On one occasion when I was up at the house alone I decided to make an attempt at brewing my own beer. I had tried once previously , over forty years before , though with very limited success . In those days the method of brewing , as practised by my maternal grandfather , and subsequently by my father , involved using a large square can , known to us then as a Kerosene tin. Not that it was ever allowed to retain the smell or taste of kerosene !

The correct amount of hops , sugar and so on were placed into it and brought to boil on the ancient coal fired stoves , for making the wort . Every brewer had his own jealously guarded secret recipe , often with secret ingredients , though the basic method never differed . My own effort at that time was very amateur , and after one attempt , I gave up , partly to appease my wife's objections to the smell generated during the process .

Alone up at Dondingalong , however , I had the perfect opportunity to try my hand again. For starters , by that time I had a big shed where the process could be carried out , and my son , who no longer had the time or space to continue his own domestic wine making down at Wauchope , had donated me the necessary equipment , fermenter , bottle capper and so on.

Not only that , but civilisation had by now progressed to the degree where it was possible to buy the beermaking ingredients already prepared -- canned worts of various kinds , together with the correct amounts of yeast etc . For my first venture , I selected a proprietary brand of stout . Before that , I had collected a sufficient quantity of bottles -- a lot of them half bottle size -- all ready for sterilization .

It was really a very simple process , unlike the messy effort of forty years before. The fermenter in the shed had its own rug for wrapping it in to keep the temperature steady through the cool of the night , and the long laboratory thermometer ensured the correct readings. Within the proper period , I had an excellent brew , ready for bottling .

And after it had matured , it was indeed excellent. What I did not polish off with gusto myself , my neighbours enjoyed with me . The consequences of one of those enjoyable nights make another story .

Another batch , of lager this time , was as successful .

Now I thought ,was the time to try some variations of my own and the third brew had some changed ingredients , in particular as related to the sugar content.

Summertime in Dondingalong dould be quite warm , but the evenings were usually cool , and it was then that I would take an evening walk along the ridge road , a couple of kilometers as far as the Bush Fire Brigade shed , enjoying the evening birdsong and keeping an eye out for various examples of wildlife . Often it was quite dark by the time I got back home , and bush darkness on a moonless night takes some getting used to .

However , I was enjoying it one night until , not all that far from home , I heard someone using a shotgun . A series of staccato reports rang through the evening air , and I worried lest someone might be being a little careless . I am used to guns , but prefer to be carrying them myself . I know where they are pointing.

Just as I got to our gate , another volley rang out , and then I realised what was happening .

Several of the beer bottles holding the newest brew had exploded inside the small store room in the shed and this had amplified the noise in the by now otherwise silent evening .

So now it was the case of having to carry out the remaining bottles very delicately and put them down in the woodshed , then clean up the frothy mess on the big shed's floor . What remained unexploded was later drinkable after the bottles were opened . That is , the half that remained in each bottle after the foam had flowed freely when the cap was removed was drinkable .

I did make more beer later , but without the same enthusiasm and , perhaps because I was more tentative , it was never as good as the first couple of brews