We’ve been on some bloody fantastic runs the past month, culminating in some pretty tasty hash tucker round the circle. Well done!
Back on October 22, pink ribbon day, Barge Arse marked part of the run with sticks and pink ribbons. And she warned us that when we thought we were at the end of the run, we were in fact not. Which sounded very Freudian at the time, but was in fact reality. After following a well set trail through
Notes to self after October 29 run in the bush at the port; next time pack machete, gumboots, GPS, maps and ration pack. And extra flour. Rainman took us out to the fishing club – surely the best real estate in Broome! Not that we spent much time in it, having being packed off like troopers into the woods. We did make an important ecological discovery though, that crabs don’t live at altitude and on the high dunes the flour markers were intact; it’s just by then our sanity wasn’t. But never mind the grazes and scratches, what a view from the top. Rainman set some particularly devilish trails that every shortcutting bastard tried to circumvent. He got us on the mudflats though. None could get round that trail. The thick red soft sand-mud concoction sucked you right in. Shoes, legs, whole bodies just disappeared in the gloop. By then, Commando had put on her camouflage makeup (Pure Mud Number 5) and called for backup in the form of the 007 hovercraft. The rest of us had grown several inches in height with all that mud caked on our boots and we had to have a hose down back at the fishing club. Rainman had made us a wonderful fish curry. Except we didn’t get to eat it. He’d left it out on the kitchen bench in the mild 40 degree weather, and the fish had gone well and truly off like a bucket of prawns in the sun. So we had snags and spring rolls instead. We welcomed Babs, the pommy marathon runner to our midst and Director educated us on the complexities of E-Bay, which sounds just the place to buy a submarine.
Welcome to Daylight Saving. There was a secret sense of dread and excitement for Cockup’s run on Nov 5 (Guy Fawkes night). He comes with a reputation to uphold. We could only worry about what lay ahead when he said he wasn’t actually coming on the run with us, but would meet us down the track. As it turns out after a bit of shenanigans through the bush behind
Double trouble on November 12. Scheduled Hares Blondie and Red mysteriously came down with a bout of Dehli Belly, on the very day that it reached 43 degrees and the whole of Broome felt like it was a bit of burnt cheese and toast caught on the griller. Newcomer Chris, of that illustrious brewing house Matsos, found himself suddenly in the deep end of hashing. He and Kamakazi set a last minute run in the afternoon and still found the energy to run it with us – even the false trails and checkbacks (of which there were many). Now that is dedication. Or, a sign of heatstroke. We were blessed however with a storm building up and that created a wonderful glow of light and molten grey clouds and piercing cicadas. And by the time we startled some basketballers and a fitness freak in the PCYC gym the storm actually decided to flex its own muscle and spit on us. About 50 times. The most beautiful rainbow shone over Roebuck bay and its colours reflected in the low sheen of tide. The pot of gold at the end was Matsos, where there was an absolute feast, including all their finest beers. Hash Heaven? And some of us distinctly recall Chris, bearing a load of scrumptiously cold jugs of beer out to us, saying “People say they love my Jugs.”
We said farewell to Disco Dick in October. He’s gone to Kunners, and is enjoying some sightseeing hash runs there. Disco, we’ll miss your fleet feet and hope to see you back in Broome some time!