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195205 [2016/06/07 03:34]
tyreless
195205 [2016/06/07 03:38] (current)
tyreless
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 Ron Compagnoni, representing Federation, remarked that the Club had had the courtesy of inviting all donors, and would probably do the same when some suitable project was under review. He was quite prepared to leave it to the discretion of S.B.W. Paddy Pallin wanted to hear opinions on the specific areas suggested - Werong, for instance. He understood Mr. Green, the owner, would have been happy to sell out cheaply a year or so back. John Cotter remarked there were probably 200 acres of the Werong property, and it might be valued as highly as £10 per acre. Alex Colley said he spoke also for Frank Duncan, one of the principal contributors,​ who thought what we wanted was a pleasant camping place where we could also practice our ideals of conservation. He believed we should find a place which was suitable within a reasonably short time. Ron Compagnoni, representing Federation, remarked that the Club had had the courtesy of inviting all donors, and would probably do the same when some suitable project was under review. He was quite prepared to leave it to the discretion of S.B.W. Paddy Pallin wanted to hear opinions on the specific areas suggested - Werong, for instance. He understood Mr. Green, the owner, would have been happy to sell out cheaply a year or so back. John Cotter remarked there were probably 200 acres of the Werong property, and it might be valued as highly as £10 per acre. Alex Colley said he spoke also for Frank Duncan, one of the principal contributors,​ who thought what we wanted was a pleasant camping place where we could also practice our ideals of conservation. He believed we should find a place which was suitable within a reasonably short time.
  
-Myles Dunphy harked back to an earlier suggestion that something should be done to allow contributors to withdraw if they so wished, and Brian Harvey voiced an amendment, which provded ​an impromptu subcommittee consisting of Tom Moppett, Wal Roots and Brian, with fleeting counsel from Ron Compagnoni. The outcome was the motion in its final form: That after allowing all contributors an option to withdraw their contributions,​ the amount received as compensation for the resumption of Portion 7, Era, be reserved for conservational purposes in accordance with a direction contained in any resolution passed by a three-quarters majority of the members of the S.B.W. present at an extraordinary general meeting specifically called for that purpose: pending disbursement,​ the fund shall be under the control of the Trustees of the S.B.W."​+Myles Dunphy harked back to an earlier suggestion that something should be done to allow contributors to withdraw if they so wished, and Brian Harvey voiced an amendment, which provided ​an impromptu subcommittee consisting of Tom Moppett, Wal Roots and Brian, with fleeting counsel from Ron Compagnoni. The outcome was the motion in its final form: That after allowing all contributors an option to withdraw their contributions,​ the amount received as compensation for the resumption of Portion 7, Era, be reserved for conservational purposes in accordance with a direction contained in any resolution passed by a three-quarters majority of the members of the S.B.W. present at an extraordinary general meeting specifically called for that purpose: pending disbursement,​ the fund shall be under the control of the Trustees of the S.B.W."​
  
 There was a further motion, that letters be sent to all contributors seeking their consent to this action, and allowing five weeks for reply, which was duly carried, and the Extraordinary Meeting closed at 8.20 p.m. There was a further motion, that letters be sent to all contributors seeking their consent to this action, and allowing five weeks for reply, which was duly carried, and the Extraordinary Meeting closed at 8.20 p.m.
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 (Articles on climbing and skiing in the Mt. Blanc region of the Alps have been received from Frank Leyden and Leon Blumer. Leon's account of an ascent of Mt. Blanc is published below, and it is intended to reproduce Frank'​s story, with map illustrating route, in the June issue.) (Articles on climbing and skiing in the Mt. Blanc region of the Alps have been received from Frank Leyden and Leon Blumer. Leon's account of an ascent of Mt. Blanc is published below, and it is intended to reproduce Frank'​s story, with map illustrating route, in the June issue.)
  
-The three of us - Brian and Sheilah, my English friends, and myself, gently closed the hut door at 3.15 a.m. and started out into the frozen night. We were pleased it was bitterly cold as this was a sign of fine weather. Mt. Blanc, 15,782 feet, has killed more people by tricky weather than many other mountains of a lower but more difficult nature. As we mounted up over frozen avalanche debris we realised that this was the same avalanche that an English climber had accidentally started and "riddenl" for 300 feet a few days earlier, a day after a heavy snowstorm. Quite a curious way of descending mountains, a method we do not feel disposed to adopt as yet.+The three of us - Brian and Sheilah, my English friends, and myself, gently closed the hut door at 3.15 a.m. and started out into the frozen night. We were pleased it was bitterly cold as this was a sign of fine weather. Mt. Blanc, 15,782 feet, has killed more people by tricky weather than many other mountains of a lower but more difficult nature. As we mounted up over frozen avalanche debris we realised that this was the same avalanche that an English climber had accidentally started and "ridden" for 300 feet a few days earlier, a day after a heavy snowstorm. Quite a curious way of descending mountains, a method we do not feel disposed to adopt as yet.
  
