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-KIANDRA CROSSING.
+===== Kiandra Crossing. =====
 by Patrick McBride.
-It is cruel at 5.30 am on a July morning in Sawyers Hut. The insect . chirp of my alarm watch had never sounded so heartlessly authoritative as I sat up in.my sleeping bag and reached for pants and woollen shirt. Chris and Craig Austin were already stirring and soon we were munching muesli beside steaming cups of tea, with yellow candlelight softening the stark walls of the hut but doing nothing to ameliorate, the gelid air temperature. After a mere three hours' sleep our minds and bodies were fortu4ately some- -What numbed to externals although Chris aid mutter that none of this would be happening to her if she had married a golfer.
-	A blaze of stars all the way to the horizon welcomed us outside as our boots crunched shallow prints in the crisp snow. We piled into David Rostron's Commodore, (temporarily ours after a midnight exchange in Cooma) mentally Checking that no articles had been overlooked in the darkness of the hat.
-Kiandra seemed even colder in the bleak grey of first light as we plodded up sheet ice on the back hills,carrying skis on shoulders. As the slope eased, patches of snow began to appear and soon we were able to wax up and let the skis carry us. The thin layer of snow and frost crystals over a hard base gave superbly fast skiing on blue wax.	.
-On top of the ridge pale yellow and practically horizontal sunlight shyly touched the higher trees and rocks, leaving the hollows blue-cold. Frost crystals produced sparkles of brilliant silver with hints of spectral colours as our movement caught their reflected light. It brought to mind the glories of skiing in Norway where such wonder lasts all of a winter's day. Snow gums were bent under loads of recent snow, sometimes mimicking
-round boulders when their branches had frozen to the ground. One playful tree had produced an arch for us to ski through.
-Fouriale Creek came up in 90 minutes and we halted for a quick snack Of dates and scroggin, washed down with icy creek water. Snow gum saplings lining the banks cast long shadows on the smooth snow, the stretching Chinese calligraphy of early morning. From the trees sporadic puffs of snow fell
-as exposed leaf edges and branchlets trapped the sun's heat, warning that
-the snow under our skis would also soon be changing.
-Still running well on blue we strode up the long ridge that leads to Tabletop, revelling in the fast snow and ideal weather conditions. The
-swish of our skis was the-Only'sound-breaking the clear brittle air. Across
-the open spaces punctated lines of animal tracks curved in frozen rhythm; prints of hare, fox, wombat; the feet that made them now hidden in burrow ar bush from the sun of this glorious morning. Whatever had we done for the weather gods to be so kind to us?
-Dropping packs we diverged to Tabletop, eager to catch the view that
-had always been misted out on previous crossings. It was a pure white wonderland we saw, a magic relief map beckoning us on to regal Jagungal and the distant Main Range with promises of sparkling snow and benign weather.
-Page 3	THE SYDNEY BUSHWALKER	June, 1982.
-On the way back to our rucksacks Craig was leading and he nonchalantly side-slipped a 60 degrees slope at the edge of the mountain. Chris and I following managed neither the side-slip nor the nonchalance, while Craig Waited politely below, watching with bemused puzzlement our erraotic, ski- Waving performances. .
-Twelve o'clock saw us at Happy Jacks Creek, settling down to lunch on a bare terrace beside the wooden footbridge. There was a welcome in the lichen-covered rocks and dry tussock of this place, a genius loci favourable to man and independent of the warmth that lay in the company, of friends. . Somehow the stone and grass whispered a memory of languid summer days trapped inside them, underneath the surface grip of winter.
-Sitting at my ease on a comfortable rock I felt the tightness draining from leg muscles while my ears first noticed and then accepted the splashing hurry of Happy Jacks Creek beside us. Time seemed to stand still even though the billy was soon aboil on Craig's choofer. A dreamlike quality was abroad in the mountain air and sunlight, a feeling that for this brief hour we had drifted into another world where the landscape accepted us into
-ts own time scale, a feeling which underlay the everyday reality of lunchtime conversation. It would have been very easy to rest in contemplation at.this place the whole afternoon.
