War-time Road
When the wounded were considered able to walk, we set off for Wau. The Bulldog Road was easily discernible as at Bulldog it had a flat surface about 5 metres wide and had drainage channels about 30cm deep on either side. At times it had been cut into the low hills and at others it had been built up above the surface of the muddy ground. Its surface was mostly compacted soil but, in some sections, stones had been laid down. Secondary jungle growth had taken hold over the road so at times it was necessary to cut a small path through. Either side of the secondary jungle was thick for about 10 metres. At various intervals were relics of its construction. Mostly old 44-gallon fuel drums with the occasional rusting iron of rejected equipment. At a point on the road where “Dead Chinaman”, a pre-war mining centre, was shown on the map we found the remains of two jeeps; a bulldozer blade; several truck wheels and a winch. Dead Chinaman had also been a depot for the Army engineers.
The road generally followed the Aiv Aui River which became the Eloa River and flowed fast enough to cause white water rapids along the way. Smaller creeks flowed into this river and had in places eroded the road’s surface. At other places wild pigs had been digging it up. Remnants of several old bridges across the major creeks were evident where the bridges had been washed away or collapsed.
Two days out from Bulldog we were having a 20-minute rest for morning tea on an elevated part of the track when we became aware of a fellow traveller going in the opposite direction. On a jungle track some 4 metres below us and 15 metres from where we were sitting, a local walked past clad in a grass “sporran” covering his private parts, “bilas” (decorations) in his hair and around his neck; a string bag “bilum” containing his goods in one hand and a bow and arrow in his other hand. He may have been a Kukukuku head-hunter but it did not matter. We watched in silence as he travelled on completely unaware of our presence and I wondered how many of the locals had done the same to us.
After Dead Chinaman the road began to rise so that we were able to look down the valley to where we had started. The road crossed the Eloa River twice and a few pieces of old manual gold mine sluicing equipment was littered along the banks of the river. The locals in the native villages also seemed to become less welcoming and their appearance became less tidy with fewer Pidgin speakers and less European clothing worn by the men (that is cotton shorts) while the women wore the traditional grass skirts. Hawkeye, in his Cessna, re-supplied us once more by dropping the supplies in the wider Eloa River and we continued our walk up to the imposing foothills of what was shown on the map as the Ekuti Dividing Range. The Bulldog Road was visible as a narrow scar across the mountains to the west when we made our camp near the Army Engineers “Central Camp”. To our right was what seemed a lower, shorter and easier track to Wau, Kudjeru. At the time I could not understand why the Army Engineers did not build their road along this track. In 2022 I found out.
‘Lost’ in the mountains?
The next morning we crossed the Eloa River for the last time and began our ascent. The road was narrower having been cut into the mountain side and was covered in a very thick secondary jungle of closely spaced small trees as it received more sunlight than the surrounding primary jungle. This growth was so bad we had to cut our way through using the machete and in single file with each man taking his turn at the face. It was very slow progress. After hacking our way through this for over 6 hours we made camp and were able to look down on where we had made camp the previous night. It looked so close about a kilometre or so directly below us, but the map allowed me to calculate that we had travelled a distance of just over 8 km. The next day was worse. I calculated that we had travelled a distance of less than 7km in 8 hours of walking and cutting.
To make matters worse we lost radio contact with the company headquarters in Wau and could not reach Port Moresby. (I consider that the high steep mountain was deflecting the radio signal skywards.) The radio came with an aerial that was a length of wire that stretched about 30 metres and was hung between two suitable trees. Using my compass, we placed this wire in a north south orientation and then in an east west orientation along the road without any success. After several attempts I gave up and pressed on only trying again at our nightly camp site.
On day three of our ascent, the road entered into a high alpine vegetation zone where green moss hung in metre long strips from what looked like dead trees and the ground was continually wet being covered in a low spongy type of bush. Its condition began to deteriorate as mountain landslides had taken out large pieces of it and erosion from the numerous creeks had also cut the road. Below its surface it was stony having been cut into the bed rock. The road had swung east around the mountain side, and we had the morning sun on our faces. There were very few trees, and we were surrounded by low straggly scrub. Mid-morning, we came across an area where a massive landslide had reduced the road to less than a metre wide for a distance of at least 80 metres on a steep mountain side which seemed like it was a cliff face. The map’s contour lines were so close and showed the mountain slope falling 800 metres over a horizontal distance of 400 metres. We edged our way rather gingerly along this ledge, crab walking with our backs to the wall until we passed the narrow section.
Shortly we heard an aeroplane engine above us and watched fascinated as Hawkeye in his Cessna flew over our heads. Whilst we were watching and waving at him, he got caught in an air pocket and his plane literally fell before our eyes. One minute he was above us and seconds later he was below us. Quite spectacular for us but frightening for Hawkeye as he later cursed me and told me his plane had dropped 2000 feet on his altimeter. He may have seen us on the ledge and got distracted. I was scared on the mountain ledge. It must have been terrifying for the pilot.
Up went the radio aerial and our signaller was able to contact Hawkeye and I told him we were travelling alright and when we expected to be in Wau. His mission, to find the lost patrol of D Company, had been successful but he was not impressed with his sudden drop. Near this area as we were so high, I looked back to the south and saw the Arafura Sea in the Torres Strait and a short distance further on around a bend I could see the Pacific Ocean to the northeast.
We made camp that night on a rocky ledge about 4 to 5 metres wide. It was bitterly cold as according to the map we were on the 3000-metre contour line near the peak of what the map showed as Mt Kumbak, 3141 metre high. I thought the mountain was aptly named. There were no trees to make a comfortable bed or “haus” and we all slept under the stars on the road’s stone surface. It was so cold and to keep warm it was suggested that we sleep in pairs. I teamed up with Sergeant Guri and my batman, Private Waufahua. We slept together with me in the middle (I pulled rank) with a single hutchie as a ground sheet and our inflatable inserts put into the mattress cover under us and two hutchies over us. I also wore my two sets of jungle greens (my day pair and my night pair) in a vain attempt to keep warm and, invariably, one of the three inserts deflated during the night.
The next day we got up happy that our ordeal was almost over and began our descent into Wau. The descent was through alpine vegetation and the country became less stony with several fresh landslides revealing bright yellow and red clays which suggested we were following a native track. Radio contact was made with company headquarters in Wau, and everything was going along pleasantly. That night we made camp in the old goldmining centre of Edie Creek and for the first time in 20 days I saw a white skinned man.
“Sandy” Mac (?) was the resident caretaker of the non-operating Edie Creek goldmine and he invited me around for tea that night. He was lanky and at least 185 cm tall with fair hair, a broad Scottish accent and an intelligent glint in his eyes. Why he chose to live in Edie Creek, I was not game to ask. In the evening I fronted up and Sandy’s “meri” (local female) served us pre dinner drinks of two stubbies of South Pacific Lager; a bowl of canned minestrone soup as a main course, and a dessert of day-old baked bread and IXL plum jam before she discreetly retired to a rear room in the tin shanty. A meal I still remember with delight as eating brown rice for breakfast and dinner becomes tiresome. Whenever somebody complains about food or its cooking, the meal I shared with Sandy is immediately recalled. I had noticed the locals walking over the mine’s old tailing dumps and asked Sandy why they were doing this. He told me that they were specking for nuggets that had somehow got through the treatment process and often found pieces up to 10 grams in weight which Sandy would buy from them and then resell in Wau. Sandy was an amazing storyteller and a remarkable man to my callow youth. The evening finished with a second glass of Scotch whiskey.