DAY 1

I'm looking around for inspiration,
To put words on paper of our nation.
Stuck out here in no-mans land.
The ride of our lives, The Snowy Grand.

 First day's spent on getting here.
Camp's set up so we'll have a beer.
A hole in the ground and there's the loo.
The tarp's strung up for the shower too.

Horses are fed and bedded down for the night,
The stars are out, what a lovely sight.
A nip in the air to help us all sleep,
All in bed early like good little sheep.

Up and at 'em a hearty meal,
Quick look around to get the feel.
Then it's saddles on and away we go,
Start of the trek, follow the creek bed flow.

We're two hours out on the bushmans road,
The horses I'm afraid are in the go fast mode.
They want to go fast, jig jog all the way,
I just hope they slow down before the end of day.

The party's split up and some have backtracked,
As we watch in the distance, there goes the lunch pack.
Nevermind we'll suck on a lolly or two,
We've really come up to look at the view.

DAY 2

Dawn is here we're off two by two.
Sure is a funny way to go to the loo.
Each to his own, perhaps they didn't like the sound
Of the annoying flies buzzing around.

Might be a bit of rain on the way,
Just a short ride is the pick of the day,
Six hours later we're on the way home.
Some twenty K's later, an afternoon roam.

The plains are upon us, we're told to be quiet.
The brumbies are near, don't want a riot.
Too late they're gone, only a glimpse is seen.
Oh! And a mound of poo where the stallion has been.

Onward Ho! The trail boss makes his call.
Head to tail an equine wall.
We hit the ridge and pause for a look.
Sure is better than in the book.

Charge of the light brigade is in the air,
More like F Troop said the girl on the mare.
So we mosied on down a gentle slope,
The jingle jangle of bridle and rope.

There's a bog up ahead, where is the trail?
Better hurry as it begins to hail.
Follow me, follow me and do not linger,
As he went down a hole, Good one Ginger.

DAY 3

I've tried to get up and be nice and bright,
But oh the aches and pains all through the night.
I thought I was fit, but I'm not so sure,
My back feels like it's worn out to the core.

My bloody prancing horse is driving me crazy,
Geez I wish I had one that was slow and lazy.
I look up ahead and see one with spurs.
Jimminy Cricket, I wish I had hers.

Just a small Posse went out today.
Looking for brumbies, come what may.
Sat on a hill to squat for a while,
Could see all the action for many a mile.

There in the distance we see a small pack.
Of mares and their foals, with dad at the back.
He was pretty spooked looking over his shoulder.
As a mob of trail riders got bolder and bolder.

But Gibbo knew where the stallion was going.
So we quietly dismounted to wait for the showing.
There they were just hiding in the trees,
Till they took fright with our smell on the breeze.

We've seen what we came for so we all went back down.
Some icecreams and milkshakes, a trip into town
Some how or other Bob bought a big horse,
Just another day on the ranges, all par for the course.

DAY 4

Only six have gone out to day on the trek.
But picked up some more on the hill's lower deck.
Two young Norwegian girls full of Bohemian zest.
End of day we'll see which one sits the best.

We trotted along a well beaten lane.
A few hours ride before the summer rain.
Spotted again some brumbies in hiding,
Peeping through trees in their loungeroom siding.

On top of the world a lovely sight to see,
For miles around everything wild and free.
Stopped at a hut and had a peek inside,
Visions of an old desperados hide.

Jackie's signed the book and we're off again,
The sky is black, could it rain?
A quick bite of lunch, then we're all in a scurry.
Cloud's getting thicker, camps cleared in a hurry.

The boys have all adjourned to Gibbo's Bush Club,
While us poor girls would love a scrub'n'tub.
I'm lying here now thinking of all that we've done.
All the people and horses it's sure been some fun.

Throughout the camp we've all learnt the value of water,
And tents can be home just like bricks and mortar,
The quiet before the storm, a wilderness hush,
I've gone to sleep dreaming of toilets that flush.

by Janis Brown