Friday Five Newsletter 2018.10.26
Westprint Friday Five – Friday October 26th 2018
Collect moments, not things.
Click here to view Westprint Newsletter Archives from 24th April 2015 to 24th December 2015
Click here to view Westprint Newsletter Archives from 1st January 2016 to 23rd December 2016
Click here to view Westprint Newsletter Archives from 1st January 2017 to 29th December 2017
Click here to view Newsletter Archives from 5th January 2018 to current
FREE postage on ALL folded paper maps. Laminated maps rolled in mailing tubes still have postage added as below.
FREE postage on ALL orders over $100.
Otherwise there is a flat rate postage rate of $9.50 on all books, DVDs and talking books, regardless of the number of items ordered.
To order any of the books listed blow, click on the title to open a web browser, then use the Add to Cart button and proceed to the checkout. (or continue shopping for any additional titles you want.)
Visitors are welcome to call in at 6 Park St, Nhill, Monday to Friday. Please phone/email beforehand as we are not always open. Phone. 0353911466.
Friday Five Books
- Lion: A Long Way Home. $23.00. A true story of survival and triumph against incredible odds. When Saroo Brierley used Google Earth to find his long-lost home town half a world away, he made global headlines. Saroo had become lost on a train in India at the age of five. Not knowing the name of his family or where he was from, he survived for weeks on the streets of Kolkata, before being taken into an orphanage and adopted by a couple in Australia. Despite being happy in his new family, Saroo always wondered about his origins. He spent hours staring at the map of India on his bedroom wall. When he was a young man the advent of Google Earth led him to pore over satellite images of the country for landmarks he recognised. And one day, after years of searching, he miraculously found what he was looking for. Then he set off on a journey to find his mother. Lion: A Long Way Home is a moving and inspirational true story that celebrates the importance of never letting go of what drives the human spirit – hope.
- Back O' Cairns. $24.95. Ion Idriess, Australia′s favourite adventure writer, went to North Queensland prospecting at a time when the fabulous country Back o' Cairns was being opened up. It was a time when the great jungle scrubs were falling to the settler′s axe, new towns were springing up as mineral wealth was discovered and the new railway pushed inland. It was a time when the talk around the campfires was full of the exciting exploits of the great pathfinders - men like Mulligan, Doyle, Atherton and Palmerston - and of the search for a route from the coast to the hinterland. All the colour, excitement and hard, courageous struggle of the era have been captured by Ion Idriess in these pages. Idriess found more than gold; he found the true beauty and fascination of the North, and makes it come alive in his stories of the unforgettable men and women who were its pioneers. 238pp. First published in 1958, this edition 1994
- What is Aboriginal Art? $15.00. Margo Brinberg A succinct guide to Aboriginal art that outlines the history and cultural significance of Indigenous rock painting, bark painting, carvings and sculpture and the 'modern' dot paintings that emerged during the Papunya period. The author decodes some of the symbols commonly found in Aboriginal dot paintings and gives us a window into one of the oldest traditions in art. First published 2011. Reprinted 2013
- A Doctors Dream. $33.00. Dr. Buddhi Lokuge. First published: 2014, Format: Paperback 248 pages. A story of hope from the Top End. When Dr Buddhi moved to Arnhem Land to run a health program for Aboriginal children, he had no idea he would face the challenge of his life. Six months into running the 5-million-dollar program he realised it was going to fail, and that's when the trouble began. In the face of powerful opposition from high profile experts, he listened to the elders and took the slow road. Through painstaking observation and working in partnership with patients and the community, together they found a way to overcome a neglected disease as debilitating and stigmatised as leprosy. This is a powerful story of redemption, and an honest and inspiring account of a family living and working in remote Aboriginal Australia to give voice to forgotten people.
- ABC Dreaming. $19.95. Free Postage Paperback / softback - 32 Pages. Dingoes, bats, red-eyed green tree frogs ... an ABC of amazing Australian creatures. At last ... a unique Australian ABC book. Featuring the artwork of celebrated Queensland artist Warren Brim, ABC Dreaming introduces young children to their alphabet and the beauty of Indigenous art in a bright and fun way. With well-thought design and an array of amazing creatures that can be found in the rainforest, both parents and teachers will love this book when introducing young children to the letters of the alphabet. ABC Dreaming has been produced in consultation with Early Childhood specialists.
