. We are quite amongst the salt-lakes, a large one lies to
the West of us, sending out its arms to every point. We must round the
eastern end of them, as camels and salt-bogs don't agree at all. . . We
tried to cross but had to turn back. . . Country very bad, dense
spinifex, high, steep sand-ridges with timber in flats. Any man
attempting to cross this country with horses must perish. . . A strong
easterly wind prevailed, blowing up clouds of sand and ashes from
the burnt ground. Truly this is a desert!"
This was written when I was two and a half years old. The writer little
thought that an infant was growing up who would have no more sense than
to revisit this ghastly region; nor as far as I remember was the infant
thinking much about sand! Dear me! how easy it was to get a drink in
those days - merely by yelling for it - but the strongest lungs in the world
cannot dig out a native well.
CHAPTER V
STANSMORE RANGE TO LAKE MACDONALD
Shaping our course from the lake (Lake White) towards the highest point
in the range, which I named Stansmore Range after poor Charlie, we had
the novel and pleasant experience of travelling with, instead of across,
the ridges - if only we could have turned the country round at right
angles, or changed the North point of the compass, how nice it would have
been!
