Footy then for half the week with walking on the Sunday;
Sleep well throughout the night and work again on Monday.
'Cos AFL's my passion and footy's still my fun day.
Perhaps one day I¹ll give the game away ­ maybe ­ some day.

So I bought the hat, the garters, and then the haversack,
Even got the army greens and a bottle for my pack.
Polished up my working boots for waltzing along the track,
Dropped my cares and worries and headed out the back.

But the further from the coast we got (and the closer to Bob Katter)
I realised that footy grounds are smaller and also much, much flatter.
And while I thought at first it wouldn't, it really proved to matter,
'Cos while my head got lighter, my ankles just got fatter.

We tried a smaller walk or two to test my footy muscles;
I strained my imagination and jumped from snake-like rustles,
But the exercise was good for all my blood's corpuscles.
Then they called a weekend walk so I figured: Hey us'll!

A two day walk from Mount Boonmoo, to trek to old Horse Creek;
So dry it seemed that Saturday, would last all bloody week.
Across the dry grass country, a billabong to seek,
And there we settled down to rest my swollen, smelly feet.

I'd fallen by the wayside and even lost my wife,
I'd found her though a little later to lessen any strife
(And now we take a whistle, a bugle or a fife),
And with a bottle of pick-me-up ... this has gotta be the life.

Sunday then, dawned fresh and bright (the grass looked greener too)
When the sunlight hit the creekside trees and made a dappled view.
And bouyed by new en-thus-i-asm, and the morning brew,
I packed to join the others of our erstwhile crew.

We walked, we talked, we swam a little, and walked a little more;
We reached the cars a little tired but I know what walking's for
(Not like Saturday's sadistic football, it¹s a masochistic chore)
And so by end of day, decided on next week's walk for sure.

Now the thought of no bushwalking leaves me kinda bleak.
Rating moderate or hard, a climb to reach the peak,
I worry will I make it throughout the whole darned week,
But both the footy and the walk will give the strength I seek.

My waist had shrunk a notch or two and though I'm not quite sleek,
My aim is ever onwards now my legs are made of teak.
So perhaps I'll take up marathoning and become another Deek,
'Cos old footballers don't get older ­ they simply cease to peak.
..............................................................Bob King (Aged 53 1/2) 2003

The Water Gatherer
In May of this year when the rivers should run deep,
A band of wonder woman had a mission to keep,
So into the wilds the six did go -
With almost no fear of friend or foe.

Now one amongst them - a brave, tough chick
With pack on her back and her walking stick!
Became the Tail end Charlie for this adventurous mob.
And never a complaint was heard from her gob.

The promise of good water on that very first night
Kept this lass up to speed, all cheerful and bright.
But when at dusk they came to Duncans Waterhole -
It was bone dry and she began to search her soul!

Not to be daunted she put on her togs!
And up the creek she walked, to swim in pig bogs!
“Now let me clarify this” were the words that she said,
“Is this the fresh water we drink before bed?”

The bottles were filled, the bodies were washed,
The camp was a good one, although a little squashed.
By the glow of the fire in that dry creek bed,
The ladies did eat and then laid down their heads.

Now all but one went to sleep - she too busy boiling water!
“I don’t want no tummy bugs” she said so she did as was taught her.
In the morning her bottles all stood in a row,
One sip of that water and she was ready to go!

Now over 9 days Angela dropped her guard,
The boiling of water just became too hard!
So the pig wallows, the puddles, the creeks and the river,
All of those she drank from without ere a quiver.

Her feat will be told for many a year,
How Angela drank from any puddle as if it were beer!
How when she got home to her kitchen sink
She complained of the taste of that very first drink!

6 months have now passed - she still looks for symptoms
Of groaning tummies from a host of organisms!
The award for Angela should help her next time - 
It will keep out the bugs, the mud the slime.

So if you see a lady bending over a pig wallow
It will surely be Angela trying hard to swallow 
The water that she drinks now that she is gamer
Made safer by the easy use of a tea strainer!
......................................................................Kathy Kilpatrick 2003

Hinchinbrook Experience

The golden dawn displayed the narrow winding tidal creek,
And peeping o'er the mangroves is the crest of Nina Peak.
Whilst high above, Mount Bowen rules, majestic in the clouds,
Its rugged neighbours vying for the crown it holds so proud.
The brilliant sands of Ramsay Bay hold back the Coral Sea,
Which smooths the many footprints of the ones who come to see
The beauty of the island, which forever will prevail
And satisfy the traveller on the famous Thorsborne Trail.
So many highlights spring to mind, like trees and epiphytes,
The crystal pool at Zoe Falls, and Diamentina's heights,
And Mulligan is in there too with falls and sandy bay
While Little Ramsay's just the place for that extended stay.
Where travellers come from o'er the world, to see this isle of fame
You'll find that once is not enough, and you'll be back again.

......................................................................Kevin Lennox, 2000

The Call of the Bush

In the towns around Mareeba, some folk have the walking fever
And there's nothing more they like than a long and tiring hike
Up a mountain, through a valley, down a creek.
Though the day be fair or black they set out along the track
Never daunted for the bush is what they seek.
And when asked why do they do it, and what is the reason to it
Then they say if you must ask, then you'll ne'er enjoy the task
That we set ourselves to see the beauty wild.
As they wander by a hill, they surrender to the thrill
Of a wallaby or other creatures mild.
There are waterfalls serene, in the cold, clear mountain streams
There are butterflies on vines and the orchids grow so fine
With the mosses and the ferns so green and thick.
And the wompoo pigeon rare, and the bower bird is there
In his playground with his treasure's 'tween the sticks.
And the scenery sublime or a pre-war digger's mine
And the birdsong call at dawn and the season's flowers that form
And a wonderous gorge of red that they all love.
And the bunya pine so high and the wedgetail in the sky
And I'm proud to say I'm part of the above.
....................................................................Kevin Lennox, 2000