Monday, November 26, 2007

H3 Oct-Nov 07

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 Cable Beach we ended up on the suburb’s namesake, climbing the tallest dune in Broome in the growing darkness. And blow me down if it just didn’t get darker and sandier. By this stage with calf muscles screaming and one torch between the pack, the energy levels sank into the quicksand and those pink ribbons on sticks seemed to get further and further apart. Even Zorro, with his cape, horse and sword, was about ready to pack in the superhero caper and call for a cab. The pack trawled through the soft sand for an eternity and reached the end, only to find that eternity hadn’t quite finished with them yet. Barge sent us up another dune and so by the time we reached the boardwalk we were screaming for mercy and crying salty tears from the lactic burn. But god we loved it. Bargie hadn’t finished with us then either. By now it was darker than a cat’s bum on a cold night and we had to follow a trial through Minyirr park’s wilder regions. The plaintive cries of ON ON became on on on on. The thought of an ice cold beverage and a spa sustained us all to the end.

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 McDaniel Road, and some more calf strengthening sand tracks, we ended up on Ridell Beach with the setting sun. Marvellous! The trail picked its way along the cliff top and brought the pack out on Gantheume Point where Cockup, bless his smelly socks, had arrived in the Kimberley Wilderness Adventures bus with a picnic. Truly, Broome H3 must be the best in the world.

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!



Anonymous said...

Love your work alphabet!

Red said...

Hey Snob,

Better remind me how to post to this blog as oposed to leaving comments like this...