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 All fifteen starters on David Rostron's Anzac Week-end trip to the Blue Breaks were instructed to come prepared for a long hard walk. All were told to bring along a light pack, frameless at that(why carry a frame?), no tents as the weather was to be, without a doubt, fine and sunny with mild nights. In the event of the unthinkable occurring, i.e. should it rain one night, we could all squeeze under either David's or Don's tent flies. Also as it was anticipated that the Saturday night camp on top of the Axe Head Range was to be a dry camp, we were instructed to bring along a water bottle. In fact David planned that every camp we pitched was to be on top of some mountain or other. All fifteen starters on David Rostron's Anzac Week-end trip to the Blue Breaks were instructed to come prepared for a long hard walk. All were told to bring along a light pack, frameless at that(why carry a frame?), no tents as the weather was to be, without a doubt, fine and sunny with mild nights. In the event of the unthinkable occurring, i.e. should it rain one night, we could all squeeze under either David's or Don's tent flies. Also as it was anticipated that the Saturday night camp on top of the Axe Head Range was to be a dry camp, we were instructed to bring along a water bottle. In fact David planned that every camp we pitched was to be on top of some mountain or other.
  
-At long last the long-awaited week-end lay looming before us, and after a slow, bumpy ride along the Kanangra Road through thick thawing fog we parked our cars, and as each car load became ready, set off into the dark night, torches sparkling. At about Mt. Maxwell we lost the track and spread out in order to reastablish the group onto the right track. Not far ahead we could see the torches of another small group coming back towards us. They also were having difficulty finding the track. This group, with their hooded parkas or their dark balaclavas over their heads, their torches glowing, resembled the Hollywood version of the Klu Klux Klan. Eventually the track was descried and once again we set off at a quick pace, most of us managing to avoid soiling our socks through the muddy spots.+At long last the long-awaited week-end lay looming before us, and after a slow, bumpy ride along the Kanangra Road through thick thawing fog we parked our cars, and as each car load became ready, set off into the dark night, torches sparkling. At about Mt. Maxwell we lost the track and spread out in order to re-establish the group onto the right track. Not far ahead we could see the torches of another small group coming back towards us. They also were having difficulty finding the track. This group, with their hooded parkas or their dark balaclavas over their heads, their torches glowing, resembled the Hollywood version of the Klu Klux Klan. Eventually the track was descried and once again we set off at a quick pace, most of us managing to avoid soiling our socks through the muddy spots.
  
 Our first high camp of the trip, the Coal Seam Cave, was reached at about midnight, and we settled down for a restful night's sleep, only to be disturbed 20 minutes later by the deliberate, distasteful discord of Bob and Owen's rendition of highlights from "The Sound of Music" (with "Climb Every Mountain" featuring as top bill) as they ran down the track. This enforced concert was not well received by the awakened sleepers, except for Snow Brown who burst out in uncontrollable laughter. And for the benefit of those who know not, Snow and his Spouse Clarrie, together with their matron-of-honour Barbara, used to sing the same tune every time they drove up or climbed up any mountain in Wales, Scotland and Norway, and they would have kept up this behaviour but for the fact that they ran out of hills in Holland. Our first high camp of the trip, the Coal Seam Cave, was reached at about midnight, and we settled down for a restful night's sleep, only to be disturbed 20 minutes later by the deliberate, distasteful discord of Bob and Owen's rendition of highlights from "The Sound of Music" (with "Climb Every Mountain" featuring as top bill) as they ran down the track. This enforced concert was not well received by the awakened sleepers, except for Snow Brown who burst out in uncontrollable laughter. And for the benefit of those who know not, Snow and his Spouse Clarrie, together with their matron-of-honour Barbara, used to sing the same tune every time they drove up or climbed up any mountain in Wales, Scotland and Norway, and they would have kept up this behaviour but for the fact that they ran out of hills in Holland.
  
