Monday 11/11/02.

Hughes Creek Camping Reserve (see ‘21/9/02 –

3/10/02’). If you go along the Hume freeway through Seymour to Avenel & then east along
Tarcombe & Wicket Hill Road you can probably get here in 1 ½ hours but I took the more scenic
route through Whittlesea, Kinglake West, Flowerdale, Strath Creek (where I had a pot & got a
couple of stubbies for the road), Highlands. There is no indication of the reserve in the Vic
Roads Country Directory but its at about 9.2 x G2 on map 46. Ive parked under the shade of a
large old willow as its quite hot. After a meal of turkish bread washed down with Continental
Cup-a-Soup Italian Minestrone (described as “chunky”) I was overcome by lethargy & lay dozing
in the van with the windows, sliding door & tail gate open licked by warm northerly breezes. The
beer & the change of rhythm from city to country no doubt contribute to the soporific mood. I can
hear the trickle of a rivulet, little more than a drain, nearby. It empties into Hughes Creek flowing
over sand & with some holes deep enough for a dip a couple of hundred yards further along. On
a sign 10 or so ks back Hughes Creek is described as a major tributary of the Goulburn River. I
can hear many bird calls including corellas, magpies & the persistent 2 note chirrup of
pardalotes. The main incentive for coming here, apart from its closeness to Melbourne, was that
tonight I was hoping to be lulled to sleep by the music of pobblebonk frogs (Limnodynastes
dumerilii). The male has a one note call like a watery plonk but each frog has a note of a
different pitch. The first call usually triggers two or three others in quick succession to produce
an overall effect that is responsible for the name. It is one of the most beautiful lullabies I know.
The frog is common in still & man made waters all over victoria & is also known as the banjo
frog. However there is a couple camped in several large tents with tables, chairs, a very large
pile of wood, a dog, & surrounded by plastic bags of empties a few hundred yards from the spot
where the frogs are. They look just the types to have powerful lighting, generator & maybe
music late into the night as theyve probably done nothing but sit under the awning of their tent
all day. Im about a kilometer further along & maybe Ill give the frogs a miss. Had I remained in
Melbourne tonight I would have gone to an evening of talks by professors & associate
professors of various scientific disciplines at a lecture theatre in Melbourne uni. It would have
been a trip down memory lane as I did a couple of years of a subject called HPS (History &
Philosophy of Science) there, what feels like a lifetime ago, when various lecturers used to try to
explain to me what it was that scientists do. I suppose they cant have been too upset by my
habit of reading the Sporting Globe during lectures as I seem to remember I got top mark in the
subject both years I did it & rejected an invitation to go on & specialize. Its 5.50 pm & a 4x4
utility has just arrived carrying two trail bikes so Im leaving …. 6.30 at the beautiful recreation
reserve 2ks out of Ruffy (4 or 5 houses) about 18ks north of Hughes Creek Reserve. The
information about the evening at Melb. uni was sent to me by Pearl Tang who is one of the
organizers of the event. One of the talks is a report on a survey of the therapeutic effects of
quigong, another has something to do with falungong, & another is on quantum mathematics &
future computers. Apparently this is one in a series of evenings along the lines already given in
Harvard, Oxford & Cambridge. I sent the flyer accompanying Pearls letter to Wen Liu who is
very critical of falungong as I thought he might be interested. It makes sense to be
knowledgeable about the things you wish to criticize. I dont know in what way if any these
lectures are connected with falungong but I use the opportunity to pass a few observations. I
have seen several ‘demonstrations’ that they have put on around the city & have been
extremely impressed both by the serenity in the expressions of the participants & the grace of
their movements, especially when performed by children. In my view it is enough to justify the
practices. Several people I talked to vouched for their beneficial effects. What confuses me is
that the literature they hand out claims it is a movement aimed at simple self improvement not a
religion. Yet their master, Li Hongzhi, says he is personally able to transfer special qualities
(powers) to believers. Such a claim appears to me to be a classic posture of a religious leader.
Perhaps the claim that they are not a religion was a political ploy aimed at allowing them to exist
in china in spite of the governments anti-religious ideology. I have also tried to read the book
‘Zhuan Falun’ by Li Hongzhi but had to give up because I couldnt understand it. It may be that
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my western upbringing is a barrier. The language seems to be a mixture of obscurantisms
(drawing on a variety of traditions) & pseudo science with the aim of giving a solution to
everything in the way that religions or all embracing ideologies try to do. I hope that the talks at
Melb. uni are not an attempt to give scientific endorsement to the falungong experience. It
doesnt need it. Religions traditionally deal with the most basic things which are known directly
requiring no support from linguistic edifices, least of all from science that all embracing church of
modern man (or economics). We know directly that we should be merciful, that the giving of
charity is its own reward, that there is that which we honour & those whom we entrust with
authority, that we should protect the weak & give refuge to the lost. Explanations rest on a
bedrock of agreements that we come to accept as self-evident (religious people like to claim that
they are revealed by god or holy men) otherwise we become trapped in an infinite regress of
explanations. It is self evident to me that the serenity & physical grace of falungong practitioners
are worthwhile attributes even if they dont cure illness or promote longevity as they claim. If I
were a wild animal & it was demonstrated to me that my life would be longer in a zoo I would still
choose freedom. In fact I have no idea why people desire a long life. I would much rather learn
how to accept death gracefully than win medals in veterans games. Incidentally, the average life
span in Sierra Leone is 38 for men & 40 for women.

