This morning I took a walk into the hills to discover the best route
to take next. The high ranges north seem to be formed of three
separate lines, all running east and west; the most northerly being
the highest, rising over 2000 feet above the level of the surrounding
country, and, according to my barometrical and boiling-point
measurements, I found that at the Charlotte Waters I was 900 feet
above the sea. From that point up to the foot of these mountains the
country had steadily risen, as we traced the Finke, over 1000 feet, so
that the highest points of that range are over 4000 feet above sea
level; the most southerly of the three lines is composed of sandstone,
the middle and highest tiers I think change to granite. I climbed for
several hours over masses of hills, but always found one just a little
farther on to shut out the view. At length I reached the summit of a
high round mountain in the middle tier, and a most varied and splendid
panorama was spread before me, or I was spread before it.

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