its a bit about me when i was younger and silly. 
well heres my story hope you enjoy it as well as not get to offended by the sillyness of this story. trust me i got a fair ribbing from my parents
when they were alive.and well deserved
LAKE BILL
Hi everyone! I just thought I would share this story with you, and for you to have a laugh at my expense. It was in the year 1978; I would have been 18.
I was going to do some fishing, but where to go was another story as I wanted to go to a lake...somewhere where I had never been before. So I looked on a map and saw a little lake called Lake Bill and thought, "That's it! That's where I am going!" So off I went.
I drove my car up to Lake Rowallan and started to hike to Lake Bill: If I had only known what was ahead of me, I truly would not have gone.
I suppose I would have been three quarters of the way there when the rain and wind set in, then my nightmare started: I rolled my ankle when climbing over a log and went down like a bag of spuds.
I wasn't going to let this beat me, so I reached for a stick and used it for support whilst walking. The pain in my ankle was getting unbearable but the cold took my mind off the pain and being young and stupid , I pushed on to Lake Bill.
It was about 4.30 when I finally arrived at the lake, and it was getting bitterly cold.
So I set up my tent and sleeping bag and thought I would rest and fish the lake in the morning. Not the smartest of lads was I, as I set my tent up in a bit of a gully...well, it rained and rained and I finally went to sleep...just to wake up in the morning about 5.30, cold and shivering and yes, I had a small creek of water flowing through my tent.
Everything was like it had just come out of the washing tub . If that wasn't bad enough, I climbed out of the tent to get something for brekky, only to find my backpack had been ravaged - I mean to say it was ripped to bits with no food left (devils I suspect).
So armed with my fishing pole and gear (that consisted of a few hooks, two wonder wobblers and three spoon wobblers), it was a slow hobble down to the lake. After I had fished it for about three hours for no result, I thought I would head back to camp.
As I was heading back I slipped and lost my balance and slid down an embankment and into the lake! I had great visions I was not getting out of here as the water was freezing.
Somehow I found strength from somewhere to clamber out of the lake and back up onto the bank.
Things were only getting worse for me up bank-side. With cuts and bruises and a gammy ankle, no food and a shredded backpack ,it was time to get out , so that's what I did. I suppose I was half-way back to were I had left my car when disaster struck again: The sole of my left boot just peeled off, but I pushed on, finally reaching my car.
There was an older-type man near my car when I arrived there and he said to me, "Where in the hell have you been sonny?" I told him the same story I have just told you .
He replied, "you put yourself through hell, all for nothing young lad, as there are no fish in there (Lake Bill)", so he was kind enough to patch me up and bandage my ankle as well as my left foot that had been bleeding from where sticks and gravel had torn it apart and he even managed to brew me up a hot cuppa.
That man ,who's first name was Jack, died seven months later. I know this as we used to keep in touch, my old mate (Mad Jack ), a man I will never forget.
Terry
Simmo
