Exploring Queensland’s extraordinary history through a stay at Gilberton Outback Retreat

Rob French closed his eyes for a few blissful seconds as the ice-cold beer trickled down his throat. The rim of his battered Akubra hat hung low across his forehead, and the collar of his soft earth-green shirt sprawled open around his tanned neck. He returned his gaze to the smudgy oranges and ochres of the Queensland sunset that had emblazoned the sky in front of us. “Everything you can see around you is Gilberton land,” he declared proudly, before taking another long sip.

Surrounding us were 88,000 acres of agricultural land; an area used primarily for cattle grazing. Sure enough, the mustard-coloured dirt, speckled with thousands of Eucalypts and other native flora, stretched all the way to the horizon in every direction. Rob, a fifth-generation stockman, had been working this land from just 14 years old, and had taken over the family cattle station aged 22. Over 40 years on, he was still running Gilberton, now alongside his wife Lyn and son Ashley.

Perched on a hill overlooking the Gilbert River, and just a few metres from the French family home, my stay was a lavish studio-style accommodation – designed and commissioned by Rob and Lyn in 2014. The idea of hosting guests on their working station had come from Lyn after several years of drought, enhanced by the unpredictably of a changing climate. At the time, the need for an additional income stream couldn’t have been ignored. The result was an extraordinary retreat, with an open-air front and panoramic views of the estate from the king-sized bed and standalone bath. However, I wasn’t only here for the pampering. I was visiting Gilberton to experience a different side to Australia, away from the pristine Queensland coast. A side that you don’t often see on Instagram or tourist websites. This was raw, rural Aussie life. As I pulled into the drive, Lyn was waiting with open arms. “Let me give you a big hug!” she said, as I clambered out of the 4WD.

Located on the outskirts of the goldfields, Gilberton was a flourishing community in 1869, after geologist Richard Daintree proclaimed nearby land for mining and agriculture. Over 3,000 people flocked to the area – and the small village grew quickly into a thriving mining town. Rob’s ancestors, who had arrived in New South Wales from Ireland in the 1860s, ventured to Queensland in search of ways to make a living. Settling in Gilberton, they began a new life as teamsters – carting ore over 480km to the industrial city of Townsville for export. The family also leased land from the Queensland government, and Gilberton Cattle Station was set up in 1869.

When the mine closed just four years later, Rob’s family made the decision to stay put – slowly growing their land into the behemoth station that exists today. With an estimated 55% of Australia’s land dedicated to agriculture, and 80% of Queensland managed as farmland, it’s no surprise that Gilberton became a crucial part of Queensland’s cattle farming industry.

“Every family in this country needs a farmer three times a day,” noted Lyn, as I joined them for my evening meal. As is tradition at this outback retreat, ‘tea’ was served around the dining table. It was a sweet touch that meant visitors soon became a part of the family. On today’s menu is a chicken casserole, lovingly prepared by Rob and Lyn’s daughter Kerry-Ann. “Every time you lift your fork up – whether you’re a meat eater or a vegetarian, or even if you like a glass of wine – you’re consuming what a farmer has produced,” Lyn continued. “Farmers are integral for life.”

That night, as I settled into a bed, I stopped to listen: Silence. This was the isolation of the outback.

The next morning began with one of Gilberton’s most immersive experiences – getting to ride shotgun with Lyn on a 4WD buggy as she zipped around the station checking on the cattle. That’s no easy feat on 88,000 acres – so, the family also relied on Rob’s motorbike, and Lyn’s ability to fly to the far corners of the station during herding (she was a trained private helicopter pilot). Along the dusty paths we went, the eucalypts standing tall on either side of us. Occasionally, Lyn pointed out an ironwood – one of the strongest trees found in Australia, that is often used for building. “Almost every material used at the retreat was sourced from the land,” she told me. “The timber, the rocks – they were individually picked.”

The first herd we came across, around 30 white female cows, turned in unison to watch us pull in. Even though it was early in the day, the relentless Queensland sun was already beating down, and many of the cows were laying in the shade to stay cool and conserve energy. “Hey babies, good morning!” Lyn called cheerily, as we came to a stop by a water trough. Lyn lived and breathed her role as matriarch on this cattle station, and she had mastered how to raise market-leading cattle. “They are family-oriented animals. You treat them with kindness, and you get that in return,” she explained. “You treat them nasty and brutal – and they can be the same.”

As well as being prime cattle-rearing country, Gilberton land was still also ripe with gold. The family have had to put up with several illegal projects popping up over the years. Until the mid-20th Century, it was common for authorities to ‘turn a blind eye’ to this type of undocumented pillaging of the land. More recently, however, miners had returned to Gilberton – this time with the permission of Rob and Lyn. What excited me, however, was that guests could even get in on the act. With a metal detector in-hand, anyone staying at the retreat was invited to join Lyn for an afternoon of fossicking “the granite and quartz country” around them. “Most people find something,” Lyn told me with a smile, and a glint in her eye.

