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--- 197708 [2019/03/17 00:51] – [SOCIAL NOTES FOR SEPTEMBER] vievems
+++ 197708 [2019/03/17 01:42] – vievems
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 by Marion Lloyd
-The members of the mounteine'vring evening classes I attended in London got on SQ well that they formed themselves into a group called the Marylebone Mountaineering Club.
+The members of the mountaineering evening classes I attended in London got on so well that they formed themselves into a group called the Marylebone Mountaineering Club.
- Our first trips were purely climbing ventures, but a nonconformist
-(me) became fed up with mud in the eyes, being jammed in chimneys and hanging around in the cold on a ledge waiting for the person above or
-below to make a move, so I would slink away to explore.
-The delights of the English countryside are never endings the stately home or thatched cottage at the end of a twisting lane, the villages with their quaint tea shops and village pond with its inevitable fisherman sitting in the rain waiting, whilst the duc17s waddle across the road to hold up the traffic and the parish church centuries old, with its "weekend brass rubbers" inside rubbing away furiously on ancient brasses.
-The countryside looks cluttered and dissected with its small farms, hedges and stone fences thtt have been repaired and rebuilt over many generations. Everywhere there is history and beauty, one must walk to see it. Sometimes this can be a little rushed like the 32 mile day walk I was forced to enter around the Isle of 'Ji,:;ht.
-As one walks through the seasons it is interesting to observe the
-changing moods of the landscape. Tho-daff6dils and bluebells in spring, the harvests of summer, the falling leaves and copper tinting of autumn, all this to be denuded by winter. One's favourite walking areas can be worlds apart this was particularly so on the moors.
-I went on a winter trip to the Yorkshire Koors near Whitby. We crawled along the motor my at 30 m p.h0 because of thick fog and snow and arrived at our hostel at about 6.30 a m. It was situated in a hollow on the moors, the mist swathing around it, the -And with its
-freezing penetrating sleet rose and fell from a whistle to a hum. The whole weekend was spent tramping through rain, mist and mud, but we had a lot of fun.
-The following summer a friend and I went to Haworth (Bronte sisters' fame) to do a pilgrimage to the mythical WutherinG Heights. We walked the 6 miles across the moors to Top nlkins, the supposed ruins of the
-dreamedup Wuthering Heights. Standing amongst the ruins and looking
-out over the purple moors we could see the heath flowers in all their glory and the Pennine Way winding into the distance. On this beautiful warm evening all was auiet and at peace. How different this place must be in winter. The freezing wind and rain, the utter desolation would make it a formidable inhospitable place.
-The el-a has marvellous "meets" to Snowdon, Lakes and Peaks
-districts, Scotland, Yorkshire and the West Country (Somerset, Devon,
-Cornwall). It was on Exmoor (Devon) that I saw my first fox hunt.
+Our first trips were purely climbing ventures, but a non-conformist (me) became fed up with mud in the eyes, being jammed in chimneys and hanging around in the cold on a ledge waiting for the person above or below to make a move, so I would slink away to explore.
-We watched fascinated as riders and hounds jumped over fences and hedges in hot pursuit of their quarry. Another favourite riding game is
-steeple-chasing, where riders head for one church steeple after another. But as a fellow rambler remarked, "It's not the steeple they're heading
+The delights of the English countryside are never ending; the stately home or thatched cottage at the end of a twisting lane, the villages with their quaint tea shops and village pond with its inevitable fisherman sitting in the rain waiting, whilst the ducks waddle across the road to hold up the traffic and the parish church centuries old, with its "weekend brass rubbers" inside rubbing away furiously on ancient brasses.
-for, it's the pa next door". On weekends if you can't see the spire you'll hear the noise as the bell-ringers go from church to church to ring the bells.
-The Sunday ramble might take place in Great Windsor Park, Kew
+The countryside looks cluttered and dissected with its small farms, hedges and stone fences that have been repaired and rebuilt over many generations. Everywhere there is history and beauty, one must walk to see it. Sometimes this can be a little rushed like the 32 mile day walk I was forced to enter around the Isle of Wight.
-Gardens, Epping Forest, the Surrey Downs, Chilterns, explore the canals,
-the oast houses of Kent or the stately homes with their fabulous collections. The walk followed a special ritual. It nearly always started at Victoria Station. We would then alight in a beautiful area to walk along country lanes, through muddy farmers' cow-yards, through the woods, over styles, tramp through a churchyard where some souls have been at rest since the thirteenth century, to eventually end up at
+As one walks through the seasons it is interesting to observe the changing moods of the landscape. The daffodils and bluebells in spring, the harvests of summer, the falling leaves and copper tinting of autumn, all this to be denuded by winter. One's favourite walking areas can be worlds apart this was particularly so on the moors.