A while ago Jo was asking about silo art on the Westprint Facebook page. Below is a link to the pictured map. The link is an interactive map of many of the sites. Carl.
Anne Beadell Highway, SA, WA.
My wife and I completed the Anne Beadell last Sept; what an adventure we had. We agree with the previous comments especially about scratching. We took 8 days, towing a camper trailer and enjoyed every bit of it. Do it if you can, don't know about taking a "van" though. We submitted a report to Westprint Friday Five last year after we returned. Ron
Check out the Westprint Archives on our website 1.12.17
Misadventure in the Bush – Victoria.
Adrian has kindly given me permission to include his story in the Friday Five. This story shows that even the most experienced of bush folk can easily come unstuck. We all need a good back up plan and to be prepared. Also, Adrian writes a very good story. Jo.
The day starts off as planned with Geoff collecting me from home just prior to 9.00 am. There was wintry weather with heavy snow on the mountains the day before, but this looks more promising, and due to our many commitments, there is no opportunity to change the date.
We had been to our proposed destination last year - to review the site of what appears to be 150-year-old Chinese Buddhist prayer stones. Geoff had the co-ordinates for the site, north of Wangaratta in the rugged ranges on the upper Middle Creek, tributary of the Fifteen Mile Creek. I dutifully open and close the three gates leading us through the last of the farm properties at the head of the valley before the ascent into the ranges. Black cattle topped with white dew look like miniature snow-capped mountains in the last paddock. A tinge of green from recent rains adds to the pastoral scene.
That was the last of civilization. Up into the forests and valleys of this remote area, we stopped on a bush dirt road where the coordinates triggered in. Though a grey overcast morning, there seemed no threat of rain, and the idea of getting my parka shredded by the dense thickets covering the hillside on the ascent, was not appealing. We had been up that slope last year, and my polo shirt, my favourite of course, had been almost shredded in the climb. For that reason, I was wearing 'sensible' shorts, and three upper layers of old clothes, the top being a polar fleece to keep me warm in the distinctly chilly conditions. It didn't give the impression of wanting to rain at the time, so leaving waterproofs in the car did not seem cavalier. Really, we were only intending to be away from Geoff's four-wheel drive for an hour and a half at most. Forty minutes up, another forty down, and some time to look around while up there. For the same reason, we left our lunches in the vehicle, and having been up that slope without maps and compass on last year's expedition, they too were left in the car. My back pack seemed superfluous. It stayed in the car too.
I wedged a banana into my pocket, and we set off. All went well. Our coordinates had taken us to the exact spot. The thickets were wet from the previous day's rain, but that didn't faze us. Fog met us near the top but didn't stop us from finding the sacred stones. Surprisingly, we found more than we had seen last year. Seven in total. They are built like columns, stone on stone, with the next on top of the one below. The base stones, the largest, would take several men to lift. Their age is attested by the encrustations of moss and lichens.
The mist-shrouded eerie landscape of trees, rocks, and enclosing thickets; the isolation; the sense of eternal reverence; the stillness - all gave the scene an air of mystery, the secrets of this long-lost abandoned site, remaining hidden from the world, yet revealed to us physically. What were these people doing in the area? Who were the builders of the cairns? Were they looking for elusive gold? Or, had they found it? Where had they all gone? Where had they lived? How had they survived in this harsh and isolated terrain?
We know that gold-diggers scoured Victoria in the 1850s. Among them were Chinese. The remotest parts of Victoria were prospected by amateur fossickers hoping to make a fortune. Perhaps Chinese diggers had had some success in the area. If they had built these stone columns, surely, they did so with the intention of staying around. Now the whole area of mountain and forest is deserted, and the stones are testament to an era of ephemeral human activity, temporal and religious, long gone.
Geoff is clearly intrigued by these mystery stones. Who wouldn't be? I was pleased to be invited into this inner sanctum, shared by friends.
But now it was time to retreat down to the vehicle and do some more reconnoitring in the general area. We had a commitment to fulfil, bringing members of the Warby Range Bushwalkers here in a fortnight.
