Museum - Pacific Wanderland

( Vi Thompson and her daughter Doreen Ballamy in Vi & Jim’s Shell collection at Avoca Beach- Photo ©Gwen Dundon)

We made sure of a lot of fishing for there were a lot of us to eat fish. We were constantly amazed at the colour and variety of the fish. Being used to the southern ones that were not usually so brightly coloured, we were a bit dubious about eating some of them. But there was always someone to advise us.

The Pattemores owned and ran the caravan park and each time we arrived we felt we were coming to a home from home. We always received a rousing welcome. It was a very friendly place and we would feel resentful if anyone found fault with it, which some of the tourists did. The Third Banana tree on the left became “Our spot”over the next decade or so and the one next to that was Evvy & Milt’s.

So we settled in to a wonderful three months of shelling, exploring and fishing. Gus aged five, started at Cannonvale school and loved it, and we spent the time exploring islands and enjoying life immensely, and this became our recipe for a happy winter for several years.

Each time we went to Airlie Beach we could see improvements, there were more flats, more cafes and other eating places, soon a hotel and soon other types of better accommodation.

By this time also there were more tourist boats coming to the area. At first, as I mentioned, there was really only the “Leilani” and the old “Apache’ which was owned by Herman Altmann and which had been the mail boat for the islands for many years. One could also go to one of the island resorts on a boat belonging to the particular resort to spend a day. Miles Hayman sold “Leilani” and the new owner, Merv Cannon, bought our aluminium dinghy and was very pleased to get it. Ivan Ross arrived with “Ebb Tide” and another larger boat was “Air Cloud”. We enjoyed all these boats and had many happy times on them and soon we knew all the islands and the skippers very well. We had landed, and shelled on a good number of them , and we knew the best reefs for shelling.

Our very favourite place was Langford Island about three miles west of Hayman Island. We had it to ourselves for many years until Hayman began hiring dinghies out to their guests and our peace was disturbed greatly. We would camp on the island for 10 to 14 days at a time. The first trips were with the Proserpine Shell Club. Well I remember the magic times with those grand people, and especially one Sunday morning on my birthday, September 26, in 1965, when we watched the dawn while standing in the middle of the reef after shelling since about 3am, with Ruth Carey singing hymns across the reef and another sheller singing opera in another direction. The morning was still and golden and we all had much to sing about. Norman and I stood together, listening and looking and saying that we had much to be thankful for.

We knew every nook and cranny on Langford Reef. We could take a newcomer to the very spot where he could find the shell he asked for. But a direct hit from Cyclone “Ada” in 1970 ruined the reef for us. The cyclone covered the reef with sand and all the lovely turnable rocks were bashed about and moved. Also the tourists were turning up in droves by then and no-one ever told them about turning rocks back after they had shifted them, so the underside of the coral rocks was turned to the sun and the food for the shells was ruined. Nowadays it is closed for camping but the last time we saw it there were 17 boats anchored off it, and Hayman uses it for all sorts of activities for their guests.

Perhaps the nastiest side of shelling is getting the dead animal out of the shell. This task usually fell to Norman who was expert at it. Cowries had to be killed in a mixture of methylated spirits and water and the the animal hooked out, because boiling them would crack the shiny surface and dull it. But shells that were not shiny could be boiled and the animal taken out then. If we were in a situation where we could not boil shells we would put them in methylated spirits until we could get to them. I did not do very much cleaning of them as my duties were usually camp cook and at home I did most of the cataloguing, and work with the collection itself.

Good shell collectors only collect the shells they need and want, leaving the others snugly alone. Also it is a good thing to leave damaged shells so that they can reproduce and beget perfect shells. Some people, knowing that shells can be valuable collect everything in sight and so strip a reef of the fauna. Sometimes, especially on the islands away from land, one would see a pile of clam shells that the Asian fishermen would leave behind after cutting out the flesh. Also they must use large gangs of men to shift big boulders to collect shells that are not accessible to the normal sheller. On several islands we have found this along the reefs. Such fishermen are not allowed in Australian waters and so it was usually on the sea side of an island away from view that we would find the evidence.

Some years we would spend five months or more in our haunts and as a result we gathered much more information than would the sheller who had only a few weeks at his disposal. We were so fortunate. It was a grand life. As we didn’t start doing this until Norman was in his fifties, I daresay we had to make up for lost time.

We always spent some weeks at Yeppoon on our way south and got to know the Keppell Bay Shell Club people well. In 1967 they hosted the First Australian Shell Convention and we were fortunate enough to play a fairly large part in the organisation of that and the shell show that was associated with it.

Shell collectors came from all over the world, and we met and made friends with many fine people. Trips were organised to visit the Keppell Islands which were somewhat harder to shell than the easier ones up north.

The year following that the club kindly asked us to judge at their show and that was the first of many times doing just that in Yeppoon and also at Proserpine and Mackay.

But let me go back a little. In 1965 we stayed a long while in Airlie Beach, not turning homeward until after Sara had her birthday party in mid-October with her school friends. We stopped at Yeppoon at our favourite Poinciana Caravan Park, renewing friendships and as Norman wished to take a boat trip from there we made enquiries about a boat. There was no chance that I would go for the sea and I were not very friendly. Norman booked to go on a boat called “Careelah” with skipper Wally Muller for 5 days shelling. When we went down to check on the booking Wally looked me up and down and asked why I was not coming too. I explained that I was not a good sailor and he just assured me that the sea was so calm that I couldn’t possibly be sick. So Norman needed no more encouragement, I went, with two small children who were thrilled at the prospect. I was always howled down at such times. This was the beginning of a great friendship with Wally and many years of voyages and (later) much seasickness.

‘Careelah” was 49 feet long and became quite an old friend as the years passed. She was built in an open plan with the galley, a large open room, a bunk on each side. These bunks were wider than usual, rather three quarter bed size, and so Norman and I each were able to sleep with a child beside us. There was a cabin above, behind the wheelhouse, with two bunks, and six bunks forward of the main galley. A toilet was for’ard near the six bunks.On this trip we went to first to Heron Island and anchored there. Norman, the children and I wandered around the island to see the resort and all the terns nesting right near the resort, in the trees about shoulder height, not taking much notice of us. We walked around the quite small island and saw evidence of turtle nests and mutton bird hollows. It was our first experience of a coral atoll and were very interested in it.

The next day, another seven and a half hours to reach Saumarez Reef, it seemed interminable. Every now and then I would stagger to my knees and open the hatchway between the cabin and the wheelhouse and ask in a sickly way, “How long now?” At least they were very nice about it. All but the children and I stayed on board while Norman took our boat out with some of the men. They got some nice shells.Another six hours to Frederick Reef and there we stayed for some days in the lagoon where the water is mostly calm except when it is high tide and the big waves come crashing into the lagoon. It was great to get on to dry land and feel something solid under one’s feet, even though it did feel as though the islands and cays were going up and down.

It was a revelation to get to such an out-of-the-way place. There were shells a-plenty and fish when you wished to fish. We caught fish we had never caught, one a Job fish which we were told was the best ever, and so it turned out to be; and others that were a delight to behold, very large and brightly coloured, like coral trout, sweet lips, red emperors etc.. As very few people had ever been there the fish didn’t know about hooks and so took the baits happily.

Tom Nielsen was known to be the best dredger of shells anywhere and had come especially to dredge these unknown shelling waters. The dredge was a big metal basket with an open end with a cutting lip that was dragged behind the boat through the sandy lagoon bottom. He put his dredge down and we helped with the procedure, Careelah dragging the dredge along and we, every now and then, raising it with the winch after perhaps a few minutes to see what was caught. Sadly nothing spectacular came forth ( so we thought), but it was all a new experience. On looking through some of the dead rubble the end of a dead shell was set aside to look at later and to try to discover what it was, little did we know that the elusive whereabouts of an little known shell had been found, only dead specimens had been found and the locality was never listed.

We explored Frederick Reef quite a bit and tried shelling wherever we went. Most of the islands and sand spits had sea snakes on them and the birds were there in the thousand. The main cay was simply covered with nesting Sooty Terns and on the edges of it right beside the small cliff edges were a number of Masked Gannet nests. It was a delight to see these big gannets take off down the two or three foot cliffs on the surrounds of the cay. They would waddle to the edge and take off down and gracefully up. We could not walk on the flat surface of the cay because the tern nests were so thick that you would walk on eggs if you didn’t take great care. Those eggs were almost the same colour and markings as the dead coral pieces that were scattered about. Most nests had one chick, the tern babies being a sooty gray and the gannet chicks almost as big as their parents were covered with such soft white down that they looked as though they had cotton wool overcoats.