Tuesday 12/11/02. I am writing this on the shady verandah (today is

a total fireban day with temperatures predicted to reach 35C before an evening change) of the
Mountainview Hotel at Whitfield at 1.40 pm. There is a little ferny stream trickling past the front
of the verandah with a tin scultpure of a man holding a fishing rod over it. I am sipping a full
bodied King River Estate merlot that cost $6 for ½ glass. If I felt like it I could buy an “Eye fillet
wrapped in prociutto w bean salad & skordalia” for $25. (skordalia : mashed potato with garlic,
lemon & parsley). A board on the front of the pub says : “La Dolce Vita. 16th & 17th November. *
Come to the King Valley & enjoy a weekend of Mediterranean & new release wines, great food
and warm hospitality. * Ask our Friendly staff for More info. “ This is a very salubrious pub
situated on what is known as the Gourmet Trail. There is a couple at the next table eating a
gourmet meal. He is wearing expensive looking mocassin type shoes on bare feet & she has
tear drop gold earings. She is inclined to pass comment on the food they are eating with her
mouth full. She holds her fork so that it is sticking directly forward in the direction of her arm as if
to make it longer & is stabbing delicious looking morsels (which I can smell from here) as if with
a spear & carrying them to her decorously pursed mouth with a delicate flourish. Just heard her
say “nuh! didnt like that”. Now Im drinking a Pizzini 99 Shiraz which also cost $6 & it has my
approval. I can see a road sign pointing up the King Valley saying “Wineries : Pizzini 2, Dal Zotto
(6), Chrismont (8)”. In the other direction a sign says its 4ks to Avalon Vineyard. My mileage
gauge is reading 69ks since I filled up with petrol at Mansfield where I also bought a map of the
district between Mansfield & Bright for $10 & read the paper in a bakery where I ate a sausage
roll. I feel nackered as I couldnt sleep last night as it was too hot in the sleeping bag & too cool
out (not in the habit of wearing clothes in bed). By the road from Ruffy I saw a caramel coloured
baby bunny but it ran away when I switched off the engine. Soon after there was a koala
crossing the road & I was able to stand close for a good look before it shimmied up a tree. Got
to Mansfield via Yarck & a road called Spring Creek Road. Forgot to mention yesterday that
since me & H were at the Hughes Creek Camping Reserve only a few weeks ago a car body
has been dumped right on the edge of the creek. On the way here I stopped at the Power
lookout, 3ks off the road, for a great view of the upper reaches of the King Valley. The lookout is
named after Harry Power who was known as the gentleman bushranger (in the 1870s) because
he never killed no one & was courteous to ladies (though he took their coach horses.) He had a
hideout nearby where his horses were watered from a spring. As a teenager Ned Kelly (whose
grandparents lived down in the valley) helped look after them & also partnered Harry in a few of
the holdups. Harry Power was born in ireland in 1819 & like a lot of his fellow countrymen must
have possessed the gift of the gab for after spending most of his adult life in prisons on his final
release in 1885 he was employed as a tour guide on a museum prison hulk moored in Port
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Phillip Bay of which he was the star attraction. He died in 1891 after getting drunk & falling into
the Murray river. (four 4x4s with the sign ‘Village Taxi’ on the front & ads for Tooheys New beer
on the side have just pulled in. Apparently there are another dozen of them about to arrive &
they have been ferrying Geelong Grammar school kids to their adventure summer camp at
Timbertop (where Charles of Buckingham Palace once spent a term)). Anyway here I am in a
privileged part of Victoria & I think I might get drunk. (I have just bought a 10oz glass of genuine
german Becks beer for $3.50 & it is constantly sending little bubbles of carbon dioxide from
bottom to top as a real good beer is supposed to according to a litho guy (Gintas Kekstas)
whom I was showing around the Flinders ranges last year (23/11/02. See 22/10/01 – 2/11/01.
p16) with Saulius Varnas (20/11/02. Whose comments on my pieces have been : didnt have
time to read it; boring; read the entire piece and have wasted my time; trivia; dont send any
more. So Im sending this one.) & who had spotted that the ale (bet it has the same root (saxon)
as the litho word for beer ‘alus’) pulled at the Blinman pub which we were drinking wasnt doing it
& he also told us that the lithos were producing a real good german beer under licence which
they were selling back to the krauts. Those lithos!) I think Im beginning to get into the groove. It
may be that Melbourne is one of the two most liveable cities (though Jokie X Wilson of San
Fransisco (& a writer) who gets my stuff may dispute it preferring to put San Fran ahead) in the
world but if I stay there too long I start going crazy. Regardless that I lead a spoilt life of
pampered indolence. Here is an example of the kind of existence I lead for the edification of
Jokie, & I ask you mate, can you do better even in San Fran? Over the last few weeks Ive been
going to the Spiegeltent (tent of mirrors) which was here for the Melbourne festival & is now on
its way to the Edinburgh festival. Ive been going there because of the good feel of the place
around 2 o’clock each day (when they have been playing portuguese blues sung by a woman
with whose voice Im in love) buying a glass of Stella Artois beer for $4.50 & taking about an
hour to drink it while reading a story from Granta magazine. Its been a kind of daily prayer I
explained to someone. After the first couple of sessions the guy in charge of the bar refused to
take my money saying the drink was on the house as he had noticed that I was a regular. I have
no idea why I have been singled out like this but have not pressed the issue not wishing to look
a gift horse in the mouth. At the same time last year I wrote one sentence in praise of the tent
but I only put out 100-150 copies & the chances of the barman having got hold of one is just
about zilch & even less that he would have read it. Do you get your drinks free in San Fran
mate? Last Friday I got drunk there at a saving of $4.50/glass. (just bought a stubby of carlton
draught for $3.50). I have to try to finish off this story as H asked me not to come back with too
big a typing job but its hard when youre drunk. It may have been a simple case of mistaken
identity but I was inclined to look for explanations that were more far fetched. I remember that
the previous week I had tipped a busker (the little fat guy who plays the inprovised drum
equipment in Swanston st.) for the first time in years. I only did it because I had come across a
quote from the sermon on the mount (the greatest of all sermons) in the newspaper which
reminded me that you should always give alms. I had been neglecting the duty because of the
difficulty I had in telling the difference between the genuinely needy & those with expensive drug
habits. Then I remembered that only the day before the Spiegeltent started supplying me with
free beer I had tipped a beggar inside the gate of the St Francis church (I checked the dates in
the journal) on the corner of Elizabeth & Lonsdale sts. I dont know why I was going in there but I
sometimes do. The beggar was accosting each person in turn & the lady in the silk shirt entering
ahead of me simply said an emphatic “no” before he even had a chance to open his mouth. He
looked at my face as I passed & said nothing. That happens to me : H says they see into my
heart & realize its flinty. There was a service on in the church & I was there at the moment when
everyone looks around & shakes his neighbours hand & I done it too. But I remembered that no
one was shaking the hand of the guy begging outside & then I remembered the sermon on the
mount again. I also wondered whether my habitual meanness was finding expression in the cast
of my face. So as I walked out I gave him my silver which he took like he was expecting it. I
explained all this last tuesday at the ‘poets’ (where I had arrived drunk because I had gone to a
litho cup day do earlier where the beer was free because the barmaid had disappeared with the
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box for payments & so you had to pour your own) & Leonie Osowski said that there is a sign out
the front of St Francis permitting authorized begging. Lloyd Jones was also at the ‘poets’ & told
a story (which I dont believe as I spotted question marks in his eyes) of the beggars in front of a
church in italy whom he was suspicious of & found out had permission from the church to be
there in exchange for giving up 50% of their collection. (14/11/02. A couple of days later I went
back to St Francis to look for the sign but didnt find one. The same beggar was nearby in front
of the catholic bookshop dressed like me in shorts & thongs. Saw him get $5 off a tourist. I
asked him if he was ‘official’ & if any of his take was for the church. I thought he said something
about “saints trustees” but I may have misheard. When he asked for money I said another time
as I didnt have any change. He got real stroppy then & said “give it to me right now” & directed
me to the door of the shop to change a note.) I had met Lloyd only a few days earlier outside the
Spiegeltent when he had come out at the first intermission from an italian avant garde show
called Genesis & he talked me into sneaking in for free by talking to him as we went in at the
end of intermission because the theatre was half empty. This was a show that cost $40 a ticket
to get in. He said he had an opera buff friend who only went in to shows at intermissions. I had
told him that I dont go to paid cultural events believing that the best things are free. & I was right
as it turned out to be a lousy show. I seem to have drifted off here & H is going to kill me for all
this typing but the point is that the very next day ie. on wednesday last week I was in Carlyle st.
in St Kilda buying ‘pelmeni’ (which are meat dumplings that lithos call kaldunai but eat with a
different kind of sauce (fry chopped up bacon & chopped up onion (separately) & mix with milk &
sour cream)) & a rye bread called ‘naroch’ which is the tastiest rye bread you can get (I was put
onto these delicious ethnic foods by Mykolas Kozlovskis (an expert in healthy eating) at litho
house) & then I went across the road (eastwards) to the smallgoods (delicatessen) shop that
sells a terrific garlicky homemade snag that is just nice on the naroch bread (especially followed
by a nip of vodka) & yes, the point is that after I paid for the sausage exactly in coins & was
browsing at the other goods in the store the shop assistant reached past the new customer at
the counter with a $5 note & said thats yours. I took it but then checked carefully in my wallet &
reminded myself of the transaction in the rye bread store earlier & realized that the 5 bucks
could not possibly be mine so on the way out I called over the assistant & gave it back to her.
But the other shop assistant wouldnt have a bar of it & insisted I keep the money so I did. Well
thats about it & Ive cut the story short. Thats life for you in Melbourne town – the most liveable
city in the world & Im nevertheless glad to leave it behind. Its 5pm, Im drunk, Im getting another
stubby (Abbots stout) & heading up the road towards Moyhu but turning off to a little reserve
(near Edi Cutting Camping Area) where I hope to have privacy for the night & maybe even a dip
in the river (King). …. I was mistaken, this spot is just out of Whitfield & its called “Gentle Annie
Reserve. Fees apply. Pay at the Camping Office” except Im not going to & its the same river & I
nearly rolled the van into it & after I drink the stout Ill have a dip. Sorry honey! ….. 7.00 Gang-
Gang Cockatoos (Callocephalon fimbriatum) are flying in to roost in a large river gum nearby.
Flock of Straw-necked Ibis (Threskiornis spinicolles) are circling overhead. The wind is picking
up …

