The young bloke (12yo at the time) and I drove to Balmoral Vic with the intention of entering the Carp Fishing contest. Driving my 4wd Corolla, towing the camper trailer with the tinny atop, we idled through the town center to the general store. There were a lot of cars around the pub, but no one in the streets. We entered the store and bought a few items and an ice-cream each. By the time we left the store, a rowdy, drunken crowd had spilled out of the pub. Some of the buggers were yelling slurred swear words and piffing rocks and stones at us, the cars and houses. We scooted across the road, jumped into the car, hung a U turn and drove up past the Pub. A few silly bastards were streaking and some were nudie-climbing the huge cannon in the town square. I quipped to the young bloke, that if one of them slipped , they would really know the meaning of cannon balls.
We got to the Rocklands dam but were a bit disappointed to find the lake only at 4% capacity. We went to the marshalling area and signed up. As we started to walk away the raucous crowd of drunken revellers arrived in a few fourby utes.
They were singing their hearts out as they tumble from the cars, and I saw the official who was signing up contestants face palm.
We set up camp behind a few bushes, which turned out to be a prick of a spot, because the track was too close, and we copped a heap of dust over the weekend.
Also the drunken mob positioned themselves near us, but up on a ridge which jutted out into the lake and gave them a great vantage point.
When I finally got the tent and stove set up, I found that the oars had mysteriously disappeared off of the trailer. We back-tracked, but never found the bloody things.
We launched our tinny and the young fella, wearing a PFD, swam and towed us to a stand of trees, fifty or so meters out on the water.
We never got so much as a nibble, and neither did anyone else, but the drunken lot were getting louder and louder as the sun went down.
After a good helping of barbied snags, we climbed into our dusty sleeping bags and promptly fell asleep. By 11 o'clock, the party on the ridge was getting out of hand, so much so that they just about woke everyone.
I slipped out of the tent and went for a slash. Suddenly, I was caught in the glare of a bloody great spotlight and a drunken chorus of cat calls and " Oy! What are YOU doing you bastard?!!" started.
The shifty mongrels were using night vision to spy on everyone. One poor bugger was lit up as he was squatting up at the tree line.
As the night wore on the spotlight must've woken up some grumpy campers on the other side of the lake. A slinging match echoed back and forth across the still water. It escalated until serious death threats were made. The local copper jumped on his six wheel drive all-terrain vehicle and entered the ridge camp.
After a bit of shouting, he subdued the party and took off around the shoreline to handle the other mob.
Finally I was able to get some sleep, but I was woken up at about 4am when some silly bugger drove his Hilux into a ditch and ripped the front axle from the springs.
On Saturday we watched a couple of fourbys get towed out of the muck as they broke through the crust near the water. There, there wasn't much happening fish-wise in our area, so we drove around the lake, until we found a nice looking log to fish from.
The young fella gave up and went beachcombing. He came back asked if I could help him dig an old cast iron wheel out of the mud.
After half an hour we had unearthed the front axle and another wheel of a wagon. It took quite a lot of convincing my son, that we could only fit one wheel in the back of the car. (The wheel still hangs in my shed).
We went back to our camp and I made a pair of oars from a couple of branches. By this time there was a lot of sodden dog food pellets drifting around the surface and collecting on the shores. We headed in and we landed near camp, we saw a bloke catch one small carp.
Since I had some mower wheels on the tinny, I drove the Corolla down to the lakes edge, and tied the boat to the towbar. I promptly got the car bogged.
After a few offers for help and a bit of mucking around with the winch I got the Corolla out. As I was dragging the tinnie behind us, a bloke with a carload of drunken mates, was too busy watching us instead of watching where he was going so he stacked into a stump.
The copper must've really laid down the rules, because everyone was very subdued on Saturday night. That was, until 12.30 am.
I got woken with what sounded like a shot. It turned out to be some young tools making thier Commodore back-fire.
Vroom--BOOM!!. Vroom--BOOM!! Vroom--BOOM!! Vroom blaaaaaaaaa.
They killed the car and received a standing ovation for their efforts. The bloody tow truck woke everyone at 3 am though.
We left before lunch time on Sunday, hot tired and very dusty, but happy. We dropped into the Hamilton pool on the way home. Even after we had a quick shower we still left a slightly cloudy muddy trail behind us in the cool, clear water of the pool.
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