The Oldtrack In

Memories of New Guinea Gold field Prior to the Aeroplane Services

(Specially written for “Pacific Islands Monthly” hy M.G.) Part II TOWARDS the end of 1926, the Biengi tribe —Upper Bulolo—became trouble some. Picking off stragglers, they decapitated and disembowelled them, taking the bodies to eat. How long this had been going on before it was dis covered will never be known, but appar ently it was some time. Many miners commented on the number of “deserters” they lost on this stage, and attributed it to the fact that it was the last stage before Kaindi.

The discovery of the murders was an accident. A straggler, overtaken by dark ness, slept in the kunai alone. Rising

before dawn, he pushed ahead to rejoim his line. Arriving on a hilltop, he could see the track for miles ahead, and a line* of boys moving leisurely along, with the usual straggler in the rear. He then saw the kanakas creep up behind this boy and murder him.

The cat was out of the bag! The Government sent in a Patrol Officer who* arrested some natives which he hoped were the murderers. The Biengi then openly murdered two Government boys, to “pay back” for those arrested.

The trouble with the Biengi tribe was. ascribed to various causes. The two most persistent rumours at the time was that a miner had shot a native pig; and, another, that a mission teacher had a craving for European foods, especially rice and milk, and he incited the natives to do the killing, taking good care not to do the job himself.

Actually, the natives would not take much inciting. A fighting cannibal tribe, always at war with the Buangs, Kuku kukus or Kaiwa tribes, the advent of the whites had interfered with their chief excitement in life, and indentured natives were as good a food as any other. Then there were the packs to plunder.

Encounter With Bushmen

Going to the beach with a line of boys, and two other miners, we found our selves surrounded by these bow-and arrow men. Armed only with one shot gun between the three of us, we just stood there awaiting their next move.

Yelling something in unison, they laid their six feet bows on the ground. Leaving them there a moment or two, they shouted another guttural sentence; then, lifting their bows, they strung their arrows anc£ drew back the string to its full extent.

We expected a flight of arrows any mo ment; but, to our surprise, they again uttered the same sentence.

This performance continued for some considerable time. It was obvious they wished us to understand that if the prisoners held by the Government were released they would cease to be trouble some.

Having a brain wave, I placed my hands together in front of me as though manacled then pointed to Salamaua, and, bringing my hand around in a sweeping motion, I indicated their loved ones would be returned to them.

With a yell of understanding they raced away. I have since met a number of those kanakas who held us up, and we have laughed over the incident to gether.

Through Hostile Country

Returning from the beach that trip, I was unarmed. Not a firearm could I beg, borrow or steal. So, relying on over taking someone going my way who carried arms, I arrived within a day’s stage of the Biengi country. My boys were dis tinctly nervy and I half expected deser tions. , .

Many other boys were in this camp waiting until some white man came to escort them through the hostile country.

Fortunately, one boy had a .22 rifle, but he only had one cartridge. Lining up everyone in the camp —about ninety I told them if they wished to come with m© they would have to keep close together.

They needed no second telling. Not a boy allowed more than a short yard to separate him from the one in front, the whole day.

Carrying the pearifle, with its one cart ridge, at the rear, and putting my boss boy armed with an axe and knife, in front, we travelled those grass lands at record speed. The punitive expedition, in charge of Warden McLean, was already in the kunai; but, always having a clear

view, the kanakas kept just out of effec tive rifle shot.

As we walked down the long spur past Kabul Village we could see the Warden’s party, on our right, and the kanakas, who were shouting defiance, on the left, Later, the Warden’s party succeeded in .surrounding the kanakas, at night, and a fight ensued, some kanakas being killed. night, we slept at House Bamboo on the bank of the Bulolo River, with a well armed party, who were going in the •opposite direction. The boys asked us to post a guard and, armed with rifles, they paced solemnly up and down all night.

I was awakened several times when they were relieving sentries. Otherwise we were not disturbed.

Fly in from Salamaua to Wau, now, in .35-45 minutes, and you will wonder why all this fuss about the old track in. The magic of the aeroplane has you—its an nihilation of space and distance, and the •dwarfing of earth-bound things, delude you into thinking the distances are not so very great, the mountains not so very high, the ground not so very rough or rocky.