Wednesday 13/11/02. Back at the Mountainview Hotel at 1pm.

Drinking a Fransesco 01 cab. Its OK. I intend to be brief with the entries for a few days to make
up for going way overboard yesterday. Its a beautiful, mild clear day & it would be easy to settle
in here, except I wont. As I drove in a platoon of army guys in a variety of vehicles including a
couple of trucks with huge clearance drove out of the car park. They eat well, evidently. Got up
at 6.30 this morning after a good sleep & after buying an Age at the general store drove up the
beautiful King valley past vineyards to Lake William Hovell at the head of the valley where the
King river is dammed. Along the way found some excellent spots where I could park for the
night. Ive added them to the huge file of such places in my memory. At the dam read the paper
on a trestle table in a picnic area by the water. It was very peaceful. I was the only one there. I
shouldnt read the paper as it makes it more difficult for me to disconnect myself from my life in
the city but Ive developed a ghoulish interest in observing the unfolding events between the US,
4
the UN, iraq, & us of course. They are scary enough but Im mainly interested in how they are
being presented by the various parties, the lies that are being told, the delusions. I am interested
in the way labels are used to disguise intentions & solidify paranoias. (23/11/02. Here is an
example of how paranoias take hold. On the day I got home from the trip H told me how a kid at
her school had told one of the mums who help in the library that his mum had picked up a purse
that had been left behind by a muslim woman & when she returned it to her the owner wanted to
give her a reward but she kept refusing so then the muslim woman said that since she wouldnt
take a reward she was giving her some advice – not to go into the city on the 14th december.
This was still before the govt came out with the warning that we should be “alert but not
alarmed” & to watch out for anything unusual. The 14th is a saturday & me & H usually are
wandering about in the city then but on that day H has decided (& I havent disagreed) to avoid
it. Well probably go to St Kilda bypassing the city by walking through the docklands. (I intend to
find out more details from the library helper on tuesday when she comes in & if necessary ring
the parent to find out if its true or her kid’s way of being a smartarse. If its true Ill ring the police –
helenz)).

There was no mention today however of the development that has concerned me most over the
last few weeks which is north koreas admission that it has an active nuclear program. (22/11/02.
Read a good article in the Age today called ‘Nukes the Weapon of Yesterday’ by Paul Keating.)
It has made the admission, I suspect, because enriching uranium up to weapons grade standard
emits radiations that cannot be disguised (thats why we know iraq isnt doing it). But what I find
most intriguing is the claim that is being made that north koreas nuclear program is the result of
a previous cooperation between pakistan which has had a nuclear capacity for some time &
north korea which has been the more advanced in its rocket technology (saw a snippet in the
paper the other day, attributed to US intelligence, that they may have over 100 rockets with a
range past Tokyo.) The more I think about it the more likely it seems to me that such a
cooperation would have taken place given that both countries see themselves as being under
imminent threat, one from india the other from the US. But what has not been discussed at all in
the papers is that if such a deal took place it would have made obvious sense not only to swap
technologies but also for the koreans to supply the pakistanis with some viable rockets in
exchange for some completed nuclear bombs to fill the time gap while the newly acquired
capabilities were being developed. In fact it seems to me that this is certainly the way it would
have been done. If this is so then there are already nuclear primed rockets aimed at New Delhi,
5
Bombay, Seoul & Tokyo. It would explain why the US is so gung ho about attacking iraq
(knowing it doesnt have but could acquire them in the future) but has been so muted about north
korea (knowing it is too late.) (an ordinary pot of beer here costs $2.60) If certain states have
nuclear weapons civilization is doomed but it doesnt matter I suppose as it is anyway. I must get
off the topic. After reading the paper I drove back to Cheshunt & up another beautiful valley to
Paradise Falls. There is almost no water now but they must be very impressive at other times as
there is a huge wall & cave caused by the overhang so you can be behind the falling water. Met
a group of Carey Grammar kids hiking with overnight packs. The teacher said they have a very
big adventure program at the school & that there are seven such groups hiking in the area
(Wabonga Plateau) right now. Im about to head off back towards Cheshunt & along the Rose
River Road which in 60 or so ks ends up at Myrtleford …. 6.40 pm. Im about 30ks south along
the Upper Rose River Road which branches off the main road ½ way to Dandongadale. Ive just
walked up a steep 2k stretch of it to see if the van would be able to get up but I dont think Ill try.
A grader operator 10ks back thought I mightnt make it as a bulldozer was working on it last
week. Pity, as I would have liked to be able to park at Lake Cobbler from where its only a 5k
walk to the summit of Mt Cobbler (1628). I might still have a go at it from here. Its cool & shady
& Im just next to a little bridge that crosses the Rose River. The whole area is dominated by Mt
Cobbler of which you get impressive glimpses as you get closer. There is a beaut camping area
about 12ks back where the road fords the river called Bennies Camping Area. It has many sites,
a couple of toilets, but there is no one there. From there on youre in the Alpine National Park on
a winding narrow dirt road which often has a steep drop on one side. There are mozzies here
too.

