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--- 195412 [2018/08/09 13:30] – tyreless
+++ 195412 [2018/08/10 09:53] – tyreless
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 === Paddy sails for England on January 25th. ==
-On January 22nd, Saturday night, the Club will hold a Bon Voyage Party to Paddy and family at the Harvey's. All joint the fun!! Time: 7.30 p.m. Nominal Charge for Supper.
+On January 22nd, Saturday night, the Club will hold a Bon Voyage Party to Paddy and family at the Harvey's. All join the fun!! Time: 7.30 p.m. Nominal Charge for Supper.
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-THE HARD WAY.
+===== The Hard Way. =====
 - Jim Brown.
-Among the things I like to ponder when in a "vacant or a Pensive moodh are the respective merits of starting a walking career
-as a freelance, or as the attachment of an organised club. Since no
+Among the things I like to ponder when in a "vacant or a pensive mood" are the respective merits of starting a walking career as a freelance, or as the attachment of an organised club. Since no one has ever been able to do both, there will probably never be an authoritative answer, but I'd be inclined to say that the freelance perforce learns a great deal about practical bush "navigation" (or else becomes a liability on Search and Rescue), which the club member may miss. On the other hand the club man is in a healthy position to learn camping clues from his fellows, while the outsider suffers from his ignorance of gear and technique. Then the freelance can travel at a speed comfortable to himself: the club beginner must manage somehow to keep up with a party of adept walkers who have learned all the tricks about placing their feet, adjusting balance to compensate for packs, and going through scrub without too much anguish.
-one has ever been able to do both, there will probably never be an
-authoritative answer, but I'd be inclined to say that the freelance perforce learns a great deal about practical bush "navigation" (or
-else becomes a liability on Search and Rescue), which the dub member may miss. On the other hand the club man is in a healthy position to learn camping clues from his fellows, While the outsider suffers from his ignorance of gear and technique. Then the freelance can travel at a speed comfortable to himself: the club beginner must manage somehow to keep up with a party of adept walkers who have learned all the tricks about placing their feet, adjusting balance to compensate for packs, and going through scrub without too much anguish.
 All in all, I believe I'd plump for the freelance as doing it the hard way. But perhaps that is because I started walking that way.....
-.
-After a number of day trips, growing more and more ambitious, we made plans to walk from Wentworth Falls to Picton, via Kedumba, Cox Junction, Burragorang and Oakdale, on an Australia Day weekend. Bill worked on Saturday mornings, so we couldn't start before the 12.16 train (I'm speaking of 1938, when there was a 12.16): it was high summer, the distance was about 60-65 miles, and it was all new ground to us, but the confidence of ignorance is unbelievable. Our gear was a dubious collection. We had no sleePing bags, which didn't matter in January: we had groundsheets, too many clothes, too much food .. and a Paddymade tent which we couldn't push into our crowded military type packs, and took it in turn to carry by hand. Saturday night found US at the foot of Kedumba Pass, drinking great draughts of unboiled water from the Creek (no one had told us of its antecedentsft and trying to pitch the tent.
+After a number of day trips, growing more and more ambitious, we made plans to walk from Wentworth Falls to Picton, via Kedumba, Cox Junction, Burragorang and Oakdale, on an Australia Day weekend. Bill worked on Saturday mornings, so we couldn't start before the 12.16 train (I'm speaking of 1938, when there was a 12.16): it was high summer, the distance was about 60-65 miles, and it was all new ground to us, but the confidence of ignorance is unbelievable. Our gear was a dubious collection. We had no sleeping bags, which didn't matter in January: we had groundsheets, too many clothes, too much food... and a Paddymade tent which we couldn't push into our crowded military type packs, and took it in turn to carry by hand. Saturday night found us at the foot of Kedumba Pass, drinking great draughts of unboiled water from the Creek (no one had told us of its antecedents!) and trying to pitch the tent.
-I was for ewinging the tent between two trees, but Bill, who had made the hiring, had been told that two loose sticks was the correct drill. He did, however, share my doubt about the little skewers of wire... they would never hold the thing up. We broke up several of the fireplaces of stones and made cairns, mounting the poles upright in the middle of the rocks, then proceeded to tie the ridge cord of the tent to them. Of course, the sticks were too far apart, so we broke up one cairn and moved it in, and then the pole fell down just so soon as we tied the tent to it and left off holding it up. After expenditure of much time and effort, we had a draped structure which would have been demolished by a decent puff of wind, and all we had to do was pin out the sides. As quickly as we drew out one side, the tent would fall over on that flank, scattering the cairns. Presently we devised the system of pegging simultaneously on opposite sides and, apart from the collapse of one pole during the operation, we succeeded It had taken UB from 6 p m. until 7.30. Happily there was no wind that night. Of course, we'd never heard about pegging tent to ground first.