 The route from the hut, at about 10,000 feet, goes up a 2,000 feet slope of loose, crumbly rock lying at about a 50 degree angle and at this time of the morning solidly knit by frozen snow and ice. We were unroped as it was easy climbing and we avoided the steep snow faces and occasional iced-up rock, a slide on which would have meant a fall or roll of a few thousand feet. The only difficult spot was a 15 feet traverse on ice on which some steps had to be cut; otherwise we mounted steadily, probably a bit too rapidly for that time of morning. The twinkling lights of St. Gervais, miles below in the valley, gradually disappeared and the world of rock and icy precipices took on a rosy hue. It was a glorious sunrise and although our cliff face was still in frozen shadow, we had the pleasure of seeing a transparent silver light run slowly along a narrow ice ridge above us. The sun's rays topped some low clouds and mist, but it was still dark down in the valleys. A tinkling of ice particles on rocks to our right told us that the sun was starting its day's work. Life dawned anew with the sunrise and we resumed our ascent with fresh energy. The route from the hut, at about 10,000 feet, goes up a 2,000 feet slope of loose, crumbly rock lying at about a 50 degree angle and at this time of the morning solidly knit by frozen snow and ice. We were unroped as it was easy climbing and we avoided the steep snow faces and occasional iced-up rock, a slide on which would have meant a fall or roll of a few thousand feet. The only difficult spot was a 15 feet traverse on ice on which some steps had to be cut; otherwise we mounted steadily, probably a bit too rapidly for that time of morning. The twinkling lights of St. Gervais, miles below in the valley, gradually disappeared and the world of rock and icy precipices took on a rosy hue. It was a glorious sunrise and although our cliff face was still in frozen shadow, we had the pleasure of seeing a transparent silver light run slowly along a narrow ice ridge above us. The sun's rays topped some low clouds and mist, but it was still dark down in the valleys. A tinkling of ice particles on rocks to our right told us that the sun was starting its day's work. Life dawned anew with the sunrise and we resumed our ascent with fresh energy.
  
-The Goûter hut, at about 12,600 feet and on the top of the cliff, was comparatively warm so we had our second breakfast and after a short rest, donned ​cramgons ​and proceeded slowly up the vast gentle ice slope of the Dôme du Goûter. It was good to feel once more the clean bite of the points in the ice. We were rather tired from our exertions of the day before, so straggled quite a distance apart. The only crevasses here were frozen solid and one hardly bothered to take a wider step. I noticed one or two large seracs as big as houses leaning drunkenly down the slope. They seemed to be relics of some bygone age. We reached the top and obtained our first view of the summit ridge of Mt. Blanc. It looked rather steep due to the cold clear air, with a spume of snow drifting off and one or two large cornices over the steep face. We could see other climbers hours ahead of us, very slow moving dots against a world of snow and ice, very blue sky and occasional black rocks. We seemed to be three people set apart. This curious feeling of detachment seemed to possess us for hours.+The Goûter hut, at about 12,600 feet and on the top of the cliff, was comparatively warm so we had our second breakfast and after a short rest, donned ​crampons ​and proceeded slowly up the vast gentle ice slope of the Dôme du Goûter. It was good to feel once more the clean bite of the points in the ice. We were rather tired from our exertions of the day before, so straggled quite a distance apart. The only crevasses here were frozen solid and one hardly bothered to take a wider step. I noticed one or two large seracs as big as houses leaning drunkenly down the slope. They seemed to be relics of some bygone age. We reached the top and obtained our first view of the summit ridge of Mt. Blanc. It looked rather steep due to the cold clear air, with a spume of snow drifting off and one or two large cornices over the steep face. We could see other climbers hours ahead of us, very slow moving dots against a world of snow and ice, very blue sky and occasional black rocks. We seemed to be three people set apart. This curious feeling of detachment seemed to possess us for hours.
  