-After an early breakfast we moved off down the Gingra track and down the Bull Head Range and Cambage Spire to the Kowmung, the forebearers arriving before 9.00 a.m., and as a result a couple of large billies of the inevitable Twinning's tea were ready and waiting for the tailenders. And what a more suitable time for Snow to pass around Clarrie's delicious fruit cake and at the same time confess to the sin of carrying lots of tinned fruit this trip, because of the dry camp, you understand. This of course sparked off the time honoured practice of comparing pack weights and if my memory is correct Dorothy Butler had the lightest and Faizly Read and Pat McBride the heaviest. Morning tea dispensed with the party crossed the rapidly flowing Kowmung and proceeded up the nose of the nearest ridge, and after a steady, steep slog and a pleasantly peaceful plateau procession we emerged upon the Scott's Main Range road. As promised by our leader the weather was fine and sunny and the views of Tiwilla Buttress and the Gangerang Mountains behind us were quite spectacular. At the Butcher's Creek crossing we stopped for lunch and a few people placed their sweaty shirts on the dirt road in the sun to dry. These had to be hurriedly removed when a four-wheel drive vehicle approached.+After an early breakfast we moved off down the Gingra track and down the Bull Head Range and Cambage Spire to the Kowmung, the forebearers arriving before 9.00 a.m., and as a result a couple of large billies of the inevitable Twining's tea were ready and waiting for the tailenders. And what a more suitable time for Snow to pass around Clarrie's delicious fruit cake and at the same time confess to the sin of carrying lots of tinned fruit this trip, because of the dry camp, you understand. This of course sparked off the time honoured practice of comparing pack weights and if my memory is correct Dorothy Butler had the lightest and Faizly Read and Pat McBride the heaviest. Morning tea dispensed with the party crossed the rapidly flowing Kowmung and proceeded up the nose of the nearest ridge, and after a steady, steep slog and a pleasantly peaceful plateau procession we emerged upon the Scott's Main Range road. As promised by our leader the weather was fine and sunny and the views of Tiwilla Buttress and the Gangerang Mountains behind us were quite spectacular. At the Butcher's Creek crossing we stopped for lunch and a few people placed their sweaty shirts on the dirt road in the sun to dry. These had to be hurriedly removed when a four-wheel drive vehicle approached.
  
-We continued on down the road past the Water Board's hut at Byrne's Gap and began the hot, steep climb up the southern tip of the Axe Head Range, those with water bottles having filled up beforehand. When we completed our climb we were rewarded for our efforts with magnificent panoramic vistas of the Burragorang Walls to the east with the sun adding a shimmering metallic gold touch to the imposing bluffs, and to the west a truly beautiful view of the Blue Mountains stretching as far as the eye can see. Some of the group objected to the dry camp; although most of us carried water it became apparent that additional water would be difficult to find. So a vote was taken and three-quarters of the party decided the issue by opting for a high camp. Our leader, who had his heart set on seeing the sun rise from our high vantage point, was very pleased, and although we all shared his idealistic sentiments, I suspect some who voted for remaing high did so as the thought of continuing further that day was not welcomed.+We continued on down the road past the Water Board's hut at Byrne's Gap and began the hot, steep climb up the southern tip of the Axe Head Range, those with water bottles having filled up beforehand. When we completed our climb we were rewarded for our efforts with magnificent panoramic vistas of the Burragorang Walls to the east with the sun adding a shimmering metallic gold touch to the imposing bluffs, and to the west a truly beautiful view of the Blue Mountains stretching as far as the eye can see. Some of the group objected to the dry camp; although most of us carried water it became apparent that additional water would be difficult to find. So a vote was taken and three-quarters of the party decided the issue by opting for a high camp. Our leader, who had his heart set on seeing the sun rise from our high vantage point, was very pleased, and although we all shared his idealistic sentiments, I suspect some who voted for remaining high did so as the thought of continuing further that day was not welcomed.
  
