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-===== Climbing Expedition - Pigeon House, The Castle, Tallatarang. =====
+===== Climbing Expedition - Pigeon House, The Castle, Tallatarang. June 14/15/16/17. =====
-JUNE 14/15/16/17.\\
 By Malcolm, Digby, Geof and Dot.
-Strange things happened to this trip before ever it left the Club room, To begin with it was down on the programme as an official walk, but this fell through at the last minute owing to prohibitive transport costs, so the official leader took her party to Katoomba. But, like a phoenix rising from the ashes, a new party emerged - a party of considerable magnitude as it took the Puttmobile and four private cars to transport them all to Drury's farm. To Drury's, did I say? No. That is not quite right. Snow managed to take a wrong turning in the dark and finished up on the edge of a precipice somewhere or other - for the whole weekend he was never quite sure just where it was and pointed us out two or three different plateaux on the edge of which his car was reputed to be roosting. However, sufficient to the day is the evil thereof, and when Snow and Henry eventually met up with us after taking a bee-line across the landscape he told us he didn't plan to give another thought to where his car might be until it was time to find it on the last day. George also, unintentionally or otherwise (probably otherwise if I know George) took an unknown road which landed him up practically within coo-ee of the camp spot it took the rest of us most of Saturday to reach. It didn't ,take us long to get settled in, and when the Saturday night meal had been put in its proper place, plans were made for Sunday. Who better able to tell of this pleasant camp scene than the old fox, McGregor. (Over to you Malcolm.)
+Strange things happened to this trip before ever it left the Club room. To begin with it was down on the programme as an official walk, but this fell through at the last minute owing to prohibitive transport costs, so the official leader took her party to Katoomba. But, like a phoenix rising from the ashes, a new party emerged - a party of considerable magnitude as it took the Puttmobile and four private cars to transport them all to Drury's farm. To Drury's, did I say? No. That is not quite right. Snow managed to take a wrong turning in the dark and finished up on the edge of a precipice somewhere or other - for the whole weekend he was never quite sure just where it was and pointed us out two or three different plateaux on the edge of which his car was reputed to be roosting. However, sufficient to the day is the evil thereof, and when Snow and Henry eventually met up with us after taking a bee-line across the landscape he told us he didn't plan to give another thought to where his car might be until it was time to find it on the last day. George also, unintentionally or otherwise (probably otherwise if I know George) took an unknown road which landed him up practically within coo-ee of the camp spot it took the rest of us most of Saturday to reach. It didn't take us long to get settled in, and when the Saturday night meal had been put in its proper place, plans were made for Sunday. Who better able to tell of this pleasant camp scene than the old fox, McGregor. (Over to you Malcolm.)
 The main aim of the trip into this area was to climb Tallatarang from the Clyde River side; Last Easter John Manning had seen a spot which he thought would go, so he was appointed leader. The party was kept small to give it every chance of success. The five to accompany John were Dot and Grace, Geoff, Mike Elphick and the Dalai Lama. Why put Dalai Lama in? You might ask. It was suggested that prayers might be needed and who better than Dun Kahn for that job?
 Now the Castle Party - we would try the Eastern cliff faces from Byangee Gap - just to make it hard, and ten bods with Putto as leader decided to give it a go. Digby was one who said he'd be in it as he sat by the fire chewing his bit of dessert ironbark. White anted before we started, still -
 "Now to give us plenty of time" said Colin, "we'll all pile out at 5 a.m.".
-"Righto" says Digby "5.a.m. we'll all hop - eh", his ironbark branch twig dropped from nerveless fingers. His jaws bit on air -- "5 o'clock ! no sane man would think of ----" "That's O.K." says Colin "you aren't sane."
+"Righto" says Digby "5.a.m. we'll all hop - eh", his ironbark branch twig dropped from nerveless fingers. His jaws bit on air - "5 o'clock ! no sane man would think of... " "That's O.K." says Colin "you aren't sane."