The Early Stages

The track in was not “as the crow flies.” Who cut the first track? No one.

It was made by the bare feet of the stone-age hunters and raiders. For strategic reasons these kanakas wherever possible had their tracks along the highest ridges and spurs; thus many a mountain was climbed that could have "been avoided. Naturally, the early pros pectors followed these tracks and we of the rush, in turn, followed them.

Leaving Salamaua, the very start was tiring—tramping through the soft beach sand to Logua. Here, there was usually delay; either the kanakas would not come and collect you with their canoes (Major Skeets rectified this later) or the xiver was in flood, which meant returning to Salamaua. After crossing the Frisco, ■one passed through flat, swampy, leech infested country, then climbed Komiatum.

This mountain, about 1,500 ft., was bereft of all shade or water, and the sun beat down unmercifully on one’s back in the -afternoon. If it was raining, the red vol canic clay gave no foothold.

After spending the night at Komiatum one started again by climbing some hun dreds of feet, then descended a steep, greasy track to House Sac-sac No. 1 for the mid-day halt. The afternoon was spent following a stream, Bugap Creek, crossing and re-crossing, now along the bed and now along the bank. This was •a very beautiful little valley. Various exotic flowers bloomed in profusion and bright-plumaged birds seemed more in abundance than elsewhere in T.N.G.

The night was spent at House Sac-sac No. 2. On the* third day, one turned up the Bitoi Valley, crossing many big tribu taries, any of which caused a hold-up if in flood. Crossing the Bitoi River by way cf the well-known Bridge Kunda—popu lar only with equilibrists and would-be Blondins—the afternoon was spent zig zagging up Waipali, a dreadful 4,000 ft. bump in the country, without shade. One passed the night in a very poor sort of a village, to which water had to be carried for some considerable distance, and no native foods were available.

Terrible Gagagadu

Along razor-backs, to Wibaining, then a dreadful hand-over-hand climb down to the Bitoi River again, which one followed for a couple of miles. There was one spot, where the track skirted this river, that was particularly dangerous. It necessitated moving along crab-wise, hanging on by nitches cut in the cliff face, with the seething river thirty feet

below. The boys appropriately attached the sobriquet of “Black Bokis” (flying fox) to this spot. That afternoon’s climb was the worst on the whole of the track. Up, up, ever up, almost perpendicular the whole- way. Every hour you thought you saw the summit, and when you arrived it was only a short change of gradient that had deceived you, Gadagadu had seven of the false sum mits. On my first trip, I remember, my cook-boy, seeing the fourth false summit, felt sure it was the top and made an extra spurt; his disillusionment was so great that he sat and wept. Manfully plodding

on, he began to sway with exhaustion, and I had to hump his pack the last 1000 ft., arriving at Gadagadu more dead than alive.

Real mountain warriors were the Kia was. Every village was perched high on a mountain-top, clear of the bush.

Ascending Gadagadu Mountain, and look ing across the Bitoi Gorge, gardens— divided into plots by logs—could be seen on the precipitous bush-covered moun tainsides. To attend those gardens, the kanakas had to ascend and descend the enormous mountains. The reason was ob vious. They built their villages on the

kunai mountains for defence, but the grass country was not good gardening soil.

The “Big Six” (Darby, Levien, and the others) established relay stores at Gada gadu to utilize better the occasional lines of casual carriers they obtained from the beach villages.

The Moss Country

Leaving Gadagadu, the track passed into the high-altitude moss forest. Here

lichen grew ad. lib —every tree trunk and bough was moss or lichen covered. Leaf mould and moss covered the earth several feet deep, between the aerial roots of the trees. Walking became a nightmare—just stepping from one slippery, moss-covered root to another. It was necessary to place the foot cautiously so that the waist of the boot gripped the root; even so, falls were numerous. Rain seemed to fall con tinuously; or a thick, soaking mountain mist (actually clouds), enveloped one.

