Sat. July 31 (Cont'd) Most of my collecting has been done in the bed of the river and on the flood terraces which border the river on either side. The savanna forests out from the river are very dry and growth and reproductive activities are practically at a stand- still. The river, where we are camped, at the crossing of the road and the telegraph line, is about ¼ mile wide and full of great, rounded granite rocks polished by the combined action of floods and windblown sand. We are at a granite bar where the river at through the Gieckie Range. The bar is about ½ mile wide. Have not been far above it, but downstream below the bar the river has a sandy bed and gives off num- erous side channels or anabranches deeply cut into dark grey alluvium. Throughout its length heresabouts the river has numerous long, narrow islands of sand and silt in its channel. A teatree with marrow grey leaves, and stout trunk pushed into leaning and reclining positions by force of flood waters, is the characteristic tree of the islands. Rainforest trees and shrubs also occur (Syzygium, Sarcopcephalus, Cryptocarya, Faradaya, Diospyros, Mallotus, etc.); in places forming a thin forest, open underneath and somewhat trampled by cattle. Have seen scrub turkeys in these narrow strips of forest, but no nesting mounds. Probably the best plant from the camp is Crataeva 19729 - which will be the first record of the genus from Australia. Today the mailman who travels with packhorses from Coen to Moreton and back again once a fortnight, unsaddled for lunch about 300 yards from camp and did not call to say goodday. Horsebells are clanking on the opposite bank of the river tonight. A Merluna driving plant, returning from delivering bullocksdown near Laura, is on the way home. Sunday Aug. 1: George had a waterrat to skin, we all had to pack, the driver was slow in arrang- ing his load, and it was 10 o'clock before we left the Archer for Coen. Crossing the river took quarter of an hour. We were 2½ miles on the road when I found I had lost my Leica. Had been making color shots with the Contax, and left the Leica on the bank of the river where I changed color films. Don volunteered to go back to the river on a bike; the chain broke and he had to wheel the bike back. That lost us an hour. At Deep Creek, some 20 odd miles out of Coen, we were making the down grade for the hidden crossing when a shirtless and hatless man came up out of the creek waving his arms wildly to stop us. It was Wee Hector Macdonald, battling out from Coen with a load of mine pump machinery on a 1932 Chev, and stuck in deep sand in the bed of the"greek. Pushing his truck out, and carrying the gear he had dumped, took another half hour or so. The sun was almost down before we took a sharp turn from the 2-wheelrut road and drove up the bank of the Coen River to "The Bend", about 2 miles above thegtownship. Oldtimer Herb Thompson, hotelkeeper, etc., at Coen, had given us permission to amp in a hut at The Bend. We found the doors locked and the galvanized iron shutters nailed tight. Off loaded, bathed in the river, and after supper drove into town to get the keys, and meet people. Few people about. Several men from cattle stations who had horses in training for the races. A bookmaker, early on the field to get the lowdown for his business. An eccentric old Canadian from Manitoba - lumberjack turned miner. Cecil Wilson, business manager and transport man for Thompson, who lost no time in calling us to the bar for one on the house. A policeman who strolled along to find out who had arrived in town, but kept at a discreet distance from the open door of the bar. Mrs. Thompson, a tall dignified old lady, walking with a stick. And old Herb himself. A big, rugged man, pipe in mouth, wearing a wide hat, and barefooted.