-So it was settled, Colin was appointed alarm clock for 5.a.m. Grace was to get Geoffo moving, Heather was listed to start George going, Digby to take the Dalai Lana his breakfast in bed; Dot would probably wake up anyway and old Male, was in the same tent as Colin so he had no excuse. As for the others, they were young enough not to notice the early rising.
+So it was settled, Colin was appointed alarm clock for 5.a.m. Grace was to get Geoffo moving, Heather was listed to start George going, Digby to take the Dalai Lama his breakfast in bed; Dot would probably wake up anyway and old Malc. was in the same tent as Colin so he had no excuse. As for the others, they were young enough not to notice the early rising.
 About ten the goodnight brew was brewed and shortly after the camp settled down. The fires dimmed and Jack Frost spread his icy fingers over the flats. 3 a.m. - a lone figure crept from a tent and threw a log on a fire - it disappeared - again all was quiet.
-Five to five -- "Get up you lazy loafers" roared Colin's voice. What willpower!, what fortitude! He stamped around the tents and bellowed in at each making sufficient noise to waken the Dalai Lama. Groans followed in his wake; again he gave his call; the young'uns tumbled out; a shrill squeal announced Grace's ejection from her cozy bag, Digby rose grumbling from his quarters, Heather and George appeared like
+Five to five...
-wraiths, only old Male stayed in his bag. This cunning old so and so had pitched his tent right by his fire, by now blazing happily due to Colin's effort.
+"Get up you lazy loafers" roared Colin's voice. What willpower! what fortitude! He stamped around the tents and bellowed in at each making sufficient noise to waken the Dalai Lama. Groans followed in his wake; again he gave his call; the young'uns tumbled out; a shrill squeal announced Grace's ejection from her cozy bag, Digby rose grumbling from his quarters, Heather and George appeared like wraiths, only old Malc stayed in his bag. This cunning old so and so had pitched his tent right by his fire, by now blazing happily due to Colin's effort.
 "Put my billy on please" he says. Someone placed a billy on the fire. Digby is too benumbed by this early rising to say or do anything - yet - and the Dalai Lama is clamouring for his breakfast. "Why are we up now?" says Heather vaguely, "I don't know" says Grace. "Where are we going?" Snow chimes in. "To the hills" roars Colin.
-"Take my billy off its boiling" says Male.\, still in his sleeping bag. Colin glares at him, "Aren't you up yet" he says. "No", says Male.
+"Take my billy off its boiling" says Malc., still in his sleeping bag. Colin glares at him, "Aren't you up yet" he says. "No", says Malc.
-"Hey, Digby", Colin calls and Dig. trots up; "call yourself a white ant look at this bloke". Digby goes green with envy. "The old --- he murmers.
+"Hey, Digby", Colin calls and Dig. trots up; "call yourself a white ant, look at this bloke". Digby goes green with envy. "The old... ", he murmers.
-Bushwalkers at 5.a.m. on a mid-winter morning are a strange lot. I don't know how to describe them. The moans and groans, the -- Oh! I wish I had a tape recorder. The comments were priceless.
+Bushwalkers at 5.a.m. on a mid-winter morning are a strange lot. I don't know how to describe them. The moans and groans, the - Oh! I wish I had a tape recorder. The comments were priceless.
-The clock ticked on and food of one sort and another was consumed, All of the two parties were moving except one - the old -- was still in his bag. Six o'clock and still only 15 bods were mobile, Digby was speechless by this time at being up while another was down.
+The clock ticked on and food of one sort and another was consumed. All of the two parties were moving except one - the old - was still in his bag.
-"Get up !" he cried "Why?" said Male. Colin raced around and restored order.
+Six o'clock and still only 15 bods were mobile, Digby was speechless by this time at being up while another was down.
-Breakfast was nearly finished and at 6.30 came the call. "Moving off in 5 minutes." Now think of what has happened. Fifteen Bushwalkers are up, fed and dressed ready to go, and one fed ready to go - to sleep - not - the whips are cracking and old Male slides from his bag at last. There they are, sixteen bods in mid-winter, ready to leave camp at 6.30 a.m. Not bad, eh! At twenty to seven the remaining
+"Get up !" he cried.
