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--- 194907 [2016/02/24 13:07] – [The Outer Man] kennettj
+++ 194907 [2016/02/24 13:08] – [Last Trip] kennettj
@@ Line 141: / Line 141: @@
 Quite an uneventful afternoon, with majestic views of mountain ranges and glimpses of sandstone cliffs enclosing Wollangambe Creek and the Colo River. A halt was called at 4 pm and scouts descended to seek water and a camp site for the night. Plenty of water but, having objections to sleeping in a standing position, we decided to push on. Five o'clock, and with the shadows creeping on, we were fortunate enough to find an ideal spot, the only drawback appeared to be lack of water. One party returned with eight buckets of the necessary and after hearing of the location of the water we decided to make the supply do breakfast too. We crawled into our cots in quite a happy mood.
-With the promise of a perfect day we moved off next morn. Ten minutes walking disclosed a trifling error. We were on a spur of the main ridge but twenty minutes later found us again on the straight and narrow. Imagine beetling along the Mt. Solitary knife edge for a couple of hours and you have a fairly accurate description of our progress. However it was excellent training for what was to come. At 11 a m. we gazed down at the junction of Blacksmith Creek and the Colo. I'll admit, as ridges go, our selection wouldn't have won a prize, but why the darn thing just stopped in mid air - I mean there should be a law agin it. A spot of sidling was indicated and, believe you me, I am not the best of sidlers. Len Fall picked what he regarded as a likely route and started the descent. The only reason I follow is because I don't know how to return to Tootie and, when I glance behind and see Cottor with his hair standing on end, I am not encouraged. About two weeks later (my watch said thirty minutes) sixteen nerve cases were lapping the cool waters of the creek. I blush to admit the fact but this was the spot where most of us had our one and only bath.
+With the promise of a perfect day we moved off next morn. Ten minutes walking disclosed a trifling error. We were on a spur of the main ridge but twenty minutes later found us again on the straight and narrow. Imagine beetling along the Mt. Solitary knife edge for a couple of hours and you have a fairly accurate description of our progress. However it was excellent training for what was to come. At 11 a m. we gazed down at the junction of Blacksmith Creek and the Colo. I'll admit, as ridges go, our selection wouldn't have won a prize, but why the darn thing just stopped in mid air - I mean there should be a law agin it. A spot of sidling was indicated and, believe you me, I am not the best of sidlers. Len Fall picked what he regarded as a likely route and started the descent. The only reason I follow is because I don't know how to return to Tootie and, when I glance behind and see Cotter with his hair standing on end, I am not encouraged. About two weeks later (my watch said thirty minutes) sixteen nerve cases were lapping the cool waters of the creek. I blush to admit the fact but this was the spot where most of us had our one and only bath.
 Our original plan was to climb the ridge ahead and come down on Tootie Creek, but somehow or other we had had ridges and decided to bash cut the four miles along the Col. Max remembered a surveyor's track that was in use in 1885 and the remnants of this track preyed most helpful. If anyone is crazy enough to follow our route, the track is located about 30 feet above the south bank of the Colo and continues at varying heights till it fades away opposite Hungryway Creek, The track wasn't the only thing that faded. Gladys had hurt her knee and I wasn't walking toe well, and suddenly I was aware I was no longer with a party. The leading bunch swore that it would have been impossible to miss their trail but Gladys and myself found ourselves bashing through what is best described as typical Celo going. Head high bracken, lawyer vine, sword grass, holes, rocks, vines and creepers make up the Colo cocktail and its only my indomitable spirit that keeps me going. Much to my surprise we camped at Tootie Creek and our promised camp fire was noticeable by its absence. Claude did his best to stir up a chorus, but the first song was the last and the few diehards went to bed.