All the adult gannets had leg tags on them that Vincent Serventy had placed some years before when he and Don McMichael were on the naval survey ship. Norman and Mervyn spent some time creeping up to them on their stomachs so they could get close enough to read the numbers. These were later sent to Vincent who was most grateful to get information from such an out of the way place. Some of the pairs had remained in the same pairing for those years, about seven I think.

After a few days we had to move on to our furthest destination, Kenn Reef, which is about 250 miles off the Queensland coast. This was to be our longest leg and the sea was not getting any flatter. In fact at high tide the waves were coming right into the lagoon and it was even hard to stay in the bunk, one had to hang on hard. It was planned to leave at high tide at midnight as Wally wanted to get through the eastern channel to the open sea instead of going out the western one through which we came. This would save a lot of sailing time. He was grimly worried about doing it, but his judgement was, as always excellent. Nevertheless we all breathed a sigh of relief when we got out safely, but it sure was bumpy. He and Tom watched the depth recorder intently and it is very scary seeing the chart tell you that the reef is coming up to your bottom fast. The night was very dark and trying to find one’s way through an unknown channel at midnight is quite an adventure. There was great relief when we got through.

Sara beat me to being seasick this time but we worked in tandem quite well for the 12 hours it took to get there. I would kneel up on the bunk and pull my little hatch open and ask whoever was at the wheel, “Much longer?” They would always be kind and try to give us comfort but it sure was an endurance test. However we did get there about midday the next day. As well as the seasickness we found that waves was wetting our bunk from somewhere or other and so Sara and I had to huddle into half the allotted space. Evvy, who never complained, was quite silent most of the time on her side of the cabin, taking her favourite seasick pills at regular intervals.

The men for’ard had fun as they had had a very rough night indeed. The toilet was one of those that one could look down through and see the sea water rushing up and down. Normally it stays where it should, the water, I mean, but each time the men wished to use the utility, and each time the boat fell into an trough, the water would simply gush up and they would get a washed bottom. Poor Tom got one huge wave and it shot him off the toilet and at the same time he was drenched from above through a hatchway. It caused some hilarity.

We had several days at Dutton Downs, Bob and Anne taking us to various places on the huge property to find fossils. Bob had found a large piece which we all thought was a leg of a dinosaur, but later found (identified by Dr Alec Ritchie) that it was the part of the skull ( teeth & beak) of an Ichthyosaur. He took us to where he had found it, and as there was tons of the remains of this creature we collected a few more pieces. Most of it must have been well and truly below ground. They took us to several sites. We were completely bushed as the scrub grows thickly and every place you come to looks just like the place you have just left. We fossicked in dry creek beds, on the plains where ammonites were to be found, we were taken for picnic BBQs to all sorts of interesting places, and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves with the wonderful hospitality we were having.We were fascinated with all the things we saw. Just getting a glimpse of what such a station was like. There were birds by the thousand and much to see. But the time came when we just had to tear ourselves away and tackle the next jump-up. Bob suggested that we carry on through the station heading west and weaving our way out through other stations to get to Richmond. But we had to tackle a jump-up and Bob was dubious whether the Walkers would make it. He, Ann and some workmen (just in case) escorted us to it to make sure we could traverse the hill and as we did we waved a farewell to another very pleasant episode in our lives. We never did meet Bob again for soon after this he was found dead in his little jeep in a remote part of the station where he had gone to look at some sheep.

We passed through some stations and saw lovely homesteads and the spent some time in a shearing shed when the shearing was in full swing. We were thrilled to be able to watch and felt privileged to do so.

We went on to Julia Creek which a very small town. One wonders at anyone on the coast could ever complain about not having anything to do. It didn’t seem to me that there was much to amuse one in a tiny place like this with nothing but 200 miles of not a lot all around you. Even the policeman was thrilled that he could at long last ‘book’ someone - for double parking in the main road! - we’d stopped to buy some Ice for the cooler box adn parked next to the shop, but yes, we’d double parked! Not another moving vehicle for miles, but still we were booked! I think life on a station would be infinitely better.

The road was corrugated, very stony and very, very rough. Not nice travelling and the Land Rover bounced quite a bit, but at Cloncurry we came to the bitumen road, and it was a delight. Some of the country we had travelled through was the worst we had seen. I would describe it as a white country. The soil was almost white and dusty, the trees were stunted and poor and altogether it looked very dreary . The hills were even a peculiar shapes. But on the other hand some of the country was quite colourful. It intrigued us and sometimes it was yellow then pink, then black and again white. I would think a mineralogist would be very interested in it.

Along the bitumen we came to the township of Mary Kathleen that had been a mining town but was now in mothballs. All the buildings were still there and kept in good order. The administration centre was in perfect order with green lawns and flower beds, but the residential part had neglected gardens.

Of course when we arrived in Mt Isa we did see what a mineralogist would like. We did all the usual tourist things and looked at and heard about the mine and the minerals and came away with some samples.

We were keen to visit our camp of ten years before beside the Rankin River. This waterway is apparently part of the Diamintina. It looks for all the world like a normal milky looking river, but on walking down stream a little way you find a dry river bed, turn around and go the other way and you find dry river bed, so it is one of those mysterious rivers that run sometimes underground and sometimes on the ground, we found it most fascinating. The corellas were there still in their thousands. It was wonderful to hear them just before sunset saying “goodnight” to each other then as dark comes, silence, until dawn the next morning when all the lovely noise starts again when they were joined with galahs, and white cockatoos.

Travelling on the bitumen was a breeze after all the rough roads. It had changed a little since we had passed through in 1966, so when we turned north it was all new country to us.

We stayed to look at the Elsey cemetery when Aeneas Gunn was buried and others from the story of “We of the never-never”. We had a pleasant stay at Mataranka which was undeveloped in those days. The swimming pool of 85 degrees F.,was absolutely lovely in its natural state. We found a bubbling spring nearby whose water was so crystal clear that one could look deeper into the water than any I have experienced.

We stooped off at Katherine to all pile in the Land Rover so we could all go out 22 miles to look at Katherine Gorge. The road was a bit of a disaster but the vehicle managed traversing the sand bogs. It hadn’t been developed as a tourist spot then, but there were boats available for trip at times. We could see the tourists potential.

All through the rest of the trip north we went through many grass fires. Some were very close and not comfortable. We were anxious to stop at Adelaide River and look for a friends grave in the marvelously kept war cemetery. We found it and took the necessary photographs. Then called into the store where we found the owners were selling Aboriginal bark paintings and other things. We were very pleased about this and so were able to buy the first of our collection of such things. Some of them were from Groote Eylandt and some from Arnhem Land and all lovely pieces.

We were about two weeks in Darwin, interested in seeing this small town as it was then. We looked up several known shelling people who took us collecting on beach, mud and reef. We were able to come away with a number of shells that we desired and a great deal more knowledge. All the way on our trip we were able to glean information from various people. We found the most amazing people who knew about shells, minerals and anything else were wished to collect. The folk came in all shapes and sizes and all appeared to have hobbies of one kind or another. One of our new friends had a 10 foot crocodile in their back yard in a cyclone wire enclosure. They had acquired the pet when it was 18 inches long. Right in the middle of the pen was a very good dinner plate; apparently someone had taken some scraps of food to it and as it reared up they were scared enough to drop the plate and no-one had, to that time, felt brave enough to go in and retrieve it.

During our stay, Norman, Gus and Milton Walker were able to take a flight, with their cousin Arthur Howell, who had been in the area for over 20 years, and visit various places along the north east coast and out to Groote Eylandt, and back. They had a very interesting time and we feted wherever they went. They were able to see Arnhem Land clearly. They landed at Millingimbi where Norman was able to find some land snails.

I found Darwin’s heat in August was almost more than I could bear. The caravan park was a dusty place in Nightcliff with no shade for the caravan. No “mod cons” and cold water for showers, which were a shock even in Darwin’s heat, perhaps more so. I found great relief in the post office where we had to go to make our phone calls to home. I was very happy when the calls were delayed as I could sit in the air conditioned area and breathe. I’d often take the children and sit in the foyer and let the children do their lessons there.

