The walk in added 1.5km each way to the hike we’d planned to do that day…meh. The second creek crossing was as gnarly as the first, and assuming it was the last, I slipped my hiking boots on. We bypassed Booloumba Creek Camping Area 1 in favour of starting at the Booloumba Creek Day Use Area, which meant tackling creek crossing 3. Shimmying across slippery drainage pipes isn’t exactly my forte, so, to save my Samsung’s life, I waded straight through the creek in my boots (sigh).
Arriving at the Day Use area, we checked the “You Are Here” map and saw that the Booloumba Waterfalls were over 19km return. Yup, that 3km walk was from the Booloumba Falls carpark, not the Day Use carpark – D’oh! So yeah, nah. Instead, we opted for the Strangler Cairn hike—a Grade 3, 6.5 km out-and-back along the Conondale Range Great Walk, which led to a mid-forest art installation by Andy Goldsworthy.
Winding through thick, mostly canopied wet sclerophyll and riparian rainforest, the hike offered regular glimpses of Booloumba Creek. Being the Australia Day weekend, the creek was inundated with weekend warriors, picnicking along the banks and yahooing in pristine rock pools—an irresistible escape from the heat and humidity so typical of Queensland summers.
Marking the turnaround point of the hike, the egg-shaped Cairn that gives the trail its name stands 3.7 metres tall. It’s assembled from hundreds of hand-chiselled granite stones, fitted together like one giant 3D puzzle. The stones were helicoptered in, and the Cairn is topped with a strangler fig, intended to one day grow its roots down to envelope the structure – think Ta Prohm in Angkor, Cambodia.
On the return walk, we detoured for a side quest to the old gold mine, dating back to the 1920’s. An 800-metre loop off the main trail, it features a 60-metre-long tunnel sealed with heavy metal bars, hidden in dense forest and now home to local bat colonies. Given the total distance we covered that day – 14km – it was additional hiking I could have done without. As we slogged through the suffocating humidity beneath the rainforest canopy in the final hour of our four-hour trek, I fantasised about lying down trackside, covering myself in leaf-litter, and quietly decomposing alongside the rest of the organic matter.
Completely and utterly knackered, and way too shattered for our usual post-hike winery recovery, we made a pit stop at the Kenilworth Bakery on the way home. After a day of clomping through muggy rainforest, wild creek crossings and buckets of sweat, I snarfed down the most glorious, chunky beef pie I’ve ever eaten. With room for dessert, it was followed up with a fat, decadent donut that barely touched the sides. It was the perfect reward for surviving Conondale National Park in one piece—because nothing says “I conquered the wilderness” quite like stuffing your face with pastry.
