Sunday, March 1, 2009


Typically; "Dunny Carters Hat, Night Soil Carters Hat, Shit Carters Hat, Poo Carters Hat, Night Carters Hat, Dunny Can Carters Hat. Well, the anology simply denotes that; if the Brunswick Heads bar mouth is as flat as the above hat(s), it's safe to go fishing.

John D. Farley, © 2009.

When the sea is flat, like a shit carters hat, it’s time to down the tools.
McKeag and me will launch the boat, you see in our town, well folks, the fishen’ rules.
A block of ‘pillies’, our trusty rods, some ‘occie’ Maybe out there we will ‘spotya’.
Listen for the sound of 115 horses, no, not a stampede, it’s our trusty steed the ‘Gotcha’.

Bond wood, clad with fiberglass proud as punch she takes us.
Through the Brunswick ‘Walls’, out to the ‘local reef’, “around the pot holes McKeag, hey mate don’t shakes us”.
So we drop the ‘pick’, we sets the rods, and compulsory bit of ‘coolite’ float is cast.
Very soon the ratchet whirrs, “hey Keggie were fishen’, get out the gaff, the fun’s about to start”.

Well, not always is the pace so frenetic, there is days we wait, then there’s day we get real hectic.
Just to be on the briny, kicking back and reminiscing, folks, this seems to be eclectic.
“Hey old mate what about old “Walleye”, biggest bastard I’ve ever seen”.
“You pulled him up from 40 fathoms, brown and awesome, teeth with unholy gleam”.

Our faces turned white, and, while our duds turned a different shade.
“But you had to have your moment of glory McKeag, the moment I will never trade”.
We cogitate and think about adventures nature had us subjected too.
How we nearly sunk the “Gotcha”, the rains came down, we nearly drowned, the things that we both went through.

We reflect upon the massive catch of Mackarel we hooked upon the local.
What to do with our ‘fishy bounty, makin’ money was the point real focal.
Market down, prices crap so a sales journey we did venture.
WE crawled from Tweed Heads to Billinudgel, we sold the fish, we got pissed, boy what a great adventure.

We talk about, what comes about; you will gauge by this little yarn.
Coupla’ days, she’ll be right, so one more day wont harm.
Stuff the workload, we’ll be there tomorrow, right now were on a mission.
“If you accept these terms then hang about”, ‘cause McKeag and me have ‘gorn fishen’.

John D. Farley, © 2009.

No comments: