Awesome Fishing Trip
The boat looked nice on the trailer
The boat looked nice on the trailer
Aussie Culture
Aussie Culture Index
The Great South Land
Advance Australia Fair
Waltzing Matilda
Click Goes The Shears
The Man from Snowy River
Clancy of the Overflow
The Catalpa
Scarborough Snake Pit
Aussie Culture Index
The Great South Land
Advance Australia Fair
Waltzing Matilda
Click Goes The Shears
The Man from Snowy River
Clancy of the Overflow
The Catalpa
Scarborough Snake Pit
Stories & poems of Australia by
KODY A.I., our
Chat GPT assistant.
Prompts & editing by
Maxwell Jefferies.
KODY A.I., our
Chat GPT assistant.
Prompts & editing by
Maxwell Jefferies.
We planned it for months, this trip up the coast,
A fishing adventure, what we wanted most.
The blokes had their rods, all packed and prepared,
With reels and big dreams, no effort was spared.
The boat sat in tow like a king on a throne,
Soon we'd be out there, just us and alone.
The 4WDs roared up the sandy dirt track,
The gear packed tight with no room or slack.
A convoy of mates, sun already high,
Not a cloud in the big, blue, endless sky.
The radio crackled with old fishy lies,
And tales of the one that got away with a prize.
A fishing adventure, what we wanted most.
The blokes had their rods, all packed and prepared,
With reels and big dreams, no effort was spared.
The boat sat in tow like a king on a throne,
Soon we'd be out there, just us and alone.
The 4WDs roared up the sandy dirt track,
The gear packed tight with no room or slack.
A convoy of mates, sun already high,
Not a cloud in the big, blue, endless sky.
The radio crackled with old fishy lies,
And tales of the one that got away with a prize.
Stories & Poems
My Country
The Geebung Polo Club
The Man from Ironbark
Awesome Fishing Trip
Never Been Bogged
My Country
The Geebung Polo Club
The Man from Ironbark
Awesome Fishing Trip
Never Been Bogged
“Too rough to go out,” said Bob with a frown,
As the wind threw more grit, the sun bearing down.
The esky grew lighter, but still we stayed dry,
The boat hadn’t moved, not even to try.
But with mates, you laugh and let troubles pass,
So we sat and we drank, parked on our ass.
We set up the tents, though the wind gave a fight,
It knocked them down twice, then stood them upright.
We camped by the shore, with sand in our hair,
And flies crawling over, without a care.
The boat stood silent, still gleaming and neat,
A trophy of dreams that looked good from our seat.
Day after day, that wind wouldn’t ease,
Blowing the sand like a swarm of bees.
Each morning we’d gather and check the rough sea,
But it looked worse than the day before, you see.
The fish stayed away, smarter than us,
And the midges kept on with their relentless fuss.
“Maybe tomorrow,” said Mick with a grin,
But tomorrow's breeze would knock us again.
We’d swat at the flies, sip on our brew,
For what else could a bunch of fishos do?
The boat, still on land, taunted us all,
Yet there it sat, proud and tall.
As the wind threw more grit, the sun bearing down.
The esky grew lighter, but still we stayed dry,
The boat hadn’t moved, not even to try.
But with mates, you laugh and let troubles pass,
So we sat and we drank, parked on our ass.
We set up the tents, though the wind gave a fight,
It knocked them down twice, then stood them upright.
We camped by the shore, with sand in our hair,
And flies crawling over, without a care.
The boat stood silent, still gleaming and neat,
A trophy of dreams that looked good from our seat.
Day after day, that wind wouldn’t ease,
Blowing the sand like a swarm of bees.
Each morning we’d gather and check the rough sea,
But it looked worse than the day before, you see.
The fish stayed away, smarter than us,
And the midges kept on with their relentless fuss.
“Maybe tomorrow,” said Mick with a grin,
But tomorrow's breeze would knock us again.
We’d swat at the flies, sip on our brew,
For what else could a bunch of fishos do?
The boat, still on land, taunted us all,
Yet there it sat, proud and tall.