I have a feeling a short time after the commencement of the descent, that something was not quite right. The surrounds lack familiarity. We have emerged from the fog. Were we heading the right direction? I say nothing to Geoff. He was the expert in the layout of the land.
Soon, we are scrambling down a mountainside. The thickets are not as impenetrable here. That is a bonus I thought. We are enjoying the descent, finding our way around precipitous rock structures, and making good progress down steep grassy wooded slopes. The descent leads us into a deep forested valley clad with majestic trees.
"What valley is this?" Geoff looked puzzled. Have we come down the wrong side of the mountain? Was it the fog that caused us to be disoriented? There is a strong flowing creek at the bottom. "It has to be either Ryan’s or Middle Creek," Geoff says. "Probably Middle," answering his own query. "If we walk upstream, we'll come to a bridge with a road over it".
That is easier said than done. It is now raining lightly. It's cold - snowing at higher altitudes we learn - but we are at a comfortable temperature, though our clothes are being swished by wet foliage, dampening them as we go. There are times when we make good progress beside the stream. At other times, thickets bar the way, and walking upstream in the frigid waters makes more sense. Mostly is it only ankle deep, and the new boots I bought in Adelaide last week are shaping up well. Thank God I have them.
At times, we spot Creekside areas where better progress can be made, especially where animal tracks can be followed. Sword grasses and blackberries slash my legs, but I hardly notice. We must get out of here as fast as we can. Then we are thrown back into the creek due to the density of vegetation. We both break off sticks and use them as poles to steady us in the water and around the rocks. Rocks smoothed by eons of flowing water. Dangerous for waders such as us. We can't afford to injure ourselves. Nobody now knows where we are. We are not sure ourselves. Care not to injure ourselves becomes more imperative than speed now. Progress is slow.
We say little. Geoff is focussed. Concerned at our progress, but sure we will reach our destination. Safety is essential.
Essential but not guaranteed. We need to traverse around waterfalls. Waterfalls bring us back onto the banks with more slashing through undergrowth. Geoff, always in the lead, but with long trousers, takes the brunt of the prickly scrub. My exposed legs, better in the water, are open slather to thorns, cuts, and abrasions. I scarcely feel them. We are becoming so cold, we hardly feel anything.
Geoff spots a deer escaping our presence. My senses are such that I don't see it. But there are dozens of deer footprints in soft soil beside the creek. We see no other animals. Birds, if they are there, are silent. Perhaps they are as cold as we are.
Log jams from former floods impede the way. Many ancient fallen tree trunks, sometimes a metre thick; sometimes tangled. Where possible I crawl under them. My strength is waning. At other times, I climb over. Geoff gives me a helping hand when needed. If I slip - and the logs are exceedingly slippery - we are both in trouble. If either of us is badly hurt, one or both of us will perish in this wilderness. We have to be very careful.
Waterfalls, usually a cause of ecstasy, are now looked upon as an impediment. Occasionally we clamber up the smaller ones, which tumble over rock ledges. They are even more dangerous than the logs. The rocks are as slippery as ice. The water as cold. I can barely hold a grip. A wayward dead branch could help. But no. My strength is going fast. Can I climb up without falling and breaking a leg, or worse, smashing my skull? We are both very worried.
Onwards the walls of the valley close in, forming chasms. Rock pools, deep at times, threaten. I don't want to be wading up to my waist if I can avoid it. Sometimes the water it is up to my crutch. That doesn't matter. We are wet through anyway.
The beauty around us, so appealing in different conditions, is now an enemy. We enter a glade of giant tree ferns. We cannot help but admire their grandeur. "Magnificent aren't they," says Geoff. I have to agree. Tree ferns perhaps five metres high with trunks as thick as my body, and fronds far above acting like huge green umbrellas. And all around, mist and gentle rain, moistening ever more the damp forested steep valley sides, with huge trees reaching for the leaden sky.
As we soldier on through this watery paradise, it's only mid-afternoon but darkness is already falling. I have fears we are not going to get through this before the gloom of nightfall. For the first time, I wonder whether we will perish in this remoteness. We are alone in this remote valley. Geoff's satellite phone remains in the car. We have no food. I ate that banana up where the stone columns stand. We lap water from the creek between hesitant steps. We are totally unprepared for this unexpected ordeal.
