Date: 12011 March 27 19:41
It was a cold and bitter day. Well, maybe not that bitter. But one of the beers was pretty bitter, so that sort of made up for it.
So it was a cold and not quite as bitter as beer day. Actually, it started out pretty warm. Not really warm, but there was this bright glowing thing in the sky, and it seemed somewhat pleasant given the season and the average temperatures of the weeks preceding. But there was a hash to do, so we knew that it would eventually be a cold and bitter, but not quite as bitter as the beer, day.
So i drove into the Freese Road Garden Plots, careful to avoid the large puddle with cracked ice over the top of it. Bridesmaid, the gracious Hare, was, well gracious enough to direct traffic around the mud pit so that we would not have to be pulling cars out later. I think we let Flossil drive through it anyway, but we had had a few by then and didn't really care. Besides, he has a 4-wheel drive.
After a haphazard Chalk Talk, we were off, running near and far, looking for signs of red-tainted flour on the snow-covered ground. Well. . . we actually didn't have to run that far. We got maybe fifty meters, coming to the edge of the cliffs, with a glorious Hash View when we discovered the first Beer Near. Fifty meters is a pretty good warm up, and there was ice cold beer, and it was still unseasonably temperate, though not really warm, but there was this bright glowing thing in the sky. So we casually chatted, sipped bitter beer, and commented on the bright glowing thing in the sky as Bridesmaid showed off his fancy new six-pack utility belt, full of well shaken—as well as can be shaken in fifty meters—beer cans.
Then the hash was off down the Cayuga Trail, searching near and far for more beer, ignoring the fact that Bridesmaid was still packing some in his utility belt. Over field and through crevice (ahem) the hashers searched, until, finally, they found another cliff, with another scenic overview of Fall Creek and the bright glowing thing in the sky. The day was still unseasonably temperate, though it was admitted that it was not as seasonably temperate as it had been before, and there was talk by JSUAD that it might be getting colder. Others laughed this silliness off, saying that we were just down in a valley where it was colder. Ha ha ha. . .
But then what should appear, but a civilian: a strange oddity on trail, and it was walking a dog no less. The hashers put on the most respectable faces that they could muster and said hello as she passed. She did not, however, pass without a protest. She deftly swung around with a pointed finger of accusation toward the bewildered hounds and said in a curious yet uncertain tone, "You're hashers, right?" There was a tense pause, or maybe just an intoxicated pause, before one of the hounds, in an obvious drunken stupor, blurted out an admission that, yes, indeed, we were hashers. Flossil, Flossil, Flossil. . . The woman smiled and said that she had heard of us, admitting, with what must have been great prideful trepidation, that her son Zach had been a hasher. "Zach", the hounds mumbled in bewilderment. Hurriedly the hounds collected as many half minds as they could to make sense of such a strange and curious name, patching at least four or five together to make one super three-quarter mind. OH! Cocktail Frank! Right, right, right. . .
But, alas, the beer was gone, and so was that bright glowing thing in the sky. The mood grew chillier, and so did the air as the hashers came to the raging river. Well, creek (pronounced the proper way). The hashers were forced to brave the rapids, wading through icy waters that came up to their. . . No, who am i kidding. The hounds climbed over the bridge to keep their shoes dry. Safety Dog, on the other hand, had to be lifted onto the bridge by Flossil and Mr. Stiffy. Unfortunately, he was only coaxed an inch over the cold metal span before cowering into a shaking ball of canine whimpering, all the while JSUAD lectured everyone on how quickly they would die if they fell into the turbulent icy water and were swept downstream. Fortunately, there was beer available on the other side for the spectacles. Unfortunately, Safety Dog could not be convinced of the safety of the narrow icy steel beam crossing, so Flossil and Mr. Stiffy decided to forgo future beer and run the trail backwards to the OnIn.
As the evening chilled ever faster, the hashers made their way across the snowy fields and through the snowy forests, over the salted pavement and up the steep hill, saddened, but not too saddened, by the loss of two elderly hashers. Madness started to set in. It started with some mild whining about the cold air, which, as we all know, was entirely the fault of the hares. They should have scheduled a better day for a hash. Then, JSUAD spotted other runners ahead of the hounds, and, for some reason, decided that he just had to beat them up the hill. It was a curious and heinous incident, but surely a bout of insanity. The hounds followed him up the hill, at a regular trudge, to find Flossil and Stiffy back at the cars. Only Stiffy could not remain at the cars for he had developed a longing for his lost spring-like traction thingy for his running shoe. He was off in his car to hunt it down. Surely the coldness had gotten to the hounds, for, upon Stiffy's return, the hounds started celebrating the trail by turning several peolpe up side down in honor of their birthdays. Fortunately, with a little beer, the madness was driven away, as we all drove away, shivverying .
So it was a cold and almost as bitter as beer day. Even though it started out pretty warm. Well, not really warm, but there was this bright glowing thing in the sky at first, but then Ithaca resumed its usual gray. The hash was done, and we knew that it would end up a cold and bitter, but not quite as bitter as the beer, day.