We reached the campsite, the beach open wide,
The wind whipping waves on the incoming tide.
The boat gleamed proudly on its steel-frame bed,
As we all rubbed our hands, imagining what's ahead.
But the wind started howling, fierce as could be,
And whitecaps crashed hard against the sea.
“We’ll wait for it to settle,” said Gaz with a cheer,
As he opened the esky and cracked the first beer.
We stood around waiting, our faces full of hope,
But the wind had us beat, like a man on a rope.
The boat on the trailer, stuck fast in the sand,
Didn't seem to care for our fishing plans.
The heat came in waves, like the outback's cruel breath,
We started to think we might sweat to death.
The midges attacked like a maddening swarm,
While flies found our faces, an Australian norm.
We slapped and we cursed as the sand whirled around,
The wind's constant howl was the only sound.
The wind whipping waves on the incoming tide.
The boat gleamed proudly on its steel-frame bed,
As we all rubbed our hands, imagining what's ahead.
But the wind started howling, fierce as could be,
And whitecaps crashed hard against the sea.
“We’ll wait for it to settle,” said Gaz with a cheer,
As he opened the esky and cracked the first beer.
We stood around waiting, our faces full of hope,
But the wind had us beat, like a man on a rope.
The boat on the trailer, stuck fast in the sand,
Didn't seem to care for our fishing plans.
The heat came in waves, like the outback's cruel breath,
We started to think we might sweat to death.
The midges attacked like a maddening swarm,
While flies found our faces, an Australian norm.
We slapped and we cursed as the sand whirled around,
The wind's constant howl was the only sound.
We thought of the fish just beyond our reach,
But not in this weather, not here on the beach.
Each gust brought more sand, more flies to our camp,
And the midges? They multiplied like a local damp.
We sat and we stared, with no rods in the sea,
This fishing trip wasn’t what it was meant to be.
“We could always try casting from shore,” Dave said,
But the flies buzzed louder, filling our head.
So we sank back into chairs, no line to toss,
For casting in wind was always a loss.
The sun burned our faces, our arms, and our pride,
While the boat still gleamed on its trailer, all dry.
The heat was relentless, sweat stung our skin,
The flies had a feast, biting us from within.
The esky emptied faster than planned,
But what else to do, stuck on this hot sand?
We dreamed of the barra we’d reel into shore,
But the sea refused, giving nothing more.
By midweek we knew this trip was a bust,
The weather and wind had broken our trust.
No fish to be caught, no stories to tell,
Just flies and midges, in a sandy hell.
Yet we laughed at ourselves, as Aussies tend to do,
For a bad trip with mates still beats a good one with few.
But not in this weather, not here on the beach.
Each gust brought more sand, more flies to our camp,
And the midges? They multiplied like a local damp.
We sat and we stared, with no rods in the sea,
This fishing trip wasn’t what it was meant to be.
“We could always try casting from shore,” Dave said,
But the flies buzzed louder, filling our head.
So we sank back into chairs, no line to toss,
For casting in wind was always a loss.
The sun burned our faces, our arms, and our pride,
While the boat still gleamed on its trailer, all dry.
The heat was relentless, sweat stung our skin,
The flies had a feast, biting us from within.
The esky emptied faster than planned,
But what else to do, stuck on this hot sand?
We dreamed of the barra we’d reel into shore,
But the sea refused, giving nothing more.
By midweek we knew this trip was a bust,
The weather and wind had broken our trust.
No fish to be caught, no stories to tell,
Just flies and midges, in a sandy hell.
Yet we laughed at ourselves, as Aussies tend to do,
For a bad trip with mates still beats a good one with few.
Gaz swatted a fly and let out a loud yawn,
“Let’s pack up the gear and head out at dawn.”
But no one could move, too lazy, too beat,
We stayed in our chairs, defeated by the heat.
The boat, still unmoved, glistened in the sun,
A reminder of what we’d hoped would be fun.
At night, the wind died, but we’d had our fill,
The week had been nothing but sand and chill.