As darkness is falling, we come across a high waterfall. Even in our dire situation, I admire its beauty. But I know it's another obstacle. We must clamber up the almost cliff-like terrain on either side. Blackberries smother the lower surface. It's hard to get a foothold. My feet are numb, so I feel nothing. Geoff breaks a mangling path, making it 'easier'- if that's the word - for me. Nothing is easy. I am aware I am losing my strength with almost every step.
I look down, a boot is missing. I haven't felt its dislodgement in the scramble up that slope. I've walked five minutes before noticing. "I'll go back and look for it," Geoff says. We are now dependant on his mobile phone light to see. "Don't worry, it's useless in this darkness. The boot could be in the blackberries." He goes back twenty metres and takes my advice, returning. I'll have to continue without the boot. It's a setback, but given the numbness in my foot, I can't feel what I'm walking over anyway.
"Your phone battery is going to go flat. Shouldn't we find a spot to bed down," I croakily say to Geoff. My voice seems to be fading too. Is this another part of my body shutting down? Geoff is not one to give up easily. Neither of us is panicking. But Geoff is highly focussed. The road is somewhere ahead. He says nothing. He continues onward in the darkness. I follow. There is no choice. Perhaps we will reach the road tonight.
The mobile phone light fails. The battery is dead. I feel almost dead too. I make a silent prayer to the Almighty to help. The response comes in an unexpected form. I start shaking uncontrollably with cold. Is this another way the body tries to compensate? Geoff rubs me vigorously on chest and back. After a few minutes the shaking stops - his treatment works. We sit on a giant log contemplating our next move. "This log will provide some shelter. I think we'll have to bed down here." I agree. I can hardly say I'm finished. I can't go further anyway.
Geoff lays against the log on the leeward side of the breeze. "You lay on top of me. It will keep us both warmer." The ground is cold and damp, but there is no alternative. Everything is damp. The shrubbery is damp. We are wet through. My beanie sits like a heavy mop on my head, but I am determined to keep it there, though the shrubbery has tried many times to prevent it from staying. The temperature isn't much above freezing. Can we survive the night? Above, we can see the stars are out. The clouds have parted. Maybe, if we get through the night, tomorrow will be sunny.
Silence. We don't talk. We are too cold for that. And too worried. And too exhausted. Every time I start shivering, Geoff rubs me to prevent me from succumbing to the cold. Each time, my shivering stops, but this action has to be repeated throughout the night. I drop into a shivering state with disconcerting regularity. My sodden woollen beanie keeps my head warm and I'm grateful for that.
Hour after hour we lay there, Geoff retaining his bear hug of me. The night seems endless. Occasionally, wind gusts sway the tops of the hundred-foot trees above us. I seem not to care if a branch tumbles down on me. A wallaby skipping almost silently through the bush jumps onto my tummy. Geoff feels it too. We both chuckle. It lightens our sombreness, if briefly.
Will the night ever finish? It seems endless. If I have had ten minutes sleep all night I shall be surprised. I wait and wait in anticipation of dawn. What direction will it come? If it is to our left, that will be a comfort. I have lost all directional focus. But if the light dawns on our left - the east - that means we are heading in the right direction.
I can see the gradual lightening of the eastern sky. I can now see my watch too. At 6.20am I say to Geoff, "Is it time to continue?" "No. Let's wait another ten minutes". I agree. To stumble in the dark and injure ourselves having survived the night, would be foolish.
We rise ten minutes later. We can see enough to proceed. I can't wait to go. But my strength has almost gone. The night of rest has not restored my body. I don't feel the slightest bit hungry, but my body is saying, "You need food." Geoff has a water bottle. I don't have that luxury. But he shares whatever water we have. We left the creek after we climbed around the waterfall last night and are now perhaps a hundred metres from it. It's a long way in this steep country and dense thickets. Geoff tries to head back to the creek at times to replenish the bottle.
I can hardly walk. Yesterday we scrambled over logs a metre high. This morning, I can hardly step over logs a third that height. I have to bend down and place one leg over at a time. I am going to be a big handicap. Geoff looks at me with a worried stare. I know what he is thinking, but neither of us say anything. We must continue.
