138. Len and George, with two of the blacks, made an early start this morning and prettu nearly reached the top of Finnegen. George got to 3,500 feet and the mountain is 3,700. The absence of water may cause a slight change in plans; apparently there is only one place on the mountain side where there is any water so we may have to make just one subsidiary camp there, instead of two, as originally planned. There is not likely to be much difference in the results, for that reason, as the water that there is, is pretty high up. The impending break-up of the expedition looms high in everybody's mind; last night Hoe told me confidentially and alcoholically that we were fine people and he had learned a lot from us. Today, sobered up a bit, he asked if we could leave him some traps. A lot of stuff is not worth freight- ing back and we can easily fix him up, but it is doubtful if he will ever do any of the things he speaks of. Saturday, 4 September 1948. I don't know that I have anything much to write about today; my heel, injured some time ago by the fall from the truck between Ebagoule and Musgrave, has prevented my going out very much and until I am able to do so, I cannot tell much about the sur- rounding country. That it is not teeming with wild life I can say without any reservation, in spite of the stories told to us. The population of Shipton's Flat, which promising burg is about three quarters of a mile nearer Cooktown than we are, consists of Jack Roberts, a bushman, and his wife; Jack told me today that the whole place teems with brown snakes and death adders, but the best time to get them is midnight. I doubt very much if there are any snakes about at all; it is very cold every night, down to about 53 degrees, and the snakes are either hibernating or have moved somewhere where it is a bit warmer. I have hobbled around the clearing about our camp, the old sawmill, and have garnered a few crawling things but no snakes at all. The plans for Finnegan seem to have boiled down to two camps; one will consist of George and Moreton and will be at the junction of the open forest and the scrub, and the other, comprising everybody else except Mrs. Brass, Joe and myself, will be further up the mountain, at the last water. I have been given a sort of roving commission and shall visit both but probably shall re- turn here for the night though George, Can and I may put in a period from the 9th until the 11th together on the mountain side somewhere. My heel is badly bruised underneath with the result that whenever I take a step, I land plumb on the bruise, so my walking is limited though I am sure a couple more days of taking it easy will fix me up. There is talk also of leaving here rather be- fore the 27th, which ends our collecting, and moving back toward Cooktown, mak- ing interim camps as we go; the fault with that is that it involves more trans- port and animals than we can easily procure, so we are somewhat uncertain at present. With quiet pride, Mrs. Brass announced tonight that she had hit a tree with "that rifle". Inquiry brought forth the fact that she had hit the trunk of a tree about twenty yards away with a charge of Number 6 from a 12 gauge shotgun but we made no comments. Sunday, 5 September 1948. This morning, injured heel and all, I started up the Finnegan trail, thinking I would go as far as I could, collecting as I went, and then return. However at the first turn-off, it looked more interesting that way and I took it. Soon after taking the right fork I came to the stream which supplies us with our water, Parrot Creek, and decided to follow it back to camp. In doing so, I renewed the foot trouble but it was well worth it.