The whole forest was damp, dank, and eerily silent. No life was in evidence, ex cept our unhappy selves and our miser able carriers, who seemed too impressed, or depressed, to utter a word.

Up one mountain and down again, all day long. It took hands and feet to climb up; and, going down, the kneecaps felt as though they would split with the strain.

A stick was of little asistance as, once weight was placed on it, it sank through the moss and leafage, some distance be fore reaching the ground.

The stage camp at House Copper No. 1 was the highest on the road, over 7 8 000 ft. On our first trip we missed this camp and spent the night on the summit, 8,300 ft., sometimes called House Copper No. 2.

The boys spent most of the night posi tively howling with the cold; and, under a kuruka lean-to, my mate and I, wrap ping a blanket around our shoulders, sat and alternately blew on some rotten water-logged sticks, miscalled a fire. The rain poured down on us, the poor kuruka roofing only serving to divert it into streams instead of drops. It was one of the unhappiest nights of my life, not ex cluding the war.

From House Copper on to House Kuru ka (or Bairu Camp, as it is marked on some maps) the same thing: moss forests, aerial roots, constant falls, mountains, more mountains, rain, more rain. At one stretch, a creek bed was followed for three

hours —boulder-strewn, swift-flowing, and steep. To make things more interesting, there were several water-falls to climb, greasy, weather-worn bed-rock, a case of hang on by tooth and nail, whilst the Arctic waters filled ones’ shirt and trousers from above. House Kuruka was not a bad camp, although often referred to as “Flea Camp.” They certainly kept one busy.

Down To The Bulolo

The following day the descent of the range began in earnest. Jar —jar—jar!

Hang on or drop hundreds of feet, or slither on your seat until some tree or boulder brought you up with a bump.

Many times on the road, lop-sided legs would have been useful for negotiating the sidlings. Crawling around the side of steep mountains was often worse than climbing them. Descending the range also meant many ascents, going down perhaps 1,000 ft. and up 800 ft.

Far below House Kuruka was Quobaik River, which was followed for an hour, crossing and re-crossing. On my first trip, we were held up here by a flood, and, in a torrential downpour, we rigged our flys on the mountainside and found them hardly sufficient to crowd under. But, by lying closely side-by-side, we just fitted in. I picked my cook-boy as the less odorous to be my next floor neighbour, whilst my mate chose the boss-boy for his. During the night there must have been some re-shuffle, for I wakened with the foul smell of a very unwashed grillea covered carrier, who had somehow dis placed the reasonably clean cook-boy.

Up hill and down dale, then out once more into the open kunai. After days of rank tropical bush and dank mountain forests, the sight of the glorious Bulolo Valley from this vantage point was breath-taking. We sat and contemplated it for an hour, whilst our clothes dried in

the warm sunshine. So many of your readers have seen this beautiful valley that I need not describe it.

Past Rabul Village quite friendly-seem ing, then down kunai spurs—compara tively comfortable walking after the aerial roots of the range, and stones of the creek beds. Avery high log led across the Bulolo River. It swayed nauseatingly when traversed and I, for one, was always terrified of it. Later, kunda vines were strung across to act as hand rails.

After spending the night at House Bamboo, the seventh day was an easy stage. Along the flats of the Bulolo, over half a dozen creeks, past where Wau now stands, over the Crater and down to An derson’s Creek. This was a very good camp, and gave us our first sight of gold mining. Smart, Burke, and Anderson had worked this area out in 1925.

And Up To Edie Creek

The last day, up to Edie Creek, was a killer. The track, although always ascend ing, skirted around the mountain diagon ally. There always was rain or mist, and drip, drip, drip from the trees. There was no place for a mid-day spell. Logs to climb over or under, and landslides to negotiate. But “Mecca” was at the end, albeit cold and wet.

The stages I have mentioned here were altered when Dover’s Track came into use. House Sac-sac No. 2 to Waipali be came House Sac-sac No. 2 to Wibaining. to allow an earlier start on the dreadful Gadagadu climb. Many cut the House Kuruka to House Bamboo stage down to House Kuruka to House Kunai —on the edge of the grass lands above the Biengi villages—and from House Kunai they went through to Wau Creek.