-a pub r'; midday precisely.
-The pub is the hub of English life. After any occasion or just
+I went on a winter trip to the Yorkshire Moors near Whitby. We crawled along the motor way at 30 m p.h. because of thick fog and snow and arrived at our hostel at about 6.30 a.m. It was situated in a hollow on the moors, the mist swathing around it, the wind with its freezing penetrating sleet rose and fell from a whistle to a hum. The whole weekend was spent tramping through rain, mist and mud, but we had a lot of fun.
-for conversation this is where one meets friends over a guiness or an
-ale (served warm). It could be a ploughman's lunch (bread, cheese,
+The following summer a friend and I went to Haworth (Bronte sisters' fame) to do a pilgrimage to the mythical Wuthering Heights. We walked the 6 miles across the moors to Top Wilkins, the supposed ruins of the
-cranberry sauce) or a pork pie washed down with cider. Then after a game of darts we would set forth on our final leg to finish at a tea
+dreamed-up Wuthering Heights. Standing amongst the ruins and looking out over the purple moors we could see the heath flowers in all their glory and the Pennine Way winding into the distance. On this beautiful warm evening all was quiet and at peace. How different this place must be in winter. The freezing wind and rain, the utter desolation would make it a formidable inhospitable place.
+The club has marvellous "meets" to Snowdon, Lakes and Peaks districts, Scotland, Yorkshire and the West Country (Somerset, Devon, Cornwall). It was on Exmoor (Devon) that I saw my first fox hunt. We watched fascinated as riders and hounds jumped over fences and hedges in hot pursuit of their quarry. Another favourite riding game is
+steeple-chasing, where riders head for one church steeple after another. But as a fellow rambler remarked, "It's not the steeple they're heading for, it's the pub next door". On weekends if you can't see the spire you'll hear the noise as the bell-ringers go from church to church to ring the bells.
+The Sunday ramble might take place in Great Windsor Park, Kew Gardens, Epping Forest, the Surrey Downs, Chilterns, explore the canals, the oast houses of Kent or the stately homes with their fabulous collections. The walk followed a special ritual. It nearly always started at Victoria Station. We would then alight in a beautiful area to walk along country lanes, through muddy farmers' cow-yards, through the woods, over styles, tramp through a churchyard where some souls have been at rest since the thirteenth century, to eventually end up at a pub at midday precisely.
+The pub is the hub of English life. After any occasion or just for conversation this is where one meets friends over a guiness or an ale (served warm). It could be a ploughman's lunch (bread, cheese, cranberry sauce) or a pork pie washed down with cider. Then after a game of darts we would set forth on our final leg to finish at a tea
 shop. This is a very English institution, the rules and etiquette of this ritual must be strictly adhered to, especially when it entails a Devonshire tea. In the last M.M.C. magazine it even had a tea shop guide.
 More importantly, it was the people in the club that made these outings so enjoyable and my stay in England memorable.
-If you are in London and would like to go waking, or climbing, try the M.M.C., they are great fun.
-Contaets Graham Browning, Phones. 263-0699 (H) 6 Wyndham Crescent,
+If you are in London and would like to go walking, or climbing, try the M.M.C., they are great fun.
-LONDON. N.19.- 828-8070 Ext. 2640 (B)
-* * * * * * * *
+Contact: Graham Browning, 6 Wyndham Crescent,LONDON. N.19. Phones- 263-0699 (H), 828-8070 Ext. 2640 (B)
 ====DAVID COTTON'S PHOTOGRAPHIC WORKSHOP====
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 ====BUSHWALKER BOB - Setting up Camp====
-(Images Not Available)
+(Comic - Images Not Available)
 |Can't see anything we could use for tent poles around here.|
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 by Gordon Lee.
-If you wake at quarter to six whenou should have been under wcz at 4.30 a m0 the best'thing to_ddyis to rol over,and go back to sleep. Unfortunately duty demanded otherwise for another body was depending on me. So a courtesy call at least was called for. Breakfastless, trousers on, and sox the right way round, I managed to turn up at six
+If you wake at quarter to six when you should have been under way at 4.30 a.m. the best thing to do is to roll over and go back to sleep. Unfortunately duty demanded otherwise for another body was depending on me. So a courtesy call at least was called for. Breakfastless, trousers on, and sox the right way round, I managed to turn up at six
 for the slightly late appointment.
