MR. MACKAY

Greymouth Evening Star, 26 July 1930, Page 10

MR. MACKAY

AN ADVENTUROUS LIFE.

SYDNEY, June 30.

The leader of the Central Australia Expedition (Mr. Donald Mackay) has co.me back to civilisation with only one regret. He wanted to prospect some likely country he knew of, hut was prevented through sickness among his comrades. His consolation is that in other ways he achieved everything he set out to do. Lounging at his effife'before a fire on Saturday afternoon, Mr. Mackay looked more like a cattleman on holiday than tho popular conception of an explcrcr. Over six feet in height, wiry, and tough as whipcord, he is not the kind of man usually encountered in cities. Nor does he like the ease and luxury of a big hotel, or the bustling crowds and endless pavements. “I’m a bushman,” he told a representative of the “Herald,” who sought him out for a ' story of his recent exploits. He is not a talkative man —year's in lonely parts have taught him the habit of silence—but a few judicious questions were sufficient to start him on his favourite topic—exploring. “I was born with a curse,” said Mr. Mackay, with impressive seriousness. Then he smiled. “Well, perhaps it is not as bad as that,” he added. “Let’s say I was born restless. I’ve always wanted to be up and moving, seeing new places and going over country where nobody has been before. ’ A trip quietens me down for a while and then —well, I’ve gat to be off again. That’s how it is now. With the trip just finished, I’m prepared to tell my wife that I’m finished for good. But I’ve done that before, and yet I’ve had to get moving again.” “Does that mean that you are likely to make another expedition?” the reporter asked.

“No, it does not,” Mr. Mackay replied. “This trip has cost me a few thousand pounds, and even if I wanted to be off again I’d take some titrie collecting the But if I were rich ”

Mr. Mackay fell into a brown study, and for half a minute was silent. “If I were rich,” he repeated when he spoke again, “I would survey every bit of that country. It’s not niuch good, certainly, but it’s ptirt of Australia, and it should be on the map. And anyway, if the Government could make available, large areas without cost there are many stouthearted men who would pioneer it. Probably they’d need the area of a small farm to each bullock, but there are hundreds, of thousands of miles out there lyingidle.” PERHAPS I MIGHT. The explorer' pulled at his cigar for a minute. “Perhaps I might——” he said, and paused- for a second. “No,” he added, “it‘s no good saying ‘I might.’ I’ve finished this time for good. I’m just GO, arid it’s about time I stopped this gallivanting.”

Mr. Mackay looks back on a life of almost continuous wahdering. Years ago, when he was u youngster, he followed gold. But that was not exciting enough, so he decided to pedal round Australia on a. bicycle. That was his first plunge into the field of exploration. it was over 30 years ago, and, as he himself admits, bicycles in those days were not the smooth-running machines that they arc to-day. It took him 243 days to circle the continent —a record which has stood ever since.

“Seme people said I ought to be put in a lunatic asylum,” said Mr. Mackay with a grin. “Perhaps I ought, but I’ll those people do not get the kick out of life that I do when I’m on one of my stunts. I enjoyed every minute of that trip, although I lived like an ‘abo.’ for five months, and went to sleep on many a night with spear might it a permanent one.”

Since then Mr. Mackay’s life has been divided into tw r o distinct parts —periods of wandering and intervals quietly at home. “Perhaps,” he said, “I was born a couple of hundred years too late. You know, if I’d been on the job earlier I’d have been waiting on the wharf to get a job with Captain Cook. That’s my idea of a good time—seeing places, especially places that nobody has seen before.

“Now, this last trip of mine . . . Mr. Mackay spoke deprecatingly. “That was armchair exploring. Just hop in your ’plane, sit back, and have a look round. It was different from my 1926 trip with the camels. I can’t understand why, with everything so easy, these young chaps with a bit of money don’t go in for it rather than hang round jazz hjalls and hotel lounges. If they went out once .they’d be always at it. There’s nothing like it for excitement.”

“But from all accounts it djdn’t seem so easy,” the reporter broke in. “Oh, well, you’ll get sickness anywhere,” was the casual reply. “I can not account for those three- chaps getting dysentery. It’s never happened on ahy of my previous trips. We .had good food and the water was all right. The only thing I can think of is the fllies. Th3y were bad, but not so bad as I’ve seen them. First Commandei' Bennett went down, and then two of the others fell sick. One I took to Ilermannsbery Mission and the other to Alice Springs, travelling in all over 1000 miles.”

Mackay explained that the time thus spent he had expected to use doing some prospecting. “There’s mineral out there,” he said. “I take no notice of the stories about lost reefs, but I’ve seen country which looked good to me. One particular spot I wanted to get a look at has not been visited for over 50 years. The last man there, at least to my knowledge, was Mr. W. H? Tist. kens, of Eaistwood, who was with Giles somewhere iff the ’Seventies. He wrote me just before I left telling hie that he had built a little cairn of stories there, and asking me to visit it. I would have if the others hadn’t got dysentery. Bitt I didn’t grudge the time lost in looking after them. No.man has ever worked with a better set of fellows. Many a man would have ‘chucked in the sponge.’ But not those boys. Immediately they were right—and actually before they were right—they were on the job again.”