 A not too comfortable hollow was established as our camp site and three or four retraced their steps to a seeping mud hole a couple of kilometres away to fetch water whilst Wade Butler descended a cliff to collect a wine cask of water. As a result of these fine efforts the party now had sufficient water. A remarkable variety and amount of food was produced from our light weight packs and after dinner we leisurely sipped our Turkish coffee and our hot rum and grapefruit drinks whilst Wade enlightened us with his vast knowledge of the Solar System, pointing out stars, planets and constellations and indicating methods of direction and time telling geometrical equations, all with a casual ease and modesty that secured our total admiration. A not too comfortable hollow was established as our camp site and three or four retraced their steps to a seeping mud hole a couple of kilometres away to fetch water whilst Wade Butler descended a cliff to collect a wine cask of water. As a result of these fine efforts the party now had sufficient water. A remarkable variety and amount of food was produced from our light weight packs and after dinner we leisurely sipped our Turkish coffee and our hot rum and grapefruit drinks whilst Wade enlightened us with his vast knowledge of the Solar System, pointing out stars, planets and constellations and indicating methods of direction and time telling geometrical equations, all with a casual ease and modesty that secured our total admiration.
  
-In the morning some of the party arose early to view the sun rise. Bolow us thick clouds of mist blanketed the valleys leaving the hilltops exposed like islands in a foggy sea. We all agreed that camping high out of the mist was indeed a master stroke. Eventually the glowing sun rose fully above the distant mountains and its red radiating rays spread over the landscape. Lazy bushwalkers stirred in their sleeping bags, small birds whistled and played in the tree tops, the active hustle and bustle indicating the start of another day.+In the morning some of the party arose early to view the sun rise. Below us thick clouds of mist blanketed the valleys leaving the hilltops exposed like islands in a foggy sea. We all agreed that camping high out of the mist was indeed a master stroke. Eventually the glowing sun rose fully above the distant mountains and its red radiating rays spread over the landscape. Lazy bushwalkers stirred in their sleeping bags, small birds whistled and played in the tree tops, the active hustle and bustle indicating the start of another day.
  
 Spasmodically the party moved off after breakfast and rejoined at the exposed cleft in the bread-knife-type ridge, an interesting and spectacular feature of the Axe Head Range. Were we all together? Where's Dorothy? We waited and called but to no avail. David expressed concern that Dorothy may have met with an accident so he organised two search parties, one to forge ahead in case she had continued on, and another three people to return to the last place we had seen her. David, Wade and I made up the rear search party and we hurried off retracing our steps, trying to keep up with Wade as he nimbly floated over the rocky outcrops. Alas, Dorothy was no where to be seen. On the way back to the Bread Knife we decided to sidle around the left side of the ridge as it was possible that our missing friend may have taken this route. This time our efforts were rewarded. An elegant footprint in the dust, which Wade identified as his mother's, was discovered and very soon another! Spasmodically the party moved off after breakfast and rejoined at the exposed cleft in the bread-knife-type ridge, an interesting and spectacular feature of the Axe Head Range. Were we all together? Where's Dorothy? We waited and called but to no avail. David expressed concern that Dorothy may have met with an accident so he organised two search parties, one to forge ahead in case she had continued on, and another three people to return to the last place we had seen her. David, Wade and I made up the rear search party and we hurried off retracing our steps, trying to keep up with Wade as he nimbly floated over the rocky outcrops. Alas, Dorothy was no where to be seen. On the way back to the Bread Knife we decided to sidle around the left side of the ridge as it was possible that our missing friend may have taken this route. This time our efforts were rewarded. An elegant footprint in the dust, which Wade identified as his mother's, was discovered and very soon another!
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 With lighter hearts and smiling faces we quickly followed along the wombat sidling track until we could shout to the others above of what we had seen. The others acknowledged our shouts and at a suitable break in the cliffs we ascended and headed out to the end of the range. By this time Dorothy's high soprano "dah-oh" was heard and in a few moments we came upon her nonchalantly leaning against a tree waiting for us. Snow Brown rushed up to her and gave her a few bear-hug jumps, shouting "You're alive, you're alive!" "Of course I'm alive, Snow, what's all the excitement?" With lighter hearts and smiling faces we quickly followed along the wombat sidling track until we could shout to the others above of what we had seen. The others acknowledged our shouts and at a suitable break in the cliffs we ascended and headed out to the end of the range. By this time Dorothy's high soprano "dah-oh" was heard and in a few moments we came upon her nonchalantly leaning against a tree waiting for us. Snow Brown rushed up to her and gave her a few bear-hug jumps, shouting "You're alive, you're alive!" "Of course I'm alive, Snow, what's all the excitement?"
  
