It was with a degree of trepidation that I set off south to attend Raindrops run.  Given his history of setting runs during torrential down pours, and having experienced the soaking rains of the day, I was convinced that the evening would be a washout.  Furthermore, given the wonderfully reliable Weather Bureau’s report of thunderstorms, I was prepared with snorkel and water wings.  Moreover, I observed, on the way south, an old man with a white beard, carrying a measuring stick that had been marked, into cubits climbing about on a large wooden vessel.  Was this a further omen?  This was further reinforced when I arrived at the run site to see that they had named the park after out famous Master Mariner, Captain Dave Mellor.

On arrival, one observed, Elbows clutching a small piece of plaster board arrive at the pavilion, closely followed by Fags.  Neither looked too exhausted, but claimed that it had taken them two hours set the run.  There was some sceptical looks of those gathered, as it seemed highly unlikely that Fags would have sauntered about Bibra Lake for two hours.

Raindrops was hiding undercover with two large pot on burners heating some witches brew that he was going to attempt to pass off, later in the evening, as edible food.

The pack slowly gathered, with many of the throng still gazing skyward in the expectation of a deluge. 

Finally when about the forty strong pack had settled, the hares advised that we were to follow a toilet paper and chalk trail.  The toilet paper was a good idea; as if the run gave you the shits you could at least be hygienic.

The runner set off and headed north through the back streets of the local residential area and parklands towards the Spanish Club.  Then turned west over Bibra Drive into the Bibra Lake Reserve, where they enjoyed sand and swamp like conditions.

The walker’s had also headed north and then traversed west into the reserve.  Phantom was leading the straggling group.  Once into the sand the group stretched out further. At times they had to negotiate wire entanglements, which reminded the old diggers of going over the top.  However, on this occasion, it was not enemy fire they were concerned about, but leaving their aging wedding tackle on the wire.

The runners were about this time experiencing a significant number of long false trails.

Finally, after negotiating the sand, a meander through the residential area to the south of the venue, the walkers and the runners duly made there way to the bucket.

The local ranger arrived and was duly beguiled by the glib talking Elbows.  He left satisfied with the explanation provided.

After the pack slacked their considerable thirst, Action ascended his speaker’s throne and brought the rabble to order.

There were no visitors, none of the birthday boys were present, Skid was congratulated for his 6 years, and it was announced that the hash Golf day would be a Mosman Park on June 19.

Neon then ascended the throne and awarded Scumbag a down down for leaving the lights of his vehicle on all night while camping.   Moses was also awarded a down down for arriving without shoes and was forced to borrow some from Elbows.  What a thought, having to wear shoes that had been on Elbows feet.  

Neon then brought the Hares forward and after due consideration and obvious financial inducement awarded them a 11/10 for the run.

Raindrops deserved considerable praise for the Lamb curry as it was excellent, even so good that Dick Tracey, channelling Mark 1, had a second helping, as did Scumbag.

A good night and not a drop of rain.


On On Ace