-sleepers had the camp to themselves: The parties were away on time.
-(Now perhaps you would like o hear from Mr. Rigby how the Castle party fared)  The Very Early Morning Kookaburras rubbed their sleepy unbelieving eyes and looked again. In the first wan light of day ten hazy half- conscious figures sleepwalked across the meadow, their frozen feet crunching into the firm white frost which lay like a giant sheet, spread over tho slumbering river flats. This was incredible! Bush- walkers afoot at this ungodly hour and in this temperature. After the initial shock was over, no normal strain of Kooka could be expected to restrain itself. A whole bunch of rascals combined in a torrent of rollicking raucous laughter, which had, we felt, a fair share of nasty derision mixed up with it. Such was the beginning of the day the S.B.W.0 Castle Climbing Contingent, set off to do battle with that famous landmark.
+"Why?" said Malc. Colin raced around and restored order. Breakfast was nearly finished and at 6.30 came the call.
-When the light had brightened up a trifle, the shadowy figures could no longer hide their true identities. Out in front and egging us on as per usual, loped the Putt Machine, brandishing a spanking new
+"Moving off in 5 minutes."
-red and blue nylon climbing rope. Malcolm and Heather started skipping along together in some sort of Mad Goblin's Dance, allegedly designed for a quick thaw-out. But the rest of us, still a la comatose, would not be bustled and so Alan Abbott, George, Bookie, Jack Perry, Henry Gold, Snow and Digby ambled along in silent single file. A little way further and the Castle Climbers passed a Y.M. Ramblers' Camp where nary a soul had bestired himself from the warmth of the icicled tents. Oh, how the pangs of White Antism, sleeping-bag variety, suddenly swept through our party like a plague. Miracle of miracles, we pressed on with barely a hesitating step - perhaps it was the fiery light in the ferocious eyes of the Putt Machine which won the day. And so up Yadboro Ck, we went our way and shortly Colin led off up the ridge which would land us at the Castle - Byangee Walls Saddle.
-The plan was to climb the Castle from the eastern side, where a "possible" route was alleged to exist a little way back along the Castle walls behind the saddle. The sun had by now sailed up into a cloudless, windless vault of blue - it was a morn made specially for bushwalkers - and as we warmed up all over to a tingle, we began to savour the real anticipation of the unknown adventure ahead.
+Now think of what has happened. Fifteen Bushwalkers are up, fed and dressed ready to go, and one fed ready to go - to sleep - no! - the whips are cracking and old Malc. slides from his bag at last. There they are, sixteen bods in mid-winter, ready to leave camp at 6.30 a.m. Not bad, eh! At twenty to seven the remaining 7 sleepers had the camp to themselves. The parties were away on time.
-At 0900 hours we stood in the saddle and surveyed the sandstone cliffs towering above us - well, it certainly wouldn't "go" just there, not for us, anyway. So on we pushed along the base of the walls until we found the first promising chink in the Castle's armour, a broad gully in which some good climbing rock sloped upwards at a respectable angle. So great was our enthusiasm we were soon all over it like a rash. After the first pitch, ideal for loosening up lazy muscles, the angle became steeper and it was time to bring out the rope for a spot of belaying. Up went the bods, one by one, cautiously feeling their way in steady climbs, until it was the turn of that really outstanding mountaineer, Mr. John Ants-in-the-Pants Bookluck. And what a fantastic performance he put on, Bookie fairly tore up that pitch as though the very Devil were at his heels, arms and legs ing in all directions at once, footholds and handholds being used and abused in extra-rapid succession. The proverbial rat in the drainpipe would be considered a tired old slowcoach compared with our hero - one could only bring to mind those movies which are speeded up to
+(Now perhaps you would like to hear from Mr. Rigby how the Castle party fared)
-such an extent as to provoke uncontrollable laughter in the observer - for such indeed was the effect. Of course there is a rumour that certain persons at the top of the rope helped the show along, to say the least, but this was certainly not apparent from below. And so ended the brightest piece of comedy of the whole weekend.