-There is no pleasure in recalling the two da7s Which followed, while we staggered on skinned feet as far as Central Burragorang, and there joined a bus. We were often violently sick from the noxious Kedumba water. I came to the momentous decision that I was done with tents. This coloured a great deal of my later freelancing: in fact, I didn't learn to put up a walker's tent until 1946, when I joined the Club. Silly? Yes, but it had taken two of us hours to put up a tent - how long would it need when I went alone, as I often did?
+I was for swinging the tent between two trees, but Bill, who had made the hiring, had been told that two loose sticks was the correct drill. He did, however, share my doubt about the little skewers of wire... they would never hold the thing up. We broke up several of the fireplaces of stones and made cairns, mounting the poles upright in the middle of the rocks, then proceeded to tie the ridge cord of the tent to them. Of course, the sticks were too far apart, so we broke up one cairn and moved it in, and then the pole fell down just so soon as we tied the tent to it and left off holding it up. After expenditure of much time and effort, we had a draped structure which would have been demolished by a decent puff of wind, and all we had to do was pin out the sides. As quickly as we drew out one side, the tent would fall over on that flank, scattering the cairns. Presently we devised the system of pegging simultaneously on opposite sides and, apart from the collapse of one pole during the operation, we succeeded. It had taken us from 6 p.m. until 7.30. Happily there was no wind that night. Of course, we'd never heard about pegging tent to ground first.
-During that tentless era, I struck quite a few hard times. I was lucky in one respect - the years 1938-39-40-41 were droughty, and it seldom rained on me. On one occasion when it did, I packed my traps in a feverish hurry in the beginnings of a shower, and started off at 1.30 a m. along the track looking for an overhang, while lightnings flickered behind Mouin and Warrigal. After half an hour the rain stopped, a few stars winked in the south-west, and I curled up under a large gum tree, just off the Megalong Valley road. The root system made a series of abrupt ridges under my side, but somehow I actually slept there an hour or two.
-There was the time, too, when I set out for my first trip to
+There is no pleasure in recalling the two days which followed, while we staggered on skinned feet as far as Central Burragorang, and there joined a bus. We were often violently sick from the noxious Kedumba water. I came to the momentous decision that I was done with tents. This coloured a great deal of my later freelancing: in fact, I didn't learn to put up a walker's tent until 1946, when I joined the Club. Silly? Yes, but it had taken two of us hours to put up a tent - how long would it need when I went alone, as I often did?
-Kanangra. The new road had been pushed as far as Morong Creek, where
-.
+During that tentless era, I struck quite a few hard times. I was lucky in one respect - the years 1938-39-40-41 were droughty, and it seldom rained on me. On one occasion when it did, I packed my traps in a feverish hurry in the beginnings of a shower, and started off at 1.30 a.m. along the track looking for an overhang, while lightnings flickered behind Mouin and Warrigal. After half an hour the rain stopped, a few stars winked in the south-west, and I curled up under a large gum tree, just off the Megalong Valley road. The root system made a series of abrupt ridges under my side, but somehow I actually slept there an hour or two.
-IMPORTANT TRANSPORT NOTICE.
+There was the time, too, when I set out for my first trip to Kanangra. The new road had been pushed as far as Morong Creek, where there were tents for the construction gangs. I arrived at 7.30 p.m. on Good Friday, solo, tentless, without a sleeping bag, having walked out from Jenolan Caves during the afternoon. The deserted tents looked inviting, especially the one with the wire mattress in it, and after a bite of chocolate and biscuit, I put on all my clothes, wrapped the groundsheet around me, and turned in on the bed. At that time I was still warm from walking, but as the chill of 4,000-ft. crept into the Easter-tide air, and little cold draughts blew up through the griddle of my mattress.... my hat, was it bleak! The wire, creaked under my writhing body, the full moon silvered the road-works and the dewy grasses outside, until, at about 4 a.m. I could endure no more, and pushed on towards the Walls.
-BUSHWALKERS REQUIRING TRANSPORT FROM BLACKHEATH    ANY HOUR RING WRITE OR CALL
-SIEDLFOKYTS TAXI AID TOURIST SERVICE
+The next night I spent on Hughes Ridge, overtaken by darkness on the way down. It was much warmer on the ground, but the slope so acute that I spent the night waking, climbing back to my groundsheet, carrying that up to where my pack rested - then settling down again.
-STATION STREET BLACEHEATH.
-HOUR SERVICE.
