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 by Joan Rigby
-Of course one of the first things I did was to buy the 1:100000 maps
-It all started nearly four years ago, when I moved to Tamworth.
+I wanted to call this article "By George, we did it!" but I rather think that George did __us__.
-.--"-'\ -'----,,
-for the interesting areas nearby and to hunt for possible bushwalks for  /f4:. ,k N
+It all started nearly four years ago, when I moved to Tamworth. Of course one of the first things I did was to buy the 1:100000 maps for the interesting areas nearby and to hunt for possible bushwalks for Frank and myself. Georges Creek, running south from the New England park to the Macleay River seemed a possibility. It lacked the first high fall from the escarpment, characteristic of many of these northern rivers, dropping 1100 metres over its 40-50 km length. Forestry roads on each flanking ridge seemed to offer reasonable access and exit without the need for a car shuffle. When Ruth and John from Armidale spoke of day walks they had done in the area, I scribbled some notes in the margin of the Carrai map, and November 1988 found Frank and myself leaving our car in a convenient gravel pit almost at the head
-%N 1,  Frank and myself. Georges Creek, running south from the New England
+'of the river.
--4
-park to the Macleay River seemed a,possibility. It lacked the first
+It was a pretty creek, small of course, with reasonably open rain forest on the banks. We paddled a little or threaded our way along the edges. A rain forest campsite was found, made memorable by fireflies and glow worms. We enjoyed the differences from our southern creeks, stopping often to wonder and admire, so that it was not until midmorning on Sunday that we began to question just where we were. A distinctive eastern bend gave us our answer - less than five kilometres from our start and an impossible distance from our vaguely conceived exit point. A small canyon at the next bend convinced us that it was better to climb than to swim - an earlier deep wade had been chilly enough for Frank - so we scrambled out up a very scrubby spur to that convenient forestry road and stepped it out to the gravel pit.
-,'--k
-high fall from the escarpment, characteristic of many of these northern ,/i/ j,1\
+We planned to see more of George - he seemed well worth attention. The New England walking guide, which we acquired and studied carefully, described a series of four one-day walks covering the upper two-thirds of the creek. Now one-day walks may be a good idea if you live in Armidale but not so attractive From Tamworth. So, in November 1989, Frank and I set out to make a two-day walk over one of the middle sections. We would descend from the Boulder Flat fire trail by the ridge and creek route described, proceed upstream three or four kilometres (we had become less ambitious) and return to the fire trail by one of the upstream spurs mentioned in the guide.
-rivers, dropping 1100 metres over its 40-50 km length. Forestry roads
-......\
+To aid us we indulged in a 1:25000 map (we had become more aware of navigational difficulties in rain forest), and set out into typical New England weather - unsettled. However we left the car in another gravel pit, followed the fire trail to its end and started down the ridge. There was an unplanned delay while we waterproofed packs but the country, the map and the guide all seemed to agree. The guide recommended a gully rather than the ridge from here down, but this did not appeal to us. Descent into the gully appeared difficult and its use possibly suicidal, so we stuck to the steep ridge. The creek was not so very far below but sounded high and fierce to me, the weather had now settled to a drizzle, the scrub was thick and untrecked and a mist was rolling in. I sat down. It took some talking, but I did convince Frank that I was not going on. By the time we got back to the car he was as relieved as I was. Score was now one-all.
-on each flanking ridge seemed to offer reasonable access and exit without',.,- LS the need for a car shuffle. When Ruth and John from Armidale spoke of day walks they had done in the area, I scribbled some notes in the margin of the: Carrai map, and November 1988 found Frank and myself leaving our Cardin a convenient gravel pit almost at the head 'of the river.
-It was a pretty creek, small of course, with reasonably open rain forest on the banks. We paddled a, little or threaded our way along the edges. A rain forest campsite was found, made memorable by fireflies and glow worms. We enjoyed the differences from our sOuthern creeks, stopping often to wonder
+Over the years we built up a picture of the authors of the walking guide. They were 20-year-old tigers reconstructing walks, probably over a few drinks, after the bruises had faded. Any reference to thick scrub meant bush-bashing, and they had an uncanny ability to give precise map references for points which could not be checked on the ground. However, after translating their descriptions to our terms, we made good use of their work.
