We left at approximately 8 o’clock on the Thursday morning, but the train was slow and, of course, late, so that we had practically no time in Pt. Augusta. Fortunately, we now know the eating shops in Quorn, and so we dived for the nearest as the train pulled into the station and made short work of ham and eggs.

On again, reaching Copley at 5 a.m. we stumbled across the station yards in the darkness towards a glimmer of light in the hotel. Two men in the lounge, having made a night of it, had a wonderful fire which thawed us out. They made some toast for us, then roamed off elsewhere.

We cleaned up a bit, had breakfast at the hotel and arranged for the Mines’ truck to take us out to Italowie Gap (50 miles or so East). It did not appear until after eleven, and so we watched the world go by, a dog chase birds, engines shunt as trains came and went, and otherwise just sat. 

At last we started, B… and I in front, G… and L… on the back. There were dozens of gates to open: we went first across a bare flat, but were soon in amongst dull hills, sudden patches of colour relieving the monotony of the irregular scene. It was a strange country and as we rattled along the track, climbing sometimes, then bouncing across creek beds, I began to wonder why I had come. It was unattractive. Uninteresting. B… still felt “flu-ey”.

We were tired after the train trip. Occasional patches of wild flowers, brilliant in their colours, cheered me up but eventually these ceased.

We bounced on through country resembling some we had seen at Easter time, where water was scarce and brackish in the extreme.

Have you sunk into the doldrums yet? I had. We passed Anjipinna, the Mission station, miles of creek bed, rattle, bump, twist and turn, up and down, across and across we went.

“Nearly there” said the driver when suddenly beyond the bend a tall hill rose steeply from the creek bed, steep cliffs of red and orange glowed as if a smile of welcome danced across them, tall gums in the shadowy creek were of magnificent proportions. Dr. Chewing’s creek looked inviting, cockatoos and galahs screeched, sheep at the water trough turned to stare as the truck stopped at the gate. We tumbled out and the truck went on another 50 miles alone.

We carried our packs to a flat space under the tall welcoming hiil. I breathed deeply, and slowly a glow of pleasure welled up. It was too much, I wanted to cry, so grabbed a camera and went scrambling.

Arkaroo, God of the Gammons, bade me welcome.

Conversation Piece Dec. 1949

We do hear some good conversations from time to time. The following one was overheard between two women while some walkers were pretending to be asleep in the “Mixed” on the way home from Copley. Time, about 3.30 a.m.

1st. Woman: Scouts, are they?

2nd. Woman: Looks like it.

1st. W (After a pause): Are they women or men?

2nd. W (Observing only male member’s wife): That green one might be a man.

1st. W (Noting only male member’s curls): I think they must all be girls.

2nd. W: Just look at that green one!

(Laughter) Looks like something to do with the army – all that harness on their packs.

1st. W: Mm…

2nd. W: (sotto voce): look at that green one!

(Whispering and giggles at contortions of two married walkers attempting to get comfortable on one narrow seat). 

1st. W: Good idea for the winter. 

2nd. W: Wouldn’t mind one for Christmas…..