The thickets are so dense, I can only see Geoff for two or three metres. Sometimes I can tell where he is by the movement in the bushes. Occasionally I make a weak cry, "Where are you?" We also pass a huge hollow tree with a cavity which would easily have housed us overnight. "That's where we should have been," declares Geoff. But how were we to know, and could we have found that natural shelter in the darkness?
Three shots ring out. Deer shooters. It's hard to think how far away they are.
A fixed wing aircraft circles overhead. Is it my friend, Paul? Is it a police plane? Nobody would see us from the air. We are invisible from land and air. The shrubbery is too dense. The canopy of thirty-metre high trees obscures us from above. Only we can save ourselves.
I spot a dirt track in the distance, through the trees and across the valley. Geoff thinks I am hallucinating, but I'm not. He can't see it. In any case I wouldn't have the energy to investigate.
The pale sun is now filtering down among the trees. It rarely reaches the forest floor. But we come to the base of a huge tree where the sun has penetrated. "I'll go and get more water, Adrian. You wait here." I relish the idea of sitting in the meagre warmth. Till then, I have been reluctant to stop in case my body says to me, you can't go further. I don't want that. But this warm spot is different. In a minute I am asleep.
I must have been dead to the world for five minutes when Geoff returns with more water. He's uses the huge tree where I sit to guide him back. Geoff has a keen sense of direction, as well as prodigious strength. He shows no signs of weakening. I have no idea he suffers diabetes. I am supposed to be the healthy one. I take no pills; have no ailments. But I am the handicap. In the journey, we have had no real conversation. We have been too focussed on survival and our destination for that.
"I reckon we're only five hundred metres from the road," declares my leader. As far as I'm concerned, it could be five hundred kilometres. We can't see five metres. We struggle on. It's now 10.30 in the morning. I have been bootless on one foot for four hours today already, not counting three hours last night. If we can get to the road, we are saved, dirt track as it is.
Another half an hour of struggling through the thickets. Geoff turns back. I see him smiling for the first time. "The road!" he says with a beam. Madhouse Road. How appropriate is that?! I take a few more excited but slow steps forward. Yes, there it is! Only a few metres away.
‘It will be eight kilometres to the car’, Geoff confidently exclaims. We learn later it is eighteen, not eight. "You walk on ahead, Geoff. You can walk much faster than me. I'll just follow." I am now confident we will survive.
Within less than ten minutes, we see a vehicle coming towards us. Deer shooters. Two vehicles. They gather us in. We are both in the one vehicle with three young men. They are from Shepparton, so they know my brother, Darryl. That helps with rapport. We are whisked back along the dirt roads.
A police helicopter is overhead, but we don't see it yet. The deer shooters try to phone police several times. No response. We pass one group of people and television media. Further along is our car. We want to get to that. There, we see police, emergency personnel, friends, Geoff's family, folks from the district.
There is relief all around when we alight from the deer shooters vehicle. Bev brings me my lunchbox containing yesterday's forgotten snack. Amazingly I am still not hungry. Adrenalin has diminished my appetite but kept my mind going. Even my body suddenly gains some energy. I am hugged and kissed by Geoff's family - three of his adult children are there. I fossick for my dry clothes in a bag on the back seat of Geoff's vehicle. Bev takes down a tail board. I change out of my sodden clothes into dry ones. I leave my dry socks for the return journey. No need to have them wet on the muddy ground. I'll walk in bare feet. I then emerge in public.
Among the bevy of police, I am approached by one who asks if I need an ambulance. He has a very kind nature. I say, "No, I don't think it's necessary". I feel badly that we have caused such concern and been such an impost on the authorities.
Geoff is being interviewed for television. As a former mayor, it will make good news. He'll do it well. He's always good for a story off the cuff. We both go over to shake hands with the deer shooters. That move is being panned for the TV audiences. I am conscious I have no footwear on. The viewers will wonder about my sanity.
There is animated conversation, and brief responses. Everyone wants to know everything all at once.
I have no recollection of time, but eventually we set off in Geoff's vehicle, Mark at the wheel. There is conversation all the way. How different to the previous hours of silently slogging through the bush and suffering the frigid rigours of the night!
