Published: 9 Mar 2026
A wet time of it;
With the night’s meal done and dusted; although no more fish were caught during the day, the three Luke snagged were well appreciated. Michael Brown did have the greasy sausages, forgoing the fish as the smell reminded him of an unpleasant incident he endured with a Mount Surprise barmaid. What was found surprising being how Brownie could keep down a fatty meal with a belly full of grog as the world about him went around in circles. Oddly in no time at all Brownie appeared to be over the worse of it and back to his insufferable best.
The dark clouds Barry commented on during the morning were now directly above and low, it wasn’t long before the first heavy drops of the promised storm were hissing in the camp fire, sending all to shelter under Barry’s fly-over and grateful for his ingenuity.
“It’s only a shower,” Wayne Nelson appraises as the six sit about under cover watching the last bright embers of their camp fire fizzle then turn dark.
“At least the rain has cooled thing,” Luke gives a shudder as folk in these northern parts reach for a jumper at times when their southern cousins would declare a heat wave.
From an unusually quiet moment Brownie chirps;
“Guess who I saw at the Emerald pub?”
“Ho Chi Mina,” Barry suggests.
“Not him but getting warm; I saw Tom Price.”
“How can seeing Tom Price at the Emerald bar have anything to do with the Vietnam War?” Biff scoffs.
“Price was going on about ways of getting out of the call-up.”
Unlike Brownie who had a couple of months before registering, Biff and Grady had already registered for the draft and would soon know the result. Barry Jones had missed out the previous year although his younger brother will need to register in the coming year, if his brother’s birth date comes out of the barrel it will mean Barry will need to give up his wood carting business and return to the farm.
“He could try wearing a dress, I hear it works,” Barry suggests.
“Price was drinking with Bruce Menzies,” Michael says.
Barry laughs; “simply knowing Menzies should get him off.”
Luke becomes curious, “who is Bruce Menzies?”
None are forthcoming.
“I think the weather has set in,” Biff suggests.
“Na’ it will pass by morning,” Wayne Nelson confidently assures.
“Wayne the weather man,” says Biff.
“He is an optimist on most things,” Michael suggests.
“What does that mean, Brownie?” Wayne asks.
“If you think you’re gunna’ get a root out of Roslyn Bishop, you have to be an optimist,”
“They are early days Mick,” Wayne assures.
A volley of humour escapes at Wayne’s hopefulness before Brownie has a suggestion, “I tell you what, go around the group and tell your first root,” Michael falters, “not you Biff. I would think it was so long ago you hadn’t yet developed memory, or ability to get a woody.”
More laughter but most are willing and if limited in experiences a tidy lie about some girl from out of town that the rest could not call untruthful becomes handy, besides there is nothing more pleasing to youthful aspiration then to big-note ones sexual prowess.
“I’m married now so leave me out,” Barry stresses.
“Leah Ross,” Biff simply says with hope the conversation will move on to the next by simply mentioning Leah’s name.
“Yea Biff we all heard about that and you were lucky her old man didn’t blow your head off,” says Barry.
Brownie interjects, “you can’t include Leah Ross as she only gave hand-trolleys and half the boys in year eight got one of those, she also gave points outa’ ten for length and flow.”
“It counts as some got further,” Biff disagrees, “what did she score you Mick?”
Brownie releases a disregarding huff, “I can’t remember.”
All eyes are on Grady;
Your turn Greedy,” Brownie enforces.
“I have more respect for girls than to brag about it.”
Brownie is laughing;
“Greedy, don’t tell me you’re still a virgo’?”
“As I said Mick, I don’t need to brag about it.”
Brownie hasn’t finished with Grady, he is like a dog with a bone and to back his belief about Grady’s virginity remaining intact he turns to Biff;
“Hey Biff, you’ve known Greedy all your life, is Greedy still a virgin?”
“How the fuck would I know?”
A second raw nerve is twigged, Biff glares across towards Grady and even in the dying light Grady sees something he had never experienced before and as often happened on the football field between them a thought is transferred.
At that moment Biff feels a wave of fear lift from his gut to his throat then exit with a verbal attack on Michael Brown.
“For Christ sake Brown, why is it always you who fucks a good evening, one of these days someone will thump you.”
“You reckon you could Bastian?”
Biff stands but before he can take a step towards Michael Brown, Barry intervenes.
“Come on were here to have fun not fight. Give it a miss both of you.”
Silence prevails but it is obvious Biff remains angered and Grady feels responsible.
‘I should have simply made up an event,’ Grady thinks.
He looks across towards Biff who is obviously avoiding his glance.
‘Something just happened and I don’t understand it.’
‘It is as if something walked over our friendship and flattened it’.
To break the continuing silence Barry speaks;
“We have the first game of the cricket season in a couple of weeks,” he says.
With the rain set in and the altercation between Biff and Michael Brown remaining raw, there was little more to do except sit about. One or other did attempt to lighten the mood but the mood soon returned solemn.
“Well,” Barry says without continuing the thought he may have. Possibly it was a way to kick-start conversation but nothing came of it.
