When I was a young fella, me and me mate, Billy, who was from the property next to ours, used to go hunting together, chasing rabbits and climbing around the mountain. The mountain in front of Misery was called The Crown. There was an area on top of it about one hundred foot long, fifty foot wide and about twenty foot high, with not a foot hold anywhere around it to climb up. We tried a few times, till one day Billy said, “We’ll make a ladder to get to the top.” He had a tomahawk with him. So we cut down a sapling and lay it against the crown and climbed up it to the top. You could see for miles from up there. We’d roll rocks down from the top. Gee, they used to clear some timber. There was one big rock we tried to push down but it was so big we couldn’t move it. It would have been a good bit bigger than a 44-gallon drum. We dug around it and finally we started to get it moving. Billy said, “You get under that side and I’ll get under here. Put ya hand right under it and I’ll lift from this side. You lift from that side.” I put me hand right under and lifted, but a piece of rock on his end broke and down come the rock right on me finger. It was pinned under the rock and we had no hope of moving it. So Billy climbed down and cut down a sapling to use as a lever to lift the rock up enough for me to pull me hand out. Me third finger was split right down the middle. To this day there’s still a scar on me finger. I’m looking at it now.