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 After it had been fixed that the items on the remaining part of the social programme should be put back two days to the preceding Wednesday, it was plain that the sands were running out... and then horror! we discovered there was an ex-member in the ranks. And worse, he had actually lodged one or two votes. The matter was hashed back and forth for some time, when Paddy resolved it all by moving that we ratify all the business and elections of the evening. We did this with a profound sigh of relief, but Dormie still had the last word, moving that any future by-laws due for ratification be announced in the notice of meeting. We were all so relieved that we'd got around the previous impasse that no one contested this, and we carried it, and the President was able to call "Let Us Re-tine!" at 10.20 p.m.
+----
+=== Photography!?!?! ===
+You press the button, we'll do the rest!
+Finegrain Developing. Sparkling Prints. Perfect Enlargements. Your Rollfilms or Leica films deserve the best service.
+Leica Photo Service.
+Macquarie Place, Sydney, N.S.W.
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+=== The Sanitarium Health Food Shop. ===
+Keep that four day Easter pack light with tasty, concentrated, energy-producing vegetarian foods.
+New season dried apricots now available - extra choice.
+Figs. Dates. Almond kernels. Nutolene and nutmeat - ready to serve protein.
+The Sanitarium Health Food Shop.
+Hunter Street, Sydney.
+----
+===== The Boys In Tasmania - Part II. =====
+By Geoff Wagg.
-KEEP THAT FOUR DAY EASTER PACK LIGHT WITH
-TASTY, CONCENTRATED ENERGY-PRODUCING VEGETARIAN FOODS
-NEW SEASON DRIED APRICOTS NOV AVAILABLE - EXTRA 'CHOICE FIGS, DATES, ALMOND KERNELS
-NUTOLENE AND NUTMEAT - READY TO SERVE PROTEIN FROM
-THE SAtITARITTI.: HEALTH P.00D_OLTOP
-HUNTER STREET SYDNEY.
-THE BOYS IN TASMANIA.
-By Geoff Wag. PART II.
 (Descending off cloud-capped Mount Ossa, the party - Ross, Frank, David and Geoff - proceeds south towards the untold horrors of Ducane Hut.)
-That afternoon, as we trekked throu-,h the Mersey Gorge towards Du Cane Hut, we cane our nearest to being homesick. The track had dried so that it was evena little dusty, and the sun shone from a blue sky into the golden lieggs and bacon" along the way. Occasionally we care to a shady gum that littered its curly bark across the track and in the distance was the low, scrub-covered cliff of the Du Cane Range. For half a mile we were in Megalong Valley, then back to the button grass.
-Du Cane Hut, we were pleased to find, was almost deserted, so we all proceeded to have our first all-over wash for too many days. I should have said, all except David. Poor old Snow had just got a decent lather up when the lookout, perched on a high stump, watching the track, yelled "Here cone the Indians!!" and half a dozen Y.H.A. girls tramped into the clearing, wondering what all the commotion was.
+That afternoon, as we trekked through the Mersey Gorge towards Du Cane Hut, we came our nearest to being homesick. The track had dried so that it was even a little dusty, and the sun shone from a blue sky into the golden "eggs and bacon" along the way. Occasionally we came to a shady gum that littered its curly bark across the track and in the distance was the low, scrub-covered cliff of the Du Cane Range. For half a mile we were in Megalong Valley, then back to the button grass.
-.
-That was New Year's Eve, and the Y.ILA. girls celebrated by chasing some Possibly imaginary kangaroos around the hut during the wee small hours. A little way back I mentioned our rather dismal, negroid dampers. Lell, those days or dampers were past and now our masterpieces were removed from the embers a glorious golden brownf and displayed to the admiring throng to an accompaniment of "Ohs!' and hAhs!" Also, it was in this but that Mr. Laird finally and forever stripped the Club of any shreds of good character that may
+Du Cane Hut, we were pleased to find, was almost deserted, so we all proceeded to have our first all-over wash for too many days. I should have said, all except David. Poor old Snow had just got a decent lather up when the lookout, perched on a high stump, watching the track, yelled "Here come the Indians!!" and half a dozen Y.H.A. girls tramped into the clearing, wondering what all the commotion was.
