tion re solid country is attributable to Logan Jack, geologist, who travelled the length of the Peninsula in the late eighties. He noted no plutonic rocks between there and the small area north of the Jardine on the tip of the Peninsula. Tied up at Portland Roads pier about 8.30 am. A gathering of eight or ten miners and prospectors there to meet the boat. Rather, they happened to be there. The John Burke steamer "Wandana" called in yesterday. She carried the first replenishment of stores to reach here in 1948, and most of the few men of the district came down from their mines and prospecting shows to meet her, and get gight. It looked like the continuation of an all night session. But only one man could be called drunk. This was little old Ted Densley. Some years ago--about 20--he opened up a rich gold reefing show at Wenlock, then known as the Batavia River diggings. In short time he took out gold to the reputed value of £50,000. Visited Sydney at the height of his success. Bought the taxi of a driver he got to like. Retained the driver to tote him around the town, and later brought him up to the Batavia, on a contract to do the carrying for the mine. The taxi driver soon owned the mine. He and his sons are the head men of the Wenlock of today. Hugie Fisher, youngest son, was in the group at the wharf. A sober, presentable fellow, using a Leica as if he knew how. Discussed with him arrangements for transporting us from Iron Range to Coen. Old Ted Densley is on gold at Packer's Creek, 3 miles out of Port- land Roads. Goes barefooted (nothing unusual in this country) and lives with a gin. We are camped in a 70 x 20 army hut, part of the wartime radar station, now owned by Doug Fisher (no relation of the Wenlock Fishers), who is said to have bought all the buildings of the camp at £15 a piece. There are holes in the roof of corrugated black iron, but there is a stove for the cook, ample room for all our occasions, and we have the use of Fisher's bathhouse and latrine. Very comfortable. Doug Fisher and his wife most hospitable, and full of gossip. Not all nice, harmless gossip. Our blackboys nervous about this place. The two mammal boys have asked for guns with which to protect themselves when running traps. Some bush blacks around. Some who refuse to be herded onto the Lockhart River Mission, some 30 miles to the south. Some outlaws who have cleared out from the mission, or drifted in from other parts. A police patrol said to be in the neighborhood, on the hunt for stray blacks. There is a woman in the blackfellow story, as it concerns us. A gin named Ada, who is presently working for, or being sheltered by, the Fishers. Ada was the woman of a long, skinny Swede, who was one of the party on the wharf. Recently she ran off with a free bush boy, Norman, who is lurking somewhere near. The Swede is supposed to have sent word to the police about Norman's presence. Ada is shielding her beau, and trying to scare our boys into staying close to camp, and thus not seeing anything of any bush blackfellow. Our party is now increased to 6 whites. Donald L. Vernon, pre- parator of the Queensland Museum, arrived yesterday on the Wandana,