-
- At
last I reached the summit cairn, but in that final stride
- I
realised that tragically two faithful friends had died.
-
-
Reminded then that life is short, and death one cannot cheat,
- I
sorrowed for my volleys lying shredded at my feet:
-
- They’d
crossed their final frontier, they’d made their final push
- Those
warriors of the wilderness, foot sloggers of the bush.
-
- The
sadness welled within me, beside that survey mast
-
Wandering the memories, remembering the past:
-
- Of
hunting canyon-monsters in canyons dark and deep,
- They’d
bashed and bruised and crashed and cruised their way down Crikey
Creek;
-
- And
never hesitating to do what asked to do
- They
bravely strode The Moko, and Bunggal-ooloo too;
-
- They’d
suffered horrors on Bolworra’s scrub-infested spines
- And
lingered longer in Kolonga’s narrow intestines;
-
- They’d
crossed The Devil’s Wilderness (George Caley’s old domain)
- Then
battled Barranbali, bombarded by the rain;
-
- Had
conquered high Guouogang by way of Nooroo Rocks,
- And
bungled Krungle Bungle on the way down to the Cox;
-
- They’d
brought me over Broken Rock and steered me down the steeps
- To
peekaboo inside the pit wherein The Pooken sleeps;
-
- They’d
crunched the broken country, expecting no rewards,
- Where
Wolobrai and Wollemi and Wirraba are lords;
-
- To
Tayan and Pantoney’s, the list goes on and on:
- They
got me to the distant peaks that I have stood upon.
-
- No
matter what conditions – desert dry or damp,
- Those
Dunlop volleys always took me safely to each camp,
-
- But
now their soles had parted, beside the old trig post,
- Their
uppers having ultimately given up the ghost,
-
- And
all that lay before them then, the wild horizon scanned
- For
that bushwalking Elysium, the fabled Promised Land.
-
- I know
they’re gone forever now, I know that they are dead,
- Though
always in my mind I’ll wear the memory of their tread;
-
- For
maybe I’m imagining the wind that so deceives
- Or
could it be their ghostly steps a-rustling through the leaves?