Thursday 14/11/02. 2.30. Im at Bennies Camping Area & its 16ks

back from where I spent the night by the bridge. Im drinking a Brown Brothers Everton 2000
Shiraz, Cabernet Sauvignon, Malbec 13.5% Vol. straight from the bottle. It is described on the
back label as : “This approachable medium bodied red blend of Shiraz, Cabernet Sauvignon
and Malbec has soft berry and oak flavours and a crisp dry finish. It can be enjoyed now but will
cellar 2-4 years from vintage if stored correctly. Serve at 16°-18° C. ideally with roasted and
barbecued red meats.” All true too. Here is how it happened. I got going at 7.15 back up the
steep section and got to Lake Cobbler at 8.30. The day was still, sky blue, and the lake green-
verged just as you would imagine an alpine lake to be. There is a newly built toilet (which I used)
& a hut with a bed & fireplace in it for emergency. There are two toyota land cruisers of the
‘troop carrier’ type parked near the hut. No doubt they are part of a car shuffle waiting to be
used by returning overnight backpackers. The bottle of red was in the hut ¾ full but corked. I
didnt touch it coz wine thats been opened goes off. The sign to the summit says 1.75 hours one
way. Because I was daydreaming I took the wrong fork (after about 15 mins) & by the time it
became so indistinct that I was having trouble following it & pulled out the compass I had no
idea where I was. I was lucky to find the track again otherwise I would have been a goner I
reckon. Unlike most bushwalking types I am least experienced in alpine country & have no
confidence in it. When I got back to the fork having wasted ½ hour I noticed the red triangle
marker in a tree indicating the other track. It took me another 1 ½ hours (through stringybark,
then increasingly contorted snow gum) to get to the top. The actual summit which has a trig
point on it, is a separate knoll of rock which requires you to climb down & go up again just when
you mightnt feel like it but its worth the effort. To my astonishment I could see a summit to the
south west with buildings on it. Through the binoculars you can see multi-storied flats. I guessed
that it had to be Mt Buller & I had the exact same surprise two years ago (‘ 27/11/00 – 7/12/00’)
when I saw it from the top of Mt Howitt also at this time of year. I wont describe the views (on a
perfect viewing day) as I described similar country on the other trip but it did occur to me that
Pete Surna might be out there somewhere as he told me tuesday last week that he was about to
do a walk part of which was along the Alpine Trail. In that case he might be visiting places like
Mt Despair, Mt Speculation, Horrible Gap, Mt Buggery (1608) (dont camp there) & The Terrible
Hollow. Good luck to you, mate. Ill send him a copy of these notes. On the way back I got to
6
thinking about the bottle of Brown Brothers red in the hut. I thought I should give it a try just in
case it had been left only this morning as the two 4x4 troop carriers could have arrived
unbeknown to me from the opposite direction up a very tough track called The Stairway. Also
there was a possibility that it had been left by the Geelong Grammar people only the day before
yesterday. The grader driver had said a set of 4x4s had been up there & back & when I asked if
they had ads for Tooheys New on the side he confirmed that it was them. They had probably
ferried the kids to their starting point for a walk back to Timbertop & theyd be just the types to be
drinking wine & stuff. So when I got back to the lake I gave it a taste & it was A1. I didnt have a
glass but there was an empty Admiral Berry Combo in Syrup tin there that had been cleaned out
for the purpose. It was time for lunch & I had brought a tin of John West Herring Fillets in tomato
sauce & I can assure you that this wine goes just as well with tinned fish as with barbequed red
meats. & then, as I was gulping a mouthful I heard the frogs in the lake – and guess what, they
were pobblebonks (Limnodynastes dumerilii) otherwise known as banjo frogs. I realized that I
was experiencing a special moment where a number of things come together & I was looking
forward to stretching it out with the bottle of wine when I heard the noise of a car engine. I
corked the ½ full bottle & hid it in my day pack as two elderly geezers in a 4x4 Subaru drove up
& parked next to the hut. I talked them into giving me a lift back to me van as they werent
planning to stay long & then a guy in a jeep arrived & I also talked him into giving me a lift,
whoever was going back first, which turned out to be him. He was from Selby in the
Dandenongs & he had a poncy accent. He did something that I thought was odd. He asked me
not to rest my day pack, which was in my lap, against the glove box so as not to scratch it. He
said the dust on it could scratch & he was about to sell the car. Well! Maybe he was just upset
thinking that I had railroaded him. H says I can come across as a bit aggressive at times when I
dont mean to. Fact is I had a lift organized anyway & I didnt need either one as I wouldnt have
minded walking back other than that it was unnecessary & a bit boring. & so here I am by myself
in this beautiful spot on spongy green grass (you wouldnt guess Victoria is in drought) by a
mountain stream in dappled light through tall trees which are full of music put on by (mostly)
golden whistlers (Pachycephala inornata) & yellow faced honeyeaters (Lichenostomus
chrysops).

Friday 15/11/02. 8.55 am. Its a rufous (rufiventris) not a golden

whistler that Ive been hearing. Brushed me teeth which with a dip in the Rose river yesterday
evening by way of a wash makes me ready for Myrtleford. Before leaving on the trip I was
wondering if it wasnt time to quit writing. I have probably already said what has been most
important for me to say. I have often written under a compulsion as if I was only a vehicle. It is
not obvious to me that what is important cannot be said in a few pages, or sentences, or
perhaps in a single syllable. I would not want to become a person (like academics, writers,
journos, preachers) who keeps repeating himself out of habit or to satisfy expectations. At some
point about three years ago I fell into the knowledge that this is what I should be doing & was
grateful to have had the experience. I hope the knowledge to stop comes equally clearly. I have
collected three book length folders of master copies (with front covers in colour) of my pieces &
when I hold them I know the pleasure that artists get when they encapsule themselves in their
work. I could present them to someone & say this is me, or at least it was. Like Montaigne
saying his writing is only himself, a way of projecting, an ego trip. I have felt the temptation to
accept an identity (eg of a writer?) so as to provide myself with a set of guiding rules & a
structure to govern my transactions with people. But if I were to allow it I would be violating
something important I know about myself. We fix down separate identities in a fluid world like
putting on armour & view each other through chinks in the helmet. In my case its tempting to
continue the writing habit because it provides me & H with a shared task. It feels good to
cooperate closely with a partner. Another inducement is that it fits in with the travelling habit
since I no longer spend 8 hours a day walking, my joints wouldnt allow it. But it may be that
three years doing the same kind of thing is long enough if I am not to become set in my ways.
The problem is not so much how others view you, its easy to cope with when you receive the
7
odd compliment. The difficulty is not to play a part. …. 12.15. Just got a bit of a surprise. Im
stopped for a bite to eat at the Marshall Spur Recreational Area on Lake Buffalo (you should see
the blackberry infestation in the district, entire hillsides are covered) and put up the foldout table
& next to it the clothes box which I use to sit on. Went to the front of the van to turn the radio off
& as I went back to sit down a brown snake was on its way under the van between the box &
table. I didnt want it to get into the engine works so I got it to go off by throwing pebbles on it &
tapping the ground with a stick. Would not have been hard to step on this one if you were
daydreaming which is the only way they present a danger. Im off…. 4.35. Im at the Junction
Picnic Ground in Bogong Village half way up to Falls Creek from Mt Beauty down below at the
head of the valley. I am next to two large rhododendron bushes covered in white blooms. I am
pissed. Ive got a great excuse for being in this very european looking environment (under a pine
tree) on the edge of one of the more boutique little towns in victoria. The water is roaring over
boulders in the two streams. There are all kinds of little walks from here. & its all for me coz Im
by myself. My excuse is that it would be irresponsible to drive on down the mountain in the state
Im in. I know that they cant do nothing about me being here, not that anyone is going to try to
evict me. When I got to Falls Creek on my way to Omeo choosing this road coz I thought Id visit
Bruce & Cathy Smith & Adam Cadd (see story ‘The Hat’) who recently got married to the sister
of Don who gets my track notes I found the road was closed because of a dispute by
departments over who is responsible for its maintenance. But I had already bought my night cap
stubbies at Falls Creek in the expectation of parking among the snowgums on the plateau. So
now Im drunk & Im staying here for the duration. After Buffalo Lake I bought petrol & the paper
in Myrtleford & then took the road a few ks further that branches off the road to Bright & goes to
Mt Beauty. Ive never been on it before & its typical of mountain valleys. Read the paper over a
pot of beer at Towonga looking out at Mt Bogong which I climbed with a couple of friends as a
youth. I remember we carried so much beer in the large (750 ml) cans they had then that we
had to drink them on the way up because they were too heavy to carry. I also remember the
Cleve Cole Memorial Hut on the top which has since burnt down & been replaced. On the
morning we were going up the mountain I went to the toilet (in Bright? Towonga? Porepunkah?)
& a guy came in & said Marilyn Monroe had died. When I told me mates, Mick Hennessy &
Graham Ching, they didnt believe me. After reading the paper I checked the mobile & there was
a message from Kate saying shed caught up with everyone (Joe, Ben, H) & they were all fine &
Ben was cheerful & that I should drink a lot of water (she must think Im being dessicated in bone
dry drought affected country.) Thanks Kate. Time for tea.

