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Shoalhaven Bushwalkers Inc.

PO Box 403
Nowra NSW 2541

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The Two Rivers Track - by Bruce Wright


Resume in Rhyme of the Inaugural Walk
November 8th to 12th 1998

There were ten bold adventurers
From Shoalhaven Bushwalkers Club,
Who walked along Two Rivers Track,
Their packs all loaded with grub.

There's Russ our fearless leader -
He's hearty and he's hale,
Got lost along the Wineglass Tor,
But that's another tale.

There's Presidential Barbara -
The lass with pleasant looks,
And John the taxi driver bloke.
Barb presides and John, he cooks!

There's Lillian and Daphne,
The pair stuck fast with glue.
They know the Beecroft Headland well,
Got lost upon it too!

There's Sandra the Editress,
She wears strides long and short.
She's a pleasant natured helpful girl -
Alan thinks she's quite a sort!

Yes Alan, he's the white haired bloke,
He doesn't like the heat,
But if it's cold he'll walk for miles
On his sturdy pair of feet.

And then Denise of Robertson,
Was born at Captain Flat.
She's the tall, attractive grey-haired lass,
Who rarely wears a hat.

Jennifer walked just one day,
Amidst the drizzling rain
From Coolendel to Yalwal town,
But then went home again.

The Bush Club member took Jen's place,
Ken-ard he walks quite hard!
He'll soon be sixty years of age
And can get his senior card.

And lastly Bruce - that's me of course,
With mod con's he's well prepared -
He lights the fire at 6am
And then goes back to bed!

The Wednesday walkers joined one day,
The place was Wandean Road.
With thirty two in that group
The conversation flowed.

While we walked the trucks roared past
Along the Twelve Mile Road,
Except for the truck with "Happy Jack"
Which stopped, but first it slowed.

Said Jack, "You can't walk on this road,
You cannot camp at night."
His manner was quite fearsome
And he gave us quite a fright.

But leader Russ with manner suave
Smoothed all the waters o'er,
So on we pressed along the road
As past the trucks did roar.

But lets get back to Coolendel
On Sunday morn at nine,
When Barbara op'ed Two Rivers Track
By cutting orange twine.

That night at Yalwal, camp was set
We'd trundled off to bed -
A van roared past and shots were fired,
And one did duck his head.

The Monday walk started hard -
Full packs up Fletcher's Hill,
With weather fine yet cloudy,
And the air a trifle still.

But later on the silence broke
With roars of motor bikes.
Were forty of the jolly things -
We hadn't seen the like!

They all got lost, or some at least,
As they headed Melbourne way,
Or was Moruya or Marulan?
I really cannot say.

The ones up front raced ahead
And missed a vital turn
Across the creek- the Boolijong -
Our leader made them squirm!

But not to worry, they found a camp
A beauty it would seem,
With cleared ground and fire prepared
Just above the stream.

The evening of that second day
Was spent around the fire.
We did Tai Chi till some did drop,
And then we did retire.

We packed our bags on Tuesday morn
And headed up the slope.
Sure was steep to Peters Pass-
Said some, "I just can't cope!"

But then at last we reached the top,
Had lunch upon a rock,
With fabulous views to the south -
"twas just on one o'clock.

Then off we set along the flat
Through pleasant heath and flowers,
"It's beautiful," some did say,
"I could go on for hours."

But all things come to finish
When we reached transmission line,
Which we followed for a mile or so
To while away the time.

Now all did play a trick or two
Upon our leader Russ.
They all "went" bush in one foul swoop -
My, did that Russ man cuss!

We camped that night beside the line
With tents all grouped around,
And listened to the crackle sounds
As the sparks did fly to ground.

The big surprise that greeted us
At this camp upon our tour
Was ten odd plastic bottles
Filled with Nowra water pure.

The note said Dawn had visited
An hour or so ago,
"She's really wonderful," said Russ of course,
As the complements did flow.

Dawn came again on Wednesday morn,
With food and extra clothes,
Except the mango was forgot -
Can't remember everything I suppose!

But Dawn just took it on the chin -
She's solid as a stone,
She's acted as a courier
And taken things back home.

So let us give three hearty cheers
For Dawn our helpful hand,
And put our hands together
And clap our helper grand!

Our camping spot on Wednesday eve
'twas Tianjara Creek.
A construction crew was camped nearby -
They'd been there all the week.

This was the time Bruce chickened out -
He said he had a cold.
"I wish you'd keep on walking"
Said Sandra - ain't she bold?

But Bruce must know a thing or two
As he rode back home with Dawn.
He must have known the rains would come
And the group would be forlorn.

The group packed up on Thursday
And set off down the track.
But rain made slush of gravel dumped,
And it splashed on pants and pack.

The rain came down and mist obscured
The normally scenic views,
And leader Russ told the group,
"An option you must choose."

"You either go to Yadboro Flat,
Or pull out at Porter's Creek.
Now give consideration
And let every walker speak."

The group did reach decision -
Got on the mobile phone,
To rustle up some transport
To bring them all back home.

The walkers reached to Porter's creek -
Distance five and seventy K,
And resolved that they would leave the rest
To walk another day.

The drivers who were rustled up
Were Gareth and Michael too.
They both received three hearty cheers
From the walkers cold and blue.

But lest you think the walk a flop,
You've absolutely wrong.
There were loads of marvelous fellowship,
And the "Old Macdonald" song.

In fact, our Bush Club member Ken
Said, "I've had lots of fun,
I'd like to join your walking club,
In either rain or sun."

But finally our thanks must go
To our leader Russ,
Who designed the track and walked 3 times,
And now put up with us!

Two Rivers Track walkers

Russ Evans, Sandra Kelley, Denise Davies,
Daphne McCann, Alan Thomas, Lillian Koglin,
Bruce Wright, John Goodwin,
Jennifer Himmelreich, Barbara Robertson

Note: The final leg of the walk was eventually done six months later. Again, Bruce wrote a poem to commemorate the achievement. Click here to view the poem.

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