-We descended to Green Wattle Creek, half the party had a quick cup of tea whilst the other half started off up the creek. Again it was a glorious day, but as we had a long way to go before lunch, we put out the fire and raced off after the advance party. The cleer fresh mountain creek water swished and swirled around the creek's many bends, over its countless rocks and occasionally came to rest and formed small swimming holes. Then, its vigour renewed, bubbling and bouncing continued on its spirited journey.+We descended to Green Wattle Creek, half the party had a quick cup of tea whilst the other half started off up the creek. Again it was a glorious day, but as we had a long way to go before lunch, we put out the fire and raced off after the advance party. The clear fresh mountain creek water swished and swirled around the creek's many bends, over its countless rocks and occasionally came to rest and formed small swimming holes. Then, its vigour renewed, bubbling and bouncing continued on its spirited journey.
  
 We ascended to the Broken Rock Range after lunch. This time there was no need to carry water as we were aware that water was available on top. The view from our final high camp was indeed beautiful. We ascended to the Broken Rock Range after lunch. This time there was no need to carry water as we were aware that water was available on top. The view from our final high camp was indeed beautiful.
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 The next morning we had an early start and we made very good time down to Butcher's Creek, up to Scott's Main Range, down the road to the Kowmung, at the Gingra Creek junction for an early lunch and a swim in the very cold water. Our next stop was to be afternoon tea at the Coal Seam Cave and we all anticipated a long hot climb along the 14 or so kilometre Gingra Track. Fortunately for us, a very welcome cool breeze came up just after we started off, making our climb quite pleasant. We shared out our left-over goodies over afternoon tea, then made our way to the tops. The next morning we had an early start and we made very good time down to Butcher's Creek, up to Scott's Main Range, down the road to the Kowmung, at the Gingra Creek junction for an early lunch and a swim in the very cold water. Our next stop was to be afternoon tea at the Coal Seam Cave and we all anticipated a long hot climb along the 14 or so kilometre Gingra Track. Fortunately for us, a very welcome cool breeze came up just after we started off, making our climb quite pleasant. We shared out our left-over goodies over afternoon tea, then made our way to the tops.
  
-On the way back to Kanangra we stopped for a last look at the Blue Breaks. Both the Broken Rock Range and Axe Head Mountain were prominentally in view, even the cleft in the Axe Head Range easily distinguishable, and all framed with a background of the Burragorang Walls. All so aesthetic, so grand, so peaceful.... yet we were there.... we were there.+On the way back to Kanangra we stopped for a last look at the Blue Breaks. Both the Broken Rock Range and Axe Head Mountain were prominently in view, even the cleft in the Axe Head Range easily distinguishable, and all framed with a background of the Burragorang Walls. All so aesthetic, so grand, so peaceful.... yet we were there.... we were there.
  
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 Now it was Walks Report time, beginning with Peter Miller's foray into the Wentworth Creek - Mt. Hay road country. They reversed the advertised route, and commenced from Lawson, experienced frozen tents and negotiated some rather scrubby patches before picking up the Rocklily Ridge road. Of the two day walks on 18th July, Roy Braithwaite reported laconically "nice day, no trouble" of the Cowan - Porto Bay - Brooklyn trip, while Ray Carter out on Neram Ridge, Polona Brook and along to Otford reported 20 starters, soggy tracks, but nothing eventful. Now it was Walks Report time, beginning with Peter Miller's foray into the Wentworth Creek - Mt. Hay road country. They reversed the advertised route, and commenced from Lawson, experienced frozen tents and negotiated some rather scrubby patches before picking up the Rocklily Ridge road. Of the two day walks on 18th July, Roy Braithwaite reported laconically "nice day, no trouble" of the Cowan - Porto Bay - Brooklyn trip, while Ray Carter out on Neram Ridge, Polona Brook and along to Otford reported 20 starters, soggy tracks, but nothing eventful.
  