-After this episode a wee bit of exploration was called for as the next step of the mountain loomed ominously and awkwardly above. Several routes which might go were investigated by Alan, Jack and Digby but were wisely rejected in favour of the "recognised" way just then discovered by Colin further round the face. Hob marks and a cut sapling leaning into a weak gully formation pointed the way. The party having negotiated this obstacle (with some more frantic antics by Bookie), the rest of the climbing route was obvious - there were no alternatives whichever way you looked at it. Several interesting pitches of moderate severity, a pleasant mixture of chimneying scrambling and straight face climbing, with just the right amount of challenge, finally brought us to the top of the first big sandstone step of the mountain. The final step still remained. So far it had been good clean fun in the warm sunshine, despite a few cold shivers down several spines.
+The Very Early Morning Kookaburras rubbed their sleepy unbelieving eyes and looked again. In the first wan light of day ten hazy half-conscious figures sleepwalked across the meadow, their frozen feet crunching into the firm white frost which lay like a giant sheet, spread over tho slumbering river flats. This was incredible! Bushwalkers afoot at this ungodly hour and in this temperature. After the initial shock was over, no normal strain of Kooka could be expected to restrain itself. A whole bunch of rascals combined in a torrent of rollicking raucous laughter, which had, we felt, a fair share of nasty derision mixed up with it. Such was the beginning of the day the S.B.W., Castle Climbing Contingent, set off to do battle with that famous landmark.
+When the light had brightened up a trifle, the shadowy figures could no longer hide their true identities. Out in front and egging us on as per usual, loped the Putt Machine, brandishing a spanking new red and blue nylon climbing rope. Malcolm and Heather started skipping along together in some sort of Mad Goblin's Dance, allegedly designed for a quick thaw-out. But the rest of us, still a la comatose, would not be bustled and so Alan Abbott, George, Bookie, Jack Perry, Henry Gold, Snow and Digby ambled along in silent single file. A little way further and the Castle Climbers passed a Y.M. Ramblers' Camp where nary a soul had bestired himself from the warmth of the icicled tents. Oh, how the pangs of White Antism, sleeping-bag variety, suddenly swept through our party like a plague. Miracle of miracles, we pressed on with barely a hesitating step - perhaps it was the fiery light in the ferocious eyes of the Putt Machine which won the day. And so up Yadboro Ck, we went our way and shortly Colin led off up the ridge which would land us at the Castle - Byangee Walls Saddle.
+The plan was to climb the Castle from the eastern side, where a "possible" route was alleged to exist a little way back along the Castle walls behind the saddle. The sun had by now sailed up into a cloudless, windless vault of blue - it was a morn made specially for bushwalkers - and as we warmed up all over to a tingle, we began to savour the real anticipation of the unknown adventure ahead...
+At 0900 hours we stood in the saddle and surveyed the sandstone cliffs towering above us - well, it certainly wouldn't "go" just there, not for us, anyway. So on we pushed along the base of the walls until we found the first promising chink in the Castle's armour, a broad gully in which some good climbing rock sloped upwards at a respectable angle. So great was our enthusiasm we were soon all over it like a rash. After the first pitch, ideal for loosening up lazy muscles, the angle became steeper and it was time to bring out the rope for a spot of belaying. Up went the bods, one by one, cautiously feeling their way in steady climbs, until it was the turn of that really outstanding mountaineer, Mr. John Ants-in-the-Pants Bookluck. And what a fantastic performance he put on, Bookie fairly tore up that pitch as though the very Devil were at his heels, arms and legs flailing in all directions at once, footholds and handholds being used and abused in extra-rapid succession. The proverbial rat in the drainpipe would be considered a tired old slowcoach compared with our hero - one could only bring to mind those movies which are speeded up to such an extent as to provoke uncontrollable laughter in the observer - for such indeed was the effect. Of course there is a rumour that certain persons at the top of the rope helped the show along, to say the least, but this was certainly not apparent from below. And so ended the brightest piece of comedy of the whole weekend.