Spike
Date: Fri, 8 Apr 2011 15:34:55 -0400
Run #618
March 20, 2011
Start / End: Stewart Park
In attendance:
PG
Head to Toe
Nurse Ta Kill Ya
Male Bait
CC
CoCo
Nick Scalfone
Hot Lips
Doris Dicktoria
Just Teresa
WowMowWow
Just Columbia
Floss
I feel the need to write two rehashes for this fine event: a Turkey and an Eagle. And like a Turkey and Eagle trail, if you take the latter, you’ll run into plenty of shiggy that may leave you scarred for life and it’ll be more than a bit too long for some. But if you take the former, you’ll hear stories of triumph and suffering that may leave you wishing you’d taken the Eagle. Your choice. But I would posit that we most often regret the things we didn’t do rather than the things we did. Actually, unlike a hash, you can do both!
So, here’s the Turkey rehash first …
We met at Stewart Park and ran around a while. There were some checks, which we eventually figured out, and then a beer check, and then some more running, with checks and even some “sighs” and “Y”s and then another beer check at the mound of wood chips. Then under the bridge to the high school, then the middle school, where we did this thing around the baseball diamond, and then back to Stewart Park. We did circle. People drank. Then we all went home.
And now for the Eagle …
I arrived (rather late) at the small pond at Stewart Park and joined the small group of hashers gathered there. Birthday-celebrating twin hares Head to Toe in Utero and Nurse Ta Kill Ya looked dashing in their newly purchased matching pink-trimmed tops, only slightly besmirched with flour and mud. Non-birthday-celebrating co-hare (beer-setting duties) Male Bait, was there, as well, but fortunately, not sporting a matching pink-trimmed top.
Within minutes, PG arrived, dragging some sort of chunks of recently deceased creature and, along with her passenger, Wow Mom Wow, looking like some nearly deceased creature (apparently this was, for them, the rough ‘morning’ after a very fun night). They also sported matching attire, in their case running-event-related headwear in the form of ill-fitting Warrior-Dash horns (apparently, Warrior Dashers are expected to have very small heads; not sure what significance that has). Floss soon joined us, stumbling out of his car looking like he’d had a bit of a rough night (at the same drinking hole[s] as PG & WMW, it was soon revealed), and also sporting ill-fitting Warrior-Dash horns, making them the horn(ed/y) triplets. (And, no, squeezing your head into a fuzzy horn-adorned hat does not do much for hangovers, it turns out.)
Another thing we soon found out is that flour can become sun-bleached. Apparently, even large splotches of flour can practically vanish, shrunken to nearly discernible little spots, by the sun’s powerful rays. We ran this way and that, searching all around without luck until the hares pointed out a couple of these little spots of flour. Even these soon completely disappeared and we were left to trust the hares to direct us to true trail.
Which led across the playground (with a brief stop for Teresa to ride the bouncy animal — I can’t remember what species it was) to a check. A song check, in fact. Which we had to keep clean because of the picnicking families nearby, but not too clean, because we don’t actually care (I can’t remember the song but it was of that clean-but-not-overly-so variety, as I recall. I apologize, I should have written this up sooner so that I could recall such important details, which I know y’all care deeply about.).
‘Round we searched for true trail, which was found going in several directions at once before some of us went out three, four, and sometimes five marks to find the falses — a theme of the day. It seems that while the sun shrank the marks, the strong wind that’s been a-blowin’ dispersed the tiny marks so there often appeared to be more than three between the checks and the falses. It seemed like a nice, sunny day, but no, these were difficult meteorological conditions for hares and hashers alike.
True trail was more of the tiny spots of flour leading toward the floating pier. Peeg brilliantly pointed out that true trail probably didn’t extend beyond the end of the pier, saving some of us the bother of having to check. Instead, we were led to a popular new check at a picnic table: the yoga check.
After a few downward-facing dogs, happy babies, and herons (I think I even saw a modified, reverse one-legged king pigeon in there), we continued in the direction of the exit to the park. But before exiting we found trail leading along the railroad tracks heading south. A few hundred feet later we hit upon a “Y”, with true trail leading into the woods.
Not quite clear what happened here. I remember it all well enough, but it wasn’t quite clear at the time, either. Some of us went generally straight and to the left, following marks all the way, until, in the midst of a skunk-cabbage swamp, we found an “X”. Hadn’t seen the check, and even after reconnoitering (that’s actually a word?!), couldn’t find much of anything. Eventually heard some on-on calls in the other direction and met up with the pack there … we may have been running this part of the trail backwards, which still didn’t explain how we were leading the charge and were now bringing up the rear, but no matter. On-on back toward Stewart Park.
There may have been another check, I don’t know, but we soon found ourselves below the lovely new bridge / overpass they built so park-recreators and fisherpeople wouldn’t have to get their feet muddy. And on-up onto the deck of said overpass thing, to another new type of check, this one with variable loveliness depending on who was acting it out: the Super Moon Check! As you may recall, this was a time when the Moon’s orbit passed ridiculously close to the Earth. Some people forewarned of huge tsunamis (a little late on that one), strange animal behaviors (well, we were there), and other abnormal phenomena that could destroy us all. But, of course, Super Moon Check was just using that as a silly excuse to get hashers to drop trou. Doesn’t take much, I know. Some did, some didn’t. But of course the forlorn horn-adorned Floss soon became unadorned. Well, not completely; he had his floss, of course. Which is a good thing ‘cause there were a couple of other non-hashers there on the overpass with us. And they were not properly forewarned.
