In
1934 Win. Lewis and I were booked for yet another trip to the Upper
Kowmung, but only for the second week of our Looking for somewhere new
to walk during the first week, the South Eastern Tourist Map. Most of it
was latticed red lines that denoted good roads, good land, settlement.
At
first glance, there was just one interesting patch for a bush
walker-where the Blue Mountains were a mass of black hachuring; but I
was looking for new country!
Then
my eyes focussed on a large white patch in the north. It was almost
entirely blank, so I knew it was rough country, unsurveyed, unsettled,
and only about sixty miles from Sydney in a direct line! I looked no
further.
In
the eastern section of this white patch was shown the Macdonald River,
flowing S.S.E. to join the Hawkesbury at Wiseman’s Ferry. There was
one town on the river, St. Albans, which was on the old northern highway
some ten miles beyond Wiseman’s Ferry, and about 25 miles from the
nearest railway station, Windsor. Two miles beyond St. Albans the road
swung away from the river, which was only crossed by one other road,
some thirty miles away in an airline. This was the road from Singleton,
through Howes Valley, to Putty. It is forty miles from the railway at
Singleton to the Macdonald River. Win. and I collected two other girls,
made up a food-list, and, on the 13th May, 1934, Piled into
"Christine" and drove to St. Albans, intending to garage the
car there while we explored westwards into the hills for three or four
days. The afternoon was hot; St. Albans slept in a sabbath calm. I drove
on along a country road that took us up river between dairy farms for
another twelve miles, then we parked "Christine" at the Post
Office, a lonely farm.
Swinging
up our rucksacks, we set off without a care in the world—except to get
back to that car in four days’ time. We had no map, but were prepared
to make one as we went—and we went on up-river, for we had already
seen enough to know that the surrounding country was an absolute maze.
There
is at least one other Macdonald River in New South Wales,.up in New
England, and I know nothing about it. But our "Sandy"
Macdonald is a most interesting place, where the history of the
Hawkesbury Sandstone area can be read very easily. The sandstone, of
course, was laid down under water; then came a long, slow lifting of the
whole region, and the rains of those days formed the Macdonald River and
meandered to the Hawkesbury, and to the sea. As the hills rose, the
river kept on deepening its gorge, until there came a time when the
country sank instead of rising. Then all the grains of sand and earth,
that continued to be washed from the hillsides by the hundreds of little
creeks, accumulated in the bed of the river until it was choked with
sand, and here, as at various places
Again
the land rose.(or started to rise?)and here as at various places round
Sydney, we can see that in recent geological time there has been this
rise of nine or ten feet. Along the Macdonald it has lifted the sand
above water-level, and, down around St. Albans, a new bed has been cut
between rich river flats that are backed by steep, barren, sandstone or
ironstone ridges. As we proceeded upstream, we watched the hats
narrowing until only narrow. massy banks separated the water from the
hills that rose almost sheer for two or three hundred feet at the
lowest parts, and nearly a thousand feet at the highest.
Every
time we crossed the river we had to paddle because there were no stones,
only the sand, but as we went on the water got shallower until, at the
junction of Yengo Creek with the river, there was only about three
inches of surface water in the Macdonald, and none in the creek. This
was about five miles beyond the last house.
Although
the valley had been settled for very many years, we four women were the
first walkers who had been seen in the district! The local people told
us, if we had the time, we could easily go right through to the Putty
Road, about 35 river miles, but we could neither find, nor hear of,
anyone who had been right through. We did not have time to go beyond
Yengo Creek, but returned to the car.
In
1935 I planned to follow the Macdonald down from the Putty Road to St.
Albans, but abandoned the trip because, a week before we intended
starting out, we were advised that water could only be got by digging.