-have been left after previous invasions (details will be forwarded if one guinea and a self-addressed envelope are sent to the author).
-On New Year's Day the heavens once more wept. -e moved as quickly as we could along the track, canine; in at the brand new Windy Ridge hut to have a cuppa with some of our track friends. The rain, most inconsiderately, didn't stop at lunch time so we, of necessity, had lunch in the rain. Ross and I buttoned our groundsheets together and threw them over a fallen tree to make a sort of shelter under which we huddled while Frank and David squatted, buttering slices of damper underneath their groundsheets and then trying to transfer tam to the mouth before they became sodden. Our shelter wasn't too dry, either, because every time one of us moved an icy stream would descend through the gap in the middle and invariably find its way down somebody's neck.
+That was New Year's Eve, and the Y.H.A. girls celebrated by chasing some possibly imaginary kangaroos around the hut during the wee small hours. A little way back I mentioned our rather dismal, negroid dampers. Well, those days of dampers were past and now our masterpieces were removed from the embers a glorious golden brown and displayed to the admiring throng to an accompaniment of "Ohs!" and "Ahs!" Also, it was in this hut that Mr. Laird finally and forever stripped the Club of any shreds of good character that may have been left after previous invasions (details will be forwarded if one guinea and a self-addressed envelope are sent to the author).
-As we had all been having foot trouble, we were hoping for a ride down from Narcissus Hut in the launch, but a note in the log book soon dashed our hopes. The launch, it stated, had been out of order for some days, and several Parties whom it was supposed to meet had given up waiting and walked. And so did we.
-think those eleven miles on a muddy track through gloomy beech forest were the most miserable of the Whole trip. But we got Q12/1 reward. The Ranger's store at Cynthia Bay had chocolates and sweet biscuits and other simple luxuries that our souls had yearned for. Also Mr. J. Pluvius called a truce and sent away his sullen legions, so that the sun could shine through on our last evening in the Reserve. YCe pitched our tents, washed and cleaned up generally, then cooked an enormous tea and luxuriated in the comfortable feel- ing of full tummies.
+On New Year's Day the heavens once more wept. We moved as quickly as we could along the track, calling in at the brand new Windy Ridge hut to have a cuppa with some of our track friends. The rain, most inconsiderately, didn't stop at lunch time so we, of necessity, had lunch in the rain. Ross and I buttoned our groundsheets together and threw them over a fallen tree to make a sort of shelter under which we huddled while Frank and David squatted, buttering slices of damper underneath their groundsheets and then trying to transfer them to the mouth before they became sodden. Our shelter wasn't too dry, either, because every time one of us moved an icy stream would descend through the gap in the middle and invariably find its way down somebody's neck.
-We loafed in bed until nine o'clock next morning, made a leisurely breakfast, then walked the three miles out to Derwent bridge, where we picked up our second lot of supplies, and caught the bus along to the Frenchman's Cap turn-off. :;e collected our tucker all right, and posted a few kodachromes, then David, Whose drinking vessel had been left behind in Windy Ridge hut, decided to try and talk the barman in the tin shanty hotel into selling him a glass. The barman was so affected by Snow's inspired pleading that he broke down and gave him a cracked "lady's waist7 so that on all future occasions David demurely sipped his cocoa from his refined container that measured about six to one bushwalker's mug.
-Imagine our horror when we climbed aboard our bus to find a passenger list entirely composed of boy scouts! For a While it seamed that a serious incident was going to develop between flora-
+As we had all been having foot trouble, we were hoping for a ride down from Narcissus Hut in the launch, but a note in the log book soon dashed our hopes. The launch, it stated, had been out of order for some days, and several parties whom it was supposed to meet had given up waiting and walked. And so did we.
-.