-and admire, so that it was not until midmorning on Sunday that we began to question just where we were. A distinctive eastern bend gave us our answer - less than five kilometres from our start and an impossible distance from our vaguely conceived exit
-point. A small canyon at the next:bend convinced us that it was better to climb than to swim -
+New Year 1991 and Georges Creek called again. We had looked into the lower third from the Kempsey road and seen a pleasant farming valley. This time we would take the long but sure way in. Six kilometres down the New England ridge trail should put us above the farmed area and we had four days to reach one of the upstream exits. I think I should describe this trip as a "no match". We reached the creek as planned in the late afternoon, found a few cows, a wire fence, giant solanums, lantana and cutting grass. We bypassed the cows successfully to find the narrow creek banks thick with lantana, cutting grass and gympie. However we found a pleasant enough campsite between a myrtle and a gympie and settled down, convinced that the creek would improve on the morrow.
-,
-an earlier deep wade had been chilly enough for Frank - so we scrambled out up a very scrubby spur to,that convenient forestry road and stepped it out to the gravel pit.
+The lantana did peter out the next morning, but the creek was not attractive. Gympie and cutting grass dominated the small stretches of bank, the creek boulders were not suitable for rock hopping and the bed too rough for wading. The base rock was a dull grey, making the water appear black, and it was slippery, wet or dry. Mid morning we stopped for a cuppa after only two slow kilometres. Another 200 metres and a thunderstorm broke over us. While we waited for the rocks to dry a little I looked over to the next stretch of river. It appeared even worse than what we had seen before. No banks, big widely spaced boulders and - A tiny campsite! A decision - we did not like the river, three more days like this would be awful and this was the last likely exit for eight kilometres. Not far but we were walking for fun. We would camp and in the morning, perhaps, explore upstream with day packs. Tent up, wood collected and another thunderstorm with raging winds had us huddled in the tent with parkas on, hoping the tent would hold and trees stay upright. Enough was enough. We walked but the next morning.
-We planned to see more of George - he seemed well worth attention. The New England walking guide, which we acquired and studied carefully, described a series of four one-day walks covering the upper two-thirds of the creek. Now one-day walks may be a good idea, if you live in Armidale but not so attractive From Tamworth. So, in November 1989, Frank and I set out to make a two-day walk over one of,the middle sections. We would descend from the Boulder Flat fire trail by the ridge and 'creek route described, proceed upstream three or four kilometres
-(we had become less ambitious) and return to the fire trail by one of the upstream spurs mentioed in the guide.
+Now, three weeks later we prepared to try again. This time we would descend to the middle river near the Cunnawarra Creek junction, make a base camp and explore up and down stream with day packs.  We followed an old forestry road through wet sclerophyll thick with regrowth to its end according to the map; found with relief that it continued down the side of the ridge, and, although overgrown with everything from raspberry to solanum, and despite the regulation thunderstorm, it took us to a 10 foot wide sawn stump about 200 feet above the river. From there we slithered,  sidled and slipped down a dangerously steep slope to the water. No campsite here, so although it was late, we picked our way upstream. There is always a campsite at creek junctions. Cunnawarra should be our destination. Around the bend I stopped at the first compulsory swim. Frank called me up and we tried to bypass over the ridge, a steep fern-covered slope, falling to cliffs and going on and on with no return to the invisible creek. Finally a gully of wet rock blocked us and we managed to slither, again through raspberry and loose rock, to the creek and a long swim in the dark water. The only possible campsite was a square metre of small rocks; the creek junction, 50 yards ahead, was hopeless and the two creeks seemed to run back into narrow slits.
-To aid LI8 we j.ndulged in a 1:25000 map (we had become more aware of navigational difficulties in rain forest), and set out into typical New England weather - unsettled. However we left the car in another gravel pit, followed the fire trail to its end and started down the ridge. There was an unplanned delay while we waterproofed packs but the country, the map and the guide all seemed to agree. The guide recommended a gully rather than the ridge from here down, but this
-did not appeal to us. Descent into the gully appeared difficult and its use possibly suicidal, so we stuck to the steep ridge. The creek was not so very far below but sounded high and fierce to me, the weather had now settled to a drizzle, the scrub was thick and untracked and a mist
+We filled our wineskins and tried the other option. A scramble three hundred feet up the ridge on the east side where, amongst giant bluegums, we found two small areas flat enough to fit a tent and a fire. There at 7.30 pm, in the last of the daylight, we made camp. Apart from a regular leech hunt, a territorial dispute with a nest of jumping ants and a continual slide from the top to the bottom of the tent, we passed a good night.
