The Explorers (43 page)

The top of the tableland, Stuart stated, ‘is a layer of magnetic ironstone which attracted my compass 20°. Underneath is a layer of red sandstone which is very soft, and crumbles away with the action of the atmosphere. In the valley is growing an immense crop of grass.'

Our difficulty now was not want of water, but how to get across the numerous creeks we met with and the stony hills, and the work told severely on the horses. On 28 July Stuart and I were up nearly all night taking observations, and found the latitude 13° 22′ 30″. We started next morning at seven-thirty with the feeling that we should see the Indian Ocean about eleven o'clock. We crossed a plain, and then entered a dense scrub with a complete network of vines. We had to use our tomahawks to cut the interlacing branches. Thring was in the lead making a way for Stuart, when he exultantly cried out, ‘The sea, the sea!' This put fresh energy into us, and in the rush amongst the thick scrub Kekwick was nearly hanged, rehearsing the fate of Absolom. Having got through this belt of scrub—about a quarter of a mile—we were delighted at seeing the Indian Ocean.

Every man and every horse stood on the beach. Stuart dismounted, lit his pipe—he always lit his pipe when he did anything—took his boots off, and washed his feet in the sea. The beach was very uninteresting—it was simply blue mud, too soft to travel on, over which were scattered a few shells, some of which were collected. We then returned to the plain, and King cut JMDS on a large tree, of which during recent years a photograph has been taken by Inspector Foelsche. We proceeded on a course for a mile and a half, and camped on the banks of a small creek named by Stuart Charles Greek, after the eldest son of John Chambers (latitude 12° 13′ 10″).

Next day we started with the intention of making the head of the Adelaide River. But it took us over two hours' hard work to get the horses over this creek. Stuart, knowing that we would meet with more boggy places, made for the coast, two miles from our last camp—course north-west. A fringe of mangroves ran along the beach. We chopped down trees and left one in the centre, which we stripped of its branches. We fixed the Union Jack on it, cut in the bark ‘Dig one foot south', dug a hole and buried an airtight tin case with a paper with the following notice:

‘South Australian Great Northern Exploring Expedition. The exploring party, under the command of John McDouall Stuart, arrived at this spot on 25 July 1862, having crossed the entire continent of Australia, from the Southern to the Indian Ocean, passing through the centre. They left the City of Adelaide 25 October 1861, and the most northern station of the colony on 21 January 1862. To commemorate this happy event they have raised this flag bearing his name. All well God save the Queen.'

G
EORG
N
EUMAYER

Storm on Kosciusko, 1862

The exploration of the Australian Alps seems inextricably linked with Germans and Poles: Lhotsky, Strzelecki, Neumayer and von Guérard. Georg Balthasar von Neumayer was a German-born scientist with a passion for terrestrial magnetism, hydrography and meteorology. He came to Australia in the 1850s, established an observatory in Melbourne and set about conducting a magnetic survey of Victoria. His account of his visit to the summit of Mt Kosciusko in the late spring of 1862, in the company of the artist Eugène von Guérard, provides a terrifying example of Australia's fickle alpine weather. Von Guérard went on to paint one of his most memorable works from the view he obtained on that dramatic November day.

It was a day which Edward Brinkmann, assistant to Neumayer, would certainly never have forgotten. In the storm that blew across the mountain he became separated from the party and was given up for dead. Neumayer continued on with his magnetic survey and three weeks later the expedition, having travelled hundreds of kilometres, was near Albury.

Thick fog in the valley on the morning of the 18th but sky clear. Preparing everything for the ascent of Mt Kosciusko. Left three horses at Groggan's and took only Tommy with me packed with all the blankets and rations. Crossed the creek till it led us to a bluff commanding a fine view towards Mts Hope, Haystack and Pilot. Descended a steep incline towards the valley of the Leather Jacket Creek (3184) where we arrived at 10.30 a.m.; temp, of the creek 56.7°; that of the air 84.5°
^†
Left the place and ascended the steep banks of the creek under much difficulty although the horse behaved admirably. Continued ascending till we arrived at the region of dead timber (4663). The weather was quite calm, but the sky very threatening.

About this time all of our party except myself felt very ill so that we were obliged to stop here for some time and take some brandy and water, which enabled them better to resist the effects of heat and fatigue. Crossed an extensive flat at 1.46 p.m., then after a continual ascent came to the upper limit of dwarf timber (6254) (
Eucalyptus
), and resolved to pitch our tents. The aneroid ceased to indicate the pressure of air since the last 1000 feet, the little compensation weight being fixed by the case of the instrument.

We arrived at this spot at 5 p.m.; it must be mentioned, however, that the ascent would not have taken all this time had we been able to keep up a proper pace, for with the exception of the crossing of the Leather Jacket the ascent of Mt Kosciusko from the Victorian side is an easy one when compared with that of some of the equally high mountains in other parts of the world; but, throughout, our progress was retarded partly by the necessity of clearing a path, and the illness of the men. The vegetation near the camping place reminds one very much of that of the Alps except that the strange look of the dwarf gum trees introduces rather a new feature.

Inspected the instruments and found to my great satisfaction that none of them had received any serious injury from the unavoidable knocking about during the ascent. The temp. of the boiling point 200.27°; 9 p.m., few drops of rain but calm and overcast. An immense number of Bogong moths about the camp. By 10 p.m. a strong breeze rose from the north, which continued in puffs nearly throughout the night. The flapping of the tent although very annoying did not seriously interfere with our sound rest.

