Behind Mt. Baldy by Christopher Cummings Page B

they came to a belt of pine trees which seemed to
go on and on. These were only half-grown and had a lot of secondary growth. The
first car of the day went past.
    Soon after 8 o’clock they stopped
for a few minutes to adjust their gear and to have a drink. Roger peeled off
his pullover and packed it. The march resumed. Another picnic area was passed.
    Roger looked as he plodded on.
That camp ground was also dotted with cars and camper’s tents. The irritating
and insistent buzz of a high-powered speedboat engine came from somewhere out
on the lake.
    Rainforest on
the right, pine forest on the left. A curve to the right and a narrow concrete bridge over a
crystal clear stream flowing swiftly over a sandy bed.   Roger
didn’t need to ask Graham its name. The tourist signs told him.
    KAURI CREEK.
    There was a mowed picnic area on
the left and then the road went uphill.  Ahead loomed a conical hill
clothed in pine trees and crowned with a forestry firewatcher’s tower. The road
curved sharply back to the right and the angle of ascent sharpened abruptly.
Roger soon felt the strain. In spite of his efforts he fell behind and began
puffing and perspiring. His calf muscles started to burn. The road curved back
to the left but went on climbing.
    There was a road junction on the
crest and the others waited there for Roger. Graham pointed behind Roger as he
reached them. “Quite a view. You can see right over
the lake to Bones Knob and Tolga.”
    Secretly Roger couldn’t give a
damn about the view but he dutifully turned and looked. “ Can
..puff ..can you .. puff ..see Mt Baldy from .. puff ..here ?” he asked.
    Graham and Peter both looked
concerned. They pulled out Silva compasses, ruled pencil lines on the map and
checked the Magnetic bearing then stood to look in that direction.
    “No. You can’t,” Graham replied.
    Roger nodded. He didn’t care. It
had given him a couple of minutes to get his breath back. They waited while two
more cars went past, one in each direction, before starting again.
    It was then downhill for over a
kilometre, with the sun in their faces. Both sides of the road were pine
forest.
    “I don’t approve of all this pine
forest,” Graham said.
    “Why? We have to have timber,”
Peter asked.
    “We do, but not pine trees. We
can buy them from all those places like Canada and Finland that have them
everywhere. We should plant native hardwoods like Blackbean and Cedar.”
    Stephen disagreed. “But they take
too long to grow. Pine trees grow in about twenty years.”
    “Doesn’t
matter. It’s
a State forest. The Government doesn’t need the money. It can afford to wait.
It’s wrong to plant rainforest country with a temperate needle leaf. Mr Conkey
says pine trees will grow on poor soil and if they are planted on good soil
they ruin it.”
    “Oh bull!” Peter snorted.
    “He said so.”
    Roger chipped in. “He’s right,
but in this case they didn’t clear the rainforest to plant pine trees.”
    Peter turned and waved his arms.
“So how did they all get here Roger?”
    “A lot of this area was cleared
as dairy farms back in the 1920’s. Mum told me. I had a great uncle and a great
aunt who had a farm near Danbulla. There used to be a town called that but it’s
now underwater in the middle of the lake.”
    “When was that?” Stephen asked.
    “Don’t you read?” Peter said. “It
was on the sign on the lookout at Tinaroo. The dam was built in 1950 .. er 1950 something or
other.”
    “1959,” Graham provided.
    “Yes, so then the Forestry Department
replanted some of the old farms,” Roger concluded.
    “Still say it should have been
with native trees,” Graham replied.
    The argument took them all the
way to the bottom of the hill. They passed back into rainforest country and
crossed a swampy creek on a causeway. After that there were more uphill
stretches. The uphill grades weren’t all that high or steep but Roger began to
feel the strain. As he plodded along with head down