-Of the following (July 23-25) weekend, Helen Rowan told us Jim Vatiliotis' skiing trip attracted 7 people, there was not a great deal of snow, and camp below the snow line was made adjacent to the old Waste Point camping area. Out in the Wild Dogs, Ron Knightley led his walk as a modern Duke of Plaza Toro, and from his rearguard position called it a "dull walk" although the 4 prospectives in the total of 13 "completed the trip satisfactorily". Again there were two Sunday trips on 25th July, John Holly guiding 20 up Campfire Creek and out to Mt. Portal ("spring flowers were'coming out nicely"), and Tony Denham took eleven folk along the lantana and blackberry lined trail near the coast between Stanwell Park and Werong.+Of the following (July 23-25) weekend, Helen Rowan told us Jim Vatiliotis' skiing trip attracted 7 people, there was not a great deal of snow, and camp below the snow line was made adjacent to the old Waste Point camping area. Out in the Wild Dogs, Ron Knightley led his walk as a modern Duke of Plaza Toro, and from his rearguard position called it a "dull walk" although the 4 prospectives in the total of 13 "completed the trip satisfactorily". Again there were two Sunday trips on 25th July, John Holly guiding 20 up Campfire Creek and out to Mt. Portal ("spring flowers were coming out nicely"), and Tony Denham took eleven folk along the lantana and blackberry lined trail near the coast between Stanwell Park and Werong.
  
 For the July 30 - August 1 weekend, the Friday night / Guouogang programmed trip failed for starters, but a total of 38 were on the day walks, 15 with Len Newland on Upper Glenbrook Creek, which proved scrubby and rather slow going after getting past the house built across the top of the track, they returned via the Victory track into Faulconbridge. On Meryl Watman's National Park trip there were 23, a pleasant trip with early return under rather windy conditions. For the July 30 - August 1 weekend, the Friday night / Guouogang programmed trip failed for starters, but a total of 38 were on the day walks, 15 with Len Newland on Upper Glenbrook Creek, which proved scrubby and rather slow going after getting past the house built across the top of the track, they returned via the Victory track into Faulconbridge. On Meryl Watman's National Park trip there were 23, a pleasant trip with early return under rather windy conditions.
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 For many years the romantic tales and stories of adventures in the European Alps held me in the grip of fascination. And with fascination came a longing to see this wonderful range of mountains to explore its alpine meadows roam across its heathland where the wildflowers in Spring are like a colourful, magic carpet underfoot; to climb its many snow-capped peaks and from their summits to see most of Europe. For many years the romantic tales and stories of adventures in the European Alps held me in the grip of fascination. And with fascination came a longing to see this wonderful range of mountains to explore its alpine meadows roam across its heathland where the wildflowers in Spring are like a colourful, magic carpet underfoot; to climb its many snow-capped peaks and from their summits to see most of Europe.
  
-If somebody had foretold of my trip through Austria in June, 1976, I would have laughed and presented all sorts of logical and viable excuses as to why I would never be there. Business. Job. No money. No time. Too many bills. Car upkeep. Too involved with N.P.A. Too much trouble. Can't speak German. The budgerigar pet is getting old. Well, that's all in the past. I went the whole way, and spent over 8 months walking and climbing in New Zealand, Tasmania, Nepal's Himalayas, India, England, Scotland and europe, but they're all very long stories. Perhaps you'll hear of them sometime too. But not now.+If somebody had foretold of my trip through Austria in June, 1976, I would have laughed and presented all sorts of logical and viable excuses as to why I would never be there. Business. Job. No money. No time. Too many bills. Car upkeep. Too involved with N.P.A. Too much trouble. Can't speak German. The budgerigar pet is getting old. Well, that's all in the past. I went the whole way, and spent over 8 months walking and climbing in New Zealand, Tasmania, Nepal's Himalayas, India, England, Scotland and Europe, but they're all very long stories. Perhaps you'll hear of them sometime too. But not now.
  
