This week the Doc finds his poetic side…

Going Bush…

Goin’ bush

It is known upon the island

When one needs to clear their head

That restores the soul and fills the tank

Beyond the comfort of one’s bed

Scuffed boots and faithful hat

One sets up doctor’s track

a block of cheese and knob of bread

who knows when you’ll be back

Winds may howl, rain will splatter

onward one must push

The weather is no deterrent

to the joys of goin’ bush

Across the overland

down into sandy bay

Greeted by the Kings

on sun or snowy days

From Brothers Point to Green Gorge

and the farthest south of Hurd

Crashing surf and the wafting aroma

of Royal Penguin… excrement

You’ll stumble on steep jump-downs

and descend upon your toosh

Flailing amongst the tussocks

are the joys of goin’ bush

Rolling hills, curling streams

scattered turquoise lakes

Be mindful where you tread

a deep wallow is all it takes

You’ll hike on a steady lean

as you traverse windy ridge

and try not to fall through featherbed

or into bogs without a bridge

It’s not for those faint of heart

The trudge is not so cush

But there is much reward

from the joys of goin’ bush

Blisters may erode your feet

and there’ll be chafe in every nook

soothed by the warmth of a hut

turning pages in a book

A Frey Bentos in the oven

sweaty thermals hanging up

Laughter fills the cabin’s air

A fine drop fills your cup

Solitude and a wild coast

No one to tell you shush!

This is why we’re here

This is why we go bush’