-' However to rest was motto conquer and soon we were continuing-our southward travel, now on purple short supply on the Happy Jacks plains and the road' for narrow leads along the verge which gave us the travelling on skis through 'a dry and brown "summer"had replaced skis and klister. . Snow was in itself was exposed except surrealistic delight of landscape:
-Leaving the road near McGregors Creek we portaged skis across half a kilometre of thick springy snowgrass then followed increasing snow cover to Diggers Creek. Clear, tree-bordered slopes now led upstream into the remote realm of Far Bald Mountain, a snowy dome watching our progress from the north. 'Swinging left avoided the steep drop after Doubtful Gap and soon our skis picked up the indistinct path of the Grey Mare Road which led to a snow bridge over the Doubtful and a steady grade up the side of Farm Ridge.
+It is cruel at 5.30 am on a July morning in Sawyers Hut. The insect chirp of my alarm watch had never sounded so heartlessly authoritative as I sat up in my sleeping bag and reached for pants and woollen shirt. Chris and Craig Austin were already stirring and soon we were munching muesli beside steaming cups of tea, with yellow candlelight softening the stark walls of the hut but doing nothing to ameliorate the gelid air temperature. After a mere three hours' sleep our minds and bodies were fortunately somewhat numbed to externals although Chris did mutter that none of this would be happening to her if she had married a golfer.
-The ruins of Farm Ridge Hut loomed forlornly in the fading light. How many seasons more will these drunkenly tilted grey posts survive to reassure travellers of their navigation and perhaps bring thoughts of earlier days? Icy conditions on the Other side of the ridge held my attention until near the foot of the slope when red-gold flared through the thinning trees and I paused to gaze at the west face of Jagungal, quite close now, glowing brilliantly in the last rays of the sun.
-Tiredness settles like a cloak on the last lap of a journey as the body senses an end to activity and closes down most of the metabolism of fuel conversion. It suddenly became hard work to keep the skis gliding and not settle back to a walk. Twilight had passed as we picked our way through silhouette forest over faint white ground and came up.ta'O'Keefes Hut. The candle in the window was not needed but the gesture was Welcome and soon we were exchanging news with our complementary party travelling north. They were comfortably settled after a leisurely cruise up from
+A blaze of stars all the way to the horizon welcomed us outside as our boots crunched shallow prints in the crisp snow. We piled into David Rostron's Commodore, (temporarily ours after a midnight exchange in Cooma) mentally checking that no articles had been overlooked in the darkness of the hut.
-Page 4	THE SYDNEY BUSHWALKER	June, 1982.
-Gutheg Power Station and made room for us at the hearth.
+Kiandra seemed even colder in the bleak grey of first light as we plodded up sheet ice on the back hills, carrying skis on shoulders. As the slope eased, patches of snow began to appear and soon we were able to wax up and let the skis carry us. The thin layer of snow and frost crystals over a hard base gave superbly fast skiing on blue wax.
-A semi-circle of bricks backing the fireplace radiated warmth towards the se:Li-circle of skiers crouched on low wooden benches before it, some of thi= warmth fortunately able to penetrate through the rows of socks, mitts, balaclavas and gaiters hung on strings to dry. .0n the walls cuttings from t:e Illustrated Sydney News of the 1930s loomed faintly, reflecting the eq...estrian interests of former hut users.
-ir_ese yellowing, tattered-edged pictures were a reminder of the stockm:In of the high coantry - What were their thoughts as they sat before the fL:e in this same hut forty years ago? No doubt they would look on approv:_ngly to see their hut still providing homely shelter to tired travel:ers on a winter night. It makes me angry to think there are people now wh:, want to burn and destroy our mountain huts - may they never have a day's ,ack.
+On top of the ridge pale yellow and practically horizontal sunlight shyly touched the higher trees and rocks, leaving the hollows blue-cold. Frost crystals produced sparkles of brilliant silver with hints of spectral colours as our movement caught their reflected light. It brought to mind the glories of skiing in Norway where such wonder lasts all of a winter's day. Snow gums were bent under loads of recent snow, sometimes mimicking round boulders when their branches had frozen to the ground. One playful tree had produced an arch for us to ski through.
-initially bright dawn changed to leaden grey as a cold steady southe:ly brought in cloud. Not a day to scale the heights. There would be no oyful telemarking down the south face of-Jagungal and we set off slowly about nine, following Bogong Creek towards Jagangal Saddle.
