2026 Highland Fling | Special Report

The CHARDONNAY BUGLE

Volume 28 Special Report

RUN REPORT

As Far Flung Flings go, the 2026 edition was almost at our back door. Not quite as close as the Jack Shit-mandated ’20 minutes from the Eagle Hawk Inn’, but achievable within an hour-and-change for many.

Not Crusha, as you will note if you keep reading.

Oh, you’ve stopped reading already. Spoof was right.

Maydena was a new venue with new possibilities, none of which were the ‘possibility of a fine selection of beers and wines’ (or any selection, if you didn’t time your run to get there early). Still, Hashers will always find a way to end up with a mouth full of gravel after going to bed at 3am.

One of those ways, according to Spoof, Banger, Uber, Pee Wee and Snack Bar, was to head to the local RSL, happen to be there on the occasion of a local’s wake, and find out what a damn decent bloke ‘Jack’ was while holding up the bar until midnight.

Wisely, Joint Masters Grassroots and Slippery Nipple set an earlier-than-usual start time for the Fling trail, so the mid-morning p!ssheads could sober up with some character-building exercise instead of hopping straight into the Eskys.

Hare In The Raw had set trail the previous day, knowing that his brother Gary’s appearance at any Fling was guaranteed to make a 6am start to lay trail unlikely in the extreme. This wasn’t as prophetic as it seems, for ITR/Gary was found wandering around the cottages sniffing out single malt like a bloodhound (assuming that blood was 92 proof, the level of which Gary probably nudged by 3am).

After the obligatory group photo we waited around for Crusha’s arrival. Eventually Growler had to guide him in; the Temu GPS’s frustration mounting when Crusha couldn’t even locate the Maydena store, or any of the Maydena streets and landmarks. Possibly because he was driving in circles around the hamlet of Fitzgerald (not wandering around the aisles of Harris Scarfe, as some had misheard) a few kilometres short of the mark.

Eventually ITR – wanting to send everyone off so that he could have a nap – gave the option of a 10-12km hilly but suck it up run, a 6.5km ‘one hill’ walk or a couple of kilometres of NDIS-level saunter. Other than Dyke (who you may not know came 26th in the Ball Breaker ‘race’ at Interhash* and has yet to remove his finishers’ shirt) no one seemed keen to tackle the runners’ trail. Eventually, Pole Dancer and Snack Bar pulled up their big-girl pants and headed off in pursuit.

* who are we kidding – of course you know that

The rest were happy to tackle the start of the walk, as it circumnavigated some brushland then took to the rail tracks. TicToc was terrified that there would be a train come through, then failed to hear anyone call out that there was a train coming through because she was still talking about a train coming through. (In reality the ‘train’ was a group of pedal-powered rail carts, but in TicToc’s mind it was a ‘train’.)

At the rail junction trail took us took us deep into thylacine country, 10km from where the last wild thylacine (named Benjarmin, apparently) was spotted back in 1931. There was no chance of spotting Ben’s ‘cousins’, who would have been warned of our approach by TicToc, still recounting her brush with death.

Disappointed at not finding any thylacine poo, we continued on trail as it rejoined the rail track at ‘Florentine Station’. Inside the station house were some boards with information on the history of the area, including one headed ‘Clearfelling Our Future’. Disappointingly, all it seemed to do is pour scorn upon Clearfell as a massive waste and unsustainable.

To that point the trail had been gentle, albeit a bit like our JMs – slippery and rooty. After the train station, shit got real. First hurdle was an embankment, where the meagre footholds continued to wear away as each Hasher tackled it. By the time that Jim Beam got there it was a full-blown slip ‘n slide. It was here that the runners made their first and only appearance, with Pole Dancer quite complimentary about the Hare’s 2km false trail. (I assume that ‘In The Raw is a c*nt’ was meant as a compliment.)

Then came the climb.

As far as climbs go it wasn’t a gut buster. It was ‘only’ a 1-in-10 climb, but at nearly a kilometre in length it felt… ‘compliment-worthy’. Pee Wee seemed to regret loading himself up with a large rain jacket and 3kg umbrella, neither of which were of any use, while Blah Blah Blah and Bullseye appeared to enjoy the climb, stopping every 100 metres or so for what looked like vertical tantric sex. Heavy breathing was involved, but that applied to nearly everyone. Wee Bev was berated by a mountain bike roadie for being on a private road, but after he got a full serve in Scottish brogue he was left rethinking his life choices.

If the climb was the worst part of the trail, the descent was even worster for the last few after all the ‘grippier’ bits were worn away by the FRBs. ‘Greasier than a butcher’s dick’ barely seemed to cover it.

After all that excitement, the only interest seemed to be in getting back to the Eskys, although the ‘Hunt of a Care’ had one last FU, sitting in his car watching Grizzly disappear up what was an obvious false trail.

Most Hashers were genuinely complimentary about the trail – not just in the ‘you’re a c*nt’ way – and the first half was particularly interesting and enjoyable. Thank you ITR.