 We rested at this point as Brian was feeling "​rather queer" (about 14,300 feet). He and Sheilah both took tablets. I was fit, with only a slight headache. The wind cut like a knife, despite our layers of clothing. We proceeded, dropping a few hundred feet (which we hated) then up again to the Vallot Refuge, a chilly damp place set amongst some rocks. Here Brian apologised and said he could go no further. Sheilah seemed to be in a slightly better shape but also decided against continuing. I thought for a while on the foolishness of solitary climbing, had another good look at the weather (which was absolutely beautiful) then announced my intention of going on alone. I made a pretty little speech - "I feel rather determined about this", etc., etc., and the others nodded as if in full agreement. A quiet smile from Brian, a warning about the wind on the ridge from Sheilah, and on I went, feeling like a martyr to a lost cause. A few French parties paused on the way down to shout encouragement. We rested at this point as Brian was feeling "​rather queer" (about 14,300 feet). He and Sheilah both took tablets. I was fit, with only a slight headache. The wind cut like a knife, despite our layers of clothing. We proceeded, dropping a few hundred feet (which we hated) then up again to the Vallot Refuge, a chilly damp place set amongst some rocks. Here Brian apologised and said he could go no further. Sheilah seemed to be in a slightly better shape but also decided against continuing. I thought for a while on the foolishness of solitary climbing, had another good look at the weather (which was absolutely beautiful) then announced my intention of going on alone. I made a pretty little speech - "I feel rather determined about this", etc., etc., and the others nodded as if in full agreement. A quiet smile from Brian, a warning about the wind on the ridge from Sheilah, and on I went, feeling like a martyr to a lost cause. A few French parties paused on the way down to shout encouragement.
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 I plodded wearily onward, being brought to my knees at one stage by a fierce gust of wind. I managed to stuff some bread and cheese past my cracked lips. The slope was fairly gentle, never more than 35 degrees. There were some horrible cornices on the left side overhanging a 3,000 feet sheer wall of ice, while an the right the slope curved gently over into space. Steps had been cut in the ice in one or two places. At these heights top snow seems to be of a dry silky wind-packed variety. With only hundreds of feet to go, my limbs were feeling like lead and the headache worse, but the thing had to be done. Then at last I arrived at the broad snowy plateau of the summit. I plodded wearily onward, being brought to my knees at one stage by a fierce gust of wind. I managed to stuff some bread and cheese past my cracked lips. The slope was fairly gentle, never more than 35 degrees. There were some horrible cornices on the left side overhanging a 3,000 feet sheer wall of ice, while an the right the slope curved gently over into space. Steps had been cut in the ice in one or two places. At these heights top snow seems to be of a dry silky wind-packed variety. With only hundreds of feet to go, my limbs were feeling like lead and the headache worse, but the thing had to be done. Then at last I arrived at the broad snowy plateau of the summit.
  
-An apprehensive glance for signs of bad weather gave place to a half-hour of rest and contentment,​ taking colour photos and enjoying the vista of distant snowy peaks, remote blue valleys and needle-like aiguilles set amongst jewels of glittering snow and ice. I could see the peaks of the Bernese Oberland ​ard Zermatt and other ranges hard to identify. The view went on for hundreds of miles and was indescribable. What a pity my friends were not there. I felt vaguely disappointed,​ curbed an inclination to explore further along the ridge, then descended with caution. The 1,500 feet descent took only half an hour and I was back at the Refuge by about 10.30 a.m.+An apprehensive glance for signs of bad weather gave place to a half-hour of rest and contentment,​ taking colour photos and enjoying the vista of distant snowy peaks, remote blue valleys and needle-like aiguilles set amongst jewels of glittering snow and ice. I could see the peaks of the Bernese Oberland ​and Zermatt and other ranges hard to identify. The view went on for hundreds of miles and was indescribable. What a pity my friends were not there. I felt vaguely disappointed,​ curbed an inclination to explore further along the ridge, then descended with caution. The 1,500 feet descent took only half an hour and I was back at the Refuge by about 10.30 a.m.
  
 Brian had been lying down on one of the bunks when the French parties had come in. One Frenchman had removed his boots, another gave him some fruit cake and a small drink of cognac and orange, and yet another had fossicked around for dry blankets, some of which were frozen solid. I met this friendship and cheerful and freely proffered assistance everywhere in the Alps and it is indeed a very happy memory. To cap it all, two of the parties had waited until they saw I had descended safely to the Refuge, before proceeding on their way. Brian had been lying down on one of the bunks when the French parties had come in. One Frenchman had removed his boots, another gave him some fruit cake and a small drink of cognac and orange, and yet another had fossicked around for dry blankets, some of which were frozen solid. I met this friendship and cheerful and freely proffered assistance everywhere in the Alps and it is indeed a very happy memory. To cap it all, two of the parties had waited until they saw I had descended safely to the Refuge, before proceeding on their way.
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 I decided the mountains were "​out"​ for a while and so merrily set out for Port Arthur, not reckoning on the sheer brutality of the road where no sane rider would ever venture. I was a ruin amongst ruins when I arrived but the bike still stood resolutely, no doubt quite happy with its sea-level surroundings. Quietly attaching myself to the tail of a Pioneer party, I enjoyed a conducted tour at no extra cost. I thought the convict remains interesting enough but over-rated. I decided the mountains were "​out"​ for a while and so merrily set out for Port Arthur, not reckoning on the sheer brutality of the road where no sane rider would ever venture. I was a ruin amongst ruins when I arrived but the bike still stood resolutely, no doubt quite happy with its sea-level surroundings. Quietly attaching myself to the tail of a Pioneer party, I enjoyed a conducted tour at no extra cost. I thought the convict remains interesting enough but over-rated.
  