-D:..ep snow drifts covered all but adult trees and changed the outline of the hollows. Approaching the cloud ceiling we entered a fantasy world where -:-anks of mist drifted softly along the ridges. Pausing for a photo I watc_!ed Chris and Craig ski ahead; two black figures, one moment hazy in mist, he next sharply outlined as a shaft of half-auhlight revealed earth and ho:izon. Even at 200 metres their identities were unmistakable; a
+Four Mile Creek came up in 90 minutes and we halted for a quick snack of dates and scroggin, washed down with icy creek water. Snow gum saplings lining the banks cast long shadows on the smooth snow, the stretching Chinese calligraphy of early morning. From the trees sporadic puffs of snow fell as exposed leaf edges and branchlets trapped the sun's heat, warning that the snow under our skis would also soon be changing.
-person's skiing being as characteristic as his walk. It was pleasant to hang lock for a while and enjoy the good even track Craig was breaking.
-B,cause of the continuing cool breeze we sought out lee slopes and
+Still running well on blue we strode up the long ridge that leads to Tabletop, revelling in the fast snow and ideal weather conditions. The swish of our skis was the only sound breaking the clear brittle air. Across the open spaces punctated lines of animal tracks curved in frozen rhythm; prints of hare, fox, wombat; the feet that made them now hidden in burrow or bush from the sun of this glorious morning. Whatever had we done for the weather gods to be so kind to us?
-follaw:d a route to the east of Cup and Saucer. There was no snow melt . and we uere running very well on blue klister, an unusual thing near noontime. Gliding down to the Valentines, happily conversing all the way, I could ,ave sung with the exhilaration of our swift, flowing travel. This . is how the birds must feel when they fly.
-kter, lunch at Mawsons the Kerries turned on wind and mist, producing
+Dropping packs we diverged to Tabletop, eager to catch the view that had always been misted out on previous crossings. It was a pure white wonderland we saw, a magic relief map beckoning us on to regal Jagungal and the distant Main Range with promises of sparkling snow and benign weather.
-dramat-c scenery and rime on our hair and clothing. Lower down we joined
-the maftiple ski tracks at Schlink Pass and felt our horizons contract as
+On the way back to our rucksacks Craig was leading and he nonchalantly side-slipped a 60 degrees slope at the edge of the mountain. Chris and I following managed neither the side-slip nor the nonchalance, while Craig waited politely below, watching with bemused puzzlement our erratic, ski-waving performances.
-we pas'Led other parties and approached mechanical civilisation.. All. too soon	were curled up in a warm, purring car, our thoughts on hamburgers
-at Gouourn and the glories of the white wilderness receding in the
+Twelve o'clock saw us at Happy Jacks Creek, settling down to lunch on a bare terrace beside the wooden footbridge. There was a welcome in the lichen-covered rocks and dry tussock of this place, a genius loci favourable to man and independent of the warmth that lay in the company of friends. Somehow the stone and grass whispered a memory of languid summer days trapped inside them, underneath the surface grip of winter.
-distan,a.
-XXXXXXXXXX
+Sitting at my ease on a comfortable rock I felt the tightness draining from leg muscles while my ears first noticed and then accepted the splashing hurry of Happy Jacks Creek beside us. Time seemed to stand still even though the billy was soon aboil on Craig's choofer. A dreamlike quality was abroad in the mountain air and sunlight, a feeling that for this brief hour we had drifted into another world where the landscape accepted us into its own time scale, a feeling which underlay the everyday reality of lunchtime conversation. It would have been very easy to rest in contemplation at this place the whole afternoon.
-SKI-TO7RING.
-Lme.interested in ski-touring on 17thil8th July (could be a few days longer, in the Snowy Mountains, with Peter Downes, please contact Helen Gray, -phone 86,62639 for further 'details.
+However to rest was not to conquer and soon we were had replaced skis and continuing our southward travel, now on purple klister. Snow was in short supply on the Happy Jacks plains and the road itself was exposed except for narrow leads along the verge which gave us the surrealistic delight of travelling on skis through a dry and brown "summer" landscape.
-Page 5	THE SYDNEY BUSHWALKER	June, 1982.
-CLIP AT SPTRNIOUR ROCK.
+Leaving the road near McGregors Creek we portaged skis across half a kilometre of thick springy snowgrass then followed increasing snow cover to Diggers Creek. Clear, tree-bordered slopes now led upstream into the remote realm of Far Bald Mountain, a snowy dome watching our progress from the north. Swinging left avoided the steep drop after Doubtful Gap and soon our skis picked up the indistinct path of the Grey Mare Road which led to a snow bridge over the Doubtful and a steady grade up the side of Farm Ridge.