Back at the on-on, the JMs and indentured assistants were getting lunch ready, while the club’s replacement Eskys were brimming with a good variety of drinks (a damned sight better than we’d get from the venue) curated by Hash Hops TopDek. The fire pots were being fed bags of minor species select timber, generously supplied by Vodka Cruiser – now with 100% less noxious chemicals!

Uber and Hands On presided over a marathon Lip Session (see ‘Skols’ below for all the lies) featuring the return of The Box. Like most ‘of age’, the Box’s appendage seemed to have lost some of its virility.

The Lip Session was followed by this year’s Highland Games – organised by Uber and Cumonion – featuring the Scottish Not-So-Grand National Steeplechase, golf at Royal and Ancient St Growler, and the Edinburgh-Glasgow vasectomy boat race. The Clans – McBollocks, McCrackin, Mc Titties and McTwats – all gathered to strategise, in what was possibly the greatest waste of good drinking time,

The Steeplechase proved to be a tough course in slow conditions. At one stage the screens had to be brought out when Brazilian was crash-tackled by In The Raw, but they train them to be tough in Lower Longley and Brazilian got up swiftly to kick ITR in the geldings. The stewards also had to call ITR to the rooms after a deliberate collision with Hands On nearly broke her jaw. The charge was dismissed after ITR pointed out that Hands On hadn’t shut up, so it can’t have been that bad. The race was won by McTwats after every other team was disqualified, with calls of ‘crooked’ and ‘rigged’ failing to sway the impartial McTwats judge. Smallgoods took the extra style point for his dressage-like horsemanship, but then lost a point after he recorded a refusal at the first hurdle. Possibly not the first nag to refuse him that weekend.

The rough was quite thick on Royal and Ancient St Growler fairway, although not as rough or as thick as the field of 16. Most golfers were handicapped, although TopDek seemed more so after trying to pitch with the back of her club. Pussy Galore was clubhouse leader with a fine 15-metre drive to within a D-cup of the pin, taking the points for McTitties.

The blue riband event was the boat race. Lightweight drinkers McTitties and McCrackin were eliminated in the heats, leaving McTwats and McBollocks to contest the final. Claims that Lone Arranger gives an awesome blow job seemed to have some credence, as she swallowed with aplomb at third seat for the McBollocks. At the end of the final race the impartial judge ordered a skol-off between the biggest cox from each team – Didn’t Do It and In The Raw – to determine the winner. Controversially, the McTwats-affiliated judge gave the nod to McBollocks, having been slipped a ‘pineapple‘ by Jaffa (which could explain why Grizzly was walking funny afterwards).

With a gap in the official program, most headed back for a rest and to get ready for the night’s festivities. Or to get stuck into even more grog and be too p!ssed to make it to the restaurant for the evening. (No names, although you won’t find any evening photos of Prickit or LA.) Inside the restaurant, things were getting ugly – and I’m not referring to Muzza or Bart. Promises by the restaurant of a grog restock were indeed honoured, although the additional three bottles of red and a couple of rosé were underwhelming, even after the JMs had warned them that too much grog would barely be enough. Then there was the shortage of glassware, with Cumonion resolute that she wouldn’t drink her goon wine out of a Vegemite jar – she has standards! The meals all made it out eventually, but by this time most Hashers had moved past any pre-conception of fine-dining and were happy enough to pinch chips off others’ plates.

The next morning was a case of déjà vu, with repeating stories of serial pests and empty whisky bottles implicating the usual suspects. Arsecutter was on the tools early cooking up breakfast, for nothing else banishes a night of regret like a feed of eggs and bacon.

The recovery trail took us past what would make an ideal stadium for the Tasmania Devils AFL and AFLW teams, with plenty of parking and a grandstand already in place. It would certainly let those northern toffs know what it’s like to play real footy in Tasmania. There was a crossing over a wee burn, which so excited Wee Bev that she threw herself to the ground. Unfortunately this occurred just as Billie the dog was mid-leap, causing Billie to fall into the creek and disappear downstream.

A final Lip Session, with special mention to the Joint Masters and their helpers for their work in putting on an enjoyable Highland Fling.

The Hell ‘n Back Trophy – usually awarded to the Hasher who had written themselves off over the weekend in the most spectacular fashion – was presented to Fringe Benefits for her domino approach to cleaning up after spilling someone’s drink (and doing so while looking fashionable, I assume).

The winner of the clan competition was then announced, with McCrackin taking the title despite coming last in every event. (GM Grizzly later awarded himself the Fling World Peace Prize for impartial and incomprehensible judging.)

Thanks again to Joint Masters Slippery and Grassroots – and to their team of helpers – for putting on a wonderful weekend.

DOWN DOWNS

Lips: Uber and Hands On

SATURDAY
Note: By this stage the On Sec was working hard on her tilt at the Hell ‘n Back Trophy, so the seven pages of notes were either illegible or unintelligible. As a result, the much of the content is either missing or even less factually correct than the skol as presented.