+After this episode a wee bit of exploration was called for as the next step of the mountain loomed ominously and awkwardly above. Several routes which __might__ go were investigated by Alan, Jack and Digby but were wisely rejected in favour of the "recognised" way just then discovered by Colin further round the face. Hob marks and a cut sapling leaning into a weak gully formation pointed the way.
+The party having negotiated this obstacle (with some more frantic antics by Bookie), the rest of the climbing route was obvious - there were no alternatives whichever way you looked at it. Several interesting pitches of moderate severity, a pleasant mixture of chimneying, scrambling and straight face climbing, with just the right amount of challenge, finally brought us to the top of the first big sandstone step of the mountain. The final step still remained. So far it had been good clean fun in the warm sunshine, despite a few cold shivers down several spines.
 Malcolm had enjoyed the leading most of the time, but First Prize for the best laissez-faire attitude to the whole adventure must go to Snow. During the waits he would stretch out on a sunny ledge without a care in the world and dream the dreams that only Snow can dream. Only when his turn finally came to climb a pitch would he give the slightest attention to the mountain. Perhaps this is the best attitude after all if one can cultivate that sort of mountaineering temperament.
-The old Enemy had by this mooched along to about 1300 hours - and with ten bods using the one rope this was not surprising. Lunchtime - and what better place for lunch than beside a tiny stream running across this wide forested ledge, with a glorious 180 panorama of that rugged and beautiful landscape to feast the eyes upon. Our gaze wandered down onto the Byangee plateau, now well below us, then across to Pidgeon House and finally to the Pacific on the horizon. And from there the eye came slowly back to the Clyde Valley way down in the blue depths on our left and then shot up the cliffs of Tallatarang on the other side, and we wondered how our comrades were 'facing in their new adventure over there.
+The old Enemy had by this mooched along to about 1300 hours - and with ten bods using the one rope this was not surprising. Lunchtime - and what better place for lunch than beside a tiny stream running across this wide forested ledge, with a glorious 180 panorama of that rugged and beautiful landscape to feast the eyes upon. Our gaze wandered down onto the Byangee plateau, now well below us, then across to Pidgeon House and finally to the Pacific on the horizon. And from there the eye came slowly back to the Clyde Valley way down in the blue depths on our left and then shot up the cliffs of Tallatarang on the other side, and we wondered how our comrades were facing in their new adventure over there.
-A human shout from the summit of the Castle brought us back to the near-at-hand and we wondered how this could be until we remembered the other walking parties in the area - they had apparently come up by the "accepted" route on the other side. We should be on our way, but one glance at our watches was quite sufficient to convince us that we must skirt along our ledge to the beginning of the Castle "tail" and reach the summit by the orthodox route; the final step would be saved up for another day, that was for sure. At length this plan was achieved, and as we climbed to the top of the fantastic tail, we ran into a Y.H.A. party on their way down; the odd places you meet up with bushwalkers. It was a surprise to recognise familiar faces - some of us had encountered them before in all the last outposts of walking realms, even in far-off Tasmania: After a quick sojourn on the top, in which several of the very active ones made a hasty trip to the Byangee end, our party started down again at the rather latish time of 1500 hours. We would not want to dawdle but now we would descend by the usual west-side route, through that remarkable squeeze-hole passage which tunnels right through the tail, and then on down through the cursed sapling forest with its scratchy undergrowth and the torn and twisted creek courses with their obstropolis boulder beds. Cries of "Never again - give me rock-climbing any day" could be heard from front to rear, even from those who can't really make up their minds about climbing and its risks.
