Today 28 February marks the end of our second month on the road. (It??s not a leap year, I checked.) Only 10 months to go... We??ll be back at a desk pushing paper before we know it. Or not.
Anyway on this fine day we find ourselves in coastal Victoria ?? Lakes Entrance, to be precise. After a brisk 18 holes this morning we drove through from Narooma, on the New South Wales coast, some 500km away. And didn??t see one measly kangaroo. Despite the 65723 ??be careful of kangaroo? road signs. It was like going to Disney world; seeing a dozen ??Mickey Mouse this way? signs; and later learning that Mickey??s name is actually Sharon, and Sharon??s on maternity leave. A let down. Maybe the ??roos were too busy to be hopping across the highway for tourist amusement. Maybe February 28 is the day they have their AGM, somewhere in the bush. Who knows. Regardless, it was a huge great disappointment not to see at least one marsupial. Just gum trees, dirt and gypsies.
Lakes Entrance must be some kind of holiday town, because there are more motels, hotels, caravan parks and camp grounds here than the whole of New Zealand put together. It??s got a bit of a Forrest Gump feel about it. Haven??t seen Bubba yet. Although there are a stack of fishing boats, and we did meet a bloke at the local hotel who could have been Bubba's twin brother. This lad was entirely genuine though; he and his labourer mates had travelled 40 minutes for a beer from the site they were working on, bless 'em. A bit rough around the edges, these boys were, but they'll all have mothers that love them and in any case they had good chat. Who knows what they thought of us...
Going back to those road signs ?? what on earth is with the tired driver signs here? Every 200 metres a sign asks you if you feel drowsy, or if you need a nap. ??Have a powernap?, you??re told. Reading the dam things makes me tired; it??s like holding a gun to your head and telling you you need life insurance. Madness. Anyway.
Rewind to this morning, to Narooma. Fortunately thunder and lightning didn??t show up to the party, just drizzle (which made the fairways greasier than this evening??s fish and chips, testing our cart driving skills). Mike and I shot round the first 6 holes by ourselves, a couple of which were spectacular. The 3rd hole ?? Hogan??s Hole (which takes its namesake from Paul Hogan ?? aka Crocodile Dundee ?? who featured in a Winfield cigarette shoot in the water below, some years ago) ?? lived up to its billing. From the 7th onwards we were joined by Joe, a colourful character from Tipperaray, who came to the antipodes in 1959. Joe turned up in his red, fully stickered up cart, but without clubs ?? so Mike asked whether he??d be playing. ??Nooo, sure ye woodn??t be gud enuf fir me? was the response, delivered with a charming Eire lilt.
The combination of Joe??s chat and fast wheels (a V8 petrol cart) was a winning one. The course was a ripper too, although after volatile weather conditions of late the fairways had seen better days. Who??d be a greenkeeper? Drought then monsoon. Monsoon then drought. How they had the greens in the condition they were remains a mystery as puzzling as the disappearance of the Marie Celeste, a feat as impressive as being able to touch your toes. Even Matt Cleary would??ve sunk a putt or two on ??em.
Peter Jones Club Captain joined us for our last few holes. Charming chap if ever there was one, only too happy to fill us in on what it means to be a Narooma local (spoiled) and point us in the right direction. After he turned up I managed two birdies, so I??ve brought him with me. Against his will. I haven??t really, but I could have, and Peter himself said he??d love to be doing what we??re doing. So the invitation remains open my dear friend, if you happen upon this ramble.
Michael and I were privileged enough to be looked after by Joe and Peter in the clubhouse (and met another brilliant man by the name of Ray, they??re everywhere in these parts). They loaded us up with burgers and ginger beer before sending us on our way, along the not-so-kangaroo-infested Princes Highway. What a pleasure it was to spend the morning with such colourful characters at such a hospitable club. Go to Narooma. And if you??re looking for somewhere to retire, to spend your last days playing golf, it??s only $500 a year and it??s a top 100 course in Australia and I??m sure the sun shines most of the time and the burgers are magic.
I have a question for all our Australian readers: when are you going to reclaim your country from the Mosquito Race? They seem to rule the roost around here, and I??d personally like to see the back of them. If I scratch my leg any longer I??ll be bone carving. Dam things. At the other end of my lifestyle magazine-esque ??Going up; Going down? list are flathead tails a local delicacy pulled straight from the Tasman Sea for the dining pleasure of lucky locals and tourists. When in Rome logic prevailed at the fush n chup shop, Mike and I opting for 4 said tails and 18 kilos of salty chups. A food coma I may have, but a happy one. Try flathead tails if you get the chance. Leave the chups though.
Tomorrow morning we??ll rise and play at Lakes Entrance, which looks like a beastly track that might chew us poor unsuspecting Kiwis up and spit us out. Violently. Especially if the wind keeps blowing. For the moment we??ve retired to the Riviera Backpackers, who??ve most generously put us up for the night. Slick digs, for a backpackers.
See y??all in March.
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As colourful character Donk (played by Steve Rackman) said to Mick "Crocodile" Dundee (Paul Hogan, the one in the hole) in the hit movie of 1986 "Crocodile Dundee" - Hey Mick - get stuffed.
Kangaroos? Last time I went from Narooma to Lakes Entrance there were kangaroos by the road in plague proportions. There were kangaroos fighting and shagging and scratching their various furry bits. It was a kangaroo frenzy. Maybe it's cos there's no more drought, what am I a marsupialist? No. I am not.
You'll be seeing them soon enough. Country is infested with kangaroos. Dangerous violent ones. With huge teeth and claws and attitood. Be warned: they don't like Kiwis. And pseudo Scots aren't much chop either.
true.
Posted by Matt, 28/02/2010 11:47pm (3 years ago)
Chisholm Park
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