-loving Frank and a scout masteil who had been gaily, adorning his hat with wayside wildflowers. Also a little something seemed to be developing between Snow and a cub mistress, so it was probably just
+think those eleven miles on a muddy track through gloomy beech forest were the most miserable of the whole trip. But we got our reward. The Ranger's store at Cynthia Bay had chocolates and sweet biscuits and other simple luxuries that our souls had yearned for. Also Mr. J. Pluvius called a truce and sent away his sullen legions, so that the sun could shine through on our last evening in the Reserve. We pitched our tents, washed and cleaned up generally, then cooked an enormous tea and luxuriated in the comfortable feeling of full tummies.
-as well that Frenchman's Cap turn-off care when it did and we got our,.
-Frenchman's Cap turn-off: a signpost an a glaring White road, surrounded by bare hills and button grass. I've never felt so deserted in all my life. We weren't really looking forward to Frenchman's, although that exciting blue silhouette standing definitely alone had captured our imaginations. But the tales we'd heard: mud to the waist, seething with leeches, and on top of that our troublesome feet. To contradict all this, our stay in the Frenchman's area was marked by fine weather and good camp sites, so we enjoyed it in spite of sore tootsies.
+We loafed in bed until nine o'clock next morning, made a leisurely breakfast, then walked the three miles out to Derwent Bridge, where we picked up our second lot of supplies, and caught the bus along to the Frenchman's Cap turn-off. We collected our tucker all right, and posted a few kodachromes, then David, whose drinking vessel had been left behind in Windy Ridge hut, decided to try and talk the barman in the tin shanty hotel into selling him a glass. The barman was so affected by Snow's inspired pleading that he broke down and gave him a cracked "lady's waist" so that on all future occasions David demurely sipped his cocoa from his refined container that measured about six to one bushwalker's mug.
+Imagine our horror when we climbed aboard our bus to find a passenger list entirely composed of boy scouts! For a while it seamed that a serious incident was going to develop between flora-loving Frank and a scout master who had been gaily adorning his hat with wayside wildflowers. Also a little something seemed to be developing between Snow and a cub mistress, so it was probably just as well that Frenchman's Cap turn-off came when it did and we got out.
+Frenchman's Cap turn-off: a signpost an a glaring white road, surrounded by bare hills and button grass. I've never felt so deserted in all my life. We weren't really looking forward to Frenchman's, although that exciting blue silhouette standing definitely alone had captured our imaginations. But the tales we'd heard: mud to the waist, seething with leeches, and on top of that our troublesome feet. To contradict all this, our stay in the Frenchman's area was marked by fine weather and good camp sites, so we enjoyed it in spite of sore tootsies.
 We camped comfortably on the Loddon River that night, although the mosquitoes worried Snow quite a bit, and dined sumptuously off treacle dumplings. Then we made the amazing discovery that we'd allowed for one meal too few on our food list. Oh well, eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we diet.
-Next day was fine and we pushed off across the Loddon Plains, so much more interesting than those in the Reserve because of the wild flowers and the little hillocks dotted amongst them. We passed Lake Vera, then up that mud slippery-slide misnamed track that leads to the top of 3arron Pass. There we lunched, then followed on through the obstacle course of innumerable ups and downs towards Lake Tahune. Finally, when it seemed that it would never come; we saw Tahune nestling under the sheer wall of Frenchman's Cap, and beside it the hut, resplendent in its new galvanised iron roof, and proclaimed by a carved sign to be the "Bowl Inn", Prop. J. Pluvius.
-We had no sooner hit the hut When everybody shed his boots. Apparently the long rough track had affected us all the same way. We decided there and then to cancel the final part of our walk in the Lake Fodder area and do some touring instead. Everyone agreed that would be Bon Oh.
+Next day was fine and we pushed off across the Loddon Plains, so much more interesting than those in the Reserve because of the wild flowers and the little hillocks dotted amongst them. We passed Lake Vera, then up that mud slippery-slide misnamed track that leads to the top of Barron Pass. There we lunched, then followed on through the obstacle course of innumerable ups and downs towards Lake Tahune. Finally, when it seemed that it would never come, we saw Tahune nestling under the sheer wall of Frenchman's Cap, and beside it the hut, resplendent in its new galvanised iron roof, and proclaimed by a carved sign to be the "Bowl Inn", Prop. J. Pluvius.
