Zigging and Zagging up a Mountain

On the day I left Airlie Beach (Nov 30th), I planned to check out and stay the night at Paluma- a little mountain town with a stream and swimming holes. Well let me tell you about this road: the devil was the engineer and he was in a bad mood. 22 steep kilometers of hairpin turns on a misty road designed for 2 mopeds to just barely pass one another. Oh, and Mack-type trucks heading the other direction. I am one to take pictures from behind the wheel but even this was too hairy for me. Less than half way up, there was a cute little stone bridge and swimming pools. I thought these were harbingers of more wonderful mountain delights further up. I was wrong. I drove the rest of the way to the town of Paluma, hoping my family would find my last will and testament in my super secure rubbermaid bin, only to find, essentially, a ghost town. And it was really misty/foggy, and really quiet and reminded me somewhat of the solitude of the hotel in The Shining. The inn was unattended. So much for spending the night there.

But I drove back down and stopped at the real attraction of Paluma, the bridge and swimming holes that I had passed. The water was cool. The rain was light. Only bummer was I didn't bring anything for a picnic and I had to get back on the road and find that night's accommodations. Onward ho!

Picture taken from the car- it was raining really hard although you can't tell in this picture.

This bridge was built during the 1930s, as part of a New Deal-era type public works. I assume it was a global depression.