We went to Fogg Dam where we were able to find land snails as their population increases greatly when permanent water is introduced. There were buffaloes a-plenty, one of which would liked to have had Norman for dinner, I think. The dam was full of bird life, swans, pied geese, ibis, cockatoos, cranes, divers, plovers and others, water lillies and all sorts of other things. Quite an interesting place. The rice crops had failed there because of the increased bird life and the disease caused by the exploded snail population.

We found a shop that had New Guinea Highlands artifacts and we were able to add to our collection, some carved drums and other things. Also wandered down to where they pack the pearl shell and met Mr Paspaly, a well known pearl shell man, who runs a cultured pearl business. He let us have several pearl shells with the artificially cultured blisters on them.

We had our first try finding Murex monodon. These live in mud. When I say mud I mean thick, thick mud, sticky like jelly and it smelt too. We had to get permission to go through the leprosarium to get to this muddy place. We were not allowed to take the children into the area so parked them with relatives while we went looking for these shells. It is just as well the children were not with us as the mud was awful. We got one shell, so I daresay it was worth it.

We had made some good shell contacts in Darwin and came away with some precious specimens. Most of the collectors were very keen to exchange the shells we had brought with us. One or two people also offered to get artifacts for us too.

On our way south we called in at Batchelor and Rum Jungle, the uranium mine. We were very interested in the process of the mining and had permission to wander in the intense heat looking for specimens of malachite, a particularly lovely green striped stone, among the heaps of spoil there. Gus was taken for a ride in one of the huge trucks that was carrying ore to from the heaps to the crusher. He looked so tiny in this huge vehicle.

After Katherine we turned west. I felt a great deal of trepidation, for somehow I could feel the great emptiness we were heading for, in the pit of my stomach. Our brother-in-law, Milton Walker had had several heart attacks and other nasties before he left home, and we had wondered what would happen if we found ourselves out in the scrub with no help for him if he had another attack or even died. He had been given about six months to live. He was very cheerful about it all and had assured us that he would rather die doing something than sitting at home waiting for the inevitable and going nuts thinking about it. He and we had investigated the situation and were told what to do in such an eventuation, so off we went. I might add that it must have been a good recipe for he lived close on another 20 years after all that.

The bitumen, good road lasted about 70 miles and from then on just a dirt road. At times it was gravel but all in all some parts of it could only be termed dirt road. There usually was a bitumen strip going through a town, particularly when it had some size, the town I mean.

Not far after we ran out of tar, we found a young fellow, Paul, beside the road trying to find a lift. We could not in all honesty leave him behind for he was without water or food and in that country he would not stand much chance of living in the heat. He wanted to go home to Perth before he was conscripted to go to Vietnam. So we picked him up. And we had him for two days. He wanted to get a truck ride if he could and wanted us to stop if one came.

We were fascinated with the Victoria River country, it was lovely. Flat topped mesas on all sides at times, a lovely looking river and a huge red escarpment and blue blue mountains in red country were some of the things we saw.

We had heard of the Victoria River crossing and wondered what it would be like. We had heard terrible stories about its depth, its roughness, its difficulty in its traverse, but all to no avail. When we got there there was little water, but a line up of cars wanting to have a go at it but not quite brave enough to give it a go. So they happily waved us on to see how the Land Rover would take it and saw with relief that it was passable. Soon they were all four or five of them over it.

We had been told to look for Skull Creek out in the middle of nowhere and to stay and get some ribbon stone. We found it all right, but the water had crossed the road in several different places at different times and the bottle tree we had been told to look out for with a sign saying “Skull Creek” was facing the wrong direction for us to see, but there it was anyway. We camped early so we could get some of the ribbon stone. It is superb stuff composed of finely striped red and black glassy agate type stone. The whole creek bed was made of it and it was easy to get. We soon got some in a bag and tied it to the front bumper bar, our hitchhiker ably helping us. After we had collected what we needed, Gus, as little boys are wont to do, took a hammer and started belting hard to get some stone off. Soon there was a yell from him. One of the glass-like splinters had severed an artery in his forearm and the blood was spurting merrily out everywhere. He was soon fixed up but he didn’t hit chips of stone from rocks again. (The last part of that story is that some time about 8 years later, when he was getting an X-ray for a suspected broken arm there in the picture is a piece of ribbon stone neatly embedded in the arm). The final part of the stone story was that the next day over the very bumpy road we lost nearly all our stone for it apparently cut itself through the bag, so the must have been a trail of lovely ribbon stone out near the Victoria River somewhere.

There were no trucks to leave Paul with and so we had him all day until we arrived at the junction of the Nicholson Highway where we were turning south to find another place we had been told about, Thompson Falls. We told him we would pick him up the next morning if he was still there and take him in to Kunanurra.

We found the turnoff we had been looking for and then began our worst road making exercises. One could hardly call it a road but we honestly had to make it as we went for there were un-negotiable ditches and all sorts of horrors, but we did it. When we arrived at the place Norman was horrified for there was a sea of tall grass to camp in and he didn’t like the look of it, for if a fire started we would be trapped. However he and Milton put their heads together and decided to flatten what they could and then turn the vehicles round so we could make a hasty get-away if necessary. While they were doing all that Evvy and I, and the children, explored and found that the Thompson’s Springs were absolutely delightful, icy but beautiful. There was a lovely cool pool with a delightful waterfall falling into it. We did not hesitate and soon we were all in it cooling down and getting the dust off us.

The waterfall came of out a narrow gorge of glorious coloured stone. We took the pictures we could of it, but it was very difficult as it was such a confined area. But the sunset and the dawn colours on the rock were truly lovely.

There was no Paul when we returned to the crossroads next day so we went to Kunanurra and presented a letter of introduction we had to the powers that be who very kindly arranged for us to have a personally conducted tour of the Ord River scheme. We don’t usually indulge in such frivolity but this proved a winner as we were able to see the whole scheme. Our two male primary producers (Milton and Norman) were really keen to see it all. We saw everything that was grown there and all the machinery that makes the wheels go round in such a huge scheme as this was then. Our guide was very knowledgeable and we saw it in the luxury of a smooth-running sedan car which was great after the Land Rover’s roughness. Sara had her thumb slammed in the car door , but felt justly rewarded when moments after this happened she bent down and picked up a new shiny 20 cents, remember this was only months after the new currency was circulated.

We found out what bull dust was after Hall’s Creek. The road itself was not all that bad but suddenly without being able to identify it we would literally fall about 18 inches into a huge hole of talc-like dust. It clung to us lovingly covering even the windscreen and we would wallow along the harder bottom through it until we reached the other side of the hole and climb out. It was horrendous! So most of the way to Fitzroy Crossing we had these hazards. The dust even put the fridge out in the caravan, that’s how intrusive it was. Milton Holden boiled at each one. The cupboards and even the beds were full of dust. With the tough suspension in the Land Rover this played havoc with our backs as well. the children just thought it was fun!

It was horrible dry country, dust and willy-willies everywhere. Going through station properties one wondered what the animals ate as there was no grass. We didn’t see any animals but there must have been some for there were cattle grids. No I don’t think you could call them cattle grids but where a cattle grid could be expected there was just some fence construction with pieces of galvanised iron sheeting attached so that they flapped in the wind.

Right in the middle of this desolate place on the terrible roads the children suddenly yelled that the caravan had fallen down. The front bar across the body of the van had broken and the whole body had fallen down over the Y-piece of the towing part. It did look sick. What to do? Norman, without a word, grabbed the axe and headed towards a few lonely scrubby trees just on the horizon. It was boiling hot, just on 104F, and I wondered whether I would ever see him again. However he turned up with the trunk of a small tree and laid it across the Y-piece. With great effort we were able to lever the body up and push the trunk under leaving bits sticking out each side so it would hold. He tied it into position and off we went again.

The Walkers had gone on ahead and were worried about us, but we got there all right. We parked the van and the Walkers too, and all piled in the Land Rover and set out to find this Geikie Gorge we had heard so much about. We were so fortunate. We arrived in time to take many shots of the wonderful rocks at sunset and get different ones of the changing colours. It was a great experience.

We had conversation with an aboriginal man and his wives and family and he sold us some lovely spear points he had made, some of glass, they are truly lovely.

The next day we finished crossing the continent when we arrived in Derby. It was good to get to civilisation again. But the caravan was a wreck. I couldn’t open the door and none of the cupboards would open properly so Milton and Norman worked on it enough to get us to Broome where we expected to stay for a while. The road was better and joy of joys there was 80 miles of bitumen leading into Derby. It was very hot indeed and Norman had quite an adventure when a woman in the caravan park was gassed in her caravan. We gave her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and revived her enough to keep her alive until the ambulance came.