-was rolling in. I sat dawn. It took some talking, but I did convince Frank.that I was not going on. By the time we got back to the car he was as relieved as I was. Score was now one-all.
-Over the years we built up a picture of the authors of the walking guide. They were 20-year-old tigers reconstructing walks, probably over a few drinks, after the bruises had fiaded. Any reference to thick scrub meant bush-bashing, and they had an uncanny ability to give precise
+Next morning we moved cautiously up Cunnawarra Creek. After less than half a kilometre we found the lowest of the falls on this creek. Water shot from a narrow cleft to split into hundreds of milky streams on the face below. Two dark pools were cradled in the surrounding rocks. The map suggested that the creek above, where it falls a hundred metres in about four hundred metres could be worth seeing, but possibly for the first time in the bush we were feeling uncomfortable. The creek, though not deep like Claustral or impressive like Davies, seemed dangerous. The rocks and wet leaves made our progress slow. There was no relaxation from care. The roads were only a few kilometres away and three hundred vertical metres, but the country between was difficult. Wet, scrubby and thorny, even after using the old track we were scratched and bleeding. If we were unable to reach that track again it would be a fight to escape the creek. Never have I felt so vulnerable to an accident.
-map 'referenxces for points which could not be checked on the ground. However, after translating their descriptions to our terms, we made good use of their work.
-New Year 1991 and Georges Creek celled again. We had looked into the lower third from
+We turned back from the falls and went a little way up Georges Creek. The suggested route out was from here but the steep sides looked unpleasant. The creek was pretty, and possibly easier, but still required caution. We had had enough. Lunch by a pool, a swim and sunbake, then we filled our wineskins and clambered again from trunk to trunk up the steep siding to our camp. Here we resolved our territorial problems with the ants and settled back with a double rum and lemon. This evening, despite intimidating rumbles and a spectacular lightning display all around the horizon, the regulation storm held off until 2 am.
-the Kempsey road and seen a pleasant farming valley. This time we would take the long but sure
-way in. Six kilometres down the New England ridge trail should put us above the farmed area
+We broke camp in the morning and started back the way we had come. The first long swim was a relief after the slippery wet rocks. It was followed by three or four shorter swims, including one through a narrow high-walled canyon. I enjoyed this until I remembered it was above these sheer walls that I had been slipping on wet ferns two evenings before.
-I wanted to call this article "By George, we did it!" but I rather think that George did us.
-;< lk
-r...-. J 1
-ik
-, :
-FOUR TALES - OF A C'REECREEK'
-.
-iN\
-")fil
-( 4/147,,
-March..1991 The Sydney dushwalker Page 5
-and we 'had four days to reach one of the upstream exits. I think I should describe this
-trip as a "no match". We reached the creek as planned in the late afternoon, found a few cows, a wire fence, giant solanums, lantana and cutting grass. We bypassed the cows successfully to find the narrow creek banks thick with lantana, cutting grass and gympie. However we found a pleasant enough campsite between a myrtle and a gympie and settled down, convinced that the creek would improve on the morrow.
-The lantana did peter out the next morning, but the creek was not attractive. Gympie and cutting grass dominated the small stretches of bank, theitreek boulders were not suitable for rock hopping and the bed too rough for wading. The base rock was a dull grey, making the water appear black; and it was slippery, wet or dry. Mid morning we stopped for a cuppa after only two slow kilometres. Another 200 metres and a thunderstorm broke over us. While we waited for the rocks to dry a little I looked over to the next stretch orriver. It appeared even worse than what we had seen before. No banks, big widely spaced boulders and - A. tiny campsite! A'decision - we did not like the river, three more days like this
-would be awful and this was the last likely exit for eight kilometres. Not far but we were walking for fun. We would camp and in the morning, perhaps, explore upstream with day packs. Tent up, wood collected and another thunderstorm with raging winds had us huddled in the tent with parkas on, hoping the tent wsauld hold and trees stay upright. Enough was enough.
