54. Tuesday, 20 April 1948. Yesterday afternoon, having time to kill since Bill does not want to enter R.I.P. harbor by night, we spent several hours ashore on a double island which shows on the maps under the name of Hannibal. It was a pleasant break and a couple of turtle's nests were turned up, yielding nearly two hundred eggs. An apple pie, which I had requested from Terry, did not materialize in time for last night's dinner but our breakfast this morning consisted of scrambled turtle eggs and a somewhat soggy apple pie. The entrance to R.I.P. was a twisting, tortuous channel and I could read- ily understand Bill's reluctance to come in by night. There was a fairly well- build pier, constructed by the Army during the war, against which we tied up the Lochiel and disembarked to make the acquaintance of Jetty Joe McLaughlin, our cook, and an old comrade of Bill, Terry, et al. Jetty Joe is Australian but had all the earmarks of a somewhat wizened, small Irishman. He proved his competence as a cook by procuring a large mackerel and serving a good fried fish lunch with- in an hour of our unloading. The two Holland boys, Stan and Tom, arrived to meet us in and then their father, Ginger Dick, showed up and took command. He is a man of perhaps fifty-five to sixty and his knowledge of Cape York goes back to the time of Frank Jardine, one of the earliest explorers of the district. Ginger Dick was in the first war and a speedy raprochement was established. His homestead, at Lockerbie Spring, is only a few score yards away from our camp and he had done a lot in preparation for us. There is no doubt that these people are genuinely glad to have us around, if for no other reason than that we bring news of the outside world and a new outlook. Our baggage was divided into two lots on the pier, one for immediate trans- portation, containing the tents, camp equipment, food and so on, and the other with stuff not urgently needed, is to be brought out tomorrow. We set up camp in a grove of mango trees, giving us good shade and green ants by the million. The camp is formed with Len's tnet and work tent at one end, a long dorridor of canvas flies for work purposes connecting his area with our three tents at the other end of the corridor. The tents were not set up by the time darkness came on us but that is the plan, with Jetty Joe sleeping in his cookhouse. Three baleck boys, arranged for by Jensen, the Protector of Islanders, also were waiting at R.I.P. They, or two of them, are young men and fully alive to what is their due. Their names are Robert Massey (probably named after Massey, the former Prime Minister), and Bob McDonnell. The third, George Moreton, from the district of Moreton telegraph station, is older and has not had so many of the advantages of civilization. He arrived with three many-pronged fishing spears, which will look well on the wall of my Brooklyn Museum. We spent a large part of the evening at Ginger Dick's ranch-house, he doing most of the talking and as usual, the subject turned to snakes - taipans even chase the horses, says Dick, and it is well not to wear boots because then you can tell when you step on a death-adder. Next time I hear that one I shall tell about the rattlers which emerge from the drains along Broadway and the bush- masters which drop from the trees on Park Avenue. That should settle the snake business. And so to bed. Wednesday, 21 April 1948. Joe served a substantial breakfast of curried bully beef but I contented myself with the first course, oatmeal, and toast and coffee. I must make a note to get a percolator but I still have a little Nescafe - enough for a few breakfasts. Camp construction went on and things were in good shape by dusk, even the