Thursday, 18 March 1948. Len and I out this morning, first up to the in- take and then down the branch river as far as we could go. Separated at a good collecting spot and after about a half hour's work I managed to break my way down the stream to the spot where Harold Lane and I crossed last Sunday. Len came along a little later, as I waited and rested there for a while, having had a bad spill and broken a bottle which he had been carrying in his pocket. We had a number of visitors during the evening; Art Taylor and his wife arrived in, bringing with them a very nice cake, baked entirely in our honor. They had been with Gil Bates up to Devil Devil and had seen George there. Harold Lane also came, having sent his linesman up during the afternoon with a loaf of bread and a pineapple for our tomorrow's meals. Both Arthur and Harold have made reservations for us on the bus that runs to Cairns, and since the Mossman agent is the lad with whom I bowled last Saturday, we should have no difficulty in getting both ourselves and our gear on the bus. According to the Cairns paper, which I have not yet read, the strike has broken out with redoubled fury and the strikers in Townsville have re- fused to load the Time. Everything seems to happen to that ship and she is known as a hoodoo all along the coast; just why, nobody knows, except that she is a sort of whipping boy and if anybody wishes to vent spite against anything, they show it by giving a severe kick in the stern to Time. It is now 10.45 P.M. and our guests have left; Len and Van have gone out jack-lighting, since Art brought up another gun, and I am sitting here holding the fort with some difficulty. This time tomorrow we shall be back in Hides Cairns Hotel, if that means anything. Friday, 19 March 1948. I failed to mention the most important thing about yesterday; Art Taylor brought up a pound and a half of tobacco, which they had purchased by some devious means known only to them- selfs. We were in desperate straits, Len having about ten cigarettes and I four and neither of us with anything in our pouches. Last night Len and Van got a large wallaby, redeeming to some extent the mammal collecting average for our first camp, hereafter known as Mossman River Gorge. This morning things were somewhat rushed as Art Lane was to call for us at 1.30 and Van had to get his traps in and his wallaby skinned before time. Len was limping somewhat from his tumble of yesterday and did not go out of camp at all; I went up to my favorite spot, the water in-take, and gathered in one or two odds and ends. Harold arrived on time and drove us to Mossman where, somewhat to our surprise George joined us for a few minutes while we were waiting for the Cairns bus. We had not expected to meet him until we all arrived at Cairns. In celebration of the return of the hunters, I experimented with the nearest thing I could find to a Manhattan, brandy and Italian vermouth. It arrived nesting at the bottom of a huge goblet, evidently the local idea of a cocktail glass, and did not resemble a Manhattan to any noticeable degree. It was [illegible] revivifying, however,. Our dinner was a large and slow one, slow on account of its size, and it tasted very good. Strike news is still bad and the men in Townsville have refused to unload S.S. Time. Of course she cannot leave Townsville for Cairns until she has discharged and we are as uncertain as ever.