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Journey up into the central highlands of Tasmania, take the Maryborough turn off the Lyell Highway, veer left cresting the ridge where Big Jim Lake hogs the horizon, then head in the general direction of Pine Tier Lagoon and, excepting for breakdowns and consequent misadventures, Bronte Park, home to bizarre doings, will manifest from the mist. Suspend all city sensibilities upon entering the town limits.
Cutting an imposing figure, you may luck upon clan matriarch Ellen Hazel, glaring suspiciously into the spotlight, her fine head of hair, ablaze with friction, streaming into the open light. Her boys were just a few ridges away down in Half Moon Marsh, the word having already been relayed to cousins, large lads with overgrown beards and ponytails, from Collinsvale to Glenlusk. She knew how to muster support. She also knew that something had to be done, and where that good-for-nothing Mick kept the crossbow.