+Presently I grew cunning and knew most of the abandoned shanties and good caves, especially those nifty little one-man caves, lying near the main tracks on the Blue Mountains. Even now, I don't despise a decent sandstone overhang on a stormy night. The great blow fell on my first post-war trip out along King's Tableland, where we regularly staged at the old shanty at Nott's Swamp. This time, as we dropped down the ruinous road (1946, remember) into the Swamp, we realised that the hut had gone - burned in a bushfire several years before as far as we could judge. The night threatened storm, and we knew of no cave for several miles (with a hut, who had bothered to look for caves?). There was, however, a tank - a large cylindrical one, at least six feet deep - lying on its side, with its open end in a sheltered direction. My ribs and hips, accustomed to the modified luxury of stretchers, ached when I thought of those corrugations, so we spread some grasses in the "tanctuary" as we dubbed it: we drew water from the rock pool in the creek bed just below (and found in the morning that you couldn't dredge up a cup of water without a generous quota of tadpoles), and spent a grim night crowded together on the curving hillocks of iron.
-BUSHWALKERS arriving at Blackheath late at night without transport booking can ring for car from Railway Station or call at above address -- IT TS NEVER TOO LATE!
-====,...,========i41=====
+Only a month later, on my second post-war walk, I spent my last tent-less night, huddled under a groundsheet at the foot of Starlight's Track. It was sweltering hot in the sleeping bag, the casuarinas above broke the rain only a little, and thunderbolts snarled and crackled between the Nattai Valley walls. After this particular spasm of misery I invested in a tent, and resolutely pitched it between two trees until I learned better.
-?PHONE BlHEATH 81 or 146. LOOK FOR CARS 3210 or TV2700
-OR BOOK AT MARK SALON RADIO SHOP - OPP. STATION.
+One other particular form of strife plagued my early walking - the bilious water of Kedumba Creek. Naturally, I hadn't ascribed my sickness of our first overnight trip to such exquisitely cool, clear water. So, next trip that way, coming up from the Cox, I lunched on Sunday at Kedumba Crossing. Apart from sunburn, legs lacerated by lawyer vines, blisters on six toes and a broken watch, I was still in good walking order, but as I mounted the Pass I seemed unconscionably thirsty, and took frequent sips from the billy I carried: and I was decidedly queasy. Near the top two chaps leading horses, and pounding along in the heat at great pace, overtook me, and asked if I knew where they could get a drink. I offered them the rest of my billy, then limped drearily on and up. Near the Q.V. Homes I passed them, prostrate and green, lying by the trail. My generosity and their own exertion had done the trick. Very, very late I dragged into Wentwortlh Falls, to travel in an empty box compartment on the train, thankful there was no one to witness my misery, or stand between me and the lift-up seat.
-there were tents for the construction gangs. I arrived at 7.30 p m. on Good Friday, solo, tentless, without a sleeping bag, having walked out from Jenolan Caves during the afternoon. The deserted tents looked inviting, especially the one with the wire mattress in it, an(9_ after a bite of chocolate and biscuit, I put on all my clothes, wrapped the groundsheet around me, and turned in on the bed. At tha time I was still warm from walking, but as the chill of 4,000-ft. crept into the Easter-tide air, and little cold draughts blew up through the griddle of my mattress....my hat, was it bleak! The wire, creaked under my writhing body, the full moon silvered the road-works and the dewy grasses outside, until, at about 4 a m. I could endure no more, and pushed on towards the Walls.
-The next night I spent on Hughes Ridge, overtaken by darkness on the way down. It was much warner on the ground, but the slope so acute that I spent the night waking, climbing back to my groundsheet, carrying that up to where my pack rested - then settling down again.
+I think I rumbled Kedumba Creek after that - I know the next time I came that way I was determined to dodge Kedumba water. It was a hottish March day, the Kowmung and Cox a series of puddles, with dead cattle lying along the banks, and the first running water I struck was just above Harris Humpy. It was my first time along this part of the Cox, and how was I to know that Kedumba crept quietly out of a tiny gully and made the river flow for a few yards? This time, carrying my billy of "Cox River" water I was ill long before I reachecl Maxwell's old farm.
-Presently I grew cunning and knew most of the abandoned shantief, and good caves, especially those nifty little one-man caves, lying near the main tracks on the Blue Mountains. Even now, I donTt despise a decent sandstone overhang on a stormy night. The great blow fell on my first post-war trip out Elong KingTs Tableland, where we regularly staged at the old shanty at NottTs Swamp. This tine, ca:: we dropped down the ruinous road (1946, remember) into the Swamp, we
-.
+There are other cases I could quote to prove that the freelance does it the hard way. There was the horrible trip down the Grose with a game leg, and the camp on a steep bank of wet sand. There was the night lying on splintery logs in one of the old shanties near Budthingeroo on Kanangra Road - with a badly sunburned back, too. There was the time I couldn't find the pass up Burnt Flat Creek from the Wollondilly and had to slug it out thirty miles along the Wombeyan Caves road an a broiling February day: and the time my sneakers packed up and developed holes in the soles on the second day of an eight-day trip...
