4850 By Jonny Paul, Abergowrie

The 4 the 8 the 5 and 0
are numbers that I've come to know.
'Cos when you place them side by side
they mark the Herbert River's pride.

Where life is lush and sugar grows -
white flowers shine in endless rows.
Humped brahmans glow in fields of green -
a cattle that is soft and lean.

By mountain streams and coral sea
is where I've found my place to be.
With everything you need to live -
what more could Mother Nature give?

Those people out at Taylor's Beach
have paradise within their reach -
the swaying caves and rainbow reef -
a water world beyond belief.

Just slide a boat in at the ramp
and cruise across to set up camp
near Orpheus, where corals swish
and locals snorkel, dive and fish.

Lucinda Jetty draws a squad -
all chasing barra on a rod.
Now Hinchinbrook's an isle that's grand,
with waterfalls and golden sand.

Then if you want to sink a beer
and watch the evening disappear -
at Forrest Beach Hotel you'll find
a seafront bar where crowds unwind.

The drive back into Ingham's swift.
But if you're ticking - get a lift.
While on the way you’ll make a dart
around the economic heart.

A dragon breathes and bellows smoke
at Vicky Mill, where river folk
are grafting through each night and day,
all season, 'til it's time to play.

Along the street of that old town
you'll wander up and wander down.
There's delis, butchers, pubs and pies -
wild local prawns and Jonny's fries.

No party here would be complete
without a cream horn as a treat.
They call it Little Italy,
this Aussie town community.

While life is breezy by the coast -
it's inland that I love the most.
That valley that is deep and wide,
where mountains run on every side.

The Wallaman comes crashing down -
a jewel in Herbert River’s crown.
Australia’s highest waterfall -
this Queensland region has it all.

The crystal creeks and national park -
that giant fig tree's magic spark.
And as you cross the bridge you go
above the Herbert's timeless flow.

It's then you feel your stomach rise -
you're under Abergowrie skies,
high heaven's dome, Our Lady blue -
where steamy mountains shelter you.

The canefields sweep across the plains
and feed the hungry valley trains.
From east to west, in dry and wet,
the sun and moon both rise and set.

And when it's time to go to bed
the constellations soothe my head.
Beside a red-log fire I lay
out underneath the Milky Way.

But driving south of Rollingstone
I strangely start to feel alone.
The trees and scrub go brown and dry.
No mountains stretch across the sky.

Alarm bells ring, and then I know
I must have left 4850.
When jobs are done I'll soon be back -
beneath that old Dalrymple Track.

The Burdekin can keep the cane
they cultivate without the rain.
And all the world can lead the race -
I'll stick at Herbert River's pace.

The land where each horizon's clear,
where Sheahan's boozer had no beer,
has all a bloke could want, and so -
that's why I love 4850.

Author's note: This poem is inspired by Errol Cerutti - especially the part about the cream horns