Miraculously, we continued on without anyone calling the authorities, across the bridge to a BN (or HR, or something like that). Much time was spent looking for the B without luck. We were starting to get nervous, there was some talk of someone getting a blowjob if they could find it, but I’m not clear who was giving, who was getting, etc., but I’ll tell you, we were sweating. While beer-setting, Male Bait had spotted some ne’er-do-wells nearby and now we were starting to panic that the effing fisherpeople had found our stash and offed with it! We’d have to continue running (well, walking, anyway … have I mentioned the leisurely pace of this hash. I mentioned the zombie-like appearance of several of the hashers, and this was rubbing off on everyone so that this quickly [well, at least something was quick] becoming the slowest hash on record. Not that I’m complaining or anything. It was in fact a lovely leisurely strolling meandering sort of a thing.) If we could just find the freakin’ beer we’d be alright. Well, eventually we did, and we drank, and it was good. And we even enjoyed some lovely chocolate and oatmeal cream pies — a theme for Male Bait, it seems (he provided us with these the last time he and Nurse set).
But soon it was time to be off again, so off we went in search of marks, which led along the edge of the golf course toward the fire-test building. The real-live twins went off to have a murky moment together while the rest of us went in search of flourspots. While standing around “searching” I came across the first of several golf balls, which for some reason I felt like throwing in the general direction of the standing-around pack (toward the urinating twins? I really don’t remember.). But it slipped badly (it was wet; from the ground being wet, y’know) and flew directly into Doris’ chest. I could have killed the man (well, probably not, it was kind of a girly throw) — it happens in lacrosse all the time, right? The ball hits the player in the chest just right, making his (it’s always a his) heart stop, or at least beat erratically for a while. Thankfully, Doris was okay, and not feeling vindictive. At least not that I’ve noticed yet.
Well, we checked hither and thither and neither of them directions turned up any flourspots for a while but eventually the now-relieved twins returned and, after some talk of rectal ticks while setting (?!), pointed us in the general direction, into the depths of the golf course. We jogged this way and that for a while and eventually out to the giant mound of wood chips the town keeps between the golf course and Rte 13. For another BN/HR.
At this point, I should note that we lost Hot Lips. No, not to any giant wood chip pile-dwelling monster. At least not that I know of. No, he just up and departed for home. At least he was able to join us for some of it. We also thought we’d lost the second beer-check stash. That Male Bait is good at hiding his stash. But after some searching and then some rooting around, it was discovered buried in the chips.
Also, at this point, I should mention (for the purposes of providing you with a comprehensive rehash experience you so richly deserve and so desperately crave) that we noticed the temperature was dropping. It had been a gorgeous morning but by three it was starting to get cold. So, some hashers attempted to get at the decompositional warmth being generated within the giant wood chip pile. And it was a little warmer. But, for some, not worth it compared to the splinter factor. Perhaps because it was getting colder, we didn’t dawdle too long.
But trail proved, once again, elusive. We searched around for a bit and when the hares pointed the way, across the bridge, we said, no, there’s a false mark on the other side. “A false?! No.” Well, yes, actually. No other marks except a false, which makes sense as the false from the “sigh” or “Y” we hit coming from the other direction earlier on. The hares came forth to inspect and, to their horror, they couldn’t find any marks (“I left a pile of flour right here!” said one. Which we know can’t be true, ‘cause there hadn’t been a pile of flour on the whole trail, even if you put all the marks together!) But they insisted on a conspiracy theory to rival the one about there being a “season” called “spring” around here, rather than just a few unconnected reasonably nice days. But I digress. A lot. And often. Like a fine Eagle trail … I hope you’ve stopped for your very own beer check by this time, by the way. If not, feel free to do so now.
Right, back to the conspiracy theory. Twin hares insisted on someone having erased their marks and having created another large false mark on the bridge (it wasn’t the one we would have hit coming from the other direction). They even fingered, or rather, pointed the finger at Hot Lips! Sure, blame mild-mannered HL just ‘cause he isn’t here to defend himself.
Well, trail did resume on the other side of the bridge and down to the creekside. Where CoCo scared the bejesus out of a few hashers by climbing up into the bridge frame and dropping down on them. A few of us casually jogged along, our eyes now adjusted to the tiny trail marks, past the high school parking lot toward the track. For some reason, no one was following, but we continued to the baseball field, where the hares had set marks around the diamond (we went to first base, then second, etc. Get it? Pretty cute, actually. But Columbia, Nick, and I preferred to just kind of skip it, y’know.) Instead, we availed ourselves of the Port-a-John conveniently set up there — not together, mind you. And eventually, the pack came along. Not sure what took them but they had a good time going through the bases. Some more than others, if you know what I mean, nudge nudge wink wink.
Okay, even I’m getting tired at this point, so to make a ridiculous story not too much longer, we headed toward the parking lot, clearly heading (lots of head, I know) back toward Stewart Park. Came across a rusty-chained old bike that, of course, a few folks tried to ride off with. Someone, I think it was Nurse, almost managed it, but the rust proved stronger and it was ditched, literally, in the ditch.
And indeed we did head (there’s that word again!) toward Stewart Park but not before losing another hasher. OCD came driving along and made off with CoCo! We assumed they were shortcutting back to the start/finish, but they were not to be seen again. L
Back at the start / finish we gathered for circle. No Master Baster (the bastard will drink for skipping the hash to run a competitive-type event) meant Floss took over running-the-circle duties. Hares drank, of course. Virgin Nick was welcomed. Nurse drank a lovely ale out of her shoe because she was foolish enough to be wearing new shoes (“These aren’t new,” she protested weakly. “I’ve been wearing these at work for weeks. They’ve got blood and spit and cum and god-knows-what-all on them!” Well, they didn’t appear to have mud on them, at least not at the start, so she drank up.) Just Christin was foolish enough to pull up around then, so she drank for Bobbitting, with Floss being Blab and Columbia being Bleab. Twins (Nurse and Head, and, of course, their co-hare) and triplets (PG, WMW, and Floss) drank. Cums Latelys and FRBs drank.
