Wednesday, 25 August 1943. It was not daybreak when Len and I rose this morning to have breakfast and get away on our long walk. Neither was it fourteen miles, for that matter. We started from camp about 6.15: the sun was not through and we could discern only rather vaguely at first the trail which we had to follow, but within a short time it was full daylight and the stumps of the trees cut down to make the road on our inward passage became clear. We had travelled about ten miles when we met Herb Thompson's truck coming in; the reason for the delay was that Herb's son-in-law, who had been imported to work in the hotel during Race Week, had to be taken out to Fort Stewart and had picked the day we were to be called for as the one on which he would like to move out. Blood is thicker than water so the expedition was held up while the son-in-law was taken out. Rather than return over the road we had already travelled, Len and I sent the truck on its way to Peach Camp and we continued our journey outward. It was 12.15 when we reached the telegraph line, a distance which later showed on the truck speedometer as sixteen miles, and from there we went on to the airport, another three miles, making a total for the day of nineteen miles. We saw the plane come in and by that time our truck also reached the airport as there was a passenger to be carried in to Coen. As a matter of fact there were three white and two black passengers so when we pulled out, after a good tea supplied by the airport keeper's wife, young Mrs. Armbrust, our truck had our complete Peach Camp equipment, our party of nine, five air passengers and the truck driver, and all too exhausted to get a photo of the turn-out. George went in to Coen and came back with three weeks' mail and I was working until midnight, getting the urgent things attended to, before I could even take time to read my personal mail. Thus ended our Rocky Scrub visit. It was to be one of the main objectives of the trip and the mammal and plant departments did well in their collecting. My collecting was a pain in the head and my return a worse pain in the feet. Thursday, 26 August 1943. This has been another hectic day as our Coen commitments had to be settled, surplus stores disposed of, packing to be done and sundry other things. Leo Ferris, the airport keeper at Iron Range, had sent in a snake he had killed; it is the genuine talpan, as far as I am able to determine, and I am delighted to have it though it has been considerably mashed up, first by Leo and secondly in transport. It had to be skinned however and that, on top of my other duties, seemed just too much but it has been done. Then there are the boys - no sooner do I get settled to a job than they come up and want some money and tobacco to go to Coen and have a corroboree. It is all done now though and all I have to do is get my collecting and personal gear packed for the journey south to Laure. I get a phone call through to Cooktown and have arranged for hotel accommodations and our being met by a truck to get out stuff into warehouse for examination and refitting; I have arranged for our food and supplies; I have settled most of our Coen bills; I have disposed of surplus stocks here and procured what is necessary for our journey. Now I am going to do my packing and then give myself the pleasure of reading again my personal mail of yesterday, after writing a few letters to local people and writing to assure Leo that to the best of my knowledge, he really did get a talpan this time. It sounds a fairly modest programme but will take time.