We were using Nifty's hammer, just your garden variety claw hammer, when as Butch was at the crescendo of his wind up, the head flew off, sailed across the gully up past the end of the bottom flat into the bush over near where the old Nambucca Heads golf course clubhouse was once located.

I just beat Dazza in the 220-yard run. That was before Dazza dropped the sprints and took up cycling when he found a pristine Raleigh British Racing Green road bike out at the dump.

The Olympic Dream was alive and well on the bottom flat and at the Olympic-sized rockpool at Beilbys Beach.

Mark Crabb was a supreme surf swimmer with a high right arm stroke that enabled him to ride over the nor' easter chop, which favoured swimmers on the ocean side of the rockpool.

I lodged a protest in the Olympic final that year. Crabb drew the inside lane and I was out on the edge, not only fighting the strong winds but at one stage I had to break my swimming stroke to negotiate a large rock covered in green weed, cabbage, sea urchins and the threat of a blue ringed octopus.

What is this bloke talking about?

The bottom flat? Olympic gold? The Olympic sized rockpool?

Well, let me explain.

Just down the hill from the corner of Pilot and Pacific streets, Nambucca Heads, is a flat piece of land about 40 yards long and 20 yards wide. It was once part of the old golf course, but surprisingly is still mowed and maintained by the council. Unlike the rest of that old golf course land which has returned to bush over the past 70 years.

How did it come to be called the bottom flat?

This goes back to the days of the farm at Argents Hill on the property named Hillcrest. The farmhouse was located halfway up the slope from the upper reaches of the north arm of the Nambucca River.

The house looked down onto the river flats which were the most fertile paddocks on the farm. The paddocks where the jersey herd of cows had to be supervised closely to make sure they didn't become bloated on the white clover pasture. No different to that once popular seafood smorgasbord at the Nambucca Heads RSL.

When we moved to Pilot St the new house didn't just look out at the sparkling Pacific Ocean but that river flat had come with us. And so it became the bottom flat!

As kids, our imaginations had no boundaries. In the lead up to the 1968 Olympics the bottom flat had to be turned into the Olympic Stadium.

When Mark Crabb, whose father Keith had the bakery in Bowra St, turned up one afternoon with a big roll of white string, our problem of marking the lanes was sorted.

The long jump pit was where we had built an underground fort. We just went down to Beilbys Beach and brought back buckets of sand to fill in the hole.

Greg Westlake's father Harry, who had a construction business called Glenlake Homes, helped us out with the high jump stands. He gave us a long piece of dowel we used for the crossbar. We pinched a couple of Nifty's tomato stakes and hammered some three-inch nails in for the stands.

There was no need for any cushioning, we were using the scissors technique. Old Dick Fosbury had only just invented the Fosbury flop where after jumping over a 7ft bar you landed on the broad of your back!

Thankfully, were still landing on our feet!

There was a bit of a problem in measuring the length of the track. The longest race was the 880 yards, the event where Ralph Doubel was the last Australian to win gold in that event.

Westy was the designated track measurer and Dazza was assistant counter of steps. With the aid of Harry Westlakes builder's tape we had worked out that about two of Westy's walking steps was equivalent to one yard.

As Westy strode around the string marking the inside lane, Dazza was supposed to be helping count the steps. There was much confusion, Dazza got the shits and headed home.

We ended up with an 880-yard race that was only 500 yards. Even Butch Ryder who enjoyed his hot beef soup, broke the world record!

In hindsight, it wasn't Dazza's fault, we just hadn't learnt how to do long division. For that matter it was bordering on algebra.

The bottom flat in its heyday hosted one Olympic games, a Commonwealth games, four rugby league grand finals, and a rugby Test against the All Blacks where Rupert Rosenblume kicked Australia to victory.

There were also a couple of Ashes series complete with turf wicket - thanks to a concrete roller we found out at the dump.

And there were quite a few cracker nights with blazing bonfires, plus the area also hosted an F Troop re-enactment army camp complete with tents made from old bed sheets, featuring Trooper Vander Bilt and Chief Wild Eagle.

In latter years it was home to the British Open Golf. We had planted runners of blue couch from Welsh's backyard to make a green. Believe it or not we used a pair of scissors borrowed from the drawer of Norma Eliza's old Singer pedal sewing machine to prepare the green for the tournament.

It was a close affair. I just beat Wayne Welsh in the final round when his golf ball hit the flag stick and rebounded into the bush somewhere near the puddle hole.

The bottom flat still exists to this day. Long gone are the crowds who would cheer the competitors on.

The goal posts fell over long ago.

There are probably a few lost Dunlop golf balls lying in the scrub and possibly a cricket ball or two.

What does remain however are the memories of victory and despair on that once hallowed turf and at that rockpool at Beilbys Beach which also hosted an Americas Cup in canoes made from sheets of rusty corrugated iron.

Local firefighters train in 'bubble' to protect forests

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