+The ruins of Farm Ridge Hut loomed forlornly in the fading light. How many seasons more will these drunkenly tilted grey posts survive to reassure travellers of their navigation and perhaps bring thoughts of earlier days? Icy conditions on the other side of the ridge held my attention until near the foot of the slope when red-gold flared through the thinning trees and I paused to gaze at the west face of Jagungal, quite close now, glowing brilliantly in the last rays of the sun.
+Tiredness settles like a cloak on the last lap of a journey as the body senses an end to activity and closes down most of the metabolism of fuel conversion. It suddenly became hard work to keep the skis gliding and not settle back to a walk. Twilight had passed as we picked our way through silhouette forest over faint white ground and came up to O'Keefes Hut. The candle in the window was not needed but the gesture was welcome and soon we were exchanging news with our complementary party travelling north. They were comfortably settled after a leisurely cruise up from Guthega Power Station and made room for us at the hearth.
+A semi-circle of bricks backing the fireplace radiated warmth towards the semi-circle of skiers crouched on low wooden benches before it, some of this warmth fortunately able to penetrate through the rows of socks, mitts, balaclavas and gaiters hung on strings to dry. On the walls cuttings from the Illustrated Sydney News of the 1930s loomed faintly, reflecting the equestrian interests of former hut users.
+These yellowing, tattered-edged pictures were a reminder of the stockmen of the high country - what were their thoughts as they sat before the fire in this same hut forty years ago? No doubt they would look on approvingly to see their hut still providing homely shelter to tired travellers on a winter night. It makes me angry to think there are people now who want to burn and destroy our mountain huts - may they never have a day's luck.
+An initially bright dawn changed to leaden grey as a cold steady southerly brought in cloud. Not a day to scale the heights. There would be no joyful telemarking down the south face of Jagungal and we set off slowly about nine, following Bogong Creek towards Jagangal Saddle.
+Deep snow drifts covered all but adult trees and changed the outline of the hollows. Approaching the cloud ceiling we entered a fantasy world where banks of mist drifted softly along the ridges. Pausing for a photo I watched Chris and Craig ski ahead; two black figures, one moment hazy in mist, the next sharply outlined as a shaft of half-sunlight revealed earth and horizon. Even at 200 metres their identities were unmistakable; a person's skiing being as characteristic as his walk. It was pleasant to hang back for a while and enjoy the good even track Craig was breaking.
+Because of the continuing cool breeze we sought out lee slopes and followed a route to the east of Cup and Saucer. There was no snow melt and we were running very well on blue klister, an unusual thing near noontime. Gliding down to the Valentines, happily conversing all the way, I could have sung with the exhilaration of our swift, flowing travel. This is how the birds must feel when they fly.
+After lunch at Mawsons the Kerries turned on wind and mist, producing dramatic scenery and rime on our hair and clothing. Lower down we joined the multiple ski tracks at Schlink Pass and felt our horizons contract as we passed other parties and approached mechanical civilisation. All too soon we were curled up in a warm, purring car, our thoughts on hamburgers at Goulburn and the glories of the white wilderness receding in the distance.
+----
+=== Ski-touring. ===
+Anyone interested in ski-touring on 17/l8th July (could be a few days longer) in the Snowy Mountains, with Peter Downes, please contact Helen Gray, phone 86,6263, for further details.
+----
+===== Camp At Splendour Rock. =====
 by Peter Miller.
 About thirty years ago I heard somebody talking about the delights of camping at Splendour Rock. On subsequent trips I had eyed off the available camping space with interest but hadn't done anything about it until the first weekend in March this year.
-I had planned to go on Tony Marshall's canoe trip on Tallowa\Zam but at the last minute the weather looked doubtful and I decided that if I was going to get wet I would rather do it walking than sitting down.
-It was many years since I had done a solo trip and as everything camDs to those iho wait I decided on Splendour Rock.
+I had planned to go on Tony Marshall's canoe trip on Tallowa Dam but at the last minute the weather looked doubtful and I decided that if I was going to get wet I would rather do it walking than sitting down. It was many years since I had done a solo trip and as everything comes to those who wait I decided on Splendour Rock.
-At Canons the parking fee is now paid at the new shop and ones
-name, club and destination are engraved in a book for our grandchildren to sigh over.
+At Canons the parking fee is now paid at the new shop and ones name, club and destination are engraved in a book for our grandchildren to sigh over.