 We begin this tale at Innsbruck, in western Austria, and skiing centre of the world. Here, annually, thousands of people and skiers alike, throng Innsbruck's tiny old streets and courtyards to witness the Winter Olympics. A spectacle incomprehensible to most Australians. But I did not go to compete in the Winter Olympics. Nor to watch them with eyes riveted to binoculars like butter to bread. The many pretty girls which throng Innsbruck's Old Section can provide sufficient excuses not to go mountaineering, but then you can't have your cake and eat it too, so it is with reluctance that one boards train and bus to travel to the romantic mountain village of Gschnitz. We begin this tale at Innsbruck, in western Austria, and skiing centre of the world. Here, annually, thousands of people and skiers alike, throng Innsbruck's tiny old streets and courtyards to witness the Winter Olympics. A spectacle incomprehensible to most Australians. But I did not go to compete in the Winter Olympics. Nor to watch them with eyes riveted to binoculars like butter to bread. The many pretty girls which throng Innsbruck's Old Section can provide sufficient excuses not to go mountaineering, but then you can't have your cake and eat it too, so it is with reluctance that one boards train and bus to travel to the romantic mountain village of Gschnitz.
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 The Austrian cow is a beautiful animal. Unlike Australian cows which are ugly and stupid, the Austrian cow is almost harmonious to the Alps, and the sad expression on their faces makes you feel like reaching for your handkerchief, and sharing their sorrow. The Austrian cow is a beautiful animal. Unlike Australian cows which are ugly and stupid, the Austrian cow is almost harmonious to the Alps, and the sad expression on their faces makes you feel like reaching for your handkerchief, and sharing their sorrow.
  
-At the Innsbrucke Hut at day's end, and afte, searching for the pieces of my Canon FTBQL and weeping and wailing (no gnashing of teeth), we settled around the huge table in the kitchen and ordered beer, apfelsalf (like apple cider) and skivasser (like a raspberry drink). Our meal, and many more to follow, was the traditional mountain dish, Bergsteigeresse, which is like a jumbled mess of all last night's leftovers, but very tasty indeed.+At the Innsbrucke Hut at day's end, and after searching for the pieces of my Canon FTBQL and weeping and wailing (no gnashing of teeth), we settled around the huge table in the kitchen and ordered beer, apfelsalf (like apple cider) and skivasser (like a raspberry drink). Our meal, and many more to follow, was the traditional mountain dish, Bergsteigeresse, which is like a jumbled mess of all last night's leftovers, but very tasty indeed.
  
 With electric lighting in the hut we were able to sit around the kitchen and play cards or "Master Mind" (which is an English game) and mix with other intrepid mountaineers - mostly Germans. The Germans throng the Austrian Alps and their distinctive dress of climbing breeches, colourful socks, red checked shirts, braces, boots and alpine hats (always adorned with a feather) makes them easily d5stinguished. It is amazing how soon one begins to talk in German. First you learn the basics of the language, sentence construction, a very elementary vocabulary, and then with practice you are away. We had many pleasant, if not always understandable, conversations with German-speaking climbers. With electric lighting in the hut we were able to sit around the kitchen and play cards or "Master Mind" (which is an English game) and mix with other intrepid mountaineers - mostly Germans. The Germans throng the Austrian Alps and their distinctive dress of climbing breeches, colourful socks, red checked shirts, braces, boots and alpine hats (always adorned with a feather) makes them easily d5stinguished. It is amazing how soon one begins to talk in German. First you learn the basics of the language, sentence construction, a very elementary vocabulary, and then with practice you are away. We had many pleasant, if not always understandable, conversations with German-speaking climbers.
  
-On the following morning we attempted the Wetter Spitz, but very loose and dangerous rock elimated all but three people who reached the top with difficulty, only to be greeted by a major snow storm. The Bremer Spitz was also climbed with little effort before arrival at the small Bremer Hut for bed, tea and several well-deserved ales.+On the following morning we attempted the Wetter Spitz, but very loose and dangerous rock eliminated all but three people who reached the top with difficulty, only to be greeted by a major snow storm. The Bremer Spitz was also climbed with little effort before arrival at the small Bremer Hut for bed, tea and several well-deserved ales.
  