-We walked but the next Morning.
-Now, three weeks later we prepared to try again. This time we would descend to the middle river near the Cunnawarra Creek junction, make a base camp and explore up and down. stream with day packs.  We followed an 'old forestry road through wet sclerophyll thick with regrowth to its end according to the map; found with relief that it continued down the side.-- of the ridge, and, although overgrown with everything from raspberry to solanum, and despite the regulation thunderstorm, it took us to a 10 foot wide sawn. stump about 200 feet above the river. -Frovethere we slithered,  sidled and slipped down a dangerously steep slope to the water. No campsite here, so although it was late, we picked our way upstream. There is always a campsite at creek junctions. Cunnawarra should be our destination. Around the bend I stopped at the first compulsory swim. Frank called me up and we tried  to bypass over the ridge, a steep fern.: covered slope, falling to cliffs and going on and on with no return to the
-invisible creek. Finally a gully of wet rock blocked us and we managed to slither, again through raspberry and
-loose rock; to' the creek a long' swim in the dark water. The only possible campsite was a square metre of small rocks; the creek junction, 50 yards ahead, was hopeless and the two creeks seemed to run back into narrout slits.
-We filled our wineskins and tried the other option. A scramble three hundred feet up the ridge on the east side where; amongst giant bluegums, we found two small areas flat enough to fit a tent and a fire. There at 7.30 pm, in the last of the daylight, we made
-camp. Apart from a regular leech hunt, a territorial dispute with a nest of jumping ants and a continual slide from the top to the bottom of the tent, we passed a good night.
-Next morning we moved cautiously up Cunnawarra Creek. After less than half a kilometre we found the lowest of the falls on this creek. Water shot from a narrow cleft to split into hundreds of milky streams on the face below. Two dark pools were cradled in the surrounding
-rocks. The map suggested that the creek above, where it falls a hundred metres in about
-Page 6 ifte'Sydnipy aushwalker March. 1991
-four hundred metres could be worth seeing, but possibly, for the first time in the bush we were feeling uncomfortable. The creek, though not deep like Claustral or impressive like Davies, seemed dangerous. The rocks and wet leaves made our progress slow. There was no relaxation-from care. The roads were only a few kilometres away and three hundred vertical metres, but the country between was difficult. Wet, scrubby and thorny, even after using the old track we were scratched and bleeding. If we were unable to reach that track again it would be a fight to escape the creek. Never have I felt so vulnerable to an accident.
-We turned back from the fent and went a little way up Georges Creek. The suggested route out was from here but the steep sides looked unpleasant. The creek was pretty, and possibly easier, but still required caution. We had had enough. Lunch by a pool, a swim and sunbake, then we filled our wineskins and clambered again from trunk to trunk up the steep siding to our camp. Here we resolved our territorial problems with the ants and settled back with a double rum and lemon. This evening, despite intimidating rumbles and a spectacular lightning display all around the horizon, the regulation storm held off until 2 am.
-, We broke camp in the morning and started back the way we had Come. The first long swim was a relief after the slippery wet rocks. It was followed by three or four shorter swims, including one through a narrow high-walled canyon. I enjoyed this until I remembered it was above these sheer walls that I had been slipping on wet ferns two evenings before.
 We found our marker for where we entered the creek and a somewhat easier route up the first one hundred feet. With care we found our downward track and followed it up to the giant sawn stump. I greeted it like a long-lost friend. In this country you could be two metres from the overgrown road and never know it.
-Back at the car we removed another population of leeches and swore never again to visit Georges Creek. It has its beauties, but its defenses are strong. Frank and I have given it best,- game,. set and match.
-If-Michelehowurites about some lazy summer trip Bob King led there one Christmas -- I don't want toread-lt!!
+Back at the car we removed another population of leeches and swore never again to visit Georges Creek. It has its beauties, but its defenses are strong. Frank and I have given it best, game, set and match.
-'
-BLACKHEATH TAXIS & TOURIST SERVICES
+If Michele now writes about some lazy summer trip Bob King led there one Christmas -- I don't want to read it!!