+A human shout from the summit of the Castle brought us back to the near-at-hand and we wondered how this could be until we remembered the other walking parties in the area - they had apparently come up by the "accepted" route on the other side. We should be on our way, but one glance at our watches was quite sufficient to convince us that we must skirt along our ledge to the beginning of the Castle "tail" and reach the summit by the orthodox route; the final step would be saved up for another day, that was for sure. At length this plan was achieved, and as we climbed to the top of the fantastic tail, we ran into a Y.H.A. party on their way down; the odd places you meet up with bushwalkers! It was a surprise to recognise familiar faces - some of us had encountered them before in all the last outposts of walking realms, even in far-off Tasmania! After a quick sojourn on the top, in which several of the very active ones made a hasty trip to the Byangee end, our party started down again at the rather latish time of 1500 hours. We would not want to dawdle but now we would descend by the usual west-side route, through that remarkable squeeze-hole passage which tunnels right through the tail, and then on down through the cursed sapling forest with its scratchy undergrowth and the torn and twisted creek courses with their obstropolis boulder beds. Cries of "Never again - give me rock-climbing any day" could be heard from front to rear, even from those who can't really make up their minds about climbing and its risks.
-Finally, as the last light of day flickered and went completely out, we thankfully set foot once again in the more friendly Yadbora Creek and of course there were the usual false and frustrating leads. After crossing the Creek for the umpteenth time (we can't feel our toes any more), Colin called a halt to collect the bods together in the inky blackness. "Number off", says Colin, but even after two attempts we can't get past nine. Whose voice was absent? Where was the missing link? Missing link? Ah, yes, it must be Bookie. "Where are you, Bookie?" we chant. For a moment the bush was silent. Then from the direction of the creek the chill night air was split asunder by an oathful, wrathful shout  "How the blinkin' blazes did you so-and-so's get out of this b--- hole?" Well, of course, not one of us had seen hide nor hair of a "hole", let alone one which would accomodate a whole body.
+Finally, as the last light of day flickered and went completely out, we thankfully set foot once again in the more friendly Yadbora Creek and of course there were the usual false and frustrating leads. After crossing the Creek for the umpteenth time (we can't feel our toes any more), Colin called a halt to collect the bods together in the inky blackness. "Number off", says Colin, but even after two attempts we can't get past nine. Whose voice was absent? Where was the missing link? Missing link? Ah, yes, it must be Bookie. "Where are you, Bookie?" we chant. For a moment the bush was silent. Then from the direction of the creek the chill night air was split asunder by an oathful, wrathful shout...
-Poor Bookie - the gods were agin him again. We went back and. rescued him and then hit it for home and never did the warm fires and tents of our camp look more like home to us. Their glow seemed to match an inner glow deep inside us, the glow of success, the glow from a day of happy fulfilment and from a job well done. It was time to have a laugh at the Kookaburras.
+"How the blinkin' blazes did you so-and-so's get out of this b... hole?" Well, of course, not one of us had seen hide nor hair of a "hole", let alone one which would accomodate a whole body.
-(And speaking of kookaburras takes us back-again to the early hours of this same day, because we have yet to hear how the Tallatarans party fared. Next month we'll drop our fishing line into thee deep pool of Geoffo's mind and see what treasures we bring forth).
+Poor Bookie - the gods were agin him again. We went back and rescued him and then hit it for home and never did the warm fires and tents of our camp look more like home to us. Their glow seemed to match an inner glow deep inside us, the glow of success, the glow from a day of happy fulfilment and from a job well done. It was time to have a laugh at the Kookaburras.
+(And speaking of kookaburras takes us back-again to the early hours of this same day, because we have yet to hear how the Tallatarang party fared. Next month we'll drop our fishing line into thee deep pool of Geoffo's mind and see what treasures we bring forth).
+----
+=== Colour Photographers - Please Note. For Sale. ===
+Beaded-glass screen material, 48" x 48", in excellent condition. Going cheaply.
+If you're interested, please see Frank Rigby, 'Phone MU 4411 (Business).
