15 December 1932

ADVENTURE WITH AN ADDER

DEATH LURKS HIDDEN IN THE GRASS

If you are looking for real trouble you want to step on a death adder when he isn't looking. He will soon draw your attention to your carelessness and you will be lucky if you do not pay for it with your life. Below is the story of an adventure with one of these reptiles.

About the Adder.

— Memory is rather hazy as to the number in the party, but it was certainly not fewer than eight. We were on a kangaroo hunt, squatters and school boys, riding along a steep hillside on a sheep pad in single file.

Presently we were startled by a yell from the last rider in the file, 'Look out, deaf adder!' We used to call them deaf adders in those days, and the reason will be apparent presently.

We pulled up and sat motionless, waiting for more information. None of us would risk getting his horse bitten.

The leader of the party — the late John Love — who invariably carried a gun on such expeditions, knowing that he at least must be beyond the danger point, slewed his horse round, saying as he passed us, 'Keep where you are.'

He called to the discoverer, nearly half a chain behind, 'Where?'

'There,' said the young fellow, pointing to the ground a few paces in front of him. Knowing we could now move with safety we gathered together to have a look.

There it was, a full grown adder, fat, blotchy, yellow, ugly, well over two feet in length, curled up and apparently asleep amongst the stones. It was only a few inches off the sheep pad we had just travelled.

But was it asleep? There was the threatening kink in the neck that signifies preparedness for striking.

When the reptile had been blown to pieces we examined the place where it had lain, and shuddered for the sake of the horses. Many of the hoof prints were within six inches of the sleeping death. One horse, a little off the track, had actually stepped over the brute. The whole party, with the exception of one, had passed within striking distance.

Had we not until recently known the adder as 'deaf' we would not have questioned the name then. Death adders, to use the present day appellation, when curling up for a sleep, almost invariably put a V kink in their necks. This gives them, in the event of surprise, the advantage of a reach of a few inches to strike without extending the whole body for a spring.

They strike like lightning, with long fangs set in a large mouth with coal black lining— and woe betide the victim. Birds will die in a few minutes, dogs in half an hour, and large animals in proportionate time. There is a remedy for human beings, but it must be applied quickly.

Many people, even nowadays, have an idea that the death adder stings with its tail, the impression arising from the fact that the adder's tail ends in a horny spike. If the creature is lying full length and is touched with a stick, or a whip lash is drawn across its body, both head and tail will sprang up and meet. Hence the idea of a double means of defence or offence. — 'M.P.,' Brighton.

Carpenters' Rocks.

— Some distance eastwards from the Cape Banks light house, is a large group of rocks, frequently visited by fishermen. These are known as Carpenters' Rocks. This is how they got the name.

The tragic wreck of the Admella, which caused the death of so many people, is well remember by people in South Australia. The wreck was bought by a company, which sent carpenters and ship building from the surrounding districts to dismantle it.

When the sea was too rough, these men were employed on the vessel, but when conditions were otherwise the carpenters and shipbuilders fished on the rocks inshore. Gradually these rocks be came known as Carpenters' Rocks.

Incidentally the workmen also sought for gold which was said to form part of the ill-fated vessel's cargo. They made long spoons with which they scooped the bottom of the sea in the vicinity of the wreck. Whether they found, the gold or not was never divulged by the workmen.— 'Interested,' Allandale East.

Ways Of The Law Are Strange.

— In the early days of Mannum, five men secured a contract cutting posts, several miles out of the town. The timber was to be carted in to Mannum, and put on a Murray barge.

On arriving at the place where they had been told to cut the posts, they found a stack already cut, which, from their appearance, they judged had been there for a long time. The men made enquiries, but heard nothing of the owner.

They decided to cart them and sell them as their own. However, when they got them into Mannum the owner happened along, and identified them as his property. The men apologised, explained the situation, and carted them back again. Both parties thought the matter was done with.

But the police constable at Mannum got hold of the story. Not long after the five men were arrested and taken before the court, on a charge of unlawful possession.

The bench found them guilty, and ordered them to pay £1 each, or take 14 days. They had no money, and decided on the 14 days. This put the bench in a dilemma. For one thing, they had no cells to put five men in.

The policeman informed the bench he knew the five had money. The men assured the bench they had not. The bench then gave them 14 days in which to pay, and the five departed to their post-carting, after telling the bench it might as well have gaoled them and been done with it. In the meantime, the policeman at Mannum had been transferred, and just 14 days after the court proceedings the new officer was astounded on opening his office door to an imperative rata tat, to see five men, with their five swags dumped before them.

