The night last night was cool, even under a mosquito netting and although we are at no altitude. I had to pull a blanket over me after a while and George got up about 4 A.M., dressed and went back to his hammock. Some kind person gave Len a pair of sheets of which he is very proud; it has even been suggested that we take sheets up to the Cape when we finally get away but there has been enough havoc created with the budget without going into luxuries such as that. The food which we are having this time seems to meet with more approval but it is simply, I believe, because I have supplied serving dishes instead of dumping each man's share on his plate. Psychology, that's the thing. My stomach itches as the barbed wire gashes heal up but the hole in my thumb is still deep and open. Just for the record, the name of the man who drove us out here, and who says he will be glad to take us back at the same rate when the time comes, is Woodward. Saturday, 3 April 1948. There is not much to set down in the way of histories tonight. Heavy rains last night just about ruined all trapping for George and Van; Len and I went up to the foothills of Bellenden Kerr, separating there, and Len went up to about 1,600 feet while I hit off at a tangent to get into scrub. Collecting, from my point of view, was poor though I managed to rid the world of another scorpion. George established a new trap line, telling me that he had cut a very plain trail from where we enter the scrub over to Junction Creek. Len was late getting in for lunch so I went to meet him, passed him about half a mile from camp, he going in, and went to look at George's line. I was able to follow it for a short distance and then got hopelessly off it. Managed to force my way through thick growths of painful lawyer cane and eventually reached Junction Creek but was then faced with the job of returning. I followed the Creek down for some distance hoping that I would reach the open cane lands but the stream went into a gorge and I had to come up to the level of the high banks and return through the scrub. Herpetology was enriched by three leeches which were trying hard to work their way through my boots, I found on getting back to camp. George and Len are going to try, with guides, to get to the top of B.K. on Monday, spending Monday night on the trail. Van has to take over George's traps and though they invited me, I see no particular point in trying to get to the top, just for the sake of getting there. I shall stay with Van and try to augment my collections, with which I am not pleased. Some cane cutters turned in a blind-snake, the first of the trip, and Len told me he stepped on one during the morning but he and the snake re-treated rapidly in opposite directions and did not meet again. Tomorrow George and I will go out together and he will show me that bread highway he cut through the jungle, which I could not find this afternoon. Sunday, 4 April 1948. George and Len have just finished preparing their packs for their climb of Bellenden Kerr tomorrow and expect to take about two and a half days for the job. Van seems to want to go with them but to me the very sight of a pack is enough to make me shiver. They have not had to carry them for nine years. George and I went out together early this morning to examine that line he cut in the scrub and I could not find. As far as I can judge, I lost it at a