Thread: Snippets from past Trip Reports

A mention of Banjo Patterson in another thread (Winching In and Out of a Shed) reminded me of some interesting reports written by some of our trip participants.
Following is one day's report from a VicHigh trip in 2007......... with apologies to Banjo.

Day Seven - by Ian – 300 Tdi Discovery
Demands from Snowy River

There was movement in the cabins, as the light began to dawn,
And people in their beds began to stir;
So this Rover mob from Sydney – who to Buchan had been drawn
Now to the breakfast room had drifted to confer.

All the crusty four-wheel drivers with their belts restraining kegs
Had gathered in the kitchen straight away,
For these legends love big breakfasts with their bacon and their eggs -
Just as their Rovers love the hills and muddy play.

There was Riley, who cooked his food in ovens made of iron,
Now standing at the stove in clouds of steam;
Few could keep up with him when his pace was fairly flyin’
And the dust behind was dense as thickened cream!

And Helmut of ze outback, he came down to lend a hand;
No better guide had Richard ever known;
For no map could e’er confuse him when the GPS was scanned -
A Disco II was Richard’s kingly throne.

And there was one, a stripling with a Tojo labelled beast;
It was something like a Cruiser undersized
With a touch of Banzai throttle – and some Kluger genes at least –
For such as are (by school-mums) highly prized!

He was gnarled and tanned and wily – the sort that never balk,
There was courage in his choice of Tojo’s pride;
And he bore the badge of gameness in his cheeky convoy talk,
With Laurie sitting bravely at his side!

We headed out of Buchan, on the Buchan-Orbost Road,
Then down to where the Rivers meet as one;
Where a group of Outward Bounders – dwarfed by their heavy loads,
Were camped and drying in the autumn sun.

We headed out on Tullarch, then on to Running Creek,
Where Roger sought the farmer’s famed good will;
While we waited by the roadside, ever good and quiet and meek,
He enquired of three beefy lads, just a rollin’ down the hill.

While we drove through gorgeous country, out to Jackson’s Crossing Track,
We found a strangely unmarked limestone cave;
Young Richard proved the gamest, as he dived into the crack,
With neither rope nor torch, nor maiden there to save.

But here indigenous Australians had long come to ease their bowels,
A native long drop dunny was its use!
But poor Richard didn’t know this – so he said with polished vowels,
‘I say old chaps, these stones are rather soft and loose!’

When Richard finally surfaced, and the awful truth to him was told,
His gleaming grin became a saddened pout;
For instead of fame and glory, and a shining crown of gold,
The cave’s now known forever, as ‘Richard’s Coming Out’.

We drove on through wooded valleys, to the place where Jackson crossed,
And lined our cars against a rocky knoll;
We spent some time at ‘Eric’s Hut’ – where cares could well be lost,
Before our convoy - ever onward - had to roll.

We crossed the Snowy River – a low first designated path,
For the rocky river bed was yet unknown;
But I was locked in second low, and advanced upon them fast,
Ne’er before had two Defenders seemed so slow!

I’d been told, ‘when crossing rivers, you must never change your gear!’,
But other options now had ceased to be;
The river’s low enough I thought, so I overcame my fear,
Was there water in the gearbox? I’d have to wait and see.

There was a sign that said ‘Hicks Campground’, and we asked just what it meant,
Was it Guantanamo, or where yokels like to stay?
But before we fully worked it out, the sign had come and went,
And from Varney’s Track to Yalmy Road, The Landies went to play.

There were climbs galore which tested every man and his machine,
And drops which caused some passengers to cringe;
But though the Prado copped it (and some comments were quite mean!),
The Son of Nippon conquered, with ne’er a hint of whinge!

Though we drove the famous Deddick Trail, with all its testing tricks,
At dusk we wondered where we’d spend the night;
But Roger knew a campsite – far removed from that called ‘Hicks’,
‘Bull Flat’ it was – a grassless place – but discrete and out of sight.

We pitched our camp in darkness, with speed from times before,
While Roger got the campfire underway;
That night we dined in triumph - pork roast with vegies four,
Before we slept contented – it had been a happy day.

Distance Travelled 138km

Packed a lyrical bit into 138K Roger..