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 |Editor:|Clare Kinsella|
-|Production:|Yvonne Rolfe|
 |Assist.Ed:|Grace Jolly|
-|Assistant:|Alice Wyborn|
 |Manager:|Alex Colley|
+|Production:|Yvonne Rolfe|
+|Assistant:|Alice Wyborn|
 |Subscriptions:|Jo Newland|
-|Contents|
+^Contents^^^
 |Index||1|
 |Journey in the North|Doreen Helmrich|2|
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 over a sea of peaked mountains. The valleys and ridges like long rollers reaching to the coastal plain and the beaches 50 miles away.
-The Moseleys whom we visited several times were most helpful, gave us a --
+The Moseleys whom we visited several times were most helpful, gave us a lot of valuable advice, bought more food for us in Armidale, and entertained us with strange tales of country people, motorists and walkers.
-lot of valuable advice, bou-ht more food for us in Armidale, and entertained
-us with strange tales of country people, motorists and walkers.
+One morning about 11 o'clock we began our homeward journey down Ten Mile Ridge to the Bellingen, and we knew not what. After a few miles we were tempted off this straight and narrow path by a track leading left, and although we soon felt that we had done the wrong thing, we kept on down a zig-zag till, to our dismay we turned a corner and saw the deserted Antimony mine we had heard so much about - the ridge, hundreds of feet above. Our volatile spirits soon rose again as we examined the crazy bark huts sloping with the hillside and covered with pumpkin, choko and passion fruit vines, all bearing fruit or vegetables as the case may be. We went on our way richer for half a pumpkin and a choko (passion fruit not ripe) after seeing vividly coloured birds and hearing "something" with a human cry. Luckily the track led on past water and we carried some up to a delightful shelf under tall timber and giant grass trees, where we camped.
-One morning about 11 o'clock we began our homeward journey down Ten Mile Ridge to the Bellingen, and we knew not what. After a few miles we wore
-tempted off this straight and narrow path by a track leading left, and al-
+After a steep climb next morning we reached our track on the ridge top again, and nothing would have induced us to leave it. Going on over a whole corrigation of steep knobs, we looked back to Point Lookout on our left, across the depths of Platypus Creek gorge and to the heights of Mount Killiecrankie on our right, till finally we raced down a steep grade right on to Platypus Creek at a pixillated dank spot where an old bark hut had collapsed into a dejected heap. The Creek was choked with weeds; the bank a tangle of stinging nettles; the jungle came down to the river stones and everything was wet. Alex heard an animal rustle as he had never heard an animal rustle before, and was just about to make a great discovery when I fell off a log and frightened it away - but then I had seen a __four inch__ Tiger snake coiled on the log, head up inquiringly. After a few hundred yards of floundering through the wet weedy tangle on the banks of the river we cut up the side, crossed a large bend and arrived at a clearing where two mandarin trees laden with fruit gladdened us. A flat on the next bend by a blue green rocky pool and a group of fragile saplings, provided a perfect campsite for our first night on the Bellingen.
-though we soon felt that we had done the wrong thing, we kept on down a
-zig-zag till, to our dismay we turned a corner and saw the deserted Antimony mine we had heard so much about - the ridge, hundreds of feet above. Our volatile spirits soon rose again as we examined the crazy bark huts sloping
+Late next morning we strolled along till we arrived at the first hut in the valley and visited its owner, one Hector McLeod and dog, and many were the tales he told us!  In a few minutes we were steeped in the atmosphere of the remote places of the earth, where men live close to nature, among ghosts of the Aboriginees and thoughts of strange wild creatures; where valley feuds assume a vast importance.  Hector caught his horse by cajoling it with a piece of sweet potato and rode along for miles with us till we decided to take to the hills again and try to find our way to still another river - the South Bellingen or Nambucca. To do this we knew we must reach Mt. Killiecrankie, where the ridges spread like fingers from the palm of a hand and each lead down to a river. This involved quite a neat piece of direction finding - to arrive at an unseen object in unknown country, without a map! After nearly abandoning hope several times next day, because our ridge was not a ridge but a series of cones each higher than the one before, we came within sight of the elusive mountain, seemingly about a mile away. We walked for another 1½ hours along a spectacular knife edge and were still only among the tangled undergrowth of its slopes - the rocky peak towering somewhere above.  It was now nearly 4 o'clock and all we knew about the water supply in that vicinity was that there was "some in a fold" as Mr. Moseley had said, so we had to turn our attention to finding a way down, and again had the amazing luck to come upon a timber track leading gently down to a river - name unknown.  In the morning we startled a woman minding cattle and from her discovered that we were on the North Arm of the Nambucca, which was most gratifying except that Walkers had __never__ been seen there before and as we went innocently on our way admiring the beauty of nature, the valley telephone wire was running hot.  Nobody would just walk about without a motive - we were spying out paths for the enemy - the police must be informed....
