A trek in Queensland where strangers become friends and the forest reveals its secrets

There's anticipation in the air as we adjust our backpacks and take in our surroundings at Thornton View Trailhead, somewhere in the Scenic Rim. I exchange snatched smiles and quick hellos with people I've only just met before a briefing begins on what the next four days will have in store. As one of Great Walks of Australia's most challenging hikes, elevation gain, UNESCO World Heritage rainforest and blisters are hot subject matter, each deserving as much regard as the other. Our guides, Harvey and Kate, are a cheery pair who I will discover are not only fountains of information but perpetually excited to share it. They're light-hearted and warm; I like them straight away.

I've lived in south-east Queensland for 10 years, but there are national parks that have eluded me the entire time. Trails I've sworn to tackle one day - typically over Friday afternoon drinks. As someone living with a generalised anxiety disorder, immersing myself in nature - absent from the white noise of society - is a long-lasting elixir to life's stresses. After a particularly jarring couple of months, it feels good to be lacing up my hiking boots for the Spicers Scenic Rim Trail.

In single file, we begin traversing the Mistake Mountain Range with meek winter sunshine on our backs. There's not a cloud in the sky. The dry sclerophyll forest still shows scarring from the 2019-2020 bushfire season as our group traverses switchbacks pushing higher and higher. Our first obstacle is a dry waterfall bed, which generates some hubbub on the best route to take. A few giggles are shared when somebody's boot slips. I quickly work out I'm walking with three couples of differing ages and backgrounds, but as the last person pulls themselves up, we're already nattering like friends.

The harness digs into my legs as I pull myself up a rock ladder suspended over what feels like forever. But somewhere down below, a carpet of yellow wild marigold heads reminds me it's not. I make out a brush-tailed rock wallaby observing me from a nearby crevice.

Amazed? Scared? Most likely bemused, I feel. "You did well," says Kate as I take off the safety cum torture apparatus I've been wearing. "Do you want your banana bread with coffee or tea?" Within minutes, the whole group sits taking in caffeine and a striking panorama of Mount Beau Brummel with the Lockyer Valley stretching beyond. I could sit here all day.

By late afternoon, we cross into the Gondwana Rainforests of Australia World Heritage Area - inscribed by UNESCO in 1986 for how it characterises major stages of the Earth's evolutionary history - a small, unassuming plaque on a fence post the only indication. Before Mount Mistake Farmhouse, our accommodation for the night, we're met on the escarpment with canapes and a selection of cold drinks. Bottles and glasses clink as we salute an uphill first day while a pastel pink horizon fades before us.

"It's easy to vilify the early timber getters. But we also consider these people the first conservationists," Harvey tells us, standing by a rusted logging winch hidden in long grass the next morning. "They had an inkling these trees were integral to this ecosystem and were incredibly selective." We learn that later, through industrialisation and increased demand, vast areas were stripped of trees but Harvey also points out: "We're barely an hour from Brisbane CBD, and it's still sparsely populated. If this were Sydney or Melbourne, there would be urban sprawl - so we're lucky in that respect."

We're invited to participate in a reflective and observational exercise whereby we are spaced out and invited to tread a section of the rainforest by ourselves. Like forest bathing, this is our chance to take everything in unadulterated. I tread lightly and give my senses free rein. The forest creaks and birds chatter, but it's the colours I notice most: glimpses of the blue sky, terracotta mud, black and purple decaying leaves, dangling white lichen. Nearly every colour, not just shades of green.

After an incredible three-course hosted meal that evening at Spicers Amphitheatre Eco Camp, everyone slowly departs for their treehouse-style cabins. I'm not sure if it's the tiramisu, but instead I decide to pull out my camera and attempt some astrophotography. With the inky black night and our isolated position deep in the Main Range National Park, I'm able to take mesmerising pictures of the Milky Way. The next day, over breakfast, my photos are the talk of the camp.

The third morning spoils our eyes with beguiling vistas. From Mount Castle Lookout, Kate points out Brisbane and even Moreton Island glimmering in the distance. We criss-cross the dense ridgeline a little further and step out onto an exposed outcrop with sheer drops on all sides. From here, the Scenic Rim unveils a patchwork of agriculture backed by a tapestry of peaks. I run my eyes over every range and mouth their names - they're all there. I admire technology, but this is a more vivid image than Google Earth could ever come up with.

At this point on the walk, we all share conversations with the person beside us. I get to know Joel, a musician from Perth, and I talk with Jeanette, a fellow Brit who lives on the Sunshine Coast and adores her children. It's as if the experience has peeled back any inhibitions, leaving a discernible ease among the nine of us.

Our guides interact and point out notable trees and the stories around them, like an immense yellow carabeen - possibly several hundred years old - which has recently fallen in a section known as the Valley of the Giants; further evidence of fire damage killing trees - this time well after the flames have gone out. The rest of the afternoon is a thigh-burning ascent to Timber Getters Eco Cabins through a network of steep, gurgling creek beds. That night I purposely leave my oversized tilt window wide open to relish every sensation the forest has to offer. I've never slept so soundly.

Looking at our group, everyone appears like hardened walkers by the final day: the way we all move as a unit is noticeable. And with it comes more conversations, jokes, even the exchange of details, and promises to stay connected once we finish.

Our final summit is a scramble up to Bare Rock where, at nearly 1200 metres above sea level, we have even more views to soak in - this time almost 360 degrees. A brisk breeze lashes my face as I turn to Kate. "This is part of a public walking trail, so we might see some people on the way down," she says. And just like that, a young couple comes into view, permeating a glowy aura of the outside world around them. They smile and nod our way. I glance backwards as brilliant sunshine sieves out from behind clouds, illuminating the immense greenery behind us. A final grandstand act.

Not to worry, I was in awe from day one.

The writer was a guest of Great Walks of Australia