Orpheus Island, Great Barrier Reef: An Australian paradise

So, there we were. Forty kilometres from the nearest land, floating over a remote section of the outer Great Barrier Reef. Just me, my young family, and a two-metre shark. A whitetip reef shark, to be exact. But after nearly a week staying on Orpheus Island, I felt a strange sense of calm. Had I become acclimatised to these underwater predators, who prowled underneath the resort marina at night, fed like pets by the staff? Or was my guard simply down, lulled by several days of award-winning food, lazing around the pool and an unlimited, self-replenishing mini bar, included in the price of accommodation?

The answer is, probably both. Orpheus has a dual effect on guests. It's deeply relaxing, thanks to five-star facilities and personalised service that somehow manages to be laidback and yet slickly professional at the same time. But also, its location, 80 kilometres northeast of Townsville and surrounded by pristine reefs and protected oceans, means you can't help but encounter nature's raw beauty during your stay.

In fact, the nature spotting begins on approach, with an exciting helicopter transfer that zooms you from Townsville across Rattlesnake Island (used by the military for bombing practise), past nearby Fantome Island (a leper colony until 1973) and over coastlines dotted with aquamarine reefs, sea turtles and dugong.

Named after an Australian Navy ship that sank in 1863 (which, in turn, was named after the legendary Greek poet, prophet and musician known for his ability to charm), Orpheus Island has been attracting tourists since the 1930s.

Jen Truasheim, the resort's gardener, longest resident and shoe-eschewing unofficial historian, says the place has changed a lot since she arrived to "chaos and madness" in 2000. "We had jet skis, we had ski boats, we had 90 guests, we had 50 staff; we had dead turtles out there being carved up by props." The ethos has done a U-turn for the better since the resort's two subsequent owners took over. The latest, Chris Morris (who made his fortune running global share registry Computershare and now has a string of pubs, restaurants, casinos and resorts under the Colonial Leisure Group banner) has worked hard to restore the balance of nature by investing heavily in eco-friendly infrastructure. Since he took over in 2011 the resort boasts a sewage treatment plant, solar hot water and guests are capped at 28. It's now more in keeping with the ethos of the rest of the island, which is predominantly national park. Happily for us, Morris is a grandfather, so unlike many similar exclusive tropical resorts, children are welcome here.

From the moment our helicopter touches down at the far end of the resort's beach the emphasis is on understated luxury. Our bags attended to (each guest is limited to 15kg), we take a short walk over the coconut palm-dotted lawn to the pool, where a glass of bubbly awaits. A solitary cockatoo screeches above, reminding us that this tropical paradise is very much Downunder. Sitting down with the resort manager, we learn of daily activities, such as snorkelling, fishing, kayaking and tours to nearby islands, that are included in the price of accommodation. Then it's time for the executive chef to grill us over our particular culinary likes, dislikes and inevitable quirks (for our fussy four-year-old that's easy: plain rice, noodles and Nutri-Grain, thanks). The food turns out to be a highlight of our stay, with a la carte breakfasts, ethnic themed share plates for lunch (Thai, American, Moroccan) and impressive degustation-style dinners that might include ricotta gnocchi with smoked clams and Moreton Bay Bug with black garlic aioli.

After touring our modern suite (where fruits, a cheese platter and another bottle of sparkling wine are waiting for us) I venture past the horizon pool to the beach. Almost immediately I spot something unusual in the water. A couple of fins disturb the surface very close to the shore and, peering gingerly into the water lapping at my feet, I see a baby shark, about 50 centimetres in length cruising obliviously past. Later, the staff, who are well-versed on local flora and fauna, explain that it's a juvenile blacktip reef shark and, if I'd care to wait until dark, I could see plenty more larger specimens underneath the resort jetty. True to their word, that evening we watch transfixed as a staff member drops morsels of fish scraps into the water. Beneath us are about seven sharks, up to two metres long, circling and pouncing on the free dinner provided.