-with the hillside and covered with pumpkin, choko and passion fruit vines,
-all bearing fruit or vegetables as the case may be. We went on our way richer for half a pumpkin and a choko (passion fruit not ripe) after seeing
+So while we were having lunch in the sun by a water lily pool the Sergeant's car drew up. Identity cards saved the situation, and we became so friendly that he drove us back 8 miles along the valley, with the pleasing result that we were able to walk right to the coast that night, and camp at Warrill Creek within sound of the surf.
-vividly coloured birds and hearing "something" with a human cry. Luckily the track led on past water and we carried some up to a delightful shelf under tall timber and giant grass trees, whore we camped.
-After a steep climb next morning we reached our track on the ridge top again, and nothing would have induced us to leave it. Going on over a whole corrigation of steep knobs, we looked back to Point Lookout on our left,across the depths of Platypus Creek gorge and to the heights of Mount Killiecrankie on our right, till 'finally we raced down a steep grade right on to Platypus Creek at a pixillated dank spot where an old bark hut had colla-)sed into a dejected heap. The Creek was choked with weeds;. the bank a tangle of stinging nettles; the jungle came down to the river stones and everything was wet. Alex heard an animal rustle as he had never heard an animal rustle before, and was just about to make a great discovery when I fell off a log and frightened
+After navigating ourselves across the creek in a small punt, we spent our last day of freedom sunbaking in the solitude of a perfectly unspoiled beach, then into Macksville to catch the North Coast Mail to Sydney.
-it away - but then I had seen a four inch Tiger snake coiled on the log, head
-up inquiringly, After a few hundred yards of floundering through the wet weedy tangle on the banks of the river we cut up the side, crossed a large bend and arrived at a clearing where two mandarin trees laden with fruit gladdened us. A flat on the next bend by a blue green rocky pool and a group of fragile saplings, provided a perfect campsite for our first night on the Bellingen,
+As we walked back along the river, an uneasy sensation came over me, a hunted feeling - there were police in Macksville....  I tried to brush these disturbing thoughts aside, but when we turned into the main street,
-Late next morning we strolled along till we arrived at the first hut in the valley and visited its owner, one Hector McLeod and dog, and many were the tales he told us l In a few minutes we were steeped in the atmosphere of the remote places of the earth, where men live close to nature, among ghosts of the Aboriginees and thoughts of strange wild creatures; where valley :Feuds
+there was the Sergeant sitting nonchalantly in his car, outside the Post Office. I looked at him courageously as we passed, but he and his Constable (presumably according to prearranged plan) followed us into a tea shop and began their questionnaire. By this time we were furious, but Sergeant Love disarmed us when he told us that he had the amazing theory that we were "Bushwalkers".  He told us that he had heard of our progress down valley for days, and had asked the anxious farmers whether we were wearing white flannel flower badges. Of course they didn't know. If we were, he said we were All Right!!!  So after staying with us while we had tea, he wished to be remembered to all his Bushwalker friends and drove us to the station, away from the glaring light of public interest, and back to comfortable obscurity among a city's millions.
-assume a vast importance. Hector caught his horse by cajoling it with a piece of sweet potato and rode along for miles with us till we decided to take to the hills again and try to find our way to still another river - the South Bellingen or Nambucca. To do this we know we must reach Mt.Killiecrankie,where
-the ridges spread like fingers from the palm of a hand and each lead down to a river. This involved quite a neat niece of direction finding - to arrive at an unseen object in unknown country, without a maps After nearly abandoning
+==== August in the Bush ====
-hope several times next day, because our ridge was not a ridge but a series of cones each higher than the one before, we came within sight of the elusive mountain, seemingly about a mile away. We walked for another l hours along a spectacular knife edge and were still only among the tangled undergrowth of its slopes - the rocky peak towering somewhere above. It was now nearly 4 o'clock and all we knew abolit the water supply in that vicinity was that there was "some in a fold" as Mr.Moseley had said, so we had to turn our attention to finding a way down, and again had the amazing luck to come upon a timber track leading gently down to a river - name unknown. In the morning we startle' a woman minding cattle and from her discovered that we were on the North Arm of the r'iambucca, which was most gratifying except that Walkers had never been seen there before and as we went innocently on our wayiadmiring the beauty of nature, the valley telephone wire was running hot. Nobody would just walk about without a motive - we ware spying out paths for the enemy - the police must be informed
-So while we were having lunch in the sun by a water lily pool the Sergeants car drew up. Identity cards saved the situation, and we became so friendly that he drove us back 8 miles along the valley, with the pleasing result that we were able to walk right to the coast that night, and camp at Warrill Creek within sound of the surf.
+by Ray Birt
-After navigating ourselves across the creek,in a small punt, we spent our last day of freedom sunbaking in the solitude of a perfectly unspoiled
-beach, then into Macksville to catch the North Coast Lail to Sydney.
+"The pretty brave things thro the coldest days\\ Imprisoned in vale of brown,\\ They never lost heart, tho the blast shrieked loud\\ and the hail and the snow came down.\\ But patiently each wrought her wonderful dress,\\ Or fashioned her beautiful crown,\\ And now they are coming to lighten the world\\ Still shadowed by winter's frown."