We went looking for the ocean at Derby and found a big pier over very muddy water and lots of mud. But the town was nice.

The road to Broome was variable from bad to good in places but we did it, rocky caravan and all. We looked at the longest water trough,supposedly, and the bottle tree gaol, like all good tourists did and arrived with relief at Broome. We loved Broome. It was a sheller’s paradise. The caravan park was right on the water’s edge overlooking Roebuck Bay. Our van was parked beside the Walker’s on a cliff about 10 feet high and so it was no effort to get to the water right below us.

We spent three weeks at Broome and had quite a lot of adventures. We were there for the spring low tides and they are really something to see. There was 33 feet ( over 10 metre) differential between the highest / lowest tides and that made for some excitement. When the tide was in the water was right up to the small cliff at our caravan, but when it was out one could hardly see the water line it was so far away. In Norman’s usual fashion he told us that we would have to make the most of every tide that was ‘shellable’, meaning, of course, twice a day, and that often meant 3am starts!

Broome is known for some wonderful shells, especially some lovely volutes called Amoria damoni and Amoria grayi. One finds them on sand banks way out in the middle of Roebuck Bay. Also there are huge shells called Syrinx aruanus and many others. To get to these sand banks we had to launch the boat. The timing was the crucial thing. As the tide went out so far one had to launch the boat when the water was deep enough to float it otherwise there would have been a long haul over dry sand. So, we would have to launch it , go out to where we would think a sand bar would appear and throw out the anchor and sit until the sand appeared below us when we could get out and shell madly until we saw a tide wash come at us at a great rate and we would hurry to the boat again and sit in it until we floated. We would then go in as far as we could inshore and one of us, usually Norman or Milton would walk the boat in as the water came in. It had its exciting moments. When the water came in at first it raced faster than one could walk and would cover the sand banks very quickly, but on the shore edge the sand was less steep and so it look a long while for the water to get deep.

We were warned about taking the children out and so they rarely did a trip with us and then mostly in daylight - we took them on the near dawn runs when we’d be waiting in the pre dawn light. Apparently sometimes there would be a freak wave almost like a tidal wave, although we never saw one, so we were very alert and the children wore life jackets all the time they were out. But it wasn’t only the water one had to be wary of for we often saw sea snakes come in, they were quite common.

Our biggest adventures happened at night. Evvy, Milton and Norman usually did the day tide and Norman, Milton and I did the night one. That meant getting up about 2 am and walking the boat out through the water until it could float enough to take us and then go to the middle of the huge, huge Roebuck Bay and feel around with an oar for shallower water. It was very eerie out in this massive expanse of water in the black dark just sitting there hoping we were in the right place at the right time. Norman’s in-built compass was usually correct but one night it was not. We just could get our bearings at all and suddenly we found ourselves coping with big waves and so decided that we must be heading out to sea. We turned around and found the right spot, much to my relief. To find the reef you would not only be listening toe ht water but you’d dip the oar in and if it touched bottom you’d just sit and wait for the water to go down around you. When the tide turned - the first person to see a small tide wave would yell and you’d all make for the boat as fast as you could - often at almost a jog, then sit in it until it floated - usually no more than 10 minutes, then make for home.

The old wharf at Broome was quite a landmark. The big coastal steamers would come to the wharf and sit on their flat bottoms at low tide on the sand. They looked like squat hens. When the 30 foot tide was in they floated high and looked like any other ship. We got very tired of carting the boat in and out of the water so Norman got the bright idea of tethering the boat to the wharf when the tide was in and tying it in such a way that gave it had a bit of leeway to float up and down with the water. So we were allowed an extra hour in bed, much to my relief. We walked down to the wharf after our hour extra in bed, in the pitch dark, and looked down where we had left the boat. No boat! There were staircases along the sides of the wharf with landings at certain places so people could walk out on them no matter what the height of a ship’s deck would be. After shining the torch all round the shallow water below Norman gasped. We looked to see what he was pointing at, and there was our boat poised on one of the landings above our head. My first thought was, “Thank goodness, now we can go back to bed.” But no, I had forgotten the persistence of my husband. We manhandled the darned boat down that slippery oyster covered slimy staircase all the way to the ground. By the time we got it there it was nearly dawn and the water had gone, but we found a tiny stream of receding water and half pushed -half floated the boat out and went out shelling as usual.

Thankfully we did not always go out on the bay, but shelled at Gantheaume Point and other places where there was reef or accessible shelling spots. We collected about four different kinds of Murex shells and some lovely cowries, cones, pectens and others. We also collected shell collectors. Very interesting and helpful people. We became used to “mud maps” which are made when someone wants to tell you where such and such a place is, one squats on the ground and watches while the teller of news draws in the soil full directions that were usually very useful. As the red soil of the area was very dry and dusty, “Mud maps” was a misnomer, but we found quite a few people to exchange shells with, some who had come to live in Broome to be close to good shelling and some who were visiting for the same reason. Having the name on our caravan was also a draw card to shell collectors. “Mollusca hunter” means shell hunter, but it wasn’t the real name of a shell. For shell collectors this advertised just what we were adn through this we met many wonderful people and many more new friends.

We spent a very pleasant time in Broome. Most of the commercial buildings were corrugated iron and there was a good sprinkling of several races of people, Malays, Japanese, Aboriginal and probably more, which we found interesting.

We enjoyed the day that the king of all king tides appeared. The whole town appeared to be surrounded by water. Most of the little iron clad toilets sitting alone surrounded by muddy salty water.

We watched the pearling fleet go out and the loading of the supplies for this.

We went up to Beagle Bay Mission about 100 miles north to visit the Roman Catholic Mission there and speak to those in charge, and also some of the residents. A lovely place.

We had major repairs done to the caravan and came the time when we just had to pull up stakes and head down to the worst horror stretch of road we could expect, across the Great Sandy Desert to Port Hedland.

We had been hearing about this terrible road ever since Queensland. The country is all white sand and over the years as each time the graders go over it they make a deeper channel and so the road is rather like going along a narrow ditch with high sides about 10 - 12 feet high and in many spots only about 15 feet wide. The road itself is very narrow and we were warned that if you met a road train you stood a great chance of being wiped off the face of the earth, as the drivers were in a hurry and did not wait to be polite. A road train is a huge truck carrying cattle to the abattoir and pulls up to about three trailers that are every bit as big as the truck itself. They go like the wind and can be quite frightening. At least in my mind I was frightened before we even met one. Two things gave me some assurance; one was that nowadays that part of the road was getting shorter as the new one was built; and two, that the meat works were soon to close for the season and so maybe we would not meet many of those horrible trucks. We were very fortunate we did not meet any in the bad bits.

Some friends of ours, Nic & Charles Palmer, broke the axle of their caravan in this very bad bit of road and Charles was distracted wondering what to do. We had all been warned never to leave our vehicles in such places as they would be stripped before you could get help. But Nic had persuaded Charles to leave her in the caravan and go to Port Hedland in the car for help and just take the risk of finding her Okay again. It was some hundreds of miles and he left her with great trepidation. He left her with their gun loaded and instructions not to open the door for anything. She was there for a day and a half and was all right, but it is a risky place and she was not squashed by a road train or harassed in any way either, but it was a frightening experience.

We stopped on a part of the road that was not dangerous and walked the half mile or so to get to the Eighty Mile Beach, the Pardoo Sands. It was a bad walk across and among the spinnifex which was growing thickly. Sara’s little legs could not cope with the prickly spinnifex as it was over waist high on her, and so Norman had to carry her. The heat was appalling and the going quite bad, but we did it, for we had heard so much about it. The tide was out and I mean out. We could not even see water from the top of the bank at the beach, it was so far out. There is nothing to stop any shells and other sea things from coming ashore at that place for there are no reefs and so one could beach-comb with ease if you could put up with the heat. The shells were in good condition if you got them fresh, but the hot sun quickly bleached them so they had to be collected each tide. We picked up some marvellous white murex there, some big sponges and a mixture of other things. After that we recorded that it was 112 F in the caravan.

That night we could not find a place to get off the road as we had hit the new one and it was just the opposite to the bad bits, the road built high with sides so steep and sandy that we could not get down to the surrounding country so we just stayed on the road all night after trying for many miles and hoped for the best that we would be seen if any one came. The road was not flat either and so our fridge did not work, but it was all safe enough, no-one passed us.