In The Raw: Hare. “Really good”, “Not enough hills or trains”, “Long FTs”, etc.
Wee Bev: demonstrated how the Chardonnay Box works.
Growler: hadn’t sat on the Box in a long time, then wouldn’t get off!
Banger, Pee Wee, Snack Bar, Spoof & Uber: ~~wedding~~ wake crashers.
Hooray: talking in the circle.
Jaffa: ‘Gruncle’ has been bullying him, has become a recluse.
Pee Wee: lady at the RSL took a fancy to Pee Wee and offered him a lift home. Pee Wee rushed out the door to escape!
Grizzly: tried to wear Crackers’ jacket, saying that they are the same size.
ITR: sitting comfortably in a yellow puddle. Knocked over two drinks and Dyke had to clean him up.
ITR: wandering around the village looking for whisky, which he found in Cottage 3. Jaffa had to put him to bed.

Bullseye, Coco Pops, Vodka Cruiser, Ms Bling & Mr Bean: Fling virgins.
Milestone: In The Raw – 450 Runs!
Cumonion: had one job. Forgot to bring the milestone badges to Maydena, so had to make cunning cardboard replicas from a beer carton.
Buddha, Pussy Galore, Bart, Jaffa, Austen Tayshus, TicToc & Banger: can’t remembers.
Dyke (& Buddha – one Dutchman skols…): Hashed the runners trail. Jumped onto one of the rail carts as they rode by.
TicToc: said that she would like to go fishing. Herr Flick responded that she wouldn’t shut up long enough to catch anything.
Cracker: bemoaning the lack of red wine. The JMs told the restaurant that we only drink white!
Fringe Benefits: talking in the circle. Another alcohol abuser having knocked over a wine, then knocked over a second while cleaning up the first.
Crusha: lost in Maydena, mainly because he was in Fitzgerald.

Smallgoods: didn’t take Luv Shack to Hash on Thursday just because it was their wedding anniversary.
Scary: their van got bogged and Jim Beam offered to tow it out. Scary questioned if her vehicle was strong enough to do the job, then handed JB a frayed old rope to hitch the vehicles up.
Snack Bar: first in and claimed the best room, but it was the closest to the lounge room so spent the night banging on the wall to shut up the party goers.
Kudos to the tucker fuckers: Arsecutter, Cumonion, Grassroots and Gingernuts.
Jaffa: going to be a grandad.

Skols from the floor:

Dyke -> Clearfell: struggled with technology. Was trying to change channel on the television to watch football and couldn’t work out why nothing was happening. Had the remote pointing towards himself, rather than the TV.
Dyke -> Austen Tayshus: ITR was stoking the fire and Austen Tayshus chucked a wobbly when a bit of ash landed in her hair.
Prickit: handed off a bag of Can’t Stop’s ‘extra stuff’ from Indonesia to Tight Spot. Had to lie when asked by Customs ‘did you pack this bag yourself’?
Jaffa -> ITR: a bit dusty after drinking whisky in Cottages 3 and 4. ITR had no recollection.
Cracker -> Dyke: was spotted doing the quick walk of shame after going to the wrong airport gate and then hearing an announcement calling for him and TwinkleToes to go to the correct gate because the plane was waiting to take off.
Grizzly -> Dyke: hasn’t taken his Interhash Ball Breaker shirt off since he got it.
Pee Wee thanked those who assisted him in Indonesia and asked if anyone had a good recipe for Beef Wellington.

SUNDAY

In The Raw: short, wet Hare.
Snack Bar: North Melbourne pantsed.
Prickit and Lone Arranger: dinner absentees. Prickit as least had the decency to get dressed in her Highland gear before passing out.
Wee Bev: dog abuse.
TicToc: busily loading her gear into a car that wasn’t the one she was going back in.
Austen Tayshus: understood the ‘Scary’ part of her mother-in-law’s Hash name, but didn’t know where the ‘Eyeball’ part came into it. (Even though she does often refer to her by her normal name of Iris.)
Fringe Benefits: always fashionable, requiring 30kg of luggage for an away weekend, including new boots.
Milestone: Grizzly – 850 Runs.
Uber: made special markers for the golf part of the Highland Games but then couldn’t find them, making accusations that some bastard had stolen them. They were sitting in the box of bread they had brought up with them.
Brazilian: during the clothes optional run the Pack piled into Pee Wee’s bedroom and onto his bed. The bed ‘broke’ when Brazilian joined in – did she eat all the pies?
Clan competition results:
4th McTittles
3rd McBollocks
2nd McTwats
1st McCrackin

POSTSCRIPT

Spoof invited anyone still capable of walking to inspect his Growling Swallet. Hard to resist such an offer.

Tackled by Banger, Herr Flick, Wee Bev, Grizzly and Spoof, the offered ‘short and flat’ walk not far from Maydena turned into something of an adventure, featuring a chainsaw, axle-deep muddy drive and about as flat as a Dyke trail. (Spoof thought that the terrain must have changed since his last visit nearly 40 years ago.) Trail highlights included spectacular old trees, vibrant fungi, and the Junee River disappearing into an impressive maw. The trail also featured muddy sections and steep descents, which tested Banger’s new knee. Worth the visit.