We holidayed at Nambucca in Nineteen Sixty Nine,
With the Austin Tasman and the Holden, we were doing fine,
I took away a range of rods, plus aIl my nigger gear,
Each day, by car and foot, to the Breakwall I would steer.
The golf course, it was popular, for golf and fishing too,
From the golf course ran a second wall, either one would do.
It was in December Seventy when Tony got his boat,
One month later, at Nambucca, he proved that it would float,
That year, while we were all out fishing, we heard a spooky moan,
Driving up, the windscreen was broken by a stone,
Two weeks later, driving home, hoping we had shed the hoodoo,
Now hold your breath, it was not so, he hit a Kangaroo.
The next year again, for Nambucca we were headed,
We had passed Telegraph Point, then a climb we always dreaded,
As we turned another bend, a strange view loomed ahead,
There was Dianne, Paul, and Micheal, on a blanket they had spread,
There was a trailer on a lorry, with ropes to tie it down,
With his boat upon the roof rack, Tony headed into town,
The car was loaded to the brim, there was no where else to sit,
If I could carry half the load, then maybe they could fit.
We had passed another year, and Nambucca Heads had beckoned,
With his faithfull Austin Tasman, without trouble Tony reckoned,
We had made it to Nambucca, had been there a week, I think,
When his alternator failed to charge, it just went on the blink,
Coffs Harbour seemed to be the place to remedy the fault,
If he did not have an alternator, it would bring the fishing to a halt,
The mechanic at Coffs Harbour, agreed to replace the alternator,
"It cannot be today mate, you will have to come back later "
To leave the Austin Tasman, seemed to be the only way,
To drive it back tomorrow, we would wait another day.
The need had now arisen, for transport to the river,
If he missed his fishing? the thought just made him shiver.
The only car available was a Falcon station wagon,
It did not have a tow bar, so his boat, he would not be draggin.
Another set of roof racks, to put the boat on top.
The other set he had at home! the thought just made him hop.
It passed unnoticed at the time, but now it seems unreal,
It could be my emotions, but it's just the way I feel.
Many years have passed since then, plus man strange events
My friends sit back and ask, What is the evidence.
As I now lood back and ponder,
I sit and think and wonder, ?
Were these strange events related
Or by the supernatural, complicated?.
In real life, I've never met him yet,
I never gamble, but I'm prepared to bet,
Somewhere out there, is a weird but mistic force,
It's a dilemma, mot a dream, It's the Coastal Ghost, of course.
There has to be a reason for our bad luck every year,
Driving north on holidays when we're smitten down with fear.
We met again at Gosford, and we've met him ever since.
Engines, axles, wheels and hub caps, they leave us feeling tense.
It wrecks havoc with our holidays, as we travel up the coast,
There's no reason for our rotten luck, must be the Coastal Ghost.
With tents and camping kit, pet dog and fishing gear,
Terry headed for rlambucca, we go there fishing ever year.
Trailing Terry up the coast, he'll be there first, thats my vote.
Coming into Gosford, there's Scamp on Terrys coat.
Mary's holding to his lead, as miserable as sin,
Terry got a tow to Gosford, his gearbox packed it in.
Out came the thermos, tea all round,
Came Terry with the fun bus, safe and sound.
The last time I fished for Niggers, will forever be the last,
I came home with a bleeding head, my wife gave me a blast.
I had walked out along the breakwall, to my favourite nigger spot,
My rod, I carried tenderly, with my hooks and leaden shot.
I had with me a sugar bag, so I could swim my haul,
Laced tightly round the top, so the fishes would not fall.
A landing net, a bag of burly, green weed for the bait.
Now rig the rod, bait the hook, add lead to get the weight,
Then grease the line to make it float, use green weed on the hook.
Adjust the depth, both up and down, to find the fishes nook.
Now the tide begins to turn, the fish, they start to bite,
Its a test of skill and judgement, to prove you have it right.
Now the light is falling as the tide begins to turn,
One more cast before I go, will I never learn.
Throw away the burly, carry rod and fish and net,
Tread lightly on the moving rocks, make sure you don t get wet.
Half way home a boulder moves, and I go in the drink,
My head is split by jagged rock, as the fish and I both sink,
The rod and reel are boyant, and float among the rocks.
Then I come to, with bloodied head, and wet right to my jocks.
It's a long way down the track, at I now put pen to paper,
To remember all the details, to recall that ugly caper,
As I relive that fleeting moment, if I'm allowed to boast,
I swear I did not fall, I was pushed by the Coastal Ghost.
Last year we had the fun bus, and I got sunburnt eyes,
This year, all was going well, till I was bitten by the flies.
I did not know what bit me, just something passing by,
I had been using fish flies, seen blow flies, sprayed Tomato fly,
and heard bad language fly.
T'was said, I had a Bursa on. my elbow, it kept swelling up,
It only took two days, was bigger than a cup.
At first I did not care, I could still feel the fishes bite,
Till my wife began to worry, and I could not sleep at night,
At dawn next day, while fishing, I was overcome with fear,
My arm turned black down to my wrist, then went up towards my ear,
We stowed our rods and turned for shore, a change to go home early,
We cleaned our fish, and tossed our bait, it would not keep for burly.
We drove back to camp and froze our fish, I was feeling very glum.
It's off to the Doctor in Maxville, said Mary, the Medical Mum.
The visit to the Doctor, took longer than we thought,
He first rang my specialist, and his advice he sought,
"Thin his blood to make it flow" that's what Leicester did advise ,
The Doctor in the Doctors room, said that was very wise.
For the next five days we travelled, to the Hospital each day,
Went shopping then, in Maxville, to pass the time away.
Many times since then, I've asked myself this question,
What kept us fram our fishing, it was not indigestion,
Gus had tried, so very hard, to get his name in the story,
He was not to be denied, he had his hour of glory,
We fished Warrel and Nambucca both, that year,
Till Gus, the Coastal Ghost did leer, "Keep clear".
We all remember Eightl Eight, the year Terry had the fun bus,
That year we were all renamed, every one was "Gus".
Now "Gus", would not co-operate, he always cast a Hoodoo,
A lost comb, a missing shoe, any old excuse will do,
Dianne, Tony, and myself, went fishing every morning,
We were always drifting down the stream, just as the sun was dawning.
Two of us would cast our baits, to scan the river bed,
Dianne, ready with her camera, as the sun rose, glowing red,
To photograph the sunrise, that was her dearest wish.
When that, at last, was over, she would settle down and fish.
As the svn rose higher in the sky, with sunburn we would flirt,
Smear on the sunburn lotion, after we removed our shirt,
As we drifted over flathead grounds, we would go back to make more passes,
When my tinted lenses began to fog, I just removed my glasses.
We dined in the Club that evening, stayed later for the Show,
"Before we leave", I asked my son, "What is that redish glow" ,
They were not equipped with spotlights, I could not make it out,
I wondered long, before I asked, "What is it all about ,
"What is red" he asked, as he gazed aroung the room,
"Your shirt, your tie, the screen, outside the rising moon",
He pondered long and hard, then answered very soon,
"The moon, my shirt and tie, are red, the screen is snowy white ,
" I begin to wonder, what did you drink tonight ?"
It was Nineteen Sixty Six, when shilling and pence were stopped,
That night, I lay awake and wondered, then another penny dropped,
We had been out all day fishing, my glasses I had spurned,
1"he sun, I remember was very hot, my eyes from the sun, had burned,
For the next three months I suffered, put drops in my eyes everyday,
As I lay awake and listen, I hear weird voices say,
" You could not keep your classes clear",
Because Gus, the Coastal Ghost was here".