Saturday 16/11/02. After I wrote yesteday mornings entry it

struck me how huge was the metaphor I used of us viewing the world as through chinks in an
armour.

8
I realized that it gains its force from the way it sits squarely within the tradition of cartesian
dualisms. As if there are hidden depths where the real me resides & an exterior shell of
superficialities. I hear girls over glasses of chardonnay explaining to each other that their
boyfriends fail to penetrate to an appreciation of their real selves (however deep they poke) & I
know that without realizing it they are drawing on the same metaphor. So when I sobered up
yesterday evening I reviewed the influences that led to the formation of the image in me. The
most evident are almost identical statements made by William Blake & Swedenborg. The notion
that we view reality imperfectly is already fully in place with Plato in the story of the cave men
seeing it only as reflected in the shadows cast on a wall. Descartes is building on Plato in his
notions of what can be known directly & what only from the evidence of the senses : the mind
brain dualism. Shopenhauer (who in the opinion of Luis Borges is the only philosopher who
might be onto something) talks of the will which is known directly & its manifestation which is the
sensory world. In his analyses of the picture ‘Las Manenas’ by Velazquez Foucault tries to
illustrate his insight that there is no centre (itself indebted to Nietzsches ‘god is dead’) by
outlining a periphery (& therefore, I suggest, unsuccessfully) of differing perspectives. I prefer
Wittgensteins “what cannot be said might as well not exist” with the emphasis being placed on
the “might as well”. I only write about what I hear, see & touch – its all I know & if with my best
efforts I am not able to describe it to you it might as well not be there. I am not interested in
whether coining the word ‘will’ to describe a knowledge which is indistinguishable from its
manifestations reveals something about the invisible world (as if there are two of them). Or if
Nietzsches ‘will to power’ (refined & qualified by Foucault) is an expression of some kind of
evolutionary truth. I accept what I see without the urge to apply comprehensive labels that might
indicate an intimacy with hidden forces. My interest is more in what it is that we do by making
the distinctions, & for that I can rely on observation of human practice. (this is not the place to
get into a discussion of the difference between do & is). The notion that we look out on the world
through the perspective of an individual identity as through chinks in an armour is used to deny
responsibility for our actions. As if it isnt ourselves that forge the armour, ourselves that engrave
the emblems, we that shout the slogans, we that sew the flags to drape over ourselves.
Scientists go to work on nuclear triggering devices (the US has embarked on a hugely
expanded program for their production though this is one part of the bomb that doesnt
deteriorate or need replacement ) & they say they are really good people who are nice to their
kids & loving husbands & only doing their job. A man drops a bomb on Hiroshima that
vapourises a third of the children in the city & says he is not responsible, he was only following
orders - & he names the aeroplane (designed for dropping bombs) after his mum. Another man
manufactures an explosive device for killing people in a restaurant & claims diminished
responsibility for the deaths because someone else placed it. We vote for a government that
imprisons children & we wash our hands of them. We use the inside / outside metaphor to
distance ourselves from the consequences of what we do as if they are not a part, an extension
of ourselves. For it may be that Foucault has a point when he says there is no centre, that we
are the armour, the flags, the slogans, the different perspectives. Two thousand years of
christian theology has contributed to a capacity to view ourselves as separated from our actions
by teaching that it is the intention (in the hidden domain & lighter than air) that counts & not the
deed. The communists built on that distinction to justify the sacrifice of the few for the benefit of
the many. (Christians have an added theology claiming a belief in the sanctity of human life but
both ideologies are joined by a love of large abstractions.) & I say, if there is to be a final day, we
will be judged by the weight of our deeds. In the case of the nuclear scientist working in the
armaments industry in one scale will be heaped up his wife & the children he has provided for
together with his good intentions & in the other scale the bodies of the dead & a hydrogen bomb
…. I didnt leave Bogong till midday because I got talking to the guy who came round to check
the toilets. I asked him why there was no one about in such a well maintained town & he
explained that only 4 or so houses have permanents the rest being holiday houses that are
rented in winter. The main building complex belongs to the adventure activities school owned by
9
the ed dept & its active when a school group is in. That explains various rope walk installations
Id seen. He would have loved to have my van & I talked on forever about the thinking behind
each item. He is divorced & intends to get an old one to do up. He said that when he was with
his family he would never have dared to park in a groovy spot like I was in but perhaps when he
is by himself he might. I told him that the most serious roadies Id seen were all poor guys whod
done up vans themselves that theyd bought second hand. Back in Bright I checked the
message bank & there was one from H saying everything is in order. She had not yet got the
message I left yesterday evening. Settled down on the terrace of the pub next to the Lest We
Forget monument & drank 2 beers as I read the paper. One of the groups on the terrace was a
mob of the fake bikies that like to dress up in leather but wouldnt frighten a pussy cat. When
they left a group of middle aged cyclists came in all wearing every bit of cycling paraphernalia
you can buy with italian words written on their cycling shirts & shorts. I doubt if you can get a
town that looks more spoilt & relaxed. Most people looked like middle class Melburnians & the
footpaths have tables with people holding glasses of white wine. I suppose I am one of them, no
less comfortably off or spoilt, but I feel more at ease in Beulah or Hopetoun. The obvious
evidence of how rich we are compared to much of the world makes me uncomfortable, guilty.
When I scrutinized the people walking by their expressions seemed to indicate that they led
insipid lives. Bought petrol & headed for Hotham still intending to go through Omeo. At around
four I took the turnoff to Dargo a little before you get to the top of the mountain and have
stopped 5ks down the road (will go back to the main one in the morning) at a spot I noted two
years ago when I came north through here after spending the night 3ks further south (see
27/11/00 – 7/12/00). This is a top-of-the-roof spot on a narrow ridge with views of unending
mountains & valley covered by unbroken forest in either direction. Places like this can be cold
even in summer but the temperature in Melbourne today is around 30C & here its just mildly
perfect. For awhile I was joined by a flock of gang gang cockatoos in the snow gums.