In 1770, Lieutenant James Cook chartered Australia’s east coast and claimed it for Britain. Eight years later, the first penal colony was set up in Botany Bay (now Sydney), with colonies gradually spreading across the continent. In Queensland, convict settlements were established in 1825, with the state becoming its own colony in 1851. The 100+ year process of colonisation saw land continually seized from the Indigenous peoples who had lived here for tens of thousands of years and unsurprisingly, there was resistance that resulted in bloodied violence. That, together with the spread of introduced diseases, meant the Indigenous population declined rapidly across the state and continent.

Gilberton’s own history with Indigenous people, I learned, was complex and fascinating. While the area initially leased to Rob’s family in 1869 was considered Crown land, it had once belonged to local tribes. As a result, Rob’s family had faced attacks from the Yanga people who, until colonisation, had survived off this land. An eerie reminder of the battles of the time was now marked by a small, abandoned stone-cobbled fort which sat a few metres from where the original family home was built. When we ventured inside, a shiver ran down me as I spied the uneven gaps in the stone walls. “Those are the gun holes,” explained Lyn. “They used them when the natives attacked, but they built them at different levels so spears couldn’t penetrate.”

When a Government Act, which allowed the forced removal of Indigenous people from the land, was passed in 1897 – the Queensland police swept through rural areas, taking away any surviving First Nations people. “They were taken away in chains,” Lyn continued. “It’s horrible.” Remarkably, by this time, Rob’s great great grandparents had developed friendships with some Yanga people – and made the decision to harbour two of them on Gilberton land. Incredibly, ‘Grandma Dora’ and ‘Grandpa Freddie’ were now an integral part of the Gilberton story. “They hid them in the mountains until they knew it was safe for them to come out – and they ended up living with the family for 30 years.”

Parking the 4WD buggy among the scrub, Lyn and I continued our journey on foot – winding our way up the granite rocks and through the bush. We stopped along the way to catch our breath and study the plants that were once used by Yanga for nutrition and medicine. “That’s a native orchid,” Lyn pointed out. She also explained that her knowledge came from information passed down by Grandma Dora. “The Aboriginal fellas used to get the nuts from the dry sprigs and eat them, because they were high in protein.”

The eucalypt and citrus pine blanketed terrain was mesmerising as we looked out from the escarpment – but behind us, something even more enthralling emerged. Tucked away against the sheltered surface of the large sandstone rocks were ochre-painted hand stencils – signs of life from over 4,000 years ago. Faded depictions of a crocodile, dragonfly and even a small turtle – the totem of the Yanga people – could be seen on the reddish-yellow surface. Under sheltering caves, the charcoal stains marked what was once a fire pit. Another shelter formed what looked like the crevice of a birthing rock. “Grandma Dora and Grandpa Freddie shared so much of their knowledge of the land with the family,” remarked Lyn. “We only know about these sites, and learned these Yanga stories, because Rob’s great grandma grew up with them as second parents.”

Despite facing resistance from authorities in the sharing of records, the French family have continued their search for Yanga descendants, with Lyn admitting that she hopes to one day be able to reconnect the right people with their land. “Rob’s grandmother, Lydia, tried to find Dora and Freddie’s families, but so far we haven’t had any luck.” she confided. “It’s sad because several generations of people have likely grown up not knowing their connection to the bloodline and land.”

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I spent my last evening at Gilberton with the French family for one final meal – a humble ‘barbie’, just outside of the main house. Once again, a blanket of stars and planets twinkled against the black velvet of the night sky. Ashley took to the helm, grilling steaks against an open flame, while Lyn and Kerry-Ann brought out the accompaniments to this traditional Aussie feast – a freshly picked lettuce and tomato salad with complementing coleslaw. Lyn handed me a beer. In that moment, I felt a part of this outback Queensland family.

The light from the flames, as vibrant as a Queensland sunset, lit up Lyn’s face as we settled in a circle with our plates on our laps. “We won’t ever stop talking about our connection to the Yanga people,” she said, thoughtfully. “Everyone needs to know where they’ve come from, to know where to go.”

And as I embarked on the long drive back to Cairns, Lyn’s words echoed in my mind. Yes, this land that had offered a home to different families and cultures held a complex and difficult history. It had also brought a sense of security and hope to those who had lived here. One day, the French family may find the descendants of the Yanga people, and a new chapter can begin in Gilberton’s story. Then there would be even more people sitting around the dining table of this remarkable cattle station.