Thursday, 1 July 1948. The big news of this day was the bringing up of mail by Ned Pinwell of the Main Roads. I received among other items a letter mailed in New York on June 21st which strikes me little short of marvellous and is a great credit to the various air mail services involved. Only half a mile away is what may be called completely unexplored country, and yet it is only nine days from New York. The Wenlock truck, on which I expect to go down to Portland Roads, has not yet arrived and Ned says that Wandana will not be in until Sunday. That keeps me more or less tied to camp, waiting for the truck. Mail from B-P did not include packing slips covering the Wandana shipment so I have to go pre- pared to open many cases in order to get the items I need, of which there are quite a number. It seems that I shall not be able to get my three days on the mountain until next week and most likely shall spend my birthday up there. There is a lot of correspondence to be attended to so I shall have to make this entry short and close up now. Friday, 2 July 1948. Fortunately there was no truck today since I decided I had been waiting around enough and started up the mountain this morning. Van and Don had gone but I thought I might as well find out what it was like before my turn came. V and D had packs averaging about fifty pounds each and I am very sure they felt considerably more before they had gone very long. I carried a ninety pound pack from Doulleins to Arres, plus an extra fifty rounds of ammunition and went into action that night. I know about packs, having carried them for nine years. Doulleins to Arres is thirty-five kilos. George made a very good job of trail-clearing and the climb itself is not difficult but very tiring; I turned back at the 1,100 foot mark, having other things to do, whether or not the truck arrive, and I was pretty fagged when I reached that point. It starts easily and comfortably but one gets into thick forest quite quickly; rocks have to be scrambled over and vines cling to one's feet and ankles, making the down trip almost as bad as the upward one since if you trip going down you fall a lot further than if you trip going up. From the 1,100 foot mark, at which there is a jutting pinnacle of rock, there is a marvellous view. The whole of Lloyd's Bay is visible, down to the mouth of the Lockhart River and up to the old beacon at Portland Roads. Clouds and gusts of rain obscured things somewhat but when the cloud broke, things were just that much more lovely. I waited up there for the space of two cigarettes and then started the downward journey, through brush so high that in some places I was passing through a channel of greenery. Everybody had had lunch by the time I reached camp, wringing wet, and I took the afternoon fairly easily. It is unfortunate that Van and Don have such bad weather for their first solo camp, away from us older (and wiser) lads, but now it is raining quite hard. I went jack-lighting and the rain-drops, both on my light and on the forest and the trail, made it impossible to tell what was what. I returned and Joe came in to the tent for a chat and to borrow a book. The expression on his face when he picked up "Reptiles of the Pacific World", thinking it was a who-dun-it, was rare. All his cheek muscles wriggled at once. Tomorrow the truck really may arrive. I have a lot of things to do and a lot of stuff to bring up. B-P, with their usual efficiency, have failed to send any packing slips so I may have to open every case in order to find the things I want. In fact, they have not even told me that out stuff is on the Wandana but I must go and find out. There is a wonderful opportunity for some enter- prising journalist to say "Archbold party starving in jungle".