-The nettles are pretty thick along Canons Greek and I was glad to
-get to Breakfast Creek for a short spell. It was extremely hot cli:abing Black Horse ridge but it was very pleasant to sit on the rocky outcrop at the top admiring the view.
+The nettles are pretty thick along Carlons Creek and I was glad to get to Breakfast Creek for a short spell. It was extremely hot climbing Black Horse ridge but it was very pleasant to sit on the rocky outcrop at the top admiring the view.
-Lunch was at Mbbb's Soak where I saw two people on horses on their
-way to the Cox. There was the usual horse rider's disbelief that anyone could enjoy walking . . . let alone enjoy walking solo.
+Lunch was at Mbbb's Soak where I saw two people on horses on their way to the Cox. There was the usual horse rider's disbelief that anyone could enjoy walking... let alone enjoy walking solo.
-Although there was plenty of water at Mbbb's Soak the small soa'L up on top was dry. I carried water and found enough in the small rock hole
-on Splendour Rock to last my time there.
+Although there was plenty of water at Mbbb's Soak the small soak up on top was dry. I carried water and found enough in the small rock hole on Splendour Rock to last my time there.
-After making camp about thirty metres back from the rock I had the arternoon to sit and gaze at the changing scene. I was pure bliss to sit alone on the rock with a mug of Earl Grey tea and a piece of homemade baclava and listen to the lyre birds. The bird calls were in stereo as the sounds were coming up out of the valleys to the east and west.
-The sun set in a cauldron of fire between Mt. Queahgong and]lte Jenolan and dusk settled over the valleys. There was no wind and just a.little cloud covered the moon.
+After making camp about thirty metres back from the rock I had the afternoon to sit and gaze at the changing scene. It was pure bliss to sit alone on the rock with a mug of Earl Grey tea and a piece of homemade baclava and listen to the lyre birds. The bird calls were in stereo as the sounds were coming up out of the valleys to the east and west.
-With the alarm set for 5.30 am I went to bed early after cooking
-dinner and putting dry firewood in the tent. There was a very wet mist condensing in the trees and it sounded like rain dripping all night.
+The sun set in a cauldron of fire between Mt. Queahgong and Mt. Jenolan and dusk settled over the valleys. There was no wind and just a little cloud covered the moon.
-The sunrise was magnificent. The dam was covered in mist as was
- most of the Axe Head Range. 'Cloudmaker, Kanangra Walls and Guouogang were - all clear and just the lightest gossamer mist filled the deep valleys.
+With the alarm set for 5.30 am I went to bed early after cooking dinner and putting dry firewood in the tent. There was a very wet mist condensing in the trees and it sounded like rain dripping all night.
-A light fan-shaped cloud high up in the sky was flooded with colour as the sun rose in the east. The top of Clouamaker and Guouogang turned deep red for an instant and then the sun gathered strength and lit up the sandstone cliffs on Mt. Eborilla and Kanangra Walls. The Cox and t:ae
-THE SYDNEY BUSHULLKER	June, 1982.
+The sunrise was magnificent. The dam was covered in mist as was most of the Axe Head Range. Cloudmaker, Kanangra Walls and Guouogang were all clear and just the lightest gossamer mist filled the deep valleys.
-- 	-	,,	 I		1
-western slopes of Claadmaker v7'erein ddp-Shadow while the tops changed colour and became clearer and brighter.
+A light fan-shaped cloud high up in the sky was flooded with colour as the sun rose in the east. The top of Cloudmaker and Guouogang turned deep red for an instant and then the sun gathered strength and lit up the sandstone cliffs on Mt. Moorilla and Kanangra Walls. The Cox and the western slopes of Cloudmaker were in deep shadow while the tops changed colour and became clearer and brighter.
-After breakfast It as simply a, matter of packing up and following the track and the fire trail badk-to Carlons.'
+After breakfast it as simply a matter of packing up and following the track and the fire trail back to Carlons.
 It would be possible to fit two tents on the campsite but I do recommend a solo trip for anyone thinking of camping there.
--
-* * * * * 3E, *' * * * * *
+----
-CARNIVAL .DT SkTZ tH"
+===== Carnival In Switzerland. =====
 by Margaret Reid.