We had a sticky river crossing at an unknown river when the tide was in. It was very deep but we made it. There was nothing else of note and soon we were in Port Hedland for about a week’s stay at Pretty Pool as one could not get caravan accommodation in Port Hedland.

There were shelters like a bus station at Pretty Pool some miles out of Port Hedland. One backed one’s caravan under these and one got some shade. We were right near the beach a short walk away and we were able to shell with the minimum of comfort. The shells were similar to those in Broome except for the elusive Amoria elliotti which we tried hard to get but didn’t. We later found that their habit was the opposite to the usual volutes that we had collected in that instead of them appearing when the tide was coming in, we heard after we left there, that one collected them in shallow water as the tide receded, and of course we always left our run too late. So we didn’t collect any but did get others.

We had a few contacts to meet, people we had been corresponding with and who were very helpful as to how and where to shell We asked one collector where one found the beautiful Murex monodon and were given good instructions, with a warning. There is much mud. There sure was, it was impossible to walk. One got down to one’s knees and lost one’s shoes trying to get them out. It was terrible for the children so we gave it away. But I got two tiny Homalocanth secunda and was very pleased with myself. In other words little Murex.

After have further and better reinforcements done to the caravan we left for the south calling in to Munda station 48 miles out and asked permission to go through their property to get to the beach to shell. We had a pleasant stay there overnight and found the shelling interesting but not startling.

My notes told us that we had to look for a huge pile of rocks some few miles south of Munda, and there they were, right in the middle of a plain. There we found the promised Aboriginal drawings. We were able to photograph them and some of them turned out well.

On our way south we called in at Roebourne, where we spent a delightful time meeting people, collecting and exchanging shells and gem stones and minerals. We visited Port Sampson where they load asbestos which was floating loose all over the wharf there and I have often wondered since whether it had been a good idea to let the children catch the floating pieces and play with them.

Then to Dampier, which we visited in the first week of its being an open town. We saw the trains bringing ore from the mines in the hinterland and watched those huge trains emptying their loads automatically, and saw the size of the huge railway lines that carry them. Noting that all these areas were full of minerals and we collected rocks from the sides of the roads and hillsides wherever we went

Onslow brought us more shell collectors and we were able to exchange for more shells. Leaving there, we headed across country, taking a short cut through a sheep station, and visited Exmouth finding more shell collectors. We were interested in the place for it was more American that Aussie I think.

On then to Carnarvon, where we visited friends who worked at the tracking station there and we were delighted to be able to visit it and see things that we had never seen before. We also collected more shells and met more shell collectors.

Shark Bay was yet another interesting place where we met shell collectors and obtained more shells. We met up with our friends the Palmers here and also Rudi Muller a diver from Albany. They, with Norman, went on a boat trip to Dirk Hartog Island for more shells. We found Shark Bay a very windy place and the usual water in the park was so salty that a hot shower made one feel as though they had had a hot mineral spa. We enjoyed our time there though. We found some Voluta nivosa walking on the water’s edge one day and felt very pleased about it. Their animals are quite attractive.

One thing we heard about in Shark Bay was the amount of sea snakes that abound. We were told that there are so many that the prawn fishermen will not trawl at night so do so in daytime so that when they bring their nets up they wait until the snakes poke their heads out of the nets and then they chop their heads off. We don’t know how true it is, but we certainly gathered quite a few snakes from the beaches along that coast, all the same type.

We were now getting into wild flower country and being thrilled with what we saw. We couldn’t believe that they could improve on what we saw that far north but we were to discover that as we went south the flowers got better and better and we began to run out of oohs and aahs, and films to take photos of them.

It was about this time that we heard some strangle cries from the back seat and on making enquiries as to what was wrong we were told by our amazed children that we had passed through a town and as we had not passed a town without stopping, for some months, they thought something was wrong .

At Geraldton the Walkers left us to go from for a family wedding and so we were on our own from then on taking two more months to reach home, just before Christmas.

At Geraldton we were seeking more shells and while doing this met up with Max Çramer, famous for his diving trips to the Abrolhos Islands and finding the Dutch ships that had foundered there in the 17th century or thereabouts. He very kindly gave us some artifacts from the “Batavia” and showed us some very interesting things.

We went inland to visit friends at Wongan Hilla after Geraldton and really saw wild flowers. They were glorious. I shall never forget seeing the first lot of wonderful green and red Kangaroo Paws growing on the side of the road, it was quite unbelievable. And so it was all the way down to Esperance.

We spent quite a time in Perth, seeking shells and more collectors. We were rather surprised that we could not get the shells we had hoped because the West Australian people wanted to hang on to their shells and so at first we didn’t seem to be able track down any of the superb cowries, but after a while we did hit the jackpot and we were able to come home with some nice ones.

After leaving Perth we kept to the coast and met some wonderful people who were willing to part with their shells and so felt we had a good representation of West Australian shells which are so very special and interesting. So we gathered shells and shellers and gazed at wildflowers all the way round to Esperance where we turned north to Norseman thence westward across the Nullarbor Plain.

We still shelled over the wide plains, but this time not sea shells, but land snails all the way across, noting the exact mileage from a town as we gathered them. They are unique and were able to share our catch later with the Australian Museum.

We stopped at Yalata Lutheran Mission on the Nullarbor where we had a great time with the supervisor Mr Lindner. He showed us all over the Mission and told us how it works. We were very impressed. We bought quite a lot of boomerangs and other artifacts and arranged to buy more when they sent them. We felt it was a very successful time spent.

After Adelaide we headed south for Port Macdonnell stopping at fishing fleets at Glenelg and Victor Harbour. At the last place were were given a bucket of shells by a fisherman who wanted to get the smelly things off his boat. At a passing shot he said, “Watch the shells, there’s a beauty in the bottom.” He was right the was a lovely volute in the mess, an Amoria exoptanda, the first one we had seen, but they have been more procurable since then. We were absolutely delighted, of course and blessed his generosity.

We spent some days or more at Port Macdonnell and with the help of a shell contact were able to find some lovely cowries there. Shelling there is not the easy task it is in the tropics. We toiled over slimy granite rocks covered with thick kelp in the cold, cold water with the freezing wind blowing hard, and then by accident we discovered, how to find them and came away from there pleased with our efforts.

Home through Melbourne and the south west coast of Victoria and New South Wales, please that our seven months of travelling was well worth all the fun and effort.

Chapter 4

I daresay visiting a tropic isle is the desire of most people. They look very beautiful and romantic on all the brochures. We were no different to any other person as we wanted to taste a little of that life. Norman and Billie (his first wife) had been to Papua on a cruise in 1936 and the first of our Papua-New Guinea artifacts came from that trip.

Mervyn Hunter had been in New Guinea during the war and so he and Norman planned, in 1967, a trip in the “Bulolo”, a Burns Philp ship that was captained by our friend Brett Hilder. It was a round trip, Sydney, Port Moresby, Samarai, Madang, Lae, Rabaul and back home to Sydney. They collected many artifacts and other interesting items, not the least some lovely shells. When they reached Rabaul, Dr John Evans, who had not long before retired as director of the Australian Museum, told Norman of an amazing collection of Papua-New Guinea butterflies that was for sale. It was owned and had been collected by Richard Carver who was a government entomologist. John suggested that they meet Richard, they did and came home with the most glorious collection of insects. They were packed in dozens of hand made timber insect boxes and Norman was able to hire an empty cabin near him to house the collection on the way home. We knew nothing about looking after such a collection but we had a very close friend, Arthur Mares who had been a collector for many years and he taught us to care for them. A great acquisition, which is now incorporated into the Australian Museum in Sydney.

I had always heard about the romantic Pacific Islands from my sister Judy Tudor who was at that time editor of the Pacific Islands Monthly, a magazine that is distributed widely throughout the Pacific. She had travelled extensively about the Pacific and had in fact lived in New Guinea for some years, pre war, and I had read and heard about her adventures in some of those and other places.

In 1969, not long after our mother died, Judy asked me if I would like to go to Fiji with her and several others from their publishing house to celebrate the centenary of the Fiji Times. Their company, Pacific Publications, had acquired this paper which was published in Suva, the capital of Fiji, and so was an important daily publication to the islands.