Back in Wangaratta, I am greeted by Helen. It was her mother's 96th birthday today, but the cooked lunch had to be abandoned. The police had been alerted to our travails at p.m. last night. In the early hours, Helen admits to planning my funeral arrangements. She isn't the panicky type. Always measured and considered. Helen thought it inadvisable to attend to my cuts and abrasions and takes me to Emergency at the Hospital. I was 'fast-tracked' and spent much of the next six hours on the drip. I was severely dehydrated, and of course that right bootless foot badly swollen. The hundreds of scratches on my legs were the least of my worries. I am told my kidneys were down to half function, and liver in a bad way too. There's plenty of attention. A nurse rushes in declaring she had seen me on television news. "Famous," she said
I go home at 10.00pm with the proviso I return to hospital next morning if the foot swelling is a problem. It is and this time I’m admitted and put back on a drip again. I am discharged before lunch on Monday.
What a dramatic, and somewhat traumatic weekend!
Now to rest up by the fire (and in bed). Such was my day's outing, turned two days, with Geoff, May 2018. I am grateful for Geoff's extraordinary leadership and help. I owe him my life. Adrian
These books are not available on our website. To order any of these second-hand books send an email to email@example.com If more than one person requests any book a ballot will be held on Monday. This week we have a selection of books by Frank Clune. Most are hardcover in fair to poor condition. A few have dustjackets (DJ’s are in shabby condition). Please add $9.50 for postage, regardless of the number of books ordered.
Titles by Frank Clune are:
Try Anything Once. Paperback. $8.00, Hardcover 1939 edition $16.00
Ben Hall and His Gang. Paperback. $8.00
Dig. Paperback. $8.00
Free and Easy Land. 1952. Hardcover with DJ. $18.00
Land of Australia. 1953. Roaming in a Holden. Hardcover with DJ. $30.00.
Prowling Through Papua. Hardcover 1943. $8.00.
Hands Across the Pacific. Hardcover. 1951. $12.00.
All Roads Lead to Rome. Hardcover. 1951. $12.00.
The Red Heart. Paperback. 1944. $10.00.
I posted an article about this weird little guy asking the strangest place people had seen them.
Everyone, myself included, replied ‘on the top of Uluru’!
Deep within a forest a little turtle began to climb a tree. After hours of effort he reached the top, jumped into the air waving his front legs and crashed to the ground. After recovering, he slowly climbed the tree again, jumped, and fell to the ground. The turtle tried again and again while a couple of birds sitting on a branch watched his sad efforts. Finally, the female bird turned to her mate. "Dear," she chirped, "I think it's time to tell him he's adopted."
I think I've found inner peace. My therapist told me a way to achieve inner peace was to finish things I had started. Today I finished 2 bags of potato chips, a lemon pie, a fifth of Scotch and a small box of chocolate candy. I feel better already.
I went to buy some camouflage trousers the other day, but I couldn't find any.
It is unlikely there'll be a reduction in the wages of sin.
"There are two rules for success in life:
- Don't tell people everything you know."
"Why is there so much month left at the end of the money?"
A young Scot went away to University and lived in the University's student quarters. A couple of weeks later his parents rang to see how things were going. He said that things were going well, except he was worried about his neighbours in the living quarters. On one side, the fellow kept bashing his head against the wall. On the other, the chap kept screaming. "How do you cope with that?" his parents asked. "Oh, it's OK, I just stay in my room practicing the bagpipes."
Some women hold up dresses that are so ugly and they always say the same thing, "This looks much better on." On what? On fire?
The Fine Print
About the Friday Five
This weekly newsletter is designed to be informative and entertaining. Wherever possible we try to acknowledge the source of all information contained in this newsletter. We also try to check for accuracy but being a weekly newsletter this is not always possible. We offer no guarantees for accuracy but we do our best.
Using information from this newsletter
You are welcome to use information from this newsletter but we request that you kindly acknowledge that the information is from the Friday Five newsletter, and that any contributors listed also be acknowledged. To use any information that has a copyright symbol please contact firstname.lastname@example.org
To all of our faithful Friday Five readers
Westprint Contact information:
Phone: 03 5391 1466
Fax: 03 5391 1473
Please note that the opinions and articles included in the Friday Five are not necessarily those of the Westprint mob. Nor do we endorse any products (other than our own), or tours listed in contributed articles.