 In the next few days our route took us to the Nuremberger Hut, with several long day trips to the summit of the Wilder Freiger on the Austro-Italian border. It is a beautiful climb on glaciers and crevassed snow with one small section of steep ice requiring ice screws and belay. I refused to be on a single rope with 9 other people, most of whom were relatively inexperienced, and elected to cross the crevassed area solo, trusting my knowledge of ice-axes to guide me out of crevasse lines. This method is not recommended. In the next few days our route took us to the Nuremberger Hut, with several long day trips to the summit of the Wilder Freiger on the Austro-Italian border. It is a beautiful climb on glaciers and crevassed snow with one small section of steep ice requiring ice screws and belay. I refused to be on a single rope with 9 other people, most of whom were relatively inexperienced, and elected to cross the crevassed area solo, trusting my knowledge of ice-axes to guide me out of crevasse lines. This method is not recommended.
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 The pass to the Franz Send Hut was cut off due to a steep ice run-off into a deep berg-shrund, but the descent was impossible with so large a party. A narrow rock shute and snow coulier slowed us down to snail's pace, and the discovery of the berg-shrund finally put the coup-de-grace on a dangerous crossing. The pass to the Franz Send Hut was cut off due to a steep ice run-off into a deep berg-shrund, but the descent was impossible with so large a party. A narrow rock shute and snow coulier slowed us down to snail's pace, and the discovery of the berg-shrund finally put the coup-de-grace on a dangerous crossing.
  
-We returaed to the Amberger Hut with a feeling of relief, and even after arriving well past meal hours, and with a hut full of French climbers celebrating Bastille Day with much wine, we were still welcomed and fed by the kind hut wardens.+We returned to the Amberger Hut with a feeling of relief, and even after arriving well past meal hours, and with a hut full of French climbers celebrating Bastille Day with much wine, we were still welcomed and fed by the kind hut wardens.
  
 The next morning dawned in a splendid sunrise which was a most satisfying experience to view. Soon we were off retracing steps up the glacier, roping up for the higher crevassed area, and returned with a feeling of anti-climax to the Dresdner Hut. The next morning dawned in a splendid sunrise which was a most satisfying experience to view. Soon we were off retracing steps up the glacier, roping up for the higher crevassed area, and returned with a feeling of anti-climax to the Dresdner Hut.
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 I suppose I must be lucky, because I arrived at Coen the day of the yearly races (I had heard in Cairns that they would be on) and I even stopped to see my first horse race. Five horses whizzing around the football-size course and the local population supplemented by the wild Weiparites all drunken and chucking stubbies everywhere (more about stubbies later). To place a bet you had to pay $2 to enter the paddock, so I missed out on my first bookie. I suppose I must be lucky, because I arrived at Coen the day of the yearly races (I had heard in Cairns that they would be on) and I even stopped to see my first horse race. Five horses whizzing around the football-size course and the local population supplemented by the wild Weiparites all drunken and chucking stubbies everywhere (more about stubbies later). To place a bet you had to pay $2 to enter the paddock, so I missed out on my first bookie.
  
-Coen is one store, one pub, old shacks and sheds everywhere, a small school and a population of 600. Of these, twenty families were white and I suppose they came from around the far distant parts of the area. The pub remained open until 5 a.m. and the police were rolling drunk and didn't see the wild Weiparites smashing windscreens with their stubbies (more about stubbies later). To put it quite succintly, Coen is the last gasp and when the rainy season arrives no one can enter or leave for five months or so.+Coen is one store, one pub, old shacks and sheds everywhere, a small school and a population of 600. Of these, twenty families were white and I suppose they came from around the far distant parts of the area. The pub remained open until 5 a.m. and the police were rolling drunk and didn't see the wild Weiparites smashing windscreens with their stubbies (more about stubbies later). To put it quite succinctly, Coen is the last gasp and when the rainy season arrives no one can enter or leave for five months or so.
  