The boat, that grand vessel, never touched the tide,
But at least we had beer, with mates by our side.
And though we caught nothing, not even a bite,
We laughed long and loud by the fire each night.
When the trip was done, and the wind finally stilled,
We packed up our camp, our hearts mostly filled.
The boat sat gleaming as we turned to go,
Never once launched, never once in the flow.
“Next time, for sure,” we all swore with a cheer,
But the only thing caught was a cold can of beer.
The flies still hounded as we loaded the rig,
And the midges bit Mick till he started to dig.
But we rolled up the tents, the chairs, and the grill,
And drove back down south, over dune, over hill.
We may not have fished, but we sure did have fun,
For a week on the coast’s still a win when it's done.
“Let’s pack up the gear and head out at dawn.”
But no one could move, too lazy, too beat,
We stayed in our chairs, defeated by the heat.
The boat, still unmoved, glistened in the sun,
A reminder of what we’d hoped would be fun.
At night, the wind died, but we’d had our fill,
The week had been nothing but sand and chill.
The boat, that grand vessel, never touched the tide,
But at least we had beer, with mates by our side.
And though we caught nothing, not even a bite,
We laughed long and loud by the fire each night.
When the trip was done, and the wind finally stilled,
We packed up our camp, our hearts mostly filled.
The boat sat gleaming as we turned to go,
Never once launched, never once in the flow.
“Next time, for sure,” we all swore with a cheer,
But the only thing caught was a cold can of beer.
The flies still hounded as we loaded the rig,
And the midges bit Mick till he started to dig.
But we rolled up the tents, the chairs, and the grill,
And drove back down south, over dune, over hill.
We may not have fished, but we sure did have fun,
For a week on the coast’s still a win when it's done.
So here’s to the trips where the fish never bite,
Where the boat stays dry and the wind is a fight.
We’ll do it again, with hopes up high,
Even if we just sit and watch the clouds fly.
It's always a good trip with good mates and beer.
The fish? Well, they’ll be bigger next year!
Where the boat stays dry and the wind is a fight.
We’ll do it again, with hopes up high,
Even if we just sit and watch the clouds fly.
It's always a good trip with good mates and beer.
The fish? Well, they’ll be bigger next year!
We planned it for months,
this trip up the coast,
A fishing adventure,
what we wanted most.
The blokes had their rods,
all packed and prepared,
With reels and big dreams,
no effort was spared.
The boat sat in tow
like a king on a throne,
Soon we'd be out there,
just us and alone.
The 4WDs roared up
the sandy dirt track,
The gear packed tight
with no room or slack.
A convoy of mates,
sun already high,
Not a cloud in the big,
blue, endless sky.
The radio crackled
with old fishy lies,
And tales of the one
that got away with a prize.
this trip up the coast,
A fishing adventure,
what we wanted most.
The blokes had their rods,
all packed and prepared,
With reels and big dreams,
no effort was spared.
The boat sat in tow
like a king on a throne,
Soon we'd be out there,
just us and alone.
The 4WDs roared up
the sandy dirt track,
The gear packed tight
with no room or slack.
A convoy of mates,
sun already high,
Not a cloud in the big,
blue, endless sky.
The radio crackled
with old fishy lies,
And tales of the one
that got away with a prize.
We reached the campsite,
the beach open wide,
The wind whipping waves
on the incoming tide.
The boat gleamed proudly
on its steel-frame bed,
As we all rubbed our hands,
imagining what's ahead.
But the wind started howling,
fierce as could be,
And whitecaps crashed hard
against the sea.
“We’ll wait for it to settle,”
said Gaz with a cheer,
As he opened the esky
and cracked the first beer.
We stood around waiting,
our faces full of hope,
But the wind had us beat,
like a man on a rope.
The boat on the trailer,
stuck fast in the sand,
Didn't seem to care
for our fishing plans.
The heat came in waves, like
the outback's cruel breath,
We started to think
we might sweat to death.
The midges attacked
like a maddening swarm,
While flies found our faces,
an Australian norm.