-Expecting one very irate, frustrate female, I was surprised by the
-iceless "Oh, Hello!" To make a short story longer, decision was to
-press on regardless. Even the unexpected may happen, someone might stop to tie a shoelace. All of this can be blamed on Jim Brown, possibly the most blameless of persons under normal circumstances. How, of all people, was he to know that shoving a few slides of the Widden Valley would trigger a most unusual set of circumstances which eventually led Belinda McKenzie and me into the Widden.
-Inspired by Widden on screen and finding Bob Hodgson had a walk on to that very place was sufficient to create the desire to go. Bob had asked me to take my car and Belinda. Saw her and arranged the early a m0 pick up. The rest is history. Starting minus one and a half hours can have its problems,
-Without any low flying we made the Mt. Nullo road by 9.30. To further complicate matters I followed a set of wheel tracks in error and 15 or so km later we surprised a number of weekenders and were
-re-directed, Then came the first stroke of luck. We met a friendly farmer who had been told of the presence of the SOB 0W0 trospassers and when informed that they were headed for Pomaily BO he told us that there was only one way 'they' could go and that he was on his way out there almost immediately.
-. We followed and were pleased to find the S.B.W. car park on Nullo. Here we got undressed. er redressed erl changed - the farmer was very patient. Us and packs on the 4WD we set out -in hot pursuit-. "Hot" was soMewhat. of a misnomer. It was cold enough to "freeze the ...."
-I acted as doorman gatekeeper. I opened the b.0... gates and picked up the telltale Volley prints.
-Our friendly farmer eventually walked us to a fire trailstuck with us, and even encouraged us to keep going though wo thought-it:,, "uitless. I had no desire to trip round the countryside with only
-road mar and no compass. Heavens to Betsy and Glory Be =" there they were - footprints, we'd found tem. Here our f f0 left us to our own devices.
-The trail ended abovea5o01, sorry, 150_m ),p'into some valley
-or other of breathtaking tbeaUty.. What:,LittIe'werd'been able to take
-in of the scenery was magnificent - even Jim Brown's slides hadn't
- -merdows~...mossemworwm.0.41MWIrs
+Expecting one very irate, frustrate female, I was surprised by the iceless "Oh, Hello!" To make a short story longer, decision was to press on regardless. Even the unexpected may happen, someone might stop to tie a shoelace. All of this can be blamed on Jim Brown, possibly the most blameless of persons under normal circumstances. How, of all people, was he to know that showing a few slides of the Widden Valley would trigger a most unusual set of circumstances which eventually led Belinda McKenzie and me into the Widden.
-done it justice _Here the footprints disappeared - not over the edge thank heavens, only into the scrub. That was it. Nothing to do but
-turn back. Oh well, a "Day Oh!" wouldn't hurt. (I'd imagined I'd
+Inspired by Widden on screen and finding Bob Hodgson had a walk on to that very place was sufficient to create the desire to go. Bob had asked me to take my car and Belinda. Saw her and arranged the early a.m. pick up. The rest is history. Starting minus one and a half hours can have its problems.
-heard voices). "That was no echo!" Contact.
-Joan Rigby, who -wishes to remain anorlyaoys, was sitting apart from the others doing her crossword, in the company of a rather dubious character by the name of Prank (referred to later as Big Stick) when they heard the faint"Day Oh" and realising that it wasn't the territorial warning call of the Choughs, but the mating call of the S.B.W. they relayed the information to Bob which brought the immediate response "That'll be that silly b...... Gordon".
+Without any low flying we made the Mt. Nullo road by 9.30. To further complicate matters I followed a set of wheel tracks in error and 15 or so km later we surprised a number of weekenders and were re-directed, Then came the first stroke of luck. We met a friendly farmer who had been told of the presence of the S.B.W. trespassers and when informed that they were headed for Pomany Mt. he told us that there was only one way 'they' could go and that he was on his way out there almost immediately.
+We followed and were pleased to find the S.B.W. car park on Nullo. Here we got undressed er! redressed er! changed - the farmer was very patient. Us and packs on the 4WD we set out in hot pursuit. "Hot" was somewhat of a misnomer. It was cold enough to "freeze the ...."  I acted as doorman - gatekeeper. I opened the b..... gates and picked up the telltale Volley prints.