 Weipa is quite different. A modern Canberra style suburb with wide green sprinklered expanses between the groups of homes and flats. A bank, a supermarket, papershop, post office, butcher, gift shop cum haberdashery cum clothing shop, a T.A.B. and a sumptuous hotel. It faces the Gulf and only a half mile away is the scrub. Bauxite everywhere, bitumen roads that go for 6 miles and then abruptly stop, and a thrice-daily plane service to civilization. The isolation doesn't exist that you would imagine. But the boozing is of a grand order. Boredom breeds boozers. I have been a guest of Ken Ellis who was a member of the S.B.W. a few years ago, and I have been doing the round of all his friends and workmates, etc. In every case without exception beer by the carton is forced upon you. Weipa is quite different. A modern Canberra style suburb with wide green sprinklered expanses between the groups of homes and flats. A bank, a supermarket, papershop, post office, butcher, gift shop cum haberdashery cum clothing shop, a T.A.B. and a sumptuous hotel. It faces the Gulf and only a half mile away is the scrub. Bauxite everywhere, bitumen roads that go for 6 miles and then abruptly stop, and a thrice-daily plane service to civilization. The isolation doesn't exist that you would imagine. But the boozing is of a grand order. Boredom breeds boozers. I have been a guest of Ken Ellis who was a member of the S.B.W. a few years ago, and I have been doing the round of all his friends and workmates, etc. In every case without exception beer by the carton is forced upon you.
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 The old cannon held my interest for one minute, but the view, as was the view from the cemetery, was wonderful The hospital was on the wrong side of the island and all the muddy beaches were alive with kids playing, or men mucking around with boats or other sea-type equipment. I stood up and drank all of my wine flask of water to celebrate and went to the nearest tree that was overhanging the road and went promptly to sleep. I awoke to the yell of a girl who was going to run me over on her bicycle. She fell off and her chums coming behind nearly had a smash. The old cannon held my interest for one minute, but the view, as was the view from the cemetery, was wonderful The hospital was on the wrong side of the island and all the muddy beaches were alive with kids playing, or men mucking around with boats or other sea-type equipment. I stood up and drank all of my wine flask of water to celebrate and went to the nearest tree that was overhanging the road and went promptly to sleep. I awoke to the yell of a girl who was going to run me over on her bicycle. She fell off and her chums coming behind nearly had a smash.
  
-Recovering, I went down to the other side of the island and inspected the Quetta Church. Late last century the "Quetta" and all her crew went down in the straits somewhere and this Anglican Church was built in memory of this great event. There were maps on the walls with drawings of the ship, an old snap of the ship going through the Suez Canal, parts of the ship with barnacles over them. I sat in the aisle on the floor and read my newspaper, the wind whistling through the open door, when through the door I saw a concrete ship built on tha footrath. It was a light house and on the top was a real light. The wording was very clear and simple - "Thank God for the missionaries who brought Christianity to the Islands etc." They have a public holiday called, if I can remember correctly, "The Day of Light", or something like that, when they re-enact the coming of the missionaries.+Recovering, I went down to the other side of the island and inspected the Quetta Church. Late last century the "Quetta" and all her crew went down in the straits somewhere and this Anglican Church was built in memory of this great event. There were maps on the walls with drawings of the ship, an old snap of the ship going through the Suez Canal, parts of the ship with barnacles over them. I sat in the aisle on the floor and read my newspaper, the wind whistling through the open door, when through the door I saw a concrete ship built on the footpath. It was a light house and on the top was a real light. The wording was very clear and simple - "Thank God for the missionaries who brought Christianity to the Islands etc." They have a public holiday called, if I can remember correctly, "The Day of Light", or something like that, when they re-enact the coming of the missionaries.
  
 Right next door was the Catholic Church but it was on a slight hill and I was too hot to bother, so I will never know what was in there. Right next door was the Catholic Church but it was on a slight hill and I was too hot to bother, so I will never know what was in there.
197609.1473115461.txt.gz · Last modified: 2016/09/06 08:44 by tyreless
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