And, because this wasn’t just the twins’ hash but the twins’ birthday hash, and not just that, but a nice round-number birthday hash (the big 30), we gave them up-ups. Started out like a couple of side-sides, but we eventually got them fully turned around and, while it was a little touch-and-go there for a moment, managed not to drop either of them on their heads. J
Then, some other offenders drank, including hash crashes and perhaps a murky moment or two, but I don’t remember who the perps were.
Some people left. Some of us stood around, getting colder and colder, telling tales and discussing possible dinner options, but after a while of that, I left and, I think, people generally dispersed. But maybe they stuck around to finish the beer and blow each other. I don’t know.
I think there are photos out there somewhere (of the hash, not the purported blowing). Maybe even on our web site. On Out.
Date: Mon, 16 May 2011 13:16:02 -0700 (PDT)
Subject: Hash #622 - Re-Hash: The Wilds of Candor...OR....
...how Hot Lips couldn't prematurely-echeckulate!
It was blindingly sunny and blisteringly hot this past Sunday..................some place. But, definitely NOT in Candor, NY!!!
In Candor, it rained. I mean...IT F'IN RAINED!!!!...ALL DAY!!! (Well, most of it. But, I'd be getting ahead (HEAD!?!?!?! Who said HEAD?) of things should I explain that now....)
Our drenched "hares du jour" were Head to Toe in Utero and her slave...errrrr....I mean husband....Just Matt
Hounds...in order of arrival....as near as my half-mind can recall:
Nurse TaKillYa and her ever obedient chauffeur Male Bait. (Gee...when do you get a turn at getting waisted and driven home Male Bait??? lol)
Floss (Yeah...can you believe it???? I got to a hash before it started!)
Eat My Beaver...driven by one of our newest hash enthusiasts Just Sean. Lucky girl! Or...is that lucky guy? hehehe
At this point it gets a bit foggy...cuz my head was getting foggy!!!
Hot Lips
Just Pete
Just Columbia in his shiny silver xterra that brings back fond memories....
Crimes and MOW
And...of course...our beloved hash hounds....Shiggy, Gracie, Phoenix and Charlie. (Poor Stella had to stay home....)
As the liquid sunshine fell all about us we took refuge in the barn that had BEER amongst many other things...such as huge snow shoes on the wall....dead animal mountings...live birdies...etc.
After determining that there was likely no one else cumming (we got a text that said "We debated and then finally decided no hash. I don't wanna hash in the rain"....hhhmmm....sounds like whining to me!) Head proceeded to stand in the rain and give chalk talk whilst we all stayed dry in the barn. There were the usual marks and then one of Nurse's favorite new marks... "SS"....Simulated Sex. Oh joy!!!! Does this mean there's another baseball field around???
After finishing our beers and donning more "water repellent" clothing we thought about starting out on trail. As we left the sanctity of the barn someone pointed out that the flour used for chalk talk and already been washed away by that abundant "liquid sunshine". Oh boy....looks like it's going to be an interesting search for trail!
Well, off we went!!!! Where???? Well, given that Chez Head is at the bottom of a very big hill....we went............UP!!!! But only after getting some help from the hare since trail had already disappeared. We wandered gleefully through the woods and slop up the hill with Head saying...."I think the trail went this way...sort of..." (Just Matt being the good slave...and smarter half of the duo....stayed back at the barn and drank more beer. Man!...wish I had thought of that!)
We eventually made our way up and out of the woods into a large meadow with signs scattered at different points, but mostly in a straight line, back towards a spot that had a little kiosk of sorts set up. What the heck is this????!!!?? Oh! It's a shooting range, Head declares. WTF!!!! Are we gonna get shot at??? The song from Deliverance was surely going through more half-minds than mind right about now.....
Finally....we reached the top of the hill and were met with a Hash View....of.......clouds and fog. "Really, it IS a nice view from here...on clear days..." exclaimed Head. Sure it is, hun.
We believe you.... But today...I can't see shit!!..other than the "liquid sunshine" raining down upon us! Oh well...on we went into another field with HUGE deer stands scattered around the field. Oh goodie....more guns....YIKES! At the end of the meadow we could see the FRB's dashing and exclaiming............BEER NEAR!!! Praise the hash gods! My trail beer had been fully diluted by that liquid shit falling about us....
This was no ordinary BN. Oh no....definitely not. This was a nice shack...up on a hill...all by itself....near a pond. But, that's not all...... It had solar panels on the roof! And, inside was a home made sauna!!!! AWESOME!!! Lets all go in! Rats.....Head didn't have a fire started..... :-( So, we sat outside...yet under cover...drinking BEER and consuming moon pies. YUMMY!!! And, what should be on the table near us????......a full case of USED whipped cream containers. Pretty sure they were empty of all but the whipped cream. Yep...you guessed it....A WHIPPET PARTY!!! Damn...gotta remember this place! Whilst consuming our delicious treats...and attempting to dry out...yet failing....Just Sean kept opening his mouth in such a way as to give us TONS of naming ideas. Eat My Beaver also made a few auditory mistakes which left her open for some ribbing. But, she was quick to divert the conversation back to Just Sean. Hhhmmm....smart harrierette. Must have done this once or twice.... One such conversation had to do with dogs. Mow and Crimes were asking our vets questions about Charlie....and...for some reason...Beaver thought Charlie was a girl doggie. Seriously??? Good lord girl....back to anatomy for you! lol Any way....Just Sean was quick to confirm the gender of Charlie....BY REACHING AROUND AND GRABBING CHARLIE'S JUNK!!!! That certainly diverted attention from Beaver!!!! lmao!