-Two of the many advantages of being in the Northern Hemisphere towards the end of winter, is to witness a definite change of season, and then be caught up in the Carnival celebrations. Europeans, whether living in cities or small villages, become completely involved in celebrating together for the last three days before the Lenten season begins.	'
-After travelling by train from Zurich to Basle, our Swiss hosts introduced us to the last day of the celebrations by serving tea and "carnival cakes" - a,thin pastry about the .size of a dinner plate, and very crisp and sweet. We then walked about two kilometres to the old centre of Basle, where the
-main Carnival procession was taking place. Nearing the town centre, we could
-hear the regular beat of drums, and a more intermittent sound of flutes and recorders. We passed a few families returning from the parade - the youngest children wearing jackets and trousers made entirely of omall, petal-shaped pieces of felt in the brightest of colours. :Once in the town centre, we were surrounded by the most magnificent parade, now reaching the end of its three- day, non-stop course through the city. The whole town was involved, each group or club having spent most of the year making their own mask's and costumes. Some groups had Chosen traditional costumes, Chinese, Arabian or Indian stye, others dressed as animals, birds or'flowers. There is much rivalry'thraughout the town to produce even brighter and more original costumes than in previous years.
-At intervals during the parade, a. cart: or tractor would. appear laden with oranges, carrots and turnips, which the drivers would toss into the crowd. The oranges, filled with rich red juice, were eaten on the spot, and While everyone was preoccupied with sharing the fruit, they were showered with confetti.: For days afterwards confetti was still being found in coat pockets and camera cases. After, three days of confetti-throwing, a soft carpet of paper lay over the cobbled streets of Basle.
-We greatly enjoyed the whole spectacle, and found ourselves wondering who were the people hidden behind all those grotesque masks. We were told
-that ten thousand Basle citizens participated in Carnival, so perhaps it was a usually neat and tidy civil servant who threw most of.the confetti; maybe the Lord Mayor drove a tractor and threw oranges and turnips to the crowd - that's the sweet mystery of Swiss Carnival.
-xxxx*******.
-Page 7	THE SYDNEY HUSHWALKER	June, 1982.
-====== Three Peaks Cheater ======
+Two of the many advantages of being in the Northern Hemisphere towards the end of winter, is to witness a definite change of season, and then be caught up in the Carnival celebrations. Europeans, whether living in cities or small villages, become completely involved in celebrating together for the last three days before the Lenten season begins.
+After travelling by train from Zurich to Basle, our Swiss hosts introduced us to the last day of the celebrations by serving tea and "carnival cakes" - a thin pastry about the size of a dinner plate, and very crisp and sweet. We then walked about two kilometres to the old centre of Basle, where the main Carnival procession was taking place. Nearing the town centre, we could hear the regular beat of drums, and a more intermittent sound of flutes and recorders. We passed a few families returning from the parade - the youngest children wearing jackets and trousers made entirely of small, petal-shaped pieces of felt in the brightest of colours. Once in the town centre, we were surrounded by the most magnificent parade, now reaching the end of its three-day, non-stop course through the city. The whole town was involved, each group or club having spent most of the year making their own masks and costumes. Some groups had chosen traditional costumes, Chinese, Arabian or Indian stye; others dressed as animals, birds or flowers. There is much rivalry throughout the town to produce even brighter and more original costumes than in previous years.
+At intervals during the parade, a cart or tractor would appear laden with oranges, carrots and turnips, which the drivers would toss into the crowd. The oranges, filled with rich red juice, were eaten on the spot, and while everyone was preoccupied with sharing the fruit, they were showered with confetti. For days afterwards confetti was still being found in coat pockets and camera cases. After, three days of confetti-throwing, a soft carpet of paper lay over the cobbled streets of Basle.
+We greatly enjoyed the whole spectacle, and found ourselves wondering who were the people hidden behind all those grotesque masks. We were told that ten thousand Basle citizens participated in Carnival, so perhaps it was a usually neat and tidy civil servant who threw most of the confetti; maybe the Lord Mayor drove a tractor and threw oranges and turnips to the crowd - that's the sweet mystery of Swiss Carnival.
+----
+===== Three Peaks Cheater. =====
 by Gordon Lee.
 Tigen I joined S.B.W..in 1975 one of my ambitions was to become one of that illustrious band "The Tiger Walkers".	Such names as Bruiser Butt, Fleetwing Finch, Rocket Rostron, Hopalong Hodgson, Milo' the Wisp Wallace and others too few to mention came to my notice. Some of them even then
 had become Peaceful Pussycats, but some thank goodness were still functioning..