Clay, Aim, Party!
Bucks mission brief
Clay, Aim, Party! opens with the range handing over twenty-five clays a man and a quick lesson in swing and follow-through, so the group's landing hits before the round's even done. From there it's into our multi-level bar, table reserved, the Buck cracking his first jug before anyone's sat down. Next, our central bar: burgers and chips, parmigiana or pizza, a drink each, and a bonus pour for the Buck alone. It closes at our waterfront nightclub, beer garden balcony over the water, seats held, a jug already poured, and the Buck's own bonus beer on top. Every door's a walk-in, every stop VIP.
Game Plan
$349.00 per person, based on 7 attendees.
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All of your package customisations will show up right here!Clay, Aim, Party! runs on a simple idea: light the fuse early and keep it burning for four straight stops. It starts with our range handed over to one crew only, twenty-five clays each, and a night that only gets louder from here.
Nobody's frantically texting three different venues hoping one of them answers, and nobody's the guy standing at the door of a packed bar trying to talk a dozen mates past a bouncer who's already said no twice. That whole scramble just isn't part of this one.
Out on the range, the instructor's got everyone sorted on swing and follow-through before a single clay's in the air, which means even the blokes who've never fired anything more dangerous than a Nerf gun end up landing shots by round two. Twenty-five targets each, the group getting louder with every hit and every miss, and somewhere in there the Buck cops the loudest reaction of the lot for a shot that goes nowhere near the target.
From the range it's straight into our multi-level bar, and the party dial turns up a notch the second the group's through the door. The table's reserved, nobody's hunting for a spare stool, and the Buck's got a jug in hand before he's properly sat down, which the rest of the crew treats as the unofficial starting gun for round two of the night.
Next stop is our central bar, where the whole crew refuels properly: burgers and chips, parmigiana or pizza, whichever way the table splits, a drink landing with every meal, spirit and mixer or a cold schooner. The Buck gets a second pour on top of his meal, because apparently there's a rule somewhere that says the man of the hour eats and drinks better than everyone else at the table.
The night peaks at our waterfront nightclub, where the beer garden balcony hangs right over the water and the seats are already held before the group arrives. A jug's on the table the second everyone's through the door, the Buck's own bonus beer landing next to it, and the discounted cocktail list waiting for anyone ready to swap beer for something with an umbrella in it.
Somewhere in the middle of all that, one of the boys is going to clock that not one part of the night needed a phone call, a booking app, or a single argument about where to go next, and he's going to ask how you managed it. You don't need the full answer. Let him think you've been planning this for months.
The range only lights this exact night up for one crew per date, never a second run alongside it, so find out if yours is free before you've told a single mate the plan.