1936
was also a very dry year, and my holidays were postponed until October,
but, having collected three men as fellow explorers, we set out from
Wollombi on the 17th October intending to cross the ranges, follow down
Yengo Creek, and walk up the Macdonald River to the Putty Road. There
was a heat-wave in full blast, and our way led along a hot, dusty road
for eight miles, or so, up Yango Creek. Yes, we told the local
dairy-farmers what we thought of the local names when they told us we
were on Little Yango Creek; that we could not do our proposed trip in a
week, or in a month of Sundays, because Yango Creek and the Macdonald
were so rough; and that, instead, we had better take to the ranges, and
follow the old Sulky track to Big Yango homestead (now disused) on one
of the heads of Pig Yango Creek. One of our advisers had been born on
his father’s farm on Little Yango Creek 65 years before; we were the
first walkers any of the people there had seen.
Our
plans allowed slightly less than a week, so we decided to take the
advice offered by all our new acquaintances, and go through to Howes
Valley, and the Macdonald River at the Putty Road, by the shorter route
over the ranges.
In
spite of the intense heat; the lack of water, and the bush-fires with
which the whole country was studded, we got through, but it was no
pleasure trip. However, we learned quite a lot about the district,
including the fact that all the creeks and rivers seem to be choked with
sand, and that digging in the sand is the usual way of getting water
from the Macdonald. Sometimes it floods, but usually there is no surface
water.
On
this trip I first saw the two basalt mountains that were to prove such
good friends in the 1937 trip—Big Mt. Yango, which is surmounted by
Yengo Trig. (2164 ft.), and Mt. Wareng, also topped by a Trig. (1934
ft.). The sandstone ridges of the area are mostly about a thousand feet
above sea-level, so the two mountains are good landmarks.
No
one we met in the Howes Valley-Putty Road section of the country had
ever seen any walkers before, except the mail contractor who drove us
into Singleton, and he had done some walking himself. However, Mr. Harry
Jackson, who has a property beside the Macdonald, was very friendly, and
showed Alf. and Norrie a short-cut which enabled them to climb Mt.
Wareng and get back to camp before dark. He told us that the sand only
choked the Macdonald for five miles downstream, and then the river
became rocky and rough. He had been no further.
In
the autumn of 1937 we had some rain, and when Win. and Harold Chardon
and I reached the Macdonald River from Singleton on May 14th there was a
little surface water to be seen from the road. It did not go very far
before losing itself in the sand. However, every few miles it came to
the surface for 9 short breather, and, thanks to the recent rains, the
surface was comparatively hard.
We
soon found that Mr. Jackson had been misled by a rocky outcrop, and that
the sand was continuous to Yengo Creek. It did not take us long to
discover also that we were mistaken when we thought the river had been
surveyed. Below Yengo Creek, yes. Above Yengo Creek, no, although the
Macdonald
forms the boundary between the Counties of Northumberland and Hunter,
and was so clearly marked on those maps that we Were tricked into
relying on them instead of preparing to map it for ourselves. I think
the surveyors stood on top of Big Mt. Yango and drew in the river. They
certainly missed so many bends that most of the time we were just wildly
guessing where we were. The day we went up Big Mt. Yango and back to
camp was quite a relief; we knew where we were all day.
When
we turned up Yengo Creek we found it had missed the recent rain; the
sand was very soft, and the going very heavy and slow. This was our
fourth day of sand slogging, and when, about mid afternoon, we came to a
rough, rocky stretch, we cheered. Rockhopping was a glorious change. So
were the ranges next day, and the sight of Wareng and Big Mt. Yango,
with whose help we reached a track that led us over to a good camp-site
on Little Yango Creek, where the water was actually running, and
gurgling! And so to Wollombi.
The
"Sandy" Macdonald proved a "oncer", but I am glad I
went, though it was not the pleasure trip a stroll down the Cox would
have been. I learned a lot from these "explorations", and one
thing in particular that can only be learned from dry trips such as
these. I now truly appreciate water—the smell of it, the sound of it,
the sight of it; the feel of it, and the taste of it!
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