Terry and Morrie and Me

(and Holly, of course).

Michael Cannon – The Overland (Terry and Morrie and Me) © 2013

We headed from Cynthia on an overcast morning,
there was Terry and Morrie and me.
Scouting St Clair in the fresh morning air,
on the Overland Track – just us three.

Tasmanian spring, cantankerous thing,
gave four seasons in the blink of an eye.
Icy cold hail, or force nineteen gales –
or snow drifts right up to our thighs.

The deluge of rain broke at Pelion Gap.
We’d been picking through quagmires all day.
The track more resembled a plummeting creek,
down our meandering mountainside way.

Transient souls bonded at Pelion:
Dr Steve and his celtic refrain.
Architect Veto turned Nerida’s packhorse –
Annie laughing the roof off again.

Our friends since moved on, then at noon Wednesday morn,
team-builders took over the place.
Upbeat and corporate, noisy and obstinate –
can’t wait to get back to wide space.

The rest day behind us we tramped through the snowdrifts,
with Amanda and Andy ahead.
Pine Forest Moor, Frog Flats and much more –
frozen Windamere hut for a bed.

Day seven was glorious ‘cross highlands the three of us:
the determined and dogged unshaven.
Bright sun on the snow, duckboard and on stone,
on to Waterfall Valley’s warm haven.

I watched by the window through lengthening shadows,
Holly suddenly opened the door.
With reunion complete in that mountain retreat,
Terry couldn’t have asked for much more.

A crystal clear morning, day eight was just dawning,
we set on our northward affair.
While Nottingham Phil up the Cradle walked still,
as he journeyed back down to St Clair.

Near to the end on the Cradle Mount Cirque,
with Barn Bluff as our constant companion.
With spring in our stride Dove Lake we espied,
from the raptors-eye outlook at Marion.

Here endeth the tale and it surely was hale,
of our Overland trek we agree.
We’ll not disremember that awesome September –
with Terry and Morrie, Terry and Morrie and me.

‘And Holly, I was there!’