Ribbing done and BEER downed....the pack was off. Well, most of us. It seems that Male Bait, Nurse and Crimes had other ideas. They watched us all leave....discovered that the sauna was actually open....had their way with eachother (poor MOW got left out)...and then short cutted to the second BN. The rest of us clamored on down the hill. Yep...finally down....praise Gispert! And what a downward jaunt it was! "Gee...there wasn't this much water here when we set" claimed Head. No shit! That was hours ago and we just saw Noah floating by.... Oh what a muddy splashing party we had though as we made our way to BN #2!!! More BEER and snacks on a trail beside a beautiful waterfall....and....DUMP!!! Yep...right below us were numerous old bags of trash and junk. Perfect setting for hashers!
As we left the BN I discovered some curious bits of yellow/gold plastic on the ground at the base of a tree. What's this??? "Oh....that's where Male Bait "hash crashed" his truck while setting the BEER out." stammered Nurse. "We almost got stuck, too!" she continued. Hmmm.....maybe I'll pick these up for circle.........
On down the hill we went and across the road to a tiny stream.....that was now the width of the Susquehanna!!! "On up!" shouts Head as we cross the stream and go up another hill...DRAT! But, wait....now the FRB's are coming back! YBF was at the top! Ahhh...it's good to be DFL at times. Now, true trail, as it turned out...went DOWN THROUGH THE MIGHTY COLORADO!!! I chose to stay above and take a movie....knowing full well that SOME ONE was going to get drowned. Sure enough....Nurse didn't let us down as Crimes released her hand and she went ker-plunk! AWESOME footage!!! Surprisingly....Hot Lips was still with us! Why's that Hot Lips??? "Uummm....I don't know where I am..." HA!!! Success to the hares!!! Now we know how to keep him on trail............NEW HASH TERRAIN!!!!! :o)
Eventually we were allowed out of the deep Suez Canal and On-In to the start. And...as luck would have it....the "liquid sunshine" ended just as we were ending. Go figure......... lolol
Circle was just starting outside when whom should arrive........our BOBBITS....PG and Baster!!!!....all nice and dry.....F'CKERS! :O)
So...Floss brought his rusty-RAmanship out of retirement and conducted circle. What a cluster-f'ck that was!! Bastard was 3/4 lit and couldn't get a song right to save his life. (Looking back...I think perhaps it was Dances With Heads RAmanship pulled out of retirement! lol)
Our hares drank for the "lovely" weather and "profuse" use of flour on trail
Just Sean and Beaver drank for FRB's
Floss, Crimes, Nurse and Male Bait drank for DFL's
Nurse, Male Bait and Floss drank for BLEABs
I forget who drank for BLABs
Male Bait and Nurse drank for hash crash. He with his truck setting the BN and she for "swimming" in the Erie Canal....
Hot Lips drank....JUST CUZ HE WAS ACTUALLY THERE FOR CIRCLE!!!!
Just Pete drank for something.... oopsie
Nurse and someone drank for Cums Latelies...
PG and Baster drank for BOBBITs
Head created a new hash award...the Horny Award...and presented it to Just Sean
Floss brought awards...and forgot to give them out...dumb bastard!
Nurse, Male Bait and Crimes drank for Murky Moment....as did Just Sean and Eat My Beaver
And then....we decided that Just Sean had done enough dumb things of late to be sent out of the circle for a possible naming. And, given that he's moving off to Colorado soon...it would be bad form for Ithaca to send him to Ithaca West without a name. After much...well....not really....deliberation he was brought into circle again and will now be known throughout the hashing world as......
REACH AROUND HOUND
Circle was closed with PG giving the benediction......... Just Matt....AWESOME slave that he is......treated us all to some pretty darned good pizza. It must have been...cuz for pizzas were consumed before my very eyes...and I only got one piece! lol
Thanks again Head and Just Matt for a super sloppy trail!!!
on-hashing in the rain rocks!-on!
Floss
Date: Thu, 26 May 2011 12:44:02 -0400
Subject: 1,640 Words for Yesterday's Trail
Eight (or nearly thereabouts) virgins were happily inducted into the world of hashing yesterday in the wild Cornell Plantations, with no major injuries sustained, three BN's, one HA HA going up the hill by the horse fences, and enough flour to make sure everyone stayed on trail (barely). Just Jess and Reach Around Hound served as the hares for the inaugural (and possibly only) DVM hash, which brought out five women, three gentlemen, and three dogs. (Hooray for positive gender ratios!)
Trail gathered at the Flat Rock parking lot, soon craniuming past the suspension bridge upstream along the little path. Nut Roper came up in mention, both as my sponsor, his similarities to our hare, and as a former vet. A mysterious YBF met half the pack up the creek a bit, while the other half continued across Forest Home and up the other side of the hill back towards the Plantations. Zounds! A villainous r*n to get our blood moving! We arrived at a check at the base of the hill at the far end of the Arboretum. Up we went, where lo and behold a BN! A glorious BN by the bell, where we meekly and thoughtfully broke into a cache of PBR and Doritos as a young Asian family watched their daughter play with the gonging sound. Yours truly read from a page taken from a film class final project, in which a bookie and two friends seemed to be in a quarrel. Spike found it wanting, and noted the changes didn't seem to make much sense (as did the original).