Sunday 17/11/02. Stopped off at the Transit Lodge to get rid

of rubbish, go to the toilet, & brush me teeth. Washed with warm water for a change. There are
still patches of snow about the village & on surrounding mountains (there also were a couple at
Falls Creek & I could see a couple of very small ones from Mt Cobbler at Buller.) The only other
time Ive been on this road to Omeo was before it was paved & Dinner Plain wasnt in existence
so I drove around the village inspecting the lodges. As you go down the long slope from the
plateau everything becomes much drier & the pasture has already browned off. Perhaps its a
rainshadow area. Stopped at Omeo only to buy the paper & continued on through Swifts Creek
to Ensay & onto the Smiths place. It feels strange to think that Bruce & Cathy are around 50
now though I must say he looks little changed from the last time I saw them. Cathy wasnt there
as she has taken a holiday in Queensland after a very big year of study to finish a double
degree in social welfare & psychology by correspondence. She can no longer get around
without crutches. Bruce is running a program of getting the high school kids (from Omeo) into
part time work with the help of a govt grant. Apparently its very successful. I was telling him that
I wanted to visit Adam Cadd before I left town & he pointed to the next room & said “theyre in
there”. That was Adam & his wife Julie (Dons sister) who go there with the other jehovahs
witnesses of Ensay (5 in all : Caitlin (daughter of Bruce & Cathy), Jennie (girlfriend of Cathy who
sold up in Melbourne to live in Ensay), Adam & Julie, & Cathy (who supervises)) for sunday
worship. So it turned out to be a bit of a get together & me & Bruce were able to compare notes
on a few people we know in common. At the end of the month they are going to Melbourne for a
wedding & staying at Bill Sinclairs (who is on my mailing list) place so I suggested they catch up
with me at the Bocadillo bar on the first tuesday of december & wed go on to the Make It Up
Club. I didnt accept Adams invitation to go to their place for tea as I wanted to be at Petmans
Beach tonight (where Im writing) but its great to know that there is an obscure country town in
Victoria where Im welcome. He asked me if I still kept a bible on the dashboard of the van &
since they were about to leave I told him to have a look on the way out where it was parked out
back with the doors & tailgate open coz it was so hot. When I was leaving a few hours later I
10
found that the bible had been taken out of its jacket & was on the front seat open at psalm 83 &
Adam had marked the last paragraph, no 18, which reads “That men may know that thou,
whose name alone is JEHOVAH, art the most high over all the earth.” Bruce says that Geoff
Bigmore (who built the house) became a jehovahs witness after a couple (of latvian origin) who
lived in a remote valley out of Omeo drove over Geoffs dog & the chance meeting led to his
conversion. When that couple left he became the only jehovahs witness in the Omeo district.
Much later Cathy who was involved in community work in Elwood chanced on a tall blonde girl
who told her that she remembered the house in Ensay from when she used to visit there as a
child. The girl turned out to be the daughter of the ‘latvian’ couple now living in Melbourne & later
still she lent Geoff the money he needed to buy the house he now lives in. Cathy (she once told
me that her reason, which I think cannot be bettered, for joining the jehovahs witnesses was that
she had found that they were good people) has the role of informal counsellor & the Ensay
house is often used for the purpose. They are back here permanently it seems now & I could tell
how pleased Bruce was that their daughter Caitlin was so keen on home & the country. Many
country kids want nothing more than to leave for the city as early as they can. Caitlin is in year 9
but studies from home having found that she didnt like her school. Their son Kaeita lives in
Melbourne & never visits though they get on fine. He is just back from Morocco where he was
with his partner (of the Wellington Lee family) who is doing a ph.d. & delivered a paper there.
There may be a crisis looming as though Kaeita & her love each other there is no prospect
according to him of the Lees accepting him as the future husband of their daughter coz he is not
a ‘high flyer’. Apart from that cloud on the horizon my impression is that they are doing
particularly well as a family & have found their spot. Which is pleasing as the road to it has been
very circuitous. I left the writing Ive done this year with Bruce (though they had already read
‘The Hat’) because I am hoping that Cathy appreciates it as I used to admire her writing style
(characterized by clarity & directness of expression) when I taught her at school. Also she was
an impressive person then so its not surprising that she has taken on the task of being
supportive to people in difficulties. Bruce gave me a set of essays titled ‘Five Years of Mountain
Echoes’ put out by a local writer P.D. Gardner who is an anarchist & an eccentric & has stood for
parliament for the Nuclear Disarmament Party. It appears we are involved in similar endeavours
& I hope when I send this piece to the Smiths (whose address I now have) they pass it on not
only to Adam but also to the Gardners. P.D. Gardner is an authority on the history of the
aborigines of East Gippsland. Bruce also gave me a book of poetry (more accurately of sayings)
called ‘The Tao of Modern Times & other poems’ by a angovie. This is a small publication put
out by Ngarak Press. On the inside cover there is a handwritten note “To my dear friend Cathie
from Amelia Angovie”. It is one of a limited edition of 50 copies made up of 40 numbered ones &
10 review. This copy is marked as no 1. I hope Cathy doesnt mind Bruce giving it to me. As it
turns out Amelia Angovie is the name under which M. Gardner writes poetry & Ngarak Press
belongs to him too. I feel priveleged that I am able to cross paths with people of originality.
Besides, Bruce knocks up a pretty good salad! As we were talking with a CD playing in the next
room I suddenly pricked up me ears coz I was hearing the very same song that Ive been
listening to in the Spiegeltent over the last few weeks sung by the woman with whose voice Ive
fallen in love. & so now I know that her name is Cesaria Evora & the song is called ‘Sodade’
taken from the album Miss Perfumado which is probably the album they were playing at the
Spiegeltent as all the songs there were by the same woman. On this CD she only has the one
song. The CD is put out by Luaka Bop Inc. & is titled ‘Telling Stories of the Sea. Adventures in
Afropea.’ The blurb says “This is the first compilation to represent the different branches of Afro-
Portuguese music … The best from Lisbon, Angola, Sao Tome and the Cape Verdean Islands.
Faraway outposts united by bittersweet sadness and rugged soul, tempered by uniquely tropical
funk, where Moody Melodies Float above dreamy grooves. Here is the archetype of ALL Afro-
Atlantic music – American Blues, Brazilian Sambas, Cuban Rumbas. These songs
simultaneously pierce the heart and inspire release. They’re both the illness and the cure.” The
CD is Caitlins favourite so I said that if they catch up with me next month Ill give her some latin
american songs Ive got on tape seeing as Ive got quite a lot. From Ensay I drove to Bruthen
11
where I read the paper & to Nowa Nowa where I bought two stubbies (drunk on the road) &
checked the mobile where there was a message from H telling me not to hurry home but that
she missed me & it wasnt the same without me & on to here where mercifully it is clouded over
& become quite mild. Its 7.00 & I havent been over the dune (I can hear the waves loud & close)
yet because Ive been writing the entry. Havent eaten either. In contrast to the green country Ive
been in its very dry & there are swarms of extremely hungry flies which are biting fiercely.