One by one the little band of would-be fishermen retired to their tents until only Grady remained seated on his camping stool gazing out into the darkness and the rain. Biff had gone to their tent soon after Michael Brown retired but in leaving he remained silent. Luke did mention his hope the rain would dissipate so the fishing could continue although there was little encouragement from the others.
“Well, Grady,” Grady softly says while sitting alone with the drizzle.
Way off to the east the sky appears a little more promising, otherwise everything about is so dark it is impossible to see the tree line towards the creek with the only sound being the thud of rain drops on the canvas fly and the hypnotic tumble of the falls.
“What did you think of that?” Grady rhetorically says.
A deep breath;
A quiet release;
‘Something happened tonight.’
‘Something I don’t understand.’
From the far tent he can hear Michael Brown talking with Luke, their voices are low and Grady can only make out the occasional word.
Grady hears his and Biff’s names mentioned, then Brownie laughs and the conversation stops.
‘I’ve never liked Brownie,’ Grady thinks.
‘Even at school he was a loud-mouthed smart-arse.’
Grady recalls an incident during the lower school grades.
It is during morning recess and Michael Brown is sitting on Grady’s stomach, thumping out some dumb tune on his chest with clenched fists and laughing while singing the words to the song.
‘What was that tune?’
‘What song was it?’
‘I do remember Biff arriving and pushing Mick away from me.’
‘Then a fight started and Biff got the blame and retention.’
Grady releases a soft chuckle;
‘And Brownie got a blooded nose.’
‘A hundred lines Brian Bastian.’
‘I must not fight in the school yard and by five this afternoon, or you can double the lines.’
‘And by five o’clock without completion old Mr. Gross clipped Biff’s ear and sent him home.’
‘Next time Mr. Bastian it will be suspension.’
Grady takes a deep breath and slowly releases as he stands with an arm poking out from under the fly into the weather.
“Still raining,” he quietly says.
‘I don’t much like fishing anyway.’
‘It reminds me too much of times with dad and that bloody leaky boat.’
‘How I wanted him to love me.’
‘How nothing I did was right while he praised Lewis.’
‘That should have been a warning.’
‘Oh well, I guess shit happens to everyone at one time or another.’
A long yawn;
‘I suppose I should be making my way to bed.’
Something remains bothering Grady and he is reluctant to join Biff in their tent, at this moment he wished he had his own tent. It is as if he is afraid of that thought Biff transferred during the altercation with Brownie.
‘I have to I suppose,’ Grady thinks on his way to bed.
‘I can’t stay out here all night.’
The tent is dark as Grady climbs into the limited space. He can smell Biff’s odour, it isn’t unpleasant and he remembers from times past believing it to be more comforting than disagreeable.
Trying to avoid Biff in the limited space, instead Grady places a knee on Biff’s foot.
Biff moves his foot away.
“Are you awake?” Grady softly asks.
“I am now.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be, I wasn’t sleeping, it’s too humid for sleeping.”
Grady finds comfort on top of his sleeping bag.
“I’m sorry about what happened earlier.”
“What are you apologizing for Grady?”
“You and Brownie, it seems you are always coming to my rescue.”
“Rescue you from what?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Grady you had nothing to do with it. I simply believe a man’s sex life is not something to be bandied about for entertainment and I didn’t like what he was insinuating.”
“What was that?”
“Go to sleep Grady – maybe another time okay.”
But Grady couldn’t sleep, his thoughts keep returning to that glance he received earlier that night from Biff.
‘What could it mean?’
‘I have a fair idea what Brownie was about.’
‘But why would that upset Biff?’
Grady peers through the darkness towards Biff, “are you awake?” he softly asks.
There isn’t any reply.
A slow breath and slower release;
‘I guess it isn’t worth thinking about.’
It is morning and still raining although there is a blue patch far off to the east. As usual Barry is first to rise, fortunately he had moved the barbeque and their supplies out of the rain the previous night.
“Now for coffee,” Barry quietly expresses while checking the gage on the gas bottle. It is almost empty but there is a spare bottle on the truck.
Barry fills the kettle with water and places it on one of the burners as Grady comes from his tent.
“Coffee is on,” Barry calls.
“Good, do you want a hand?”
“You can start the breakfast if you like.”
“Were outa’ steaks,” Grady says as he checks the meat supply, “plenty of sausages and some chops.”
“Sausages will be fine.” Barry finds a couple of pannikins, “what was going on between Biff and Mick last night?”
“I think it’s just Mick as he seems to know how to pull Biff’s chain.”
“Mick has always been aggressive,” Barry relates.
Brownie is from his tent as he hears Barry’s comment, “have I?” he questions.
Barry quickly turns to face Brownie;
“Yes Mick you have.”
“I love you too Barry,” Brownie sarcastically answers as Wayne joins the morning. He is standing close to the lip of the fly with a hand extended while checking the rain.
“Almost stopped,” Wayne hopefully says as Luke joins them.
Michael Brown is grinning while collecting a stick from the ground.