From there we bounded down the hill, past a goose and the concrete sculptures and towards the creek. We detoured *around* the cars, shimmying along the creek and up the embankment to the bridge, where what could be waiting for us but BN! Reach Around commemorated his first hash by re-ascending the bridge, and we feasted on some Yuengling and Utica Club as a serious-looking runner and a fellow with his dog passed us by. We learned at this stop of the ins and outs of Vet life such as subject areas of study and residencies. Jess was (for some reason) quite eager to keep the pack moving, and at each stop kept asking "So... are we...?" (Not until we finished our beer) We lamented when Garth (dressed in a cut-off wilderness firefighter getup) poured out a good half of his beverage before setting off (woe! woe!).
True trail kept further upstream, and a check presented itself at the base of the hill not far along. Suspecting another YBF, this half-mind journeyed upward to discover Jess's taunt to the crowd, and at the crotch of a large fallen cottonwood I discovered a military bag with STOCKWOOD boldly emblazoned on it, which contained MORE BEER! After a good half-a-mile or so since the first BN, I was indeed feeling very thirsty and liberated the libations as the others ascended. The curious tattoo of one Joseph (clad only in veterinary-issue overalls) was discussed--he had three small dots arranged in a triangle on his arm--and the "un-drunk" circumstances in which it was decided by he and his two best friends to emblazon themselves therewith.
Having thoroughly exhausted our abilities to consume tasty beverages, we turned downstream along the grain, coming out by the edge of the golf course and scurrying along the ridge before dropping down along the creek again. ON IN was spotted across the creek, and so the pack forded the river. Two participants were gallantly rescued by Reach Around in the line of duty, when a playful hound was caught in a current, and a tentative rescue attempt by one of the (more diminutive) harriers went awry, necessitating a follow-up rescue. Down-downs were awarded for virgins, graduating vets, non-graduating peoples, trail blood, "less breathing, more drinking!" (directed to Reach Around, of course, by I believe Alison[?]), hound owners, inadequate stream-crossing abilities, and best costume.
On-on to Saturday for Climbin's Trail To Her Pinnacles!
~MB
PS: Anyone around Cass Park today is hereby advised to keep an eye out for Hound's errant housekey, owing to a Hash Practice mishap...
----------------
Addendum: Excellent rehash. Just Justin was the tattooed-bib-overall wearing virgin. Just StefO was proclaimed "Less breathing, more drinking." Just Heather was lost to the current rescuing the hash-hound of Just Julia. Also I was able to get a new key made this morning! On-on to Colorado for some more trail with Ithaca West!
Will miss you guys of IH3 and plan to return to visit in the next year! It's a small hash after all...
On-DVM-on
Reach-Around-Hound
Danby Forest Re-Hash
By Aaron on June 5, 2011
It was a sunny, partly cloudy, and lukewarm day; a pre-cursor to the balmy days of summer. I sat in the back of MoW & Crimes’ sedan with Charlie the Wonderdog, window partly down with a stiff breeze blowing in from the outskirts of Ithaca.
“Crimes, What’s the weather forecast for today?”
Crimes checked her fancy-pants smartphone. “Looks like 50% chance of rain, mid-70s. It could go either way!” Weather is such a slut.
“We’re going to candy mountain, Charlie!” I excitedly told Charlie, as the road we were on suddenly changed to dirt road, as if we were entering Hazzard County, or more likely, Deliverance Country. A mile or so down the road, there were a few cars pulled to the side, with an “HHH” marked in the gravel with white flour. Here it was: the Danby Forest Hash.
As is apparently custom, after the meet and greets, staggered arrivals (2:69 pm sharp!), the hares, Climb-in and Beaver, did chalk talk. They had a diminuitive assistant, an energetic young girl (6 years old, it turns out) with chin-length blonde hair wearing a bandana and a green shirt with the letters “FRB” (“Front r*nning buddy”, in this case) emblazoned on the back. While Climb-in started chalk talk, FRB grabbed a satchel of flour and assisted with drawing trail markers on the gravel.
In addition the normal trail markings, there were also marks for “MM” (a Beer Near with margaritas), T/E, and SE as well.
“T/E, that’s ‘tough or easy’, right?” someone jokingly asked.
“Turkey / Eagle, yes, and there’s also a Super Eagle!”
In addition to myself, Crimes & MoW, there was also Brides, FRB, Superstar (from out of town), Beaver, Climb-in, Flossil, Virgin Lisa, Virgin Dave, Jiffy (and some family / friends that were going to hike semi-separately), Just Pete, Spike, Mr. Bush, and a nice fellow with a beard, glasses, and a bandanna whose name I didn’t catch; or have regrettably forgotten — apologies! (if someone can set me right, I’ll update it up here)
This was my first time in Danby Forest; someone warned me that some of the trails can be pretty vicious with their hills. We were about to find out, as the Hash Hounds took off into a narrow passage through tall grass.
If I had to sum up this trail with one word, it would be “Shiggy.” Lots, and lots, and lots of shiggy, of all shapes, textures, and wetness. The kind that hashers vocally bitch about but secretly love. Ithaca is Shiggy indeed.