We slapped and we cursed
as the sand whirled around,
The wind's constant howl
was the only sound.
the beach open wide,
The wind whipping waves
on the incoming tide.
The boat gleamed proudly
on its steel-frame bed,
As we all rubbed our hands,
imagining what's ahead.
But the wind started howling,
fierce as could be,
And whitecaps crashed hard
against the sea.
“We’ll wait for it to settle,”
said Gaz with a cheer,
As he opened the esky
and cracked the first beer.
We stood around waiting,
our faces full of hope,
But the wind had us beat,
like a man on a rope.
The boat on the trailer,
stuck fast in the sand,
Didn't seem to care
for our fishing plans.
The heat came in waves, like
the outback's cruel breath,
We started to think
we might sweat to death.
The midges attacked
like a maddening swarm,
While flies found our faces,
an Australian norm.
We slapped and we cursed
as the sand whirled around,
The wind's constant howl
was the only sound.
“Too rough to go out,”
said Bob with a frown,
As the wind threw more grit,
the sun bearing down.
The esky grew lighter,
but still we stayed dry,
The boat hadn’t moved,
not even to try.
But with mates, you laugh
and let troubles pass,
So we sat and we drank,
parked on our ass.
We set up the tents, though
the wind gave a fight,
It knocked them down twice,
then stood them upright.
We camped by the shore,
with sand in our hair,
And flies crawling over,
without a care.
The boat stood silent,
still gleaming and neat,
A trophy of dreams that
looked good from our seat.
Day after day,
that wind wouldn’t ease,
Blowing the sand
like a swarm of bees.
Each morning we’d gather
and check the rough sea,
But it looked worse than
the day before, you see.
The fish stayed away,
smarter than us,
And the midges kept on
with their relentless fuss.
“Maybe tomorrow,”
said Mick with a grin,
But tomorrow's breeze
would knock us again.
We’d swat at the flies,
sip on our brew,
For what else could a bunch
of fishos do?
The boat, still on land,
taunted us all,
Yet there it sat,
proud and tall.
said Bob with a frown,
As the wind threw more grit,
the sun bearing down.
The esky grew lighter,
but still we stayed dry,
The boat hadn’t moved,
not even to try.
But with mates, you laugh
and let troubles pass,
So we sat and we drank,
parked on our ass.
We set up the tents, though
the wind gave a fight,
It knocked them down twice,
then stood them upright.
We camped by the shore,
with sand in our hair,
And flies crawling over,
without a care.
The boat stood silent,
still gleaming and neat,
A trophy of dreams that
looked good from our seat.
Day after day,
that wind wouldn’t ease,
Blowing the sand
like a swarm of bees.
Each morning we’d gather
and check the rough sea,
But it looked worse than
the day before, you see.
The fish stayed away,
smarter than us,
And the midges kept on
with their relentless fuss.
“Maybe tomorrow,”
said Mick with a grin,
But tomorrow's breeze
would knock us again.
We’d swat at the flies,
sip on our brew,
For what else could a bunch
of fishos do?
The boat, still on land,
taunted us all,
Yet there it sat,
proud and tall.
We thought of the fish
just beyond our reach,
But not in this weather,
not here on the beach.
Each gust brought more sand,
more flies to our camp,
And the midges? They
multiplied like a local damp.
We sat and we stared,
with no rods in the sea,
This fishing trip wasn’t what
it was meant to be.
“We could always try casting
from shore,” Dave said,
But the flies buzzed louder,
filling our head.
So we sank back into chairs,
no line to toss,
For casting in wind
was always a loss.
The sun burned our faces,
our arms, and our pride,
While the boat still gleamed
on its trailer, all dry.
The heat was relentless,
sweat stung our skin,
The flies had a feast,
biting us from within.
The esky emptied faster
than planned,
But what else to do,
stuck on this hot sand?
We dreamed of the barra
we’d reel into shore,
But the sea refused,
giving nothing more.
By midweek we knew
this trip was a bust,
The weather and wind
had broken our trust.