-& 18 SEATER MINI BUS TAXI
--87 8366
+=====No Boots At All.=====
-KANANGRA BOYD
-UPPER BLUE MOUNTAINS
-SIX FOOT TRACK
-PICK UP ANYWHERE FOR START OR FINISH OF YOUR WALK - BY PRIOR ARRANGEMENT
-Share the Fare Competitive Rates
-March 1991 Till'80mey ButhWelkor Page 7
-NO BOOTS AT,ALL
 by Jim Brown
-The Boot - has it fallen upon evil times9 Is it the symbol it used to be? Well, what sort of a symbol was it, anyway?
-have vague recollections that, during my early years at Primary School, say about 1925-6-7, I was regarded by some of my school-fellows as something of a "sissy" or wimp, because my parents had provided Me with shoes which didn't come up over my ankles. Shoes may be all right for girls, but all true men and boys wore BOOTS. Maybe my recolleCtions are amiss, but that's how I remember it.
+The Boot - has it fallen upon evil times? Is it the symbol it used to be? Well, what sort of a symbol was it, anyway?
-Certainly, at the beginning of the bush walker movement in and around Sydney at much the same time, boots appear to have been the accepted and acceptable footwear. As evidence, I'm
-almost sure that the badge of one of the long-established Clubs is a boot. And of the symbols with which we invest our incoming Presidents, the first one is "The Boot" - indicating that we esteem walking.-
+have vague recollections that, during my early years at Primary School, say about 1925-6-7, I was regarded by some of my school-fellows as something of a "sissy" or wimp, because my parents had provided me with shoes which didn't come up over my ankles. Shoes may be all right for girls, but all true men and boys wore BOOTS. Maybe my recollections are amiss, but that's how I remember it.
-These symbols are hung, like the Ancient Mariner's Albatross, around the new President's neck. Fortunately The Boot is on a fairly long chain, but by the time you get through 41The Map" and "The Flannel Flower" to "The Clasped Hands" (to signify friendship and social ,activities), the chain is so short that Presidents wearing spectacles are best advised to remove them, and one wonders sametimes if the clasped hands might ever separate and 'try to strangle the wearer.
- There were also several songs commonly, sung -around camp fires and at Reunions which gave, favourable publicity for boots - indeed, treated them as a vital part of the bush walking scene.. more about that later.
+Certainly, at the beginning of the bush walker movement in and around Sydney at much the same time, boots appear to have been the accepted and acceptable footwear. As evidence, I'm almost sure that the badge of one of the long-established Clubs is a boot. And of the symbols with which we invest our incoming Presidents, the first one is "The Boot" - indicating that we esteem walking.
-This thinking originated with the reading of an advance copy of Dot Butler's biography "The Barefoot Bush Walker", and coincidentally an article by Errol Sheedy in the January magazine telling how he was lured away from his original boots into sandshoes. This reading in turn revived some old memories including Dot travelling on the "Fish Express" one Friday evening in 1955 (yes, it was 1st April - All Fools Day) and we were going to Katoomba to take part in Geof Wagg's "85 Miler - Katoomba to Picton". From my seat opposite Dot in the same compartment on the train I noticed one of her sandshoes had ,a decided split in the sole, displaying either a bit of sock or;some foot. In horror I drew her attention, and was rewarded with "Oh, dear!"
-Dot insits she.added "Oh, well, it will let the Water out," (on the many crossings of the Cox
+These symbols are hung, like the Ancient Mariner's Albatross, around the new President's neck. Fortunately The Boot is on a fairly long chain, but by the time you get through "The Map" and "The Flannel Flower" to "The Clasped Hands" (to signify friendship and social activities), the chain is so short that Presidents wearing spectacles are best advised to remove them, and one wonders sometimes if the clasped hands might ever separate and try to strangle the wearer.
-River). I was so worried about it, this sensible attitude didn't register properly at the
-time
+There were also several songs commonly sung around camp fires and at Reunions which gave favourable publicity for boots - indeed, treated them as a vital part of the bush walking scene... more about that later.