A group of us set off to be involved with the celebrations and I had a really grand time. It was a holiday with a difference to me, no camping and living frugally. It was all glamour and fun. We stayed at “Vale Vula Vula”, which means “White House” in Fijian, a small house on the beach of Korotonga, which was bought by the Fiji Times for the use of the visiting executives.

Between official engagements I had a wonderful time as I was able to walk out onto the reef whenever the tide was out and collect some interesting things, but as is often the case, the people who live nearby eat all they can find on the reef and so there was not as much to find as one could expect.

However when we were in Suva I was able get to the markets and other places where I could buy and look at all sorts of shells and artifacts. It gave me a real taste of island life of the five star variety. I came home with glowing stories about it all.

So in 1971 when the Fiji Times had built a bigger and better house just along the beach a bit, we took the children and Evvy and Milton Walker to have a month in the lovely place. This house was called “Casablanca”, which also meant “White House”in both Spanish and Arabic, and was a two storied comfortable place that sat on higher ground just over the road from the reef. So we could sit in comfort watching the reef come out at low water and just wander down to shell until our hearts were quite content.

We had a car that would take all of us and so were able to wander along the coast looking for likely places to shell and likely villages where we could buy things for our museum. We had a delightful time.

Our appetites for tropic isles was whetted and so we looked for further pastures. As I had not liked the heat in Darwin and was quite a wilting lily, I was not too happy about going to places in more northern climes than Fiji, so in 1973, Norman and Gus set off for a few weeks to explore the New Hebrides and New Caledonia. I stayed at home with Sara. They travelled over several of the islands and had some really great adventures, like climbing the active volcano on Tanna Island and going as far north as Espiritu Santo in a tiny plane in very heavy wet weather. They gathered artifacts and made contacts for further acquisitions. They met some wonderful people through introductions from Brett Hilder, Burns Philps famous sea captain, and Dr Ted Freeman who was Medical Surperintendant of Gosford Hospital at the time, and had been a missionary doctor there for some years. They came home assuring me that I would be able to take the climate very well.

In 1974 Norman, Gus, Norman’s brother Mervyn and an “almost cousin” from Emu Plains, Ken Wood, all set off to go to the far eastern Solomon Islands of Santa Cruz. This was real exploratory stuff for the boys as the islands are way off the beaten track. They were to fly to one part of the far islands and do the rest by small boat. But, they never did get there for on a diving expedition with some divers from the diving club in Honiara Mervyn died the day after reaching Honiara. He had a massive heart attack and did not survive. They were diving at a place called Araligo along the west coast of Guadalcanal in the waters of Iron Bottom Sound, so named for all the battle ships that were sunk there during the Coral Sea Battle in the Pacific war.

It was a terribly traumatic time for them for tourists are not supposed to die while on holiday. The news was buzzed all over the islands by radio and the local people, not to say our boys, were all in deep shock. The folk took Norman, Gus and Ken to their hearts and looked after them very well. Norman had to wait for all the paper work to be done before they could leave the islands and so for two weeks while they waited they were shown and were able to visit other islands. Everywhere they went they got sympathy for their loss, for even those in the most distant village had heard the news and they were recognised instantly in the most out of the way places.

The Santa Cruz part of the trip was cancelled, of course, but many close and loving friendships were made at that time. When they did come home they were able to share their experiences of the islands they visited. Of course they came home with shells and other things.

Norman was quite sure that I could cope with the quite extreme heat and so the next year, in 1975, we four, Norman, Gus, Sara and I all set off to visit the Solomons again. It was the beginning of a love affair with those wonderful islands that continues till today.

The heat is extreme, but one just realises that if one wants to see things one just must put up with it. At least that is the theory.

We always stayed at Blums “Hibiscus Hotel”, which is nowadays called the Hibiscus Hotel. It consisted of, then, several self-contained rooms with 4 single beds, cooking facilities and the greatest blessing, ceiling fans as well as a bathroom. It would have been barely a one star. We met the most amazing people there, locals and others passing through. As it was about the cheapest accommodation in Honiara we met a number of missionaries, young fellows there for photography jobs and scientists etc., anyone who wanted life on the cheap.

Through Mervyn’s death we met a great number of fine people associated with the Anglican Church which is called the Church of Melanesia. They were always helpful and always willing to adopt people who are interested in their way of life. And we met with such loving care.

We went down to Marau Sound by small plane and stayed on an island called Tavanipupu. Marau is right at the far eastern tip of Guadalcanal, the main Solomon Island It is a huge waterway that is dotted with lovely islands. Most had villages on them, we never did see them all. Right in this big sound was our tiny island paradise. There was an Englishman and his Welsh wife lived and let out two most beautiful island houses. We hired the most isolated one and had a great time. It is quite a large house as such things go. It has one big room with about 4 beds in it, a kitchen nook and a bathroom. One has to take everything one needs, or hail a passing canoe, for the time spent there as there are no shops and everything has to be brought from Honiara. The sides were open and one could lie in bed looking up at the marvellous thatching on the inside of the high pitched roof. But this was not always to be recommended as it was much safer to keep the mosquito net up to keep one from being invaded by spiders, geckos and insects that were rather apt to fall on one, as Gus found out one night when a very large huntsman spider just dropped from the roof onto his lap! It will always be one of the most wonderful places for us.

Our little beach was about 20 feet away and we would walk into the warm water that felt like silk and float over the most wonderful reef. We were visited frequently by people from nearby islands who were very happy to sell us fruit and other things. As soon as we told them we were interested in shells, we were visited by lots of men who had collected from some of the island reefs and were most happy to sell shells. They knew a lot about selling shells, too, for they must have dealt with quite a few collectors. We made friends with many and still, in 1996, correspond with one.

We knew of a well known shell man who lived at Marau, Iain Gower, who was married to an island girl and he and their family lived on his plantation near the airstrip. He came to visit us and a great friendship developed. In fact a few years later we had his two little girls come to live with us in Avoca Beach for a year’s schooling. He and Charles and Myfanwy Humphries shared the ownership of Tavanipupu. I daresay that meant that they leased it or some such, for even if a European thought they had bought a place, the island people still claimed it as theirs.

We also went to Auki on the huge island of Malaita. We stayed in the motel and visited several places of interest, the first port of call being, of course, the native markets. About 20 miles north was the hospital of Fau’abu, run by three Australian sisters and who belonged to the Anglican Church. We got to know these wonderful women quite well and stayed with them on a later visit, and one stayed with us at Avoca Beach. We learned a little more about the people when questioning the sisters who were much loved by the islanders. There was a leprosarium on a big hill above the hospital and we were very happy to meet some of the patients there.

Along the western shore of Malaita there is a long lagoon called Langa Langa. On the sea edge of this lagoon are many little man-made islands. The most famous of these is Laulasi, where they are most skilled in making shell money or bride-price. This is made by the people out of a red (which is best) or white clam shell found in the lagoon. Small chips are broken off the shells, holes made in them and threaded into strings then they are rubbed and rubbed until they are smooth strings of round bits. These are placed together in groups of ten strings which are formed together and then is sold to islands all over that part of the Pacific to uncles who wish to buy brides for their nephews, which is the custom.

The islands are man-made for protection. The people who live on them are sea coast folk who used to live on the shore of the main island. They began building these islands because the mountain people would come down and raid the sea villages to capture victims for their various practices which are usually extremely cruel and quite cannibalistic. Where Christianity is established these awful practices have stopped, but some of the old customs die hard. If one ever queries these things one usually is told, “It is custom”, and that absolutely finishes the discussion. It is very easy to tread on toes unintentionally.

The islands are very private and you are not encouraged to visit unless previous arrangements have been made, usually by radio. We travelled in a big war canoe down the lagoon many miles south of Auki but something had gone wrong with the lines of communication that day and when we arrived things looked a bit sticky to begin with, but Norman produced some photos he had taken of the chief, George, the previous year and things changed dramatically and we were welcomed. Sara and I being allowed into only areas which were permitted to be entered by women during childbirth and while they have their periods, and we were barred from following our men folk. Norman and Gus were taken to sacred parts of the island which is taboo for women. There is an area which holds huts containing many of their ancestor’s skulls and piles of the grizzly things. Life is somewhat different there.

Wherever we went we collected shells and artifacts and general knowledge about the places we saw and the people we spoke to.