No fish to be caught,
no stories to tell,
Just flies and midges,
in a sandy hell.
Yet we laughed at ourselves,
as Aussies tend to do,
For a bad trip with mates still
beats a good one with few.
just beyond our reach,
But not in this weather,
not here on the beach.
Each gust brought more sand,
more flies to our camp,
And the midges? They
multiplied like a local damp.
We sat and we stared,
with no rods in the sea,
This fishing trip wasn’t what
it was meant to be.
“We could always try casting
from shore,” Dave said,
But the flies buzzed louder,
filling our head.
So we sank back into chairs,
no line to toss,
For casting in wind
was always a loss.
The sun burned our faces,
our arms, and our pride,
While the boat still gleamed
on its trailer, all dry.
The heat was relentless,
sweat stung our skin,
The flies had a feast,
biting us from within.
The esky emptied faster
than planned,
But what else to do,
stuck on this hot sand?
We dreamed of the barra
we’d reel into shore,
But the sea refused,
giving nothing more.
By midweek we knew
this trip was a bust,
The weather and wind
had broken our trust.
No fish to be caught,
no stories to tell,
Just flies and midges,
in a sandy hell.
Yet we laughed at ourselves,
as Aussies tend to do,
For a bad trip with mates still
beats a good one with few.
So here’s to the trips
where the fish never bite,
Where the boat stays dry
and the wind is a fight.
We’ll do it again,
with hopes up high,
Even if we just sit
and watch the clouds fly.
It's always a good trip
with good mates and beer.
The fish? Well,
they’ll be bigger next year!
where the fish never bite,
Where the boat stays dry
and the wind is a fight.
We’ll do it again,
with hopes up high,
Even if we just sit
and watch the clouds fly.
It's always a good trip
with good mates and beer.
The fish? Well,
they’ll be bigger next year!
Gaz swatted a fly
and let out a loud yawn,
“Let’s pack up the gear
and head out at dawn.”
But no one could move,
too lazy, too beat,
We stayed in our chairs,
defeated by the heat.
The boat, still unmoved,
glistened in the sun,
A reminder of what
we’d hoped would be fun.
At night, the wind died,
but we’d had our fill,
The week had been nothing
but sand and chill.
The boat, that grand vessel,
never touched the tide,
But at least we had beer,
with mates by our side.
And though we caught nothing,
not even a bite,
We laughed long and loud
by the fire each night.
When the trip was done,
and the wind finally stilled,
We packed up our camp,
our hearts mostly filled.
The boat sat gleaming
as we turned to go,
Never once launched,
never once in the flow.
“Next time, for sure,”
we all swore with a cheer,
But the only thing caught
was a cold can of beer.
The flies still hounded
as we loaded the rig,
And the midges bit Mick
till he started to dig.
But we rolled up the tents,
the chairs, and the grill,
And drove back down south,
over dune, over hill.
We may not have fished,
but we sure did have fun,
For a week on the coast’s
still a win when it's done.
and let out a loud yawn,
“Let’s pack up the gear
and head out at dawn.”
But no one could move,
too lazy, too beat,
We stayed in our chairs,
defeated by the heat.
The boat, still unmoved,
glistened in the sun,
A reminder of what
we’d hoped would be fun.
At night, the wind died,
but we’d had our fill,
The week had been nothing
but sand and chill.
The boat, that grand vessel,
never touched the tide,
But at least we had beer,
with mates by our side.
And though we caught nothing,
not even a bite,
We laughed long and loud
by the fire each night.
When the trip was done,
and the wind finally stilled,
We packed up our camp,
our hearts mostly filled.
The boat sat gleaming
as we turned to go,
Never once launched,
never once in the flow.
“Next time, for sure,”
we all swore with a cheer,
But the only thing caught
was a cold can of beer.
The flies still hounded
as we loaded the rig,
And the midges bit Mick
till he started to dig.
But we rolled up the tents,
the chairs, and the grill,
And drove back down south,
over dune, over hill.
We may not have fished,
but we sure did have fun,
For a week on the coast’s
still a win when it's done.
.
