" I'm going riding to Bald Mountain. " I announced, full of self-importance, to Lynny and Ray as we ate our porridge. " Miss Goldrick is going too and Mr Wood and Mrs Wood and Doug and Ruby but you two have to stay home with Mummy" My sisters were unimpressed, quite cheerful in fact, at the prospect of a day at home playing with their dolls free from the restrictions imposed by Miss Goldrick the governess. " It is a long way, more than seven miles even further than Doolondondoo" I went on. Doolondondoo was our furthest paddock, usually a day’s expedition in itself. "And no one knows how to get there except Mr Green so he has to come and show us the way."

"Don't forget to feed the fowls before you go," said Mummy as she finished plaiting my long hair saw me to the door. "And take your new wind jacket it will be cold out there."

I opened the fowl yard gate letting the chooks scuttle to forage in the grass and watched he geese march in single file towards the creek. Overhead a magpie warbled cheerfully and the faint scent of early opening wattle blossom wafted by as I went down to catch Mable at the bottom of the paddock. She whinnied gently, blowing out clouds of steam and rubbing her warm nose against me as I slipped the bridle over her head. I thought she looked quite beautiful this morning with her thick winter coat the colour of rich clotted cream and her flowing white mane and tail.

Back at the stables the rest of the horses had been saddled and two of the younger ones were putting on a buckjumping display before they could be ridden out of the yard. By the time they had been calmed down and we were on our way the sun was already high in the sky and the sheep had ventured away from their sheltered hillside camps and spread out over the open pasture. We rode over the cleared paddocks, urging the horses across the Kybeyan River as it ran swiftly over a pebbly bottom and soon came to the tree covered foothills of the Great Dividing Range. At the gate in our boundary fence we met Eric Green the neighbour who was to be our guide.

"You will have to be careful with the mares going through the paddock, " said Eric "Tom Hain's stallion is in here."

I only had a vague idea of what he meant but when the stallion appeared I was shaking with fright and excitement as we raced to get through the next gate while the men fended him off.

As we rode on deeper into the bush the trees became taller. Tree ferns appeared, hidden bellbirds chimed above and once we disturbed a group of kangaroos that bounded off through the dappled shade. It was early afternoon when we came out into an open grassy valley to see Bald Mountain looming above us in stark contrast to the tree covered mountains on either side.

Now we rode through rough dry native grass and thick tussocks to find a safe crossing over a different river with treacherously steep black muddy banks. Across the river we came across one of those crumbling granite fireplaces surrounded by a few straggly plum trees, the only remains of an early settlers home, which was voted the perfect place to stop for lunch.

"What is this river?" Asked Miss Goldrick as we sat by the campfire eating warmed up tinned beef and tomato sauce between thick slices of white bread and drinking enamel mugs of strong billy tea. "This is the Tuross River, it starts here and runs straight down to the coast" replied Eric "Not like the Kybeyan which runs the other way joining the Umeralla near Cooma and then into the Murrumbidgee and then the Murray and all the way to South Australia. " "And why is the mountain red?" Asked Ruby " From here it looks like a big rusty rock."

"No " said Eric " It is covered with a sort of red heather, nothing else will grow there. It’s got something to do with the soil. But, " He went on " now we will have to get a move on, if you want to get to the top of the mountain today"

The last gate was closed behind us and we rode in single file up the side of the mountain, through the thick heather and between outcrops of mossy grey granite and finally left the horses and climbed the last weathered rocks to the summit where we all posed for photos like real explorers and marveled at the view. Across miles and miles of mountain forests we could see rolling green hills of the far south coast and far far away on the hazy horizon we were sure we could see the sea.

We didn't stay long, it was late and the shadows were getting longer, the sun would soon drop behind the hills and the icy wind was cutting through to our bones. We needed to get into our own country before dark although the horses could always be trusted to find their way. As soon as we turned for home I could feel Mable had a surge of renewed energy. I could let the reins hang loose as she picked her way safely through the undergrowth avoiding rocks and stepping daintily over fallen trees even when it became so dark that we could only tell where the other riders were by the twigs crackling underfoot.

At last we left Mr Green at his gate and rode out into open paddocks where we let the horses have their heads and galloped up the last hill to see the lights of home twinkling across the valley. It was a very tired 10 year old who finally unsaddled Mable and staggered inside stiff and cold and over excited after the big day and ready to be fussed over by Mummy with hot cocoa and egg on toast by the fire and a special hot water bottle in her bed.

I haven't been to Bald Mountain since but times have changed. Last year I went to Kybeyan with Penny and Huw. Early one morning we piled into the 4 wheel drive and drove out to the Tuross River where we had our picnic that day, fifty years ago, and were to were back home in time for breakfast.