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’
