Mister Explorer Douglas

Forty years on snow capped mountains,
Constant hardship, stinging rain.
....long lonely expeditions,
In this way, he spent his days.

Land of valleys, bush and rapids,
Cold untrodden mountain peaks,
....a vagabond existence,
In that Westland mountain breeze.

Swirls of pipe smoke curling skywards,
Lungs so full of alpine air,
....suppertime for buzzing vermin,
In that place he loved so dear.

Journal, sketches, watercolours,
Genius of cartography,
....all with so little help,
in that Westland mountain breeze.

Swag of food and gear and shelter,
Worldly wealth means nothing here,
....no false sophistications,
Just some books among his gear.

Batwing tent and boiling billy,
Just his dog for company,
....wet boots and deprivation,
In that Westland mountain breeze.

Mountains glow in deep red sunset,
Flames of memory flicker and fade,
....old bones bones and waning strength,
Gone were his adventuring days.

Sadness for a changing world,
Glimmering truth just he could see,
....Dear Charlie he, did pass,
Into that Westland mountain breeze.

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