When they explained the situation, he was more astounded than ever. He had nowhere to lodge them for the night, and, after giving vent to his opinion of things in general, and the fool policemen especially, he had them put up at an hotel for the night.

The next day they were sent by train to Adelaide to take out their 14 days. So the State had to pay for five innocent men to be tried by the court, lodged at an hotel, and then be transported to Adelaide to be gaoled. No wonder the Government is broke. — 'Farmer's Girl,' Mt. Bryan.

Story Of A Cow.

— Some years ago we kept three or four cows, which my husband tended, letting the calves run with the cows all day and penning them up at night. One particular cow had only been 'in' about a fortnight, when one afternoon she could not be found.

Her calf, a forlorn little thing, did not know what to make of the situation. Three days went by with out any trace of the mother. We thought the calf would starve to death.

On the third day my husband found the cow wedged under a log in a small creek. She had evidently reached under the log, after some grass, and could not get back. She was crouched like a 'setting hen.'

With the assistance of neighbors, she was released, the log having to be sawn through, and as she could not move a block and tackle was got to work to haul her to the bank. I took a bottle of 'linament' to the creek, and 'worked' the back and legs of the poor animal, my husband and daughter continuing the treatment every evening, when they took her some 'supper' and made her comfortable for the night. The calf was taken to the creek to its mother. The cow was looked after like that for a week.

When my husband decided she would have to be taken from the creek, as rain was approaching, and the creek would probably come down a 'banker.' They got the dray, backed it against the bank, pushed the cow into the vehicle, and took her to the stable. The cow could not regain the use of her legs, and the linament treatment was continued.

One morning my husband came in with the news that his patient had stood up and walked down the paddock as well as ever. For three weeks she had lain without the use of her legs.— E. Roebuck Wise, Normanville.

Where Is Yatala Harbor?

— The writer ventured the opinion that not one South Australian in a thousand could answer this question offhand, nor even one South Australian mariner in twenty.

It is at the foot of the most lofty and most lonely part of Flinders Range, 175 miles north of Adelaide, on Spencer Gulf. The northern side of Yatala Harbor was surveyed as a township about 1885. The adjacent land (grazing and agricultural) was occupied by a Mr. J. Hannan. an uncle of a well-known State civil servant.

An Adelaide business man once invested in a few blocks of the new township. Finding them a drug in the market, he wrote to a farmer offering to sell them at 'a very low price.' He offered to accept horses as a deposit, and the balance on easy terms. The farmer replied: —

'Dear Sir— I regret having to say that my valuation of the whole of the township of Yatala Harbor is less than the combings from my poorest horse's tail.' The farmer's valuation was about correct.

Crossing the Nectar Brook Creek, three miles brings the traveller to a small wooden church. It is built in the corner of 'Clear View,' the late homestead of the veteran M.P., Mr. J. G. Moseley, and about 150 yards west of the church is the famous limestone well, where beautiful water can be dipped with a bucket, the surface of the water rising higher than the land adjacent. The church has for 50 years served also as the town hall.— A. J. Parker, Glenunga.

Preparing For The Shearers' Ball.

— About twelve years ago it was the custom when shearing was in full swing to hold a 'shearers' ball' in a prominent South-Eastern town. The one I am going to tell of, was to be held in the middle of the week.

Of course, the dancing shearers, some 15 from the largest shed, were all agog, and many suits received a rough brush. But on the preceding Sunday all had worn their best shirts. Of course they were soiled. They decided to wash them.

The deed was done; but worry arose over how to press them. First they tried folding and sitting on them — but nobody was keen to sit. Then somebody thought of bottles filled with hot water — no good. As they had no iron the affair promised to be a wash out.

Then somebody thought that if they folded their shirts neatly, and put them one on top of the other in the hydraulic wool press, the scheme might work. Three strong men pulled down the handle; A sharp 'crack' sounded. They released the handle, removed the shirts, and proceeded literally to peel them apart. But the pressing was a huge success.

When they were dressing on the night of nights, a moan arose — every button on every shirt was broken. Buttons were cut off their work shirts regardless of color; needles and cottons flew, and one shearer, more fortunate than the rest, cut the buttons off his brother's shirt.

But the shearers had their dance, and voted the event worth the anxiety which preceded it. — 'Tea,' Milang.