The trail almost immediately ramped up into a good climb, and continued that way for quite some time, occasionally interrupted by a downhill, mud pit, or stream that must be forded Oregon Trail style. I am reasonably sure that at some point on this first leg, every one of us plowed our feet ankle-deep in either mud or water. The more seasoned hashers, with foreknowledge of the futility of fancy feet on a Shiggerific trail like this one, forged forwards into the fray, with no fear, just “fuck it!” (I succumbed to the inevitable with a foot misplaced in a massive mudpit)
Man-o-Whore was a champion fast r*nning bastard, staying ahead of the pack despite repeated attempts by check points to slow him down — he would not have it! The shiggy, hills, and false trails eventually brought us all together where the trail crosses a road that several r*cist hashers recognized from overachieving beerless hash practice; and therein lay a problem. Apparently, the hares had placed a beer near right near this intersection, which Jiffy’s slower-paced hiking troupe discovered, but in all of the trail-chasing frenzy, our group completely overlooked it. C’est la vie; La soif inassouvie!
As we pounded the trail onwards with unflagging “on-on”, a growing number of us began to wonder how much longer until we reached the first Beer Near (oops!). With even more hills to climb, even the energetic and jovial FRB (who, because of exertion, I started referring to as just “Furby”) was starting to show wear. Crimes, Mr. Bush, myself and others all encouraged and entreated her to “on-on”, but she needed to refuel — about halfway up the last hill, I gave her a piggyback ride to Margarita Beer Near Paradise.
And boy was it ever.
All of the shiggy, the hills, the hills, the shiggy, and the hills were instantly redeemed at the beautiful beer near our hares found for us.
The trees were cleared out for a view of a valley that went on for miles. With the sun out, the clouds parted, and two nalgenes full of margaritas, it was an oasis.
I don’t know, or rather don’t recall, whether the weather had actually warmed up, or if we were just hot and bothered from all of the up and down action, but nearly everyone cast off their sweaty shirts and cooled off in the shade. We lounged leisurely for longer than normal, in the hopes that Jiff and her crew would regroup with us. They did. And that’s when we found out about the Beer Near we missed.
Oh man, there was most definitely some elbow pointing going on, initially in MoW’s direction, but ultimately everyone owned up to group culpability.
Jiff’s group, with Superstar, decided to retreat from whence they came, valiantly offering to dispose of the remaining beverages on their way back, while the rest of us continued on-on. The trail continued as it had before, except it was mostly downhill this time. I am not completely sure what happened here, but there was another hasher-half-mind moment involving the Turkey/Eagle/Supereagle split. From what I understand, one of the FRBs (MoW or Brides?) was still visible through all the trees even though they were quite a ways ahead — the trail weaved back and forth down the mountain. We trailing hounds pulled a cheatyface and shortcutted as directly as possible to where we saw them — completely missing the Turkey (short bushwhacker trail)/Eagle (longer shiggy trail) split, and instead re-grouping with the overachievers at the Eagle / Supereagle split. Oops.
Brides, Beaver, Virgin Lisa, Climb-in, and a few others I didn’t see (MoW?) ran down the Super Eagle trail (~1 mile extra), while the rest of us took Eagle. I have to say, this particular leg of the hash was by far my favorite (margarita vista aside), it was just beautiful. It was also the muddiest and most moist, but at this point, I didn’t care and I don’t think anyone else did either.
Just Pete, myself, and Crimes all had hash crashes around the same area, around a patch of particularly devious mud, though the earth only drew blood from Just Pete. Crimes rolled her ankle and I ripped my pants and got painted with mud. FRB got a few more piggy back rides from Crimes, Mr. Bush, Just Pete, and myself, but champed it up for the last leg.
Along the way, we crossed paths with Master Baster, bobbitting in after a morning of that-which-shall-not-be-named. The rest of this leg, while just plain gorgeous, was equally uneventful, and we accidental overachievers re-grouped with the intentional overachievers back on the road, where MoW and others had discovered the last Beer Near. After this, I don’t think anyone really jogged, we just hoofed it the short distance back to the start, where PG, Jiff, Superstar, and the rest joined us for circle.
Brides brought in some special Ithaca Brewery nectar, in addition to the coolers of chilled beverages, and FRB helped by flouring an actual shame circle onto the gravel (and then ensuring that a nearby puddle was adequately thickened). Just Pete’s pedometer clocked in at 6.1 miles for the accidental overachievers.
“How was the trail today?” Baster asked, with the hares standing in the center.
“Too short.”
“Too flat.”
“Too clearly marked.”
“Not enough shiggy.”
Many awards were given out, including the Bobbitt award, given to PG, and an award was given to FRB that was more or less a drum. I think Brides particularly appreciated that one. There was also a re-naming brought forth for Phoenix (Flossil’s dog), since he has habitually been racing downhill and unintentionally plowing into hashers. Suggested names were:
Text and pictures curtisy of blog.amhill.
Date: Aug 23, 2011 9:06 PM
To your Highness Grand Master,
This was my first away hash and the first time that I ever slept in a tent. I had the most wonderful time. What a great location to spend the weekend! I really enjoyed the camp crawl. So many hashers spilling their beer, so I could enjoy some. If everyone wasn’t willing to watch me, I won’t have been able to go. It was a little difficult going to sleep with so much commotion Friday night, but I managed.
