To the north was the main chain, composed for the most part of
individual high mounts, there being a valley between them and the hill
I was on, and meandering along through this valley from the west I
could trace the course of the Finke by its timber for some miles. To
the east a mass of high and jumbled hills appeared, and one
bluff-faced mount was more conspicuous than the rest. Nearer to me,
and almost under my feet, was the gorge through which the river
passes, and it appears to be the only pass through this chain. I
approached the precipice overlooking the gorge, and found the channel
so flooded by the late rains, that it was impossible to get the horses
up through it. The hills which enclosed it were equally impracticable,
and it was utterly useless to try to get horses over them. The view to
the west was gratifying, for the ranges appeared to run on in
undiminished height in that direction, or a little north of it. From
the face of several of the hills climbed to-day, I saw streams of pure
water running, probably caused by the late rains. One hill I passed
over I found to be composed of puddingstone, that is to say, a
conglomeration of many kinds of stone mostly rounded and mixed up in a
mass, and formed by the smothered bubblings of some ancient and
ocean-quenched volcano.
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