THE VICTORIAN NATURALIST. 169 



round a big rock mass, the aneroid rolls into the stream, and in a 

 very short space of time probably measures the total height, 

 though it lies where we cannot read it. We cannot reach the 

 bottom, but so far as we can judge, comparing it with the height 

 of the Stevenson Falls which have been measured accurately, the 

 lowest point we reach is fully 600 feet below the top, and we are 

 nowhere near the bottom — apparently little more than half way. 

 Professor Kernot estimated the height at 1,000 feet, and this may 

 probably be taken as within the mark. Some day we hope to 

 return with more time to spare, for there is comparatively little 

 difficulty in getting there, granted good weather, time to spare, 

 and an accurate knowledge of the track. We had execrable 

 weather, a short time, and though good guidance in direction, 

 naturally not so good an idea of the way as we now possess. 

 Perhaps, however, we owe to the bad weather the opportunity of 

 seeing the Falls at their very best, and so must not complain too 

 much. 



Our time is more than gone before we begin to think of getting 

 up the gorge again. It was somewhat risky work getting down 

 in a hurry ; it is more than difficult to retrace our steps with 

 rapidity, and somewhat tired out, we find, to our disappointment, 

 that, instead of reaching the head of the Falls, we have certainly 

 got to the top of the gorge, but somewhat behind the head, and 

 in thick scrub with too much climbing grass to make progress 

 easy or pleasant. To add to our misfortunes, we lose our way 

 and follow up the wrong stream, and after retracing our steps 

 and being thoroughly tired out, are relieved to hear the guns 

 fired by those at the rendezvous, where we arrive at 4 o'clock 

 instead of half past two. 



Then commences the tramp back to camp. It is nearly seven 

 by the time we make the old surveyors' camp, and after resting a 

 short time under the beeches, we pass along the Tanjil track, 

 determined to get on as far as we can in the daylight. Darkness 

 comes on and finds us lost in the depth of a gully with no trace 

 of the track amongst ferns, scrub, and fallen timber. There is 

 nothing for it but either to light a fire and wait for the morning or 

 attempt to go on in the moonlight. We determine to do the latter, 

 and so, lighting a fire to warm ourselves, for it has grown damp and 

 chilly, we sit down and wait till the moon rises. Fortunately it is 

 a clear night and the moon nearly full, so after an hour's spell we 

 start. Every two or three hundred yards or so we lose the track, 

 and then one goes on to find a blaze, the rest following when he 

 is successful. Spaces among the trees are deceptive in daylight, 

 still more so in the comparative darkness, and we get along 

 very slowly, stumbling over fern roots and against hidden logs 

 innumerable. At length, close upon four o'clock in the morning, 

 and just as the light is breaking, we make the camp, and after a 



