Fishing for Wasps

March 4, 2009 by  
Filed under Bush Poetry, Fishing For Wasps


It is a common rule in the bush that ‘anything that flies and can bite you should be made extinct’. The problem with wasps is that if you miss on the first attempt, their common rule is that ‘anything that tries to kill you and fails, should be made extinct’. And a fishing boat is definitely not a good place for the two species to co-exist.

Bush poetry by Ronnie Wilson

We were whaling on the Darling,
On a lazy Sunday afternoon,
Not bothering if we caught any,
And no plans to head home soon.

Well we found a very fishy site,
Near a big old fallen tree.
So we moored the boat up tight,
And settled back comfortably.

We set the bait and began the wait,
With an esky near each knee.
And before half a can I felt a bite,
From a fresh water Kamikaze.

I reeled him in with a bit of a grin.
And said mate, I think we’ve found the spot.
Well settle in here and if it takes all day.
We won’t move till we’ve caught the lot.

It was somewhere round the second fish,
That I froze with a sudden gasp.
On a protruding branch just three feet away,
Hung a bloody big nest of paper wasps.

Well we called a meeting on what to do,
Should we pack up and go or should they.
Or were we really in any danger at all,
If we just kept well out of their way.

Well I passed a motion and “Chris” he seconded,
That both parties had a right to stay.
Then we had a beer with the voting ended,
And continued with our fishing fray.

But I soon snagged a stick and I dragged it in,
As I cursed the flaming pest.
And in a rum spurred rage I threw the thing,
And it hit the bloody nest.

Now a wasp bite is ten times worse than a bee,
The only good one that I know is dead.
And they all charged into battle straight past me,
And attacked me mate, Chris, on the head.

Imagine the terrifying experience I had,
Sitting there amongst world wasp war three.
But I suppose it wasn’t really all that bad,
After all they didn’t come near me.

When the attackers finally called a cease-fire,
Me mate he was flat upon the deck.
All bleeding and moaning in tattered attire,
With big blotchy bites above the neck.

But he really was a game sort of fellow,
And not easily deterred from our quest.
And though his face was a peculiar yellow,
He wanted revenge on that wasp nest.

So a plan was hatched of evil theme,
And we prepared to face the foe.
These wasps were fast and particularly mean,
But we weren’t exactly slow.

We snuck the boat in at a drifting pace,
Like commando’s stalking their foe.
Then first mate Chris with his swollen face,
Swung a stick with a mighty blow.

Well the nest hit the water in an instant,
And we watched it disappear from sight.
But the bloody wasps didn’t go down with it,
And they looked like they wanted a fight.

We went straight into battle stations,
And prepared to repel all invaders.
Our act of aggression had severed all relations,
And we were attacked by the homeless raiders

I straightaway summed up the situation,
As I tried very hard to look like a tree.
But Chris was swamped by the invading nation,
All hell-bent on wasp victory.

Like a living swarming human hive,
He staggered gamely to his feet.
And though I thought he must be barley alive,
He showed he wasn’t beat.

He lurched and threw himself overboard,
No doubt to drown his foe.
But he only took with him half the hoard,
The rest weren’t quiet as slow.

It was about then I turned back into a tree,
As they circled me round and round.
But once again they didn’t see me,
And Chris was no where to be found.

Finally they realised they’d had a clear win,
So they gathered together to gloat.
And Chris set a new record for an underwater swim,
As I still sat perfectly still in the boat.

Eventually we reunited, and we quietly stole away,
And it was good to see the homestead lights.
Then my wife asked, “did we catch any today”?
And I just said “no, but Chris got a lot of bites”!

© Ron Wilson