-During the night we had some light rain and we began to have misgivings about our vim from the top next morning. However, all mar, fears were groundless, as the dawn arrived quite fine except for a little mist around the summit. We started our climb and had reaOhed the saddle when we saw about a dozen of the Melbourne Walkers whom we had met at odd times in the Reserve swarm into the clearing around the Hut. We were glad we weren't staying the night, as little Tahune would have been rather crowded.
-Climbing further we reached the top about the sane time as the mist did and, while we hung about waiting for it to clear, made inroads into a box of chocolates that David and Frank had generously carried up to celebrate the occasion. In an hour or so the vapour cleared sufficiently for a bit of photography, after whiell we trouped happily back to the hut for lunch. We pushed an the sane afternoon around and 121D what one of the Melbourne lads described as the only, vertical swamp in existence, then down the pass to Lake Vera, where we had a very pleasant camp for the night.
+We had no sooner hit the hut when everybody shed his boots. Apparently the long rough track had affected us all the same way. We decided there and then to cancel the final part of our walk in the Lake Pedder area and do some touring instead. Everyone agreed that would be Bon Oh.
-.
-Then we were just ready to move on next morning Snow suddenly remembered that he'd left his camera about half way up the pass, so back he went while we went on slowly with his pack. He caught us up about an hour and a half later, complete with camera - said he would have taken his time if he'd known how nicely we were getting on carrying his pack!
+During the night we had some light rain and we began to have misgivings about our view from the top next morning. However, all our fears were groundless, as the dawn arrived quite fine except for a little mist around the summit. We started our climb and had reached the saddle when we saw about a dozen of the Melbourne Walkers whom we had met at odd times in the Reserve swarm into the clearing around the Hut. We were glad we weren't staying the night, as little Tahune would have been rather crowded.
-I'm afraid we made heavy weather of the button grass plains that morning, but aching feet were making Ross and me glad that this was the last day we'd be wearing boots for a while anyway. We lunched on the Loddon, then started that lonn, hot climb over the ridge to the Franklin River. It was with a sense of real atisfaction that we scrambled down on to that shingle bed by the fast, clean Franklin, and scrubbed clothes and boots and bodies of the mud and sweat of
-accumulated days. Behind us were the days of fatigue and meagre
+Climbing further we reached the top about the sane time as the mist did and, while we hung about waiting for it to clear, made inroads into a box of chocolates that David and Frank had generously carried up to celebrate the occasion. In an hour or so the vapour cleared sufficiently for a bit of photography, after which we trouped happily back to the hut for lunch. We pushed on the same afternoon around and up what one of the Melbourne lads described as the only vertical swamp in existence, then down the pass to Lake Vera, where we had a very pleasant camp for the night.
-rations: tomorrow we would be catching a bus to the life of ease and the lap of luxury.
-You know", said Frank, "a tourist's life won't be bad. 'Non, said Snow, just on the turn.
+When we were just ready to move on next morning Snow suddenly remembered that he'd left his camera about half way up the pass, so back he went while we went on slowly with his pack. He caught us up about an hour and a half later, complete with camera - said he would have taken his time if he'd known how nicely we were getting on carrying his pack!
+I'm afraid we made heavy weather of the button grass plains that morning, but aching feet were making Ross and me glad that this was the last day we'd be wearing boots for a while anyway. We lunched on the Loddon, then started that long, hot climb over the ridge to the Franklin River. It was with a sense of real atisfaction that we scrambled down on to that shingle bed by the fast, clean Franklin, and scrubbed clothes and boots and bodies of the mud and sweat of accumulated days. Behind us were the days of fatigue and meagre rations: tomorrow we would be catching a bus to the life of ease and the lap of luxury.
+"You know", said Frank, "a tourist's life won't be bad."
+"No", said Snow, "just on the turn."
 But we were. all looking forward to it!
+----
 FEDERATION NOTES - MARCH MEL7ING.
 By Allen A. Strom.