-Another memory is my own conversion from boots in the 1946-49 period. Earlier, during a number of freelance pre-war. walks I had used sneakers - with rubber sole and leather uppers - but after being required to wear boots for about five years (in the army during World War II)
-and on finding they were standard footwear for most SBW Members in 1947, I submitted to the mode. Not for long. , The jolt that went up the shin when walking in hobnailed boots along sealed roads on the last leg into Katoomba, Blackheath or Kiama soon persuaded me "there must be a better way". '
+This thinking originated with the reading of an advance copy of Dot Butler's biography "The Barefoot Bush Walker", and coincidentally an article by Errol Sheedy in the January magazine telling how he was lured away from his original boots into sandshoes. This reading in turn revived some old memories including Dot travelling on the "Fish Express" one Friday evening in 1955 (yes, it was 1st April - All Fools Day) and we were going to Katoomba to take part in Geof Wagg's "85 Miler - Katoomba to Picton". From my seat opposite Dot in the same compartment on the train I noticed one of her sandshoes had a decided split in the sole, displaying either a bit of sock or some foot. In horror I drew her attention, and was rewarded with "Oh, dear!" Dot insits she added "Oh, well, it will let the water out," (on the many crossings of the Cox River). I was so worried about it, this sensible attitude didn't register properly at the time.
-Since the sneakers 'I'd worn earlier were no longer available, I tried sandshoes and quickly became convinced they were adequate in the easy conditions encountered in our Sydney- side bushland. I even made a few converts, including some of the most active of the new members and - almost to my surprise - the sandshoe suddenly "took off".
-Sinful pride urges me to believe that I had something to do With the widespread adoption of sandshoes for bush walking. Ordinary common-sense persuades me that it is likely other members of our Club and the members of other Clubs were probably moving towards the same conclusion about that time. By 1950 I had finally discarded boots, after a Tasmanian trip,
+Another memory is my own conversion from boots in the 1946-49 period. Earlier, during a number of freelance pre-war walks I had used sneakers - with rubber sole and leather uppers - but after being required to wear boots for about five years (in the army during World War II) and on finding they were standard footwear for most SBW Members in 1947, I submitted to the mode. Not for long. The jolt that went up the shin when walking in hobnailed boots along sealed roads on the last leg into Katoomba, Blackheath or Kiama soon persuaded me "there must be a better way".
-and that wimpish school-boy who had been derided for wearing shoes was doing a bit of gloating
-over the downfall of the dominant boot. (Out was there something else? Did something in my sub-conscious say to me, "You don't have to behave like an Army tank and trample everything
+Since the sneakers I'd worn earlier were no longer available, I tried sandshoes and quickly became convinced they were adequate in the easy conditions encountered in our Sydney-side bushland. I even made a few converts, including some of the most active of the new members and - almost to my surprise - the sandshoe suddenly "took off".
-down. You can tread softly, go around that prickly hakea, avoid squashing that tiny baronies
-You can make the Bush your friend, not something to be beaten down". All I can answer is - yes, for years, walking in my wimpish sandshoes, I always thought the bush was a friendly place, an ally, not an adversary to be defeated.)
+Sinful pride urges me to believe that I had something to do with the widespread adoption of sandshoes for bush walking. Ordinary common-sense persuades me that it is likely other members of our Club and the members of other Clubs were probably moving towards the same conclusion about that time. By 1950 I had finally discarded boots, after a Tasmanian trip, and that wimpish school-boy who had been derided for wearing shoes was doing a bit of gloating over the downfall of the dominant boot. (But was there something else? Did something in my sub-conscious say to me, "You don't have to behave like an Army tank and trample everything down. You can tread softly, go around that prickly hakea, avoid squashing that tiny baronia. You can make the Bush your friend, not something to be beaten down". All I can answer is - yes, for years, walking in my wimpish sandshoes, I always thought the bush was a friendly place, an ally, not an adversary to be defeated.)
-Page 8 00 0y0m0y,mwomway.4mv, Maroh 1991
-I think the final seal of approval - the apotheothis - came several years ago, when several young people were overdue on a Colo River walk, and Federation's Search and Rescue organisation took part in the search. Actually the young people walked out under their own steam a couple of days late, but in the meantime some worried parents had managed to reach the Rescue Headquarters organised by the Police out on the Culoul Range, and one mother sent a large donation to S &R, accompanied by a letter praising the devotion,
+I think the final seal of approval - the apotheothis - came several years ago, when several young people were overdue on a Colo River walk, and Federation's Search and Rescue organisation took part in the search. Actually the young people walked out under their own steam a couple of days late, but in the meantime some worried parents had managed to reach the Rescue Headquarters organised by the Police out on the Culoul Range, and one mother sent a large donation to S & R, accompanied by a letter praising the devotion, expertise and kindness of the people "wearing the dirty sandshoes" (the bush walkers). So, the sandshoe had become the mark of the bush walker!