Monday 18/11/02. An illustration of how the van amplifies

was that one of the first sounds I heard before sunrise was the pattering of flies against the
panels. They were on the outside as I had sprayed the interior before going to bed. I forgot to
mention yesterday that the friend, Warren Willman, I had met Adam with at Green Cape (see
‘The Hat’) has also recently got married, to a german girl. Another thing. Adam was suggesting I
go & see how the forest is being destroyed in the district by the timber industry. He says that the
allocations granted by the government are so large that the local industry doesnt come near to
using them up though it is working flat out so the work is being contracted out as far away as
Orbost. He says that the devastation taking place out of view of the main roads is of third world
proportions & fears that the proposed cessation of logging in the Otways will only increase it
here. He says that even the locals, traditional supporters of the interests of the timber industry
are beginning to turn against it. He should know being a forest worker. The forest where I am
incidentally is as dry as Ive known it. Id hate to see it set alight. All it takes is a lightning strike. I
wouldnt be comfortable parked here on a day of northerly wind with nothing between me & the
highway to the north (fires often start next to them) except 10 or 12ks of tinder dry gum trees. Im
going to leave anyway because there is no shade for the van & its warming up already (7am). I
had thought to spend a few days doing beach walks but I might head back to the hills for cooler
weather. This access spot is at the western tip of Ewings Marsh & I once heard here the most
magnificent & deafening frog symphony of my life being performed by hundreds (& maybe
thousands) of frogs of 5 or 6 varieties (including pobblebonks) so that the whole was waxing &
waning from a sine wave effect. There is no water at all under the two footwalks to the dune &
the bottom of the depression at the very end has been recently cut up by trail bikes. When I
inspected the beach at dusk all I could see were trail bike tyre marks in both directions. In order
to survive some frogs probably dig themselves into the black dirt of the bottom as the water
recedes & last night there were a few forlorn cricket-like creek-creeks coming from there, a few
having evidently survived the ravages of the motorbikes. I imagine that the snakes which
depend heavily on them for food must be in serious trouble. & summer hasnt officially started
yet …. Im only 10 or so ks down the coast (1.00). The van is parked in 100% shade under an
old cypress, one of a row, about 200 yards past where Lake Tyers House used to be (opposite
side of the lake to the Lake Tyers township). The water level in the lake is so low I was able to
walk straight to the surf coast at the entrance to the lake. In the past Ive always had to go
around the now dry swamp. & I was able to get in a stroll, stark naked (cop that, honey) going
east (towards Petmans) along a coast without footprints or tyre marks. I was taking frequent
dips coz I was sweating like a pig. Tried to sneak up on a seal asleep on the sand but a pair of
pied oystercatchers (Haematopus ostralegus) made it wake up with their alarmed chatter & then
though I was standing still about 20 yards behind out of its line of view it got a whiff of me on the
breeze & spotted me & took to the waves. As I was walking along I was thinking, honey, that you
might be mistaken about that theory of yours that you gratuitously interpolated (& other
trenchant observations) into one of my previous pieces that it was the pope (even though theyd
know a hell of a lot about it) that is responsible for the belief that wankers go blind. Here is a
quote from Montaigne (from ‘Apology for Raymond Sebond’) where he is summarizing theories
about where sperm (known as spunk when I was a kid, a word that has been debased through
overuse so that now it is frequently heard in the mouths of maidens whod blush at a fart (When
Metrocles had secluded himself in shame after having farted loudly during a debate in his school
the philosopher Crates (23/11/02. This the entry on him from the Penguin Dictionary of
Philosophy : Crates (c 365 – 285 BC) Cynic philosopher, whose quest for independence and
12
self sufficiency made him renounce his large fortune and restrict himself to a frugal way of life.
Together with his wife Hipparchia he led the life of an itinerant philosophical sage and
counsellor.) counselled him successfully by engaging him in a farting competition.)) originates :
“Pythagoras says that our seed is the foam of our best blood. Plato, the flow from the marrow of
the backbone, which he argues from the fact that this spot first feels the fatigue of the business.
Alcmaeon, a part of the substance of the brain; and a sign that this is so, he says, is that the
eyes grow dim in those who work immoderately at this exercise. Democritus, a substance
extracted from the whole mass of the body; Epicurus, extracted from the soul and the body.
Aristotle, an excrement derived from the nourishment of the blood, the last that spreads through
our members. Others, blood cooked and digested by the heat of the genitals, which they judge
from the fact that in the extreme efforts men give out drops of pure blood …” Note, honey, the
reasoning of Alcmaeon, an ancient philosopher from Croton, of whom I hadnt previously heard
but who I imagine predates the popes. Not that I agree with him & I wonder what conclusion he
would have drawn from the common knowledge of every kid in St Pats College (jesuit school in
East Melb no longer in existence) that the only thing that happens (& then not always) is that
you get hairy palms. My readers overseas (who can be counted on one hand) may be interested
to know that in the australian language (lingo, parlance, strine) Platos condition is known as
shearers back or shaggers back …. Went for a stroll along the lake northwards to take
advantage of the low water. Nothing to report except that I had a dip. A sea breeze has set in &
its clouded over & no longer too warm. Teatime.

Tuesday 19/11/02. Some months ago I had one of those

‘eureka’ experiences that people in the unhealthy habit of wracking their brains sometimes get.
It was to do with the word – time. Together with Luis Borges Ive been preoccupied with it all my
life like a child that becomes obsessed with an insoluble puzzle. Naturally Ive read, reread &
forgotten everything he has written on the topic. He went so far as to suggest that it was the
central problem of philosophy. (A friend of a friend of mine has spent 20 years compiling a
review of notions of time (yet to be published). Ill pass this piece on to him for comment.)