+Our friendly farmer eventually walked us to a fire trail, stuck with us, and even encouraged us to keep going though we thought it fruitless. I had no desire to trip round the countryside with only a N.S.W road map and no compass. Heavens to Betsy and Glory Be - there they were - footprints, we'd found 'em. Here our f.f. left us to our own devices.
+The trail ended above a 500', sorry, 150 m drop into some valley or other of breathtaking beauty. What little we'd been able to take in of the scenery was magnificent - even Jim Brown's slides hadn't done it justice. Here the footprints disappeared - not over the edge thank heavens, only into the scrub. That was it. Nothing to do but
+turn back. Oh well, a "Day Oh!" wouldn't hurt. (I'd imagined I'd heard voices). "That was no echo!" Contact.
+Joan Rigby, who wishes to remain anonymous, was sitting apart from the others doing her crossword, in the company of a rather dubious character by the name of Frank (referred to later as Big Stick) when they heard the faint "Day Oh" and realising that it wasn't the territorial warning call of the Choughs, but the mating call of the S.B.W. they relayed the information to Bob which brought the immediate response "That'll be that silly b...... Gordon".
 When Bob finally led us back to "the mob" the "rhubarbery" led by Peter Miller wasn't entirely friendly, and everyone was anxious to get going through the Gap and on to the base of Pomany and our first camp.
-Widden country is (to me) some of the best walking country in whioh I have been. It is reminiscent of Katoomba dnd Newnes. Here we have the sandstone cliffs of reasonably formidable proportions, wide arable valleys and forrest country of a green-ness that makes it more acceptable to the eye than the other areas named.
-This walk had all the variety that goes with any "good" walk.
-Scrub and creek bashing, negotiating slot acces4es in cliffs both ascending and descending. Magnificent views from high places. Even Moving up the farmed valley of Widden Brook was interesting. Never have I seen so many wombat holes. One was observed by a number of the party. I didn't get close enough to be subjected to any wombat walloping.
-The only near walloping was done when Joan R. (who wishes to remain anonymous) overheard husband Frank, "Big Stick", making some sort of derogatory remark. She immediately siezed a fallen tree and chased the poor unfortunate several kilometres down the valley, finally dragging him back by thb scruff of the neck. Oh that such domestic bliss could be.
-Bushwalkers as a genus habit themselves in some of the most outlandish gear. There was Maggie 's cullottes, Spiro 's long woolly under and overs (as has already been remarked he dresses to the left - or is it right), Big Stick's fawn ballerinas, not to mention our anonymous friend's Bombay Bloomers. For the life of me I could see nothing unusual about my hat, a perfectly legitimate piece of headgear.
-An unusually high level of repartee and wit was maintained around the campfires and for which we are greatly indebted, to Charlie B. (who also wishes to remain anonymous - no wonder), for never yet on any Walk have I heard so many and varied yarns - I blush even yet.
-All in all a truly entertaining, informative, vigorous and relaxing weekend. Thanks, Bob!
-* * * * * * * * *
+Widden country is (to me) some of the best walking country in which I have been. It is reminiscent of Katoomba and Newnes. Here we have the sandstone cliffs of reasonably formidable proportions, wide arable valleys and forest country of a green-ness that makes it more acceptable to the eye than the other areas named.
+This walk had all the variety that goes with any "good" walk.  Scrub and creek bashing, negotiating slot accesses in cliffs both ascending and descending. Magnificent views from high places. Even moving up the farmed valley of Widden Brook was interesting. Never have I seen so many wombat holes. One was observed by a number of the party. I didn't get close enough to be subjected to any wombat walloping.
+The only near walloping was done when Joan R. (who wishes to remain anonymous) overheard husband Frank, "Big Stick", making some sort of derogatory remark. She immediately seized a fallen tree and chased the poor unfortunate several kilometres down the valley, finally dragging him back by the scruff of the neck. Oh that such domestic bliss could be.
+Bushwalkers as a genus habit themselves in some of the most outlandish gear. There was Maggie's cullottes, Spiro's long woolly under and overs (as has already been remarked he dresses to the left - or is it right), Big Stick's fawn ballerinas, not to mention our anonymous friend's Bombay Bloomers. For the life of me I could see nothing unusual about my hat, a perfectly legitimate piece of headgear.
+An unusually high level of repartee and wit was maintained around the campfires and for which we are greatly indebted to Charlie B. (who also wishes to remain anonymous - no wonder), for never yet on any walk have I heard so many and varied yarns - I blush even yet.
+All in all a truly entertaining, informative, vigorous and relaxing weekend. Thanks, Bob!