-The Tourist Bureau fairly shouted the Huon Valley from every placard and with full justification,​ too. Apple and berry orchards, glorious mountain and river scenery and sassafras beer of all things made a thrilling day and a half. The weather was totally unpredictable this day, and here was I trying desperately to capture Kodachromes of this lovely country with only the Gods of guess work aad blind chance to determine the exposure. My kingdom then for an exposure meter, if only my kingdom had been worth it. My use of the delayed action device brought much laughter from the local small-fry. I would set the camera up, adjust it, and then start running to get into the picture myself. Naturally I always panicked for fear I would not arrive in time, but invariably found myself waiting for what seemed an eternity before the shutter clicked. The kids would then gather around eagerly to examine the "​birdie that worked itself"​. Goings-on of this kind were almost tragic once on the top of Mt. Amos at Coles Bay. I had pre-selected a rock to run to for one of these pictures, but had forgotten the sheer 300-feet drop on the other side. The resulting close shave I shall leave to your fertile imaginations.+The Tourist Bureau fairly shouted the Huon Valley from every placard and with full justification,​ too. Apple and berry orchards, glorious mountain and river scenery and sassafras beer of all things made a thrilling day and a half. The weather was totally unpredictable this day, and here was I trying desperately to capture Kodachromes of this lovely country with only the Gods of guess work and blind chance to determine the exposure. My kingdom then for an exposure meter, if only my kingdom had been worth it. My use of the delayed action device brought much laughter from the local small-fry. I would set the camera up, adjust it, and then start running to get into the picture myself. Naturally I always panicked for fear I would not arrive in time, but invariably found myself waiting for what seemed an eternity before the shutter clicked. The kids would then gather around eagerly to examine the "​birdie that worked itself"​. Goings-on of this kind were almost tragic once on the top of Mt. Amos at Coles Bay. I had pre-selected a rock to run to for one of these pictures, but had forgotten the sheer 300-feet drop on the other side. The resulting close shave I shall leave to your fertile imaginations.
  
 It was about this time that I realised that the cooking gear etc. in the pannier bags was not going to take much more of the treatment the bike had been dishing out. Carrying gear in this manner is vastly different from humping it per rucksack. The endless vibrations from a rigid frame two-stroke on a corrugated road soon mashes everything to a pulp if it is not packed just so-so. Already my frying pan and plate were practically beyond recognition and a packet of dessert powder, ground to a fine dust, was distributed nicely throughout the entire bag. Such are the joys of a bone-shaker safari. It was about this time that I realised that the cooking gear etc. in the pannier bags was not going to take much more of the treatment the bike had been dishing out. Carrying gear in this manner is vastly different from humping it per rucksack. The endless vibrations from a rigid frame two-stroke on a corrugated road soon mashes everything to a pulp if it is not packed just so-so. Already my frying pan and plate were practically beyond recognition and a packet of dessert powder, ground to a fine dust, was distributed nicely throughout the entire bag. Such are the joys of a bone-shaker safari.
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 In the same way as the Nepean, the Cox, Kowmung, Wollondilly and Grose Rivers continued in their original courses, gradually cutting through the rising rock strata and developing the familiar deep valleys of the Blue Mountains. In the same way as the Nepean, the Cox, Kowmung, Wollondilly and Grose Rivers continued in their original courses, gradually cutting through the rising rock strata and developing the familiar deep valleys of the Blue Mountains.
  
-In thi3 way the present day topography and scenery were developed. Sheer sandstone cliffs hundreds of feet high bordering the valleys, water leaping into space over these same cliffs, give us such thrilling sights as Govett'​s Leap Falls. The scenic beauties of this eroded land mass are legion - the tree-lined Wollondilly of Burragorang Valley, the awe-inspiring cliffs of Kanangra Walls, Blue Gum Forest by the impetuous Grose, and many more. The streams speeding on their way through mazes of sandstone ​bolders, by grassy tank and casuarina grove call forth the thought - "We must camp here".+In thi3 way the present day topography and scenery were developed. Sheer sandstone cliffs hundreds of feet high bordering the valleys, water leaping into space over these same cliffs, give us such thrilling sights as Govett'​s Leap Falls. The scenic beauties of this eroded land mass are legion - the tree-lined Wollondilly of Burragorang Valley, the awe-inspiring cliffs of Kanangra Walls, Blue Gum Forest by the impetuous Grose, and many more. The streams speeding on their way through mazes of sandstone ​boulders, by grassy tank and casuarina grove call forth the thought - "We must camp here".
  
 And still the processes of erosion and weathering continue year after year. In another few million years - what then? And still the processes of erosion and weathering continue year after year. In another few million years - what then?
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195205.txt · Last modified: 2016/06/07 03:38 by tyreless