Above Wayne’s head the rain has collected and bowed the fly into a bowl and with a chuckle Michael Brown pushes up the bulge, sending the water to spill over the side of the fly with Wayne beneath.
Wayne shrieks more from fright than being soaked.
“Fuck you Mick – you idiot.”
By now everyone is from the tents and laughing.
Wayne goes to change his clothing.
“Grow up Brownie,” Barry softly says while Grady settles into cooking the breakfast sausages.
Luke is helping to butter the bread; his eyes are beyond the fly to the dull sky.
“What do you reckon Barry?
“Reckon about what Luke?”
“The fishing, although it appears I’m the only one who is interested in fishing.”
Barry points towards the horizon;
“See that patch of blue over to the east?”
“Yea’.”
“That patch of blue is your fishing weather.”
“I see it but when will it get here?”
“Dunno’.”
Wayne returns wearing fresh clothes;
“Hey Brownie, what’s your next trick,” Wayne remains unamused and keeps his distance, “What’s for breakfast?” he asks.
“I’ve some of Ron’s tomatoes if anyone is prepared to make a salad,” Grady suggests while turning the sausages.
“Sausage Sangers’ will do, I’m not a rabbit.” Wayne answers.
“Then sausage sandwiches it is,” Grady agrees.
“Onions,” Brownie says; “you can’t have a sausage sandwich without fried onion.”
“We used the onions yesterday,” Grady places some of the sausages aside not to burn, “plenty of dead horse,” he adds in reference to tomato sauce.
Grady is clearing up after breakfast while the others are standing about contemplating the morning. Luke decides to do some fishing in the rain as it is now light and he knows a spot with enough cover to deflect the worse of it. Wayne has a book he borrowed from his sister, as he said, in case the weather turned.
“I’ve a pack of cards in the car, who is for a game of poker?” Michael Brown suggests.
“I haven’t any spare coin Mick,” Barry admits.
“You’ve never enough coin Bazza,” Michael surmises.
Grady is laughing; “Strip poker,” he suggests.
“We don’t have any girls for strip poker,” Michael says.
“Then that’s shot that idea in the arse.”
“Speaking of arses Greedy.”
“Don’t start up again Mick; I’m not in the mood.”
“How about a game of soggy biscuit?” Michael Brown suggests.
“Leave off Mick,” Barry warns.
“Kid’s stuff Mick, you aren’t back in primary school now,” Luke implies as he heads out for fishing.
Biff is sniffing at his armpits;
“I stink did anyone bring soap, I think I’ll go take a dip.”
“Strip down Biff and stand in the rain.” Wayne suggests.
“It has almost stopped.”
Barry goes to his bag of what he calls necessities, retrieving a cake of soap he passes it to Biff;
“There you go; “and don’t lose it, I only brought the one.”
Biff leaves for the river. Brownie’s eyes are following Biff’s departure then he turns back to Grady, he doesn’t speak although his eyes say much, it is as if they are expressing – hey Greedy you should give your mate a hand to scrub down.
Grady ignores Brownie’s glance and continues with his tidying.
By midday the rain returned, in most it is bouts of heavy showers between lengthy periods of drizzle. It was only Luke who bothered to put a line into the water but he soon returned luckless and soaked to change into something dry. Back at the camp Luke discovers promise had turned to boredom, with Wayne onto the last pages of the novel he brought while giving a lengthy rendition of its ludicrous plot.
Eventually it was lunchtime and instead of bothering with his turn at cooking, Brownie past around the beer. Grady declined as it was never his habit to drink for the sake of it. Biff accepted one but sometime later the beer remained aside and flat.
Eventually the weather and lethargy brought Barry to consider packing up camp and returning to town, so with that thought developing and during a lull in the drizzle he went to examine the road out. He returns with the opinion the track may suit his tray truck but the sedan would bog down before travelling a hundred yards.
As Barry returns to camp it is Brownie who perceives what he is thinking regarding the weather and the way out.
“What’s the track like?” Brownie asks.
“I’d get out alright but I don’t think your Ford would get very far.”
“So we’re stuck in this flaming wet shit-hole until the weather changes and the beer has almost run out,”
“It appears that way Brownie although I’d say the most of the weather has passed and the track should dry out overnight.”
“I’ve finished the book,” Wayne calls as he finally closes the paperback, “who wants it next?” he offers.
“I could use some of the pages for toilet paper,” Luke suggests.
“We don’t need to read it, you gave us the story word by flaming word,” Biff rejects the offer as the sound of an approaching vehicle comes along the track from the direction of the main road.
Moments later a police land rover comes skidding through the mud to stop close by where the campers stand under the fly.
“What have you done now Mick?” Biff chuckles.
For once Michael Brown is lost for words while he mulls over his past misdemeanours.
Barry goes to meet the arrival as Officer Russell Langford alights from the four-by-four Land Rover to meet him.
They speak for a moment before both return to the group. Langford’s eyes are on Biff.
Gary’s stories are about life for gay men in Australia’s past and present. Your emails to him are the only payment he receives. Email Gary to let him know you are reading: Conder 333 at Hotmail dot Com
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