We have been back to the Solomons, to Honiara, Auki and Marau several times since then and have learned to know a little about it; it is a complex place, but the people are truly lovely folk, but they just don’t look at life as we do. They would like some of our modern accoutrements but they do get spoiled by our “civilisation”. Their way of life is pretty good on the whole and they protect it strongly, which is what they should. There is no starvation in the Solomons, every one shares what they have and their own village life is the most important thing for them, even for those who have become urbanised, there is always the thought that they belong to a village.

On our last trip we were given permission to catch butterflies and as a result of that we were able to send back to the museum in Honiara a small collection of butterflies and the data that went with them, for they had almost nothing of their native fauna in the museum and we thought they should have something.

We came home through New Hebrides staying with friends and getting to know more of the people. It was there that I must have picked up a very nasty infection that delayed our planned trip to Britain, Europe and Israel. So we had to wait for two weeks while I recovered from that very unpleasant experience. Years later I discovered that it was probably Dengue Fever. We planned to be home only a week or so before setting off again but I messed that up. However after a delayed start we did get away, and spent about 12 weeks wandering around England, Scotland and Wales, looking up old friends and making new ones, and going out to Israel and having the most wonderful experience of all.

We bought a little red Leyland Mini station wagon and travelled everywhere we could get to in the time. Our base was in Warnham, Sussex where Judy, my sister, had taken a house for some months. It was a grand experience. There was much that we saw and did and much that we did not have time to see but our memories are precious. We visited places from whence our progenitors came and loved the feel of the land. But, oh, it was hot. As hot as it gets here at home, unbelievably hot. The hottest they had had for many a year but not humid heat like the Solomons.

Our trip to Israel requires a whole book in itself. It wasn’t a tour, it was a pilgrimage and we loved it. We booked a tour through Orient Tours in London, for Israel for we thought it would be the best thing way to see it. We were quite correct and the Jewish tour company we went with was superb. I think it was our first organised tour but we did enjoy it all, even the extreme heat. It is the sort of country where you need to be guided. More artifacts and even some shells, water snails from the headwaters of the Jordan River right under Mt Hermon where the water rises from beneath the mountain.

On our way home we stopped off at Singapore and Bali which meant more collecting. We found the shopping in Singapore quite intriguing, with all the duty free things available. We didn’t get a lot of that stuff but we were able to find some shell contacts we had written to and made some good exchanges so we did get some lovely shells. We made some good friends there and loved meeting Mrs Lim again, with whom we travelled in Israel.

Bali, too, proved to be most interesting in that we were able to make contacts with traders who would send goods for our shop, such as clothing, e.g.shirts, skirts, bikinis and others, and some of their most lovely carvings, and silverware and jewellery. We stayed at Sanur Beach Hotel and were most intrigued with the life on the beach. There were always children who were trying to sell shells as soon as you appeared on the beach. The thing that intrigued us most was the number of small working boats on the water over the reef, with, usually, one lone person beside them. We soon found that they were digging up coral rocks and loading them into the boats to be taken away and turned into lime for the building of the big modern hotels that were going up everywhere. It is terrible to think that we visitors could be catered for in the best accommodation and as a result cause the reefs to be ruined. I am sure that they have never heard of ecology. It certainly would not be allowed in Australia, thank goodness. When the reef was covered by some feet of water the poor souls had to dive for the coral. It seemed to be a constant job as they were there working the reef from dawn to dark.

In between our island trips we constantly re-visited North Queensland and in 1972 we took our biggest trip ever, in a small boat. At least 'Coralita' wasn’t exactly small but she wasn’t an ocean going liner either. Wally Muller, who had captained 'Careelah' of our 1966 trip to Kenn Reef, wrote telling Norman that he had a new boat that was longer range and had all mod cons. He wanted to take a group out to the Chesterfield Reefs, was Norman interested? Of course the adventurous Hunter said, 'Yes'. The Chesterfield Reefs are out in French territory towards New Caledonia about 600 miles off the Queensland coast. They were reputed to be the home of the beautiful shell called Cymbiolacca thatcheri, it was part of this mysterious shell that we had dredged in 1966 when on the Careelah. Its discovery is reported to be this. In 1868 a ship was wrecked on this far away reef and the survivors lived on the string of islands for some months before they were rescued. While there they had little to do but keep themselves alive by eating what they could find and to fill in time they collected shells. Some dead specimens of a previously unknown shell were among what was brought back. It was named as above but no live or whole specimens were ever found. About 1970 a boat did get out there and the first live specimens were taken. Of course this caused a stir among avid shell collectors, for the specimens found were sold for over $1000 each. There was great excitement.

We had never in all our shelling experiences desired to have the best, the rarest, the biggest, the most beautiful or the anything else. We were just interested in making a collection of locality variations in shells and enjoy the excitement that went with collecting. This trip fired Norman with the adventure spirit and so all he had to do was rustle up a big enough group to fill the spaces on board. So he asked me first. I flatly refused. I had long discovered my adventurous spirit was all right in theory but I had found to my regret that that was far as it went. He told Wally he would book the boat and fill it with friends and relations. Mervyn was booked, and his son, Michael; Ken Ward a 'nearly cousin'; Les Nichols, a friend from Gosford; our builder, Pat Britton; our chemist, Gil Dobson; Peter Armstrong the dentist from East Gosford and Eric Worrell from the Reptile Park in Gosford, a friend of long standing and guess what ... yes ME. I did get there after all. Norman does not know that meaning of a maiden’s “No”. I had planned spending the two or so weeks of the trip lying in state in the caravan reading innumerable mystery stories in the caravan park in Yeppoon.

There were a couple of spaces left on the boat and Wally filled those with two others who were interested, Billie Dymock , a shell collector from Brisbane and Ron Johnson a diver from Sydney.

By 1972, when we did this trip, a new and lovely marine harbour had been built for Yeppoon at Rosslyn Bay, a suburb of Yeppoon. A great advantage over our experiences of getting into and out of Ross Cr

eek of “Careelah” days.

We stood on the wharf and looked at the beautiful boat and I said, hopefully, “She looks lovely. She looks as though she would ride well.” Peter Armstrong looked at me and back at “Coralita” bouncing at anchor and said, doubtfully, “I hope so.” He didn’t sound enthusiastic.

So we all boarded. Wally grabbing me and saying, “I have some great seasick tablets here. I want you to take them. I know you.” This sounded very ominous.

“Coralita” was certainly a step up from old “Careelah”. At the stern, below decks there were two double cabins with en suite. Sheer luxury. Ours, we were told had been the cabin allotted to Pierre Toudeau, the Canadian Prime Minister. Mervyn the other, which Mrs Gorton, our Prime Minister’s wife had when she hosted the said Canadian. There were several other cabins, each taking two people and they all paired off to get their accommodation sorted out. The crew consisted of Wally the captain, Nisi (Denise) the cook, Rhonda the stewardess and Richard (Richie) Weir who was the 6 foot 5 inch crewman and a wonderful diver.

I was fine for the first 3 hours and then I hastily retreated to the cabin where Norman was lying down. I daresay it was luxurious seasickness in that we both had buckets to use, yes Norman was sick too, and a bathroom right there and so that was how we spent the next 50 hours. Yes, she did ride the waves and I can still tell you just what her actions were, but I won’t!

However after appearing on deck in the calm waters

of the Chesterfield lagoon we began to look at life as though it had some prospects of being pleasant. I must admit though, that when I first landed, I announced to Norman that “nothing, no, not a thing would ever get me back on board.” Then I suggested that he had better get a helicopter to come from Noumea to pick me up and take me home via that city. Needless to say I was persuaded to “pull my head in a get aboard”. I did. I hated flying even more than the boat!

Wally sent all ashore but Les Nichols, Norman and me who were left to work the dredge the next day. We worked hard all the morning while the others wandered along the string of islands that formed the eastern edge of the reef. We were unskilled at dredging and Wally was a bit frustrated at our efforts. I don’t think he knew all that much more. But we dragged the dredge along the lagoon bottom while Richie the deckhand swam over the dredge to see that it was sitting well and digging in at the right depth. We got few shells and only 2 Voluta thatcheri a good one and a small one.

The group of islands was quite interesting, as one can walk from island to island at low water. All the islands are covered with low growing shrubs and were thickly populated with birds of several kinds. The ones we were very interested in were the frigate birds which we had never seen before. There were also three kinds of gannet, masked, red legged, and brown, each nesting in the same sorts of places as we had seen in 1966 at Kenn and Frederick Reefs. There were several kinds of tern, the Fairy terns nesting along the high tide line and were easily trod on, if one didn’t take care. We took many photos and 16mm film of the baby birds and their frantic parents who were not used to such creatures as us. Because of their non-used to humans we were able to get very close to the bird’s nests. They were a constant delight to us and we must have taken hundreds of photos of them for there was always another more interesting one just ahead.

