A Backblocker's Pleasure Trip

Going from Melbourne to Sydney was like travelling through another world. It was a world of giant trees, of vast wildernesses, deep gorges and towering mountains. This was the paradise of timber-getters and bark-strippers, and the haunt of bullock teams. You caught glimpses of bush homes high up on the hillsides or nestling deep down in a far-off valley, and here and there you saw late settlers erecting a future home in the heart of the timber, or grubbing and burning off a strip of land for cultivation. For miles and miles there was scarcely room anywhere to pitch a tent without shifting a few gums, messmates or supplejacks. They took some shifting, too, and wanted a lot of room to fall, particularly in Gippsland. The only trees in the world that could challenge these for height and girth were the redwoods of California. School children showed for a moment and disappeared into the forest of trees, following various bridle tracks away to hidden homes. The tall, wooden telegraph posts (straight as gun barrels) contrasted markedly with the low metal posts that carried the wires across the north-west corner of N.S.W. and through the interior of South Australia.

"Talking of giant trees," said the over seer, "reminds me of two uncles of mine. They started one Monday morning to chop down a big tree in Gippsland, and when they knocked off at dinner time on Saturday--"