The Great Key Hunt of McGaurans Beach, sometime in 2022

The Ceremony of the Keys is an ancient ritual, held every evening at the Tower of London, we now have a version for Gippsland, where, following the wind up of the surf fishing competition, when all is packed away and we are ready to head back to civilisation, a certain person who shall remain nameless, but for the sake of this story will be known as Fred, had mislaid his car keys.

Someone call Inspector Clouseau as this had all the makings of a French farce.

Unlike the ceremony in London, this event was not being viewed by hundreds of tourists, but only a few weary fishermen, whose helpful comments were singularly unhelpful and, in some cases, physically impossible.  

All the normal lost key suggestions were tried, but finally “Fred” was insistent that he had put them in a side pocket in the tent, which by this time had been lovingly cleaned and rolled up into its bag and buried in the back of the ute.   

Said tent was found and unfurled (somewhat un-lovingly) and searched – no keys.  

By this time the unhelpful comments were coming thick and fast, one of which was that the keys had fallen into the long drop (nice!) and after a 2^nd search of the tent, which included a microscopic examination of not only the two side pockets but also the little flap where an electric cord is designed to pass through – no keys. Are you getting all this, I am asked.      Sure am, lol.

By this time “Fred” was starting to experience a degree of panic.  Not so Woofa the dog who had taken up residence in the now discarded tent and had set about licking his sandy b errr paws.   

Who was the last person in the tent?    

Lucy…  Perhaps Lucy has the keys for safe keeping as she has been known to wander off with shiny trinkets, as the family can attest. A few minutes later Lucy appears and was submitted to cross examination, but the response was an emphatic NO.  

Fortunately for the family, Lucy is getting better at remembering where she has placed… trinkets.   The same cannot be said for a certain nail biting, teeth grinding Fred, the pressure was building.  

Not to be outdone “Fred” is insistent that the keys were placed in the tent side pocket.  

When asked whether he had shaken the tent before lovingly folding it up, Yes, was the reply, whilst looking balefully at the surrounding shrubbery. I will go look in there says Roger, who used it as an excuse to relieve some pressure of his own and responded that there were no keys lying around in there.

The tent then underwent a 3^rd search (much to Woofa’s disgust) and again picked up at each corner and wildly shaken, on the idea that a set of keys would rattle. Shake - Silence – Shake again – Silence.  Panic levels - increasing.

At this point there was a glimmer of hope that the keys were in the car ignition – nope, in the glove box – nope, on the seats – nope, under the seats – nope, under the car -nope, on the roof – nope.    Panic levels still going up – yes.

By this time Woofa had settled back inside the now very dishevelled tent only to be rudely interrupted by “Fred” doing an impersonation of a 2-legged tent pole, as he was inside the collapsed tent doing yet another search.  

Just goes to show that Einstein was correct in his statement that “if you keep doing the same thing, why do you expect to get a different result”.  You guessed it – no keys. 

At this point it was decided to unpack the ute, just in case the keys had found their way in there. Amazing how quick a ute can be unpacked! Out came all the camping gear, pots, pans, in fact anything that could hide a set of keys, including all the camping chairs, which are the up-market versions and have a small side pocket…

The panic levels that had reached about 6 on the Richter scale, suddenly subsided and the sun appeared or was it “Fred” smiling. See I told you they were in the side pocket, he says. 

A happy ending to the The Great Key Hunt of McGaurans Beach, apart from a disgruntled Woofa who still had sand on his - paws!

Article by Chris

Port Albert Fishing Club Fishing, Friendship, and Tradition