The Newsletter is now unfortunately filled with obituaries but from time to time would-be Barry Crumps put pen to paper or more probably knuckle to key board.

Here is one I sent in long ago

Subject: Malthoid huts

Hi Allison
Just a memory of Urewera malthiod huts.
Charlie Whiting took me in to Mangatoatoa malthoid to meet the three other hunters on the block. Spent the night then in the morning he said we were to split up into two parties, one for Mangatoatoa, the other for Otaunoa bivvy.
The other two blokes didn’t look keen on going anywhere so I said I’d go with Kelson  to Otaunoa. Kelson wasn,t going to take pity on a bloke fresh off a bulldozer in West Australia so hours later I crawled in the bivvy on my hands and knees. Literally.
Cleaned up the camp, got rid of the possum shit, had a feed and collapsed onto the punga log bunk just on dark.
Very shortly after I heard a possum right outside the end of the hut. Got the 222, went outside, no possum. Back to bed, getting off to sleep, heard the possum scratching again. Outside, no possum. This has got to be the quickest possum in the Urewera to scarper that fast. Just as I was about to get into the scratcher again I noticed some blurring on the frosted condensation on the malthiod right by where my swanny pillow was. Couldn’t be. Couldn’t be anything else. Couldn’t use a rifle inside the hut.
Picked up a piece of firewood and sat on the other end of the bunk. Just enough glow of the fire to see a bit.
Ever so slowly moving saw a pair of ears appear behind my pillow. Ever so slow saw a possums head appear.  It peered around, clearly saw me, and kept very still for some time. Then it crawled out, over my pillow, and ever so slow moved down the bunk. Ever so fast clobbered it with the firewood.
Outside with the carcass, back into the scratcher, thank goodness for some sleep.
Bill