-expertise and kindness Of the people "wearing the dirty sandshoes" (the bush walkers). So,
-the sandshoe had become the mark of the bush walker!
+Now, I'm well aware some walkers still prefer boots (but not the hob-nailed variety these days), and like Errol Sheedy, I can see they may have merits in some areas. The essential fact remains that in our fairly kindly local environment the sandshoe in its various forms is good footwear and is widely worn.
-Now, I'm well aware some walkers still prefer boots (but not the hob-nailed variety these
--mdays), and like Errol Sheedy, I can see they may have merits in some areas. The essential
+This has, of course, put paid to those old campfire songs - "For They Were Large Boots" and "No Boots At All". You just can't sing the same words and substitute "Volleys" or "Reeboks" or even "Sandshoes", because all of those words are of two syllables, where "boots" is only one syllable, so it just won't scan.
-fact remains that in our-fairly kindly local environment the sandshoe in its various forms is good footwear and is widely worn.
-This has, of course, put paid to those old campfire songs - "For They Were Large Boots"
+Is this a good thing? After all, I've discovered that the two "boots" songs I've mentioned both have rather smutty alternative words. One version of "No Boots" was sung by R.A.F. airmen operating in the Western Desert of North Africa in the 1940s, where pilots forced down sometimes fell into the hands of nomadic tribes who had a rather unpleasant way of showing their disapproval of the warring Europeans (whether British, Italian or German). It's to be hoped this isn't the practice in __all__ Desert Wars.
-and "No BOots At All". You just can't sing the same words and substitute "Volleys" or "Reeboks"
-or even "Sandshoes", because all of those words are of two syllables, where "boots" is only one
--
-syllable, so it just won't scan.
-Is this a good thing? After all, I've discovered that the two "boots" songs I've mentioned both have rather smutty alternative words. One version of "No Boots" was sung by R.A.F.. airmen operating in the Western Desert of North Africa in the 1940s, where pilots forced down sometimes fell into the hands of nomadic tribes who had a rather unpleasant way of showing their disapproval of the warring Europeans (whether British, Italian or German). It's to, be hoped this 'isn't the' practice in all Desert Wars.
 Meanwhile, if anyone can come up with a tolerable "one syllable" word for sandshoes in lieu of "boots", we should be able to sing those songs again.
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+=====Visiting California?=====
-VISITING CALIFORNIA?
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+====Why not climb Whitney?====
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-WHY NOT  CLIMB WHITNEY?.
 Situated in the John Muir Wilderness Area is Mt. Whitney. At 14,495ft (approx 4,830 M), it is one of the highest peaks in the USA.
-It can be done as a three-day or two-day trip. Two days would entail walking 64 miles (climbing 3645ft), from car park to base camp. Very early next morning, take a day pack with lunch for the final 44 miles and 2,500ft climb. Then back to camp to pack and return to the car park by dusk. If you're really feeling 'tigerish', do the whole thing as a one-day gallop! Interested? ' for full details write to:
-Eastern Sierra Visitor Centre, P.O. Box R Lone Pine, California 93545. (Ph. 619.876.4252)
+It can be done as a three-day or two-day trip. Two days would entail walking 6 1/2 miles (climbing 3645ft), from car park to base camp. Very early next morning, take a day pack with lunch for the final 4 1/2 miles and 2,500ft climb. Then back to camp to pack and return to the car park by dusk. If you're really feeling 'tigerish', do the whole thing as a one-day gallop! Interested?... for full details write to:
+Eastern Sierra Visitor Centre, P.O. Box 'R', Lone Pine, California 93545. (Ph. 619.876.4252)
 March 1991' The Sydney'Bushwalker Page 9
 WITHER-ED CONSERVATION? by MOrag Ryder