+----
 ===== White Ant Borings. =====
-HOW MANY KILOWATTS TO KILL A WART? At the Dalai Lama's castle at Camden there is a solid concrete building, situated in an isolated cow pasture, wherein is housed the electrical equipment our friend Duncan uses to fill in the gaps in his knowledge of the ionisphere, luna doings, siderial twilight and such like. At a recent "hooley party" held there the Dalai Lama entertained his guests by luring them into this structure, then, relying on the thickness of the concrete walls to drown their screams, he applied high frequency currents to such warts as they possessed, the idea being that fast-growing cells just can't stand high frequency currents, and curl up and die. He predicted that there would be a blinding flash, a searing pain and  Bingo! No wart: But his own wart is still as large as life after the treatment, and so, alas, is mine, -and Oh, the pain; The pain:
+__How many kilowatts to kill a wart__? At the Dalai Lama's castle at Camden there is a solid concrete building, situated in an isolated cow pasture, wherein is housed the electrical equipment our friend Duncan uses to fill in the gaps in his knowledge of the ionisphere, luna doings, siderial twilight and such like. At a recent "hooley party" held there the Dalai Lama entertained his guests by luring them into this structure, then, relying on the thickness of the concrete walls to drown their screams, he applied high frequency currents to such warts as they possessed, the idea being that fast-growing cells just can't stand high frequency currents, and curl up and die. He predicted that there would be a blinding flash, a searing pain and Bingo! No wart! But his own wart is still as large as life after the treatment, and so, alas, is mine, - and Oh, the pain! The pain!
-The Acme of Diplomacy: Snow had stretched out luxuriously and lay basking in the sunshine on the summit of Beoulagerie Spire. The shadow of another member of the party fell across him. Snow waited with patience, but the shadow did not budge. "You know", says Snow, "isn't it marvellous? The sunshine travels 93 million miles to reach me - and to think that it should be baulked in the last yard:"
+__The Acme of Diplomacy__: Snow had stretched out luxuriously and lay basking in the sunshine on the summit of Beoulagerie Spire. The shadow of another member of the party fell across him. Snow waited with patience, but the shadow did not budge. "You know", says Snow, "isn't it marvellous? The sunshine travels 93 million miles to reach me - and to think that it should be baulked in the last yard!"
 We hear that Kath Gibbs has resigned her post at Dunedoo Memorial Hospital and will shortly be in Sydney for a month or so. Hope to see you joining your old friends again out on the track, Kath.
 The Admiral has at last confessed. In a signed statement (obviously prepared in a moment of weakness) he has painted a sorry picture of his boat's nautical navigation on that Friday night of the recent boat trip from Bobbin Head. The revelations are so fantastic that we're saving them up for another month just to stretch out your curiosity.
 Keith Renwick showed us a close-up of a bat during his recent slide night on Caving. We don't altogether agree with Keith's cryptic remark "Not bad looking for an old bat, eh?". We have seen much more attractive "bats" than this one in caves, even allowing for the muddy trog suits in which they're usually attired,
-The "Panel of Experts" thought up some of the corniest answers bushwalkers have ever heard for the "Any Questions" escapade at the Fun and Games night last month. Alan Wilson thought he would craftily stump the Experts when he ventured his trick question, "And what is the Panel's opinion of the double sleeping bags now being sold in New Zealand?". The Dalai Lama didn't bat an eyelid, didn't even show a trace of embarassment. "This is a bad thing" was the unfaltering reply, "Fancy encouraging all those bludging types who are only too ready and willing to leave their weight at home, knowing there'll probably be a spare berth for them when they get out on a trip." The Admiral was much more direct and tried to hoist the engineer with his own petard when he glared at the questioner and scathingly roared "This is just the sort of question that Wilson would ask:" All in all, the Panel squirmed quite nicely out of the trap, thank you,
+The "Panel of Experts" thought up some of the corniest answers bushwalkers have ever heard for the "Any Questions" escapade at the Fun and Games night last month. Alan Wilson thought he would craftily stump the Experts when he ventured his trick question, "And what is the Panel's opinion of the double sleeping bags now being sold in New Zealand?". The Dalai Lama didn't bat an eyelid, didn't even show a trace of embarassment. "This is a bad thing" was the unfaltering reply, "Fancy encouraging all those bludging types who are only too ready and willing to leave their weight at home, knowing there'll probably be a spare berth for them when they get out on a trip." The Admiral was much more direct and tried to hoist the engineer with his own petard when he glared at the questioner and scathingly roared "This is just the sort of question that Wilson __would__ ask!" All in all, the Panel squirmed quite nicely out of the trap, thank you.