-realised that the hut had gone - burned in a bushf ire several years before as far as we could judge. The night threatened storm, and we knew of no cave for several miles (with a_hut, who had bothered to look for caves?). There was, however, a tank - a large cylindrical one, at least six feet deep - lying on its side, with its open end in a sheltered direction. My ribs and hips, accustomed to the modified luxury of stretchers, ached when I thought of those corrugations, so we spread some grasses in the litanctuary" as we dubbed it: we drew water from the rock pool in the creek bed just below (and found in the morning that you couldnft dredge up a cup of water without a generous quota of tadpoles), and spent a grim night crowded together on the curving hillocks of iron.
-Only a month later, on my second post-war walk, I spent my last tent-less night, huddled under a groundsheet at the foot of Starlight: Track. It was sweltering hot in the sleeping bag, the casuarinas above broke the rain only a little, and thunderbolts snarled and crackled between the Nattai Valley walls. After this particular spasm of misery I invested in a tent, and resolutely pitched it between two trees until I learned better.
+In fact, come to think ot it... it's a wonder I survived long enough to join a walking club at all.
-One other particular form of strife plagued my early walking - the bilious water of Kedumba Creek. Naturally, I hadnft ascribed my sickness of our first overnight trip to such exquisitely cool, clear water. So, next trip that way, coming up from the Cox, I lunched on Sunday at Kedumba Crossing. Apart from sunburn, legs lacerated by lawyer vines, blisters on six toes and a broken watch, I was still in good walking order, but as I mounted the Pass I seemed unconscionably thirsty, and took frequent sips from the billy I carried: and I was decidedly queasy. Near the top two chaps leading horses, and pounding along in the heat at great pace, overtook me, and asked if I knew where they could get a drink. I offered them the rest of my billy, then limped drearily on and up. Near the Q.V. Homes I passed them, Prostrate and green, lying by the trail. My generosity and their own exertion had done the trick. Very, very late I dragged into Wentwortl] Falls, to travel in an empty box compartment on the train, thankful there was no one to witness my misery, or stand between me and the lift-up seat.
-I think I rumbled Kedumba Creek after that - I know the next time I came that way I was determined to dodge Kedumba water. It was a hottish March day, the Kowmung tind Cox a series of puddles, with dead cattle lying along the banks, and the first running water I struck was just above Harris Humpy. It was my first time along this part of the Cox, and how was I to know that Kedumba crept quietly out of a tiny gully and made the river flow for a few yards? This time, carrying my billy of "Cox River" water I was ill long before I reachecl Maxwell r5-old farm.
+----
-There are other cases I could quote to prove that the freelance does it the hard way. There was the horrible trip down the Grose with a game leg, and the camp on a steep bank of wet sand. There was the night lying on splintery logs in one of the old shanties near Budthingeroo on Kanangra Road - with a badly sunburned back, too. There was the time I couldnft find the pass up Burnt Flat Creek from the Wollondilly and had to slug it out thirty miles along the Wombeyan
-.
+=== Important Transport Notice. ===
-Caves road an a broiling February day: ard the time my sneakers packed up and developed holes in the soles on the second day of an eight-day trip
-In fact, come to think ot it  its a wonder I survived long enough to join a walking club at all.
+Bushwalkers requiring transport from Blackheath, any hour, ring, write or call...
+Siedlecky's Taxi and Tourist Service.
+Station Street, Blackheath.
+hour service.
+Bushwalkers arriving at Blackheath late at night without transport booking can ring for car from Railway Station or call at above address - __it's never too late__!
+'Phone Blackheath 81 or 146. Look for cars 3210 or TV270 or book at Mark Salon Radio Shop - opposite Station.
+----
+=== The Sanitarium Health Food Shop. ===
+Go lightweight on your summer holiday trip with vegetarian foods.
+Nutmeat and Nutolene in 8 and 16 oz. tins - concentrated meat substitutes.
+Brown beans, lentils and lima beans - light, moisture free - easy to pack, keep indefinitely.
+For Christmas dinner: mixed nuts, almonds, raisins, muscatels, fancy figs and dried fruit sweets, sanitarium fruit cake.
+And for Christmas presents, "your delight" - attractive boxes of glace fruits, muscatels, dried fruits and almonds. Also presentation plastic boxes of muscatels and almonds.
+From...
+The Sanitarium Health Food Shop.
+Hunter Street, Sydney.
+----
 ......01.1111111MMMI
 DESTINATION UNKNOWN.