November 19th at 5 a.m. threatening weather, the wind veering rather more to the west; bar 23.960″, temp 54.9°. This place commands a fine view of the Manroo Plains and Thredbo River. Packed some of the magnetic instruments on Tommy and left our camp at 7 a.m. and after crossing some extensive snowfields arrived at what I named the Pinnacle Hill (7038) at 8 a.m. Resolved to make some observations on terrestrial magnetism and placed the theodolite on a hill, composed of granite boulders; the weather, however, becoming unsettled and the wind being still strong from the north, I deferred these observations until my return.

The instruments were consequently packed up again and as it evidently would be extremely difficult to take the horse any farther on, I ordered Edward to secure him properly and provide him with food for the time of our absence, and then started for what we supposed, and subsequently found to be, the highest point of Mt Kosciusko. Our path led us across ravines, snowfields and extensive marshes, covered with alpine vegetation, to a little lake at the foot of the highest summit. A few hundred feet higher up and we reached the watershed between the Murray and Snowy Rivers, the one flowing towards the Indian, the other into the Pacific Ocean. Passing over some snowfields of considerable extent, we arrived at the summit (7176) at 11 a.m.; temp. 54.5°.

As the wind blew very strong from the north and rain fell occasionally in showers, I gave Edward my maps to put under shelter during the observations, and I hurried them as much as possible in order that we might yet have time to ascend the Snowy Peak, another point of Mt Kosciusko, which from its being thickly covered with snow has frequently been believed to be its highest point. Descended into a flat and made a short halt for the purpose of taking dinner, during which I learned that my friend M. de Guérard celebrated his fiftieth birthday on this very day and we accordingly drank his health.

All at once Edward recollected that he had forgotten to bring my maps with him on leaving the last hill; not much importance was attached to this at the time, as I thought it an easy matter to go and fetch them on our return. At 1 p.m. we reached the Snowy Peak (7140), but the wind was so very strong and the granite boulders, of which the summit is composed, were so piled up that I did not think it prudent to take the barometers to the top and accordingly mounted them some forty feet lower down. Temp, of boiling point 198.62°.

M. de Guérard, meanwhile, had seated himself on the summit, which affords a beautiful view of the mountainous country of New South Wales and Victoria, as well as the plains of the Murray River, and was taking a sketch of the scenery when, just as I was completing my observations, he called out that it appeared to him a heavy storm was approaching from the New South Wales side. It was apparent from the barometrical readings that the pressure of air was rapidly decreasing, and on ascending to the top I became convinced there was no time to be lost and that we must hasten our return to camp as much as possible. Before leaving, I distinctly stated to our whole party that we were seven miles distant from our camp in a
NNW
direction, and that our course would therefore have to be
SSE
.

Left the Snowy Peak at 2.25 p.m. When we reached the snowfields at the foot of the summit, I told Edward to run up and fetch the maps he had forgotten and advised him to take our dog Hector with him. He had scarcely quitted our party five minutes when a terrific gale set in from west and the whole top of the mount was enveloped in dense clouds, the rain falling in torrents. Seeing the danger he was exposed to from the state of the weather, of becoming separated from our party, I cried out to him in order to recall him, but unfortunately this had the effect only of recalling the dog and thus leaving Edward to his own resources.

It was a very difficult task indeed to find our way against wind and weather but, the watershed once crossed, we could scarcely fail to strike the camp, provided only we maintained ordinary presence of mind. I entertained the hope that perhaps Edward would succeed in making his way to the little lake above mentioned, but as the fog was so dense that we could hardly see each other and had to steer by the compass and the terrain, we ourselves could not make this lake and it was not till about half an hour later, on the weather clearing up for a moment, that we perceived we had passed it.

The roaring of the wind was at this time so loud that it was by no means an easy matter to communicate with each other, and thus it happened that another of our party, Weston, dropped off and could not be found. Another difficulty now was to find Pinnacle Hill that we might relieve the poor horse and fetch the instruments, and at times the attempt appeared almost hopeless, the more so from the chilly state of the atmosphere. Mr Twynham, now perfectly exhausted, became quite stiff and unable to move. By great good fortune, however, M. de Guérard and myself, dragging him between us through fog and mist, hit upon the very spot where horse and instruments had been left in the morning.

I had now to pack the horse—by no means an easy task as neither of my companions was able to assist me, and the animal, terrified by the storm, had become entangled in the rope by which he was tethered. Luckily, however, I succeeded in accomplishing it much sooner than I expected. After immense difficulties, it being now nearly dark, M. de Guérard and I—Mr Twynham had been lost a short time before—reached the camp by eight o'clock. We found it in a terrible state, everything wet through and torn. After fastening the horse and putting things a little in order we went back for Mr Twynham, who could hardly be more than half a mile from us, and were fortunate enough to recover him. Had to carry him as he was in a perfectly helpless state.

We were now most anxious to light a fire but, as Edward had the matchbox with him and we had but few left, it was no easy thing; but after an hour and a half we succeeded in kindling a fire, which was soon blown into a good blaze by the terrific gale now raging, the roaring of the wind interrupted occasionally only by the thunder. Lightning and rain continued the whole evening. By eleven o'clock we had the water in the kettle boiling and our tent roughly fixed again and, could we only have known something of the whereabouts of our companions, would have been tolerably comfortable, notwithstanding the rough state of the weather.

My delight can scarcely be imagined when the barking of the dog announced the return of one of our missing men. It was Weston, who said that, attracted by the light of our fire, he had made his last effort to reach the camp.

At 4 a.m. on the 20th, clear morning, so that I was able to have a good view of the whole country, climbed up a rock in order to fix a piece of canvas to serve as a flag, hoping this might perhaps direct Edward to the camp. Resolved to proceed at once in search of him, M. de Guérard volunteering to accompany me, neither of the other two men being in a fit state to do so, and even he, after walking with me for an hour, declared himself unable to proceed any farther.