Out to Browning and a poetic look at our local huts

To Browning we snow.....

You seem to take for granted where you are and get caught up in the work life, rather than stop to smell the roses. Then you realise the season is nearly over!

On a recent trip to Browning hut I dragged the station leader and the chef from their respective duties. Arguably the most important and hardest working on station, they deserved to get away from it all. Nervous times leaving the ‘kids’ at home to fend for themselves, but surely needed.

The couple of days previous brought lots of snow, and no wind to blow it away. From leaving station we forged the track, 58km ahead of us, and as we approached the Browning Peninsula, the snow got deeper and deeper. The yellow Hägglunds turned into a plough as the snow rolled off the front. A pristine carpet with not a cloud in the sky. What a Hägg ride! Not often you say that.

A relaxing day in the hut ensued and the station woes disappeared. A few wines and home brew craft beers, topped off with the dancing southern lights. Maybe the last trip to Browning for me, and truly memorable. It has been a pleasure to winter with the 73rd ANARE.

Glen Pretious, Casey Building Services Supervisor & Carpenter

Musing on huts

That hut?
That hut's Jack's hut!

But that hut’s a rattletrap!
It ain't that stout,

No doubt about.

A whack, a clout, a slug o' grout,
Can't a redoubt bring about,
O' the shakeout that that hut that is Jack's huts born out!
Das halibut ist traut sich nicht kaput!

Now then …

A-strut the Point pouts Wilkes’ dugout.
Wilkes’ hut, Wilkes’ hutch, barrack, bivouac,
Wilkes’ the creaking ziggurat!

While Jack's hut juts out like a butt,

… Wilkes’ is built on stilts:

It tilts, it vaults like dolts in kilts (What?!)
It waltzes, it catapultzes,

Through ice ‘twill it melts, up still it boltzes!

Now, Jack's and Wilkes’,
Are of an ilk,
But Jack’s hut's got a spot of rot,
And Wilkes’ is built to the Hilt...on.

All good and well, I must now tell,
For a hut that's stuck out,
For a hut that's a cut aloft,
Worth its salt, out-and-out, paramount,
Which hut's that? Well, that hut that’s that, that hut's …

.. uhm …

… wait a minute …

That hut’s Robbo's!

Maybe. Might be. Could be. Definitely, not Mabel!

The End

(What about Browning? Ya forgot Browning, ya goose!)

Sam Peppe, Casey BoM Observer