-As we walked back along the river, an uneasy sensation cane over me, a hunted feeling there were police in 1.11acksv111er OOOOO I tried to brush these disturbing thoughts aside, but when we turned into the main street,
-there was the Sergeant sitting nonchalantly in his car, outside the Post Office. I looked at him courageously as we passed, but he and his Constable (presumably according to prearranged plan) followed us into a tea shop and began their questionnaire. By this time we were furious, but Sergeant Love disarmed us when he told us that he had the amazing theory that we were "Bushwalkers". He told us that he had heard of our progress down valley for days, and had asked the anxious farmers whether we were wearing white flannelflower badges. Of course they didn't know. If we were, he said we were All RightIll So after staying with us while we had tea, he wished to be remembered to all his Bushwalker friends and rove us to the station, away from the glaring light of pub-lie interest, and back to comfortable obscurity among a city's millions.
+The Springelia Incarnate (Swamp Heath) is one of the "pretty brave things" brightening the world this month. It is an erect small shrub, with leaves tapering from a broad base. Each pale pink flower has a very short corolla tube and long narrow lobes and the narrow white sepels are as long as the corolla lobes.  Another one of the brave army is the Dillwynia Drecifolia (Parrot Pea or Eggs and Bacon). The latter name, to my mind is far too prosaic for its golden loveliness. It is one of the commonest of the bush plants, the leaves are fine and heath like and the flowers small, peashaped and so profuse that the small bushes rarely more than 3 ft. high, are literally a mass of yellow. The large back petal has a splash of red.
-AUGUST IN THE ausx
-by Ray Dirt.
+The Acacia longiflora also joins the band, flowering in great profusion on the lower Mountains at the present time, it has bright yellow flower heads arranged in a dense spike, often more than l" long.  Which calls to mind a marvellous picture which burst upon our sight last September.  As we wended our way up Con Creek prior to climbing on to the Dampier Range a golden glory met our delighted gaze, proving to be whole hillsides of wattle in full bloom.  And the perfume! Lastly comes the Epacris Longiflora (Native Fuchsia). An erect straggling shrub with slender crimson and white tubular flowers, growing singly on short stalks and dropping from the axils of the leaves.  As Emerson so beautifully puts it.  May we also like the flowers bring forth from the bitterness and strife "a beautiful crown".
-"The pretty brave things thro the coldest days Imprisoned in vale of brown,
-They never lost heart, tho the blast shtieked loud and the hail and the snow came down.
-But patiently each wrought her wonderful dress, Or fashioned her beautiful crown,
+==== A Visit to the Observatory ====
-And now they are coming to lighten the world Still shadowed by winter's frown."
-The Springelia Incarnate (Swamp Heath) is one of the "pretty brave things brightening the world this month. It is an erect small shrub, with leaves tapering from a broad base. Each pale pink flower has a very short corolla tube and long narrow lobes and the narrow white sepels are as long as the corolla lobes, Another one of the brave army is the Dillwynia Drecifolia (Parrot Pea or Eggs and Bacon), The latter name, to my mind is far too prosaic for its golden loveliness. It is one of the commorast of the bush plants,the leaves are fine and heath like and the flowers small, peashaped and so profuse that the small bushes rarely more than 3 ft. high, are literally a mass of yellow. The large back petal has a splash of red.
+Thursday July 16th was a great day for the Club's stargazers. Often we had looked at the stars and wondered perhaps what that blurred patch was, or how such and such a star could possibly be, in reality, two stars, Often we had read of the many beautiful objects visible through a large telescope, and few of us had ever seen them.
-The Acacia longiflora also joins the band/ flowering in great profusion on the lower Mountains at the present time, it has bricht yellow flower heads arranged in a dense spike, often more than l" long. Which calls to mind a marvellous picture which burst upon our sight last September. As we wended our way up Con Creek prior to climbing on to the Dampier Range a golden glory met our delighted gaze, proving to be whole hillsides of wattle in full bloom. And the perfume: Lastly comes the Epacris Longiflcra (Native Fuchsia). An erect straggling shrub with slender crimson and white tubular flowers, growing singly on short stalks and dropping from the axils of the leaves. As Emerson so beautifully puts it. May we also like the flowers bring forth from the bitterness and strife "a beautiful crown".
-,
--
-A VISIT TO THE OBSERVATORY
-Thursday July 16th was a groat day for the Club's stargazers. Often we had looked at the stars and wondered perhaps what that blurred patch was, or how such and such a star could possibly be, in reality, two stars, Often we had read of the many beautiful objects visible through a large telescope, and few of us had ever seen them.
 At 8 o'clock, as the sirens wailed for the commencement of a full 'test black-out, fifteen of us were groping our way through the dark to thJ door of the Observatory. A perfectly clear night and a blackout - perfect conditions for observation. We wore admitted by Mr. Rayner, who took us 42 a dark s-eiral staircase to the big copper dome where the sift-inch teLc-seom,
 is housed. Through the top of the dome we could see a strip of che ek-s, and