13
Then quite unexpectedly , I think it was on a trip to the Eyre peninsula, the issue resolved itself
for me & I felt like saying to him, had he been alive “Luis, you wasted it writing all those essays.
You should have stuck with the short stories & poetry.” & its as if a pressure has been released
for my life has been an effort to find solutions to like puzzles & maybe should I succeed I might
be left without purpose & waste away. On second thought I dont think I would. I would continue
to be sustained by amazement at what I find. So I would like to say to Luis that no solution to
any puzzle can ever tip the balance between the tiny island of what we know & the sea of the
unknowable in which we swim. People dont believe it when you tell them that. Socrates never
stopped saying that he didnt know anything & yet he was convicted of perverting the morality of
athenian youth. To this day the fashion among philosophers is to say that his claims of not
knowing were only a rhetorical device. I feel quite confident that he meant what he said. But no
matter what you say people hear it from their own perspective & read into it whatever suits
them. When they discuss the notion of time if they start with the question what is it, which they
invariably do, they have already lost it for to ask it like that is to make an assumption in the very
first sentence that there is another space, an invisible world apart from the one we are in, where
we search for elusive entities which may or may not exist. The hope that we might find
something in a parallel domain is quite strange for if you cant see it what chance is there of
finding anything in it? & so people debate whether time flows or ticks or goes backwards or is
cyclical & its like debating how many angels can fit on the head of a pin. The problem isnt taken
away if they say that what they are talking about is a notion or an abstract idea or a concept for
these words are only an attempt to disguise, a code for a belief in, the same invisible world. All
that is needed, & it is breathtakingly simple, is to ask what is it that we do when we use the
word. For it is in common use & we have no trouble understanding each other when we do it. It
becomes a matter of observing human practice. The main thing we do when we say ‘time’ is
hold something that repeats itself next to something that is changing. So we compare (hold side
by side) the repetition of the years to the greying of the hair, the wrinkling of the face & the
stooping of the back. We measure a dynasty by the number of kings. The size of a desert by the
number of days or moons its taken to cross. A tribe measures itself by the number of
generations & so we have history. Then we write chronicles & draw time lines. Days measure
months, months years, years lives, lives the passing of tribes & kingdoms. Poets & historians
sing its praises. Scientists make agreements to make ever more accurate comparisons, more
precise synchronisations, but it is still an elaboration of the same process. To say then that time
is something other than what we do, existing in an imaginary space where it may continue on
after we are gone, is very strange indeed. The confusion comes from mistaking the individual for
all of humanity. When one of us goes nothing much changes but when the human race departs
it will be the end of time ….3.15. Im out of Bemm River on the road to Pearl Point at a spot I
always stop when Im in the area. Im surrounded by a flock of yellow tailed black cockatoos
(Calyptorhynchus funereus) that have settled in the banksia (integrafolia) wailing & cawing. Dont
know why Im feeling a bit low. After leaving Lake Tyers I drove into Orbost mainly because I
wanted to speak to H live to tell her Id be home by friday, a week earlier than I had said. Couldnt
get through to her so left a message on the mobile. I always get bad vibes in Orbost. Bought
petrol (it spilt) & paid $3 for a mug of coffee that was tasteless (they know city slickers are idiots)
& read the paper. I think I read it to make myself scared. I detect craziness in the public mind.
Legislation is mooted to allow the arrest & interrogation of people who are not under suspicion
of having committed a crime (both major parties are going to agree on this.) Recently a bunch of
indonesians all over the country had their doors busted down by special police for nothing.
People write insane, strident letters to the editor. A few weeks ago when a couple of welders on
the outskirts of Sydney started a fire that burnt down a dozen houses every newspaper initially
reported it as deliberately lit. Paranoia is in the air & if this tinder dry forest along the east coast
catches alight this summer which is likely, chances are Al Qaeda will get the blame. Whats more
they (if they exist) are likely to claim they done it coz thats how this game is being played out.
From Orbost I drove on to Bemm River where I bought a pot of beer in the pub & 3 stubbies to
take away (Im drinking one now). Got through to H from the phone outside the pub & she
14
confirmed Ben, Joe & Kate (whom she is seeing tonight) are fine & that there has been no email
from Dan (in Paris)(24/11/02. But now in Palm Springs for a fashion show, it seems) which
means hes fine & that Michael is OK & that Vi is fine too. That covers the territory so I suppose I
should be too. Maybe a stroll to Pearl Point will put me in order. But first Im having another
stubby (Abbots stout) & a bite to eat.

Wednesday 20/11/02. This access is called Gunnai Beach.

In the past Ive found it to be a problem with mosquitoes as there is a tea-tree swamp along the
other side of the road but there are none this time. The swamp must be dry. Later Ill head back
towards Melbourne along the foothills over three days. Might call in at Walhalla where I havent
been before. Continuing on from yesterday. No one has ever complimented me or even
suggested that what I have been mainly doing (at least most consistently) is writing about
language, examining how it works. The reverse is the case. Ive been told I burble on too much
about it or that what I say is not understood. Yet the only thing I lay claim to is an interest &
perhaps some aptitude in unearthing, however slightly, some of the foundational structures (a
kind of grammar underlying the grammar) that are hidden from view by familiarity of use. Not
wishing to curry favour I press on. I think that what we do when we make the comparisons that
we call time is an important component of human awareness (which I use synonymously with
consciousness & which, if it is to be deconstructed should, just as with time, be examined by
asking the question what is it that we are doing when we use the word). But not necessarily the
most important as some might believe. Borges ends off a couple of the essays he has written on
the subject with an account of an experience of timelessness (a suspension of comparisons) he
once had in a suburb of Buenos Aires & it too is an aspect of awareness. He makes a comment
on it in a different way in the story ‘The Immortals’. What we do in making (knowing) time is a
uniquely human attribute. We look at a watch & can say in Greenwich it is such & such mean
time but in Los Angeles it is evening & a particular newsreader is on telly & in a small village in
Siberia its night time & an owl is hooting & I am sitting here writing. These things are not
connected to each other except through us, when we look at our watch. So it can be said that by
making time we are able to make connections in a new way of everything in 3 dimensional
space. & since we also connect things from the past to that space (hence history) its as if we
add another axis to it, a 4th dimension, which we use to predict & manipulate the future. It seems
to me to be extraordinary that in giving birth to us the earth should have spawned such a
capacity & I marvel at the possibilities - & the dangers. (The black cockatoos are back.) … Back
to Orbost (where I bought the paper) & then towards Buchan along a road that mostly wound
through forested mountain. Saw a koala asleep in the fork of a branch. 3ks short of Buchan a
sign pointed to the Snowy River 11 ks away. This road takes you to a magnificent picnic spot (&
camping & theres a toilet) by a beautiful stretch of the river but the last 6ks of it is not for
everyone. It is well graded & gravelled but only a single narrow lane that looks easy to slide off
either into the gutter on the mountain side or over the edge on the other. I was gripping the
steering wheel the whole way. It is seriously steep in parts with the steepest bits right towards
the bottom at the end where its too late to turn around. This spot is used as an embarking (for
Orbost) spot by canoeists but most of the time thered be no one there,as there wasnt today. It
would not be a great place to be in if there were fires about & on the radio as I was driving in I
heard that lightning had started one in the Coopracambra national park overnight. Just as I got
there the spots of rain Id been driving through turned into a steady drizzle & I already wasnt sure
of making it back up the steep bits so I ran down to the river bank for a quick look & ran back &
headed back up the hill before the road had time to get properly wet. I made it but had to go
down to 1st gear on 2 occasions which on gravel would have tested my traction to the limit. Read
the paper in the pub at Buchan. When I came out it was raining steadily so I abandoned my idea
of driving along the foothills & have parked for the night at Marlay Point (via Bruthen, Bairnsdale,
Stratford). Its still & the rain has stopped.
Last night I had the feeling that this might be the last set of trip notes that I
put out. I cant be sure but in case it is I take the opportunity to thank my typist, my honest critic
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& occasional collaborator – H. Writing is a marginal activity not deserving the same respect as
farming, labouring, trading, nursing & other lines of honest work. None the less, for a while, its
where I was meant to be & I hope I have done credit to the task for words can be strangely
powerful.

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