In The High Country

Honey pack your bags, grab your old blue jeans
We're gonna go fishin' in a mountain stream.

Well I know a little shack way up in the hills
Twenty five miles from Harrietville
In the High Country.

Lee Kernaghan.


Up we drove to where the air was crisp,
Following the Snowy River.
The road was narrow and dusty and steep,
A quick glance down makes me quiver.
At the halfway mark we decided to stop
And set up a spot for the night.

The structure that gave us delight

The enticing factor that caught our eye
Was a structure that gave me delight.
Suggan Buggan,
Now that's a good name
For this little spot in the bush.
A house or two and historical school
Where the seats would harden your tush!
As water rippled over rock and fern
And feathered friends settled down for the night,
A hush descended upon the valley
As the sun disappeared from sight.
Over billy tea we soaked in the peace
And jolly glad that we did,

Suggan Buggan school

For within the space of a minute or two,
Came the invading takeover bid.
In they came, a convoy of 10,
Weilding winches and shovels and tents.
They surrounded little Snowy
As the Apache would,
What an amazing turn of events!
Shirley.

NB
The convoy were expert campers. Highly organised, they set up camp quietly and quickly. We were invited to join them for a drink or two but decided that the sleeping bag was somewhat warmer. In the frosty morning, a camper did what was apparently quite normal; he had his morning bathe in the mountain stream. I wish I had the nerve! A bucket of left over warm water was more than adequate for me...as was that hot cuppa.   Aah, thanks Bill.

Alone, before the convoy arrived.

Morning cuppa