+----
 ===== Report of the Ski Lodge Committee. =====
-Colin Putt - Convenor.
+- Colin Putt - Convenor.
 The Committee, appointed mainly for the purpose of making inquiries on the feasibility of erecting a hut in the Kosciusko area, had held six meetings, and is of the opinion that it is not constituted to go further - i.e. to start erecting the hut.
@@ Line 259: / Line 282: @@
 Four visits have been made to the Kosciusko State Park - one to inspect a hut for sale, two to select a site and one to see the site in winter. Two of these visits were made for the sole purpose of the Committee's business. Members of the Committee have had frequent interviews with the Manager and Secretary of the Park Trust and have sought information from those with experience in the snow country.
-Following the Committee's recommendations a site in the Perisher area - 3/4 mile off the main Kosciusko Road and 200 yards from the Snow Reveller's hut - has been selected and applied for. The cost of a hut which would conform to the minimum requirements of the Trust was estimated at £957, exclusive of labour cost.
+Following the Committee's recommendations a site in the Perisher area - 3/4 mile off the main Kosciusko Road and 200 yards from the Snow Reveller's hut - has been selected and applied for.
-Laurie Rayner, architect, has consented to design a suitable hut and has conferred with the Trust architects on their requirements. A preliminary plan has been prepared by him. John Scott, builder/ has agreed to cost Laurie Rayner's plan.
+The cost of a hut which would conform to the minimum requirements of the Trust was estimated at £957, exclusive of labour cost.
-The steps to be taken in the construction of a hut are:\\
+Laurie Rayner, architect, has consented to design a suitable hut and has conferred with the Trust architects on their requirements. A preliminary plan has been prepared by him. John Scott, builder, has agreed to cost Laurie Rayner's plan.
-. Agreement on final plan, submission of same to Trust and approval
-of Trust.\\
-. Formation of a Co-operative Society,\\
-. Collection of funds.\\
-. Organisation of building.
-To carry the project to a conclusion hut officials are required for the following tasks:\\
+The steps to be taken in the construction of a hut are:
-. Chairman of the Co-operative Society, who will presumably organise and guide the project.\\
-, Treasurer\\
+  - Agreement on final plan, submission of same to Trust and approval of Trust.
-, Secretary\\
+  - Formation of a Co-operative Society.
-. Builder\\
+  - Collection of funds.
-, Architect.
+  - Organisation of building.
+To carry the project to a conclusion hut officials are required for the following tasks:
+  - Chairman of the Co-operative Society, who will presumably organise and guide the project.
+  - Treasurer.
+  - Secretary.
+  - Builder.
+  - Architect.
 The Committee has no suggestions for any of these officials except the latter two. One person could, of course combine two or more of these functions, but this would mean increased work.
-RECENT ACQUISITIONS BY THE LIBRARY.
+----
+=== Recent Acquisitions By The Library. ===
-"The Bafut Beagles" -- Durrell; "Exploration Fawcett" -- Fawcett; "A Reporter in Africa" (Birds & beasts) -- Morehead:
+"The Bafut Beagles" -- Durrell; "Exploration Fawcett" -- Fawcett; "A Reporter in Africa" (Birds & beasts) -- Morehead.
 Remember our appeal for suitable book donations to the Club Library a couple of months back. Well, the response has not been exactly overwhelming, so how about it, walkers?
+----
 ===== The Kowmung Manuscript Part II. =====