Eric Worrall had tutored Richie how he wanted him to catch snakes. Richie had been catching them in his hands, gripping them behind their heads. These died quite quickly and Eric realised that catching them that way did not allow them to breathe and de-compress as they got towards the surface of the water. So he had Richie catch them in a handnet, much as we catch butterflies and Richie was quite fascinated to see how they breathed as they rose in the water allowing their bodies to compensate for the pressure in the water. These snakes did not die as the others had.

As they were catching a lot of snakes, accommodation for them became a problem so Norman offered Eric two of the plastic dustbins we brought with us for our shells. He gratefully set them up for his little pets. He had them filled with sea water and in each he put a aerator for oxygen for the snakes. The smaller black and yellow snakes did well but the bigger ones died too often. Eric thought this problem over and came up with an ingenious scheme. The snakes came to the surface, stuck their noses out and breathed air every now and then. By watching them he learned that the little black and yellow snakes pushed their snouts out about an inch or more but the big ones usually only about half and inch. When he saw this he realised that carbon dioxide that the snakes breathed out was sitting on the surface of the water and the big snakes were breathing this in and suffocating. The smaller snakes were sticking their noses out above that level and so getting pure air. So... he cut holes in the side of each bin and let a hose slowly run in each bin which allowed the water to run through and take the carbon dioxide out with it. Very few fatalities after that.

So back to the dredging each morning and it was hard work for little gain. Very few C. thatcheri, but two lovely ones, a medium one and some small ones. There were a few other shells but nothing of great note. It was hard to see all the others go on to the reef at each low tide while we dredged for little gain, but Wally was determined that we would stick with the dredge. We did get to the reefs at times but only when the tide was in. The shore parties usually came back with some nice C. thatcheri, for there were some voracious crabs on the islands which caught and cleaned out some lovely C. thatcheri, each tide leaving them among the rocks clean and pristine. The shore party soon learned where to collect these. We did feel rather dismal about it for it was Norman’s charter, but so is life. We did expect that we would be able to claim the shells that we had got in the dredge but no, the captain insisted that what had been dredged must be shared by all on board and lots drawn for them. We had to abide by this ruling and when the draw was made the two big, lovely C. thatcheri, went to Billie, the passenger, and Pat Britton our builder. I drew a smallish one, Norman and Mervyn drew two minute ones and Michael and Ken drew blanks. Pat immediately gave us his delightful big one, which sats in high estate in the central case in the museu

m ( & later returned to the family) and Ron, the diver, exchanged my smallish one for his nice medium one. We were very pleased with such friendship. Wally swapped his small one with Norman’s tiny one so it was a kindly gesture. We didn’t worry too much about the draw for we felt that at least there was no bias towards us.

Norman asked Wally if we could be put ashore for the last low tide before we left the Chesterfields and then we were able to collect some specimens that were worthy of keeping. I also got a superb big Olive shell about 4 inches long which pleased me mightily. Then that night Richie very kindly dived for Norman and got some in those black dark waters. It was very eerie to watch him disappear in the dark, and very worrying.

Each morning as we went on deck we counted the mating or egg-laying turtles left stranded on the beach, sometimes ten or a dozen.

After leaving the Chesterfields we set south for Bellona Reefs which are in uncharted waters, about four and a half hours sailing. We passed reefs and islands without obvious anchorage and went a further 3 hours to Observatory Cay. Wally anchored off the opening in the reef and took the dinghy in to see whether he could get Coralita in. He decided he could and thankfully did, but it was a tight squeeze. The lagoon was a fairly shallow one, for Coralita’s keel was just above the sand at low tide. It was blissful to have such calm water.

It was here that the men played with turtles. There were lots of them congregating along one beach and first Ken and then Norman clung to one while they swam away, but one bigger turtle objected to Norman and bunted him hard to leave his girl friend alone.

Whenever we went ashore at these cays Mervyn would wander off and beach-comb. He usually came back with all sorts of goodies such as Japanese green bubble floats and bottles with messages etc. He often came back laden. Norman would head for the sea snakes which were often lying on the sand at the edge of the water, and would come back with them in his bucket. There were always some to be found. If there were no live ones he would come back with dried specimens.

We didn’t stay long at Observatory Cay and so headed for Mid Bellona which was a bigger reef about 8 miles away. We found a glorious reef and lagoon there and had a delightfully calm anchorage. Wally did his usual shuffle getting the big boat through a tiny tidal opening.

We did enjoy Bellona, everybody did their own thing, the fishermen caught lots of fish, when the sharks would let us, the divers dived and enjoyed themselves, we shelled, but there was little of note and we even dredged, getting a piece of a dead C. thatcheri, which showed us that they were there. Richie had an infected foot , by this time, and so Michael had to swim over the dredge. Norman and I had to watch out for sharks and four times had to yell for him to get in the boat because a shark was following him. As we passed one big bommie a 10 - 12 foot shark shot out and you should have seen Michael fly through that water. He held a rope all the time and we would haul it in madly whenever we saw danger coming.

At one stage when Wally was moving the Coralita our two dinghies touched and Les and Gil went to the tailboard to shove them apart. Les lost his sandshoe overboard and immediately a big shark came to it and nuzzled it. Michael and Richie got the idea of fishing for sharks. They caught a Whaler immediately and chopped its body off and tossed it overboard. All hell was let loose and sharks came from everywhere boiling the water in their agitation. Ron Jenkins wanted to get some shark action and he really got it, but unfortunately he was in the water with the sharks, but they were too interested in the other shark body to be interested in Ron, but for a while Ron thought it was not shark eats shark but shark eats Ron. Michael and Richie had fun and no-one was really in danger.

After Bellona, we set off home in the calmest sea one could ever imagine and so farewell seasickness. We stopped at Kenn Reef and found to Wally’s and our amazement that the cay we had been on in 1966 had completely disappeared, obviously with a cyclone. We noticed cyclone damage in all the areas we had visited on that earlier trip.

We fished with great glee there. I caught a 12 pound Job fish then a 17 pound Bass which is poisonous and so it had to go back then I caught a 25 pound Coral Trout. All this before anyone else caught anything. Soon everyone was catching them but I had had my hour of glory. Richie did nothing all the time but fillet the fish we caught. We caught masses of fish all day and were able to put them in the freezer to share out when we got back to port. One day we were on to the silver Sweet Lips about 5 - 6 pounds in weight. We caught lots of them, Ken was so excited that he wouldn’t come in for lunch and the boys fed him out there, but then the sharks arrived. The sea boiled with them. It was hard to land a whole fish, they were often chomped clean in half. Sometimes the sharks would hang on and come right out of the water and before they dropped back.

Wally put Pat Britton onto a great place to fish where he could use the special light gear he had brought with him. Pat hooked a huge fish and played him for 24 minutes before he lost it. Wally judged it to be an 80 pound Turrum. Pat was exhausted after the tussle but very pleased indeed.

We had 11 hours of calm water then to Saumarez Reef, where the derelict Liberty ship sits high and dry after being chased by a Japanese submarine during the war. It is an amazing sight to see this huge ship sitting on the reef, but it is a rusty hulk nowadays and very dangerous to explore. I do believe it has gone from there now, sunk into the deep, deep ocean probably.

We shelled collecting some cones and did some dredging with little result, but the main excitement was the fishing. Michael caught 4 lovely Sawtooth Tuna trolling with Pat but they lost a lot of gear for these fish are big and strong. Then Norman put over an extra heavy line that Tom Neilsen had given him, he immediately got on to something huge. Luckily Michael was standing behind him and when Michael saw Norman’s feet go off the deck he made a grab for him and saved him from going over. The gear parted thankfully, but what a fish it must have been.

After that, 18 hours to Yeppoon and the trip was over.

After this epic 1974 trip the Museum had grown so much that it was soon moved from the shop known as 'Pacific Wonderland' in the main street in Avoca to the top floor of our house, purpose built for this.

Norman & Sheila Hunter Natural History Museum

(For many more photos of the shell collection - please visit "Pacific Wanderland" on Facebook or view the you tube video of the 52 minute tour of the museum)

CLICK HERE for Museum video on youtube!