Saturday was filled with lots of swimming and I don’t think the other hashers understood that I could care less about the stick, I just wanted to swim. Any stick will do. It was quite hot hashing in a fur coat and I think that I scared the other hashers, when I couldn’t stop panting. They were so kind, sharing their water with me. And then MORE SWIMMING!! Did I mention that I really like swimming and beer.
I never get to go into eating establishments, but I was welcome in the dining hall. Hashers even held the door for me. Such freedom. I usually have to be attached to someone with a lease. A full weekend without one!!
I was hoping for a down-down of my own when I kept walking through the fire at circle, but no one understood what I wanted. All that beer and none for me. Oh well. If only people could understand me when I spoke. But I’ll keep trying.
By the naked run I was so tired, I napped in our truck. Had I known that there was a naked creepy guy, I could have pretended to be aggressive and scare him away. I can be very mean-looking when I want to.
Thank you again for allowing me to participate in the weekend. I had the time of my life! Please share this with the other Ithaca hasher who made the weekend so much fun.
On-on,
B3 (Bawling Ball Bitch) A.K.A. D’Artagnon
P.S. SeizeHer and 6.9 had a great time too.
Date: Tue, 20 Sep 2011 14:38:20 +0000
ok so here it goes i got a little drunk on my homebrew at the beginning when i was "learning" names soooooo...
hares
nurse
mailbait
head to toe(auto hare)
butt flossil (rescue hare)
hounds
coco
PG
winkey dinky
les....whatever his hash name is
ufo
bedside
spermholio
crimes
MOW
tripod? or something like that
twiggy
twiggy's just person
lots of mutts
Sweden
hot lips
spike (who couldnt cum with us)
and anyone else i forgot
ok so its not good when you are trying to see if you can carpool with someone, and they are already on their way out there to "find" the hares. Then the number that was left for d'erections, is no longer in service. hummmm, an auspicious start.
so everyone arrives, dogs galore.
beer swilling and cuntry dancing ensue.
tractor ride away from civilization.
"chalk talk" actually charades game since this hash already has less flour then my "worst" trail.
people wander off in a general direction that a hare vaguely pointed in. eventually finding some flour, which was apparently set by a syphilitic badger, since while being sporadic, it also completely fails to follow any sort of path or even trajectory for the first...mile...two miles? who knows, we all kept walking in circles so it could really be any distance at all...100meters? eventually we came to a T which had a giant pit of mud there, PG and dinky mud wrestled /PG was thrown in the mud. PG starts shivering here. back onto "trail" otherwise known as a swath of trees cut down that i managed to occasionally see a sperm cloud of flour on. eventually i ended up on a road, which being in the middle of freaking nowhere, was the same road we started on. looking around i found a bird shit sized flour mark so me and a few hounds (the genetically correct hounds) started following it, every .25 miles or so i found some more signs of dehydrated birds, and eventually i heard someone yelling to me (blaa blaaa bllaaaa back here...) so i turned around and ran back. apparently i missed a beer near, which was marked about as well as a squatting turtle could have done, given two Tbs of flour.
beer drank
everyone takes off up the road where i had just gone...wondering the whole way if that was really flour. eventually we find a real mark indicating more beer......just beyond the point i had previously reached.
more beer in the lick bill cemetery (or some name very like that)
mail bait runs off to finish setting trail, telling his co-hare his plans....(or maybe he forgot this part)(or maybe she was too drunk to remember) needless to say we stumbled around a feild for a while trying to find some evidence of hare activity, also trying to conviince the dogs that they are highly trained flour sniffing dogs.
A MIRACLE we found a few splotches of flour ..... then it disappeared. more stumbling, one by one hashers abandon field and crawl towards the road, making the trek down the long trail of tears ...i mean pavement back to the start. halfway back mailbait emerges from the woods right next to us with exclamations of in-credulousness. we are un-fazed.
continue long journey
find path back to field, many people fall into water, hop a few electric/ barbwire fences, shot check at which some dogs get loose and chase...or narrowly avoid getting trampled by the horses. PG has gone hypothermic by this point and plots her revenge, she finds clean dry clothes as well, and begins to thaw.
back to the wagon for circle. much punishing, not enough, but a good start. I got a mug! yay! spermholio got a collar...i mean necklace, PG got a shirt, and everyone got beer, it got cold, so we went home. on the tractor ride back we thought we saw a mongoose but it turned out to be baster so we let him hang on the side the rest of the way back.
long live the zyliphone
coco
Date: Sun, 16 Oct 2011 22:22:21 -0400
Once again, we had the best trail of the season, with a lovely, motley, muddy ASSortment out on the far north side of HHHammond today.
BTN:
Hares: Toothy Lunker, Fishy Fingers, Trojan (allegedly)
Number of BN: 1
Number of BC checks r*n: 36
Number of BC checks proposed to r*n by Trojan: 145
Quantity of such to occur in sequence, theoretically: 100
Scenic views enjoyed thoroughly (allegedly): 2<x<6
Prizes awarded: Hashit, from WowMomWow to Nurse Takillya
Allegation: Flagrant listserv abuse
Names issued: 1
Hashers named Polley to be named: 1
Names bestowed: 1
Names conveyed: Steady Head
Whales owned by Old McDonald: 13
Wankers arrived by bike: 1
Bike-arriving wankers named just Mike standing above six foot tall with a cute butt, according to certain ladies present: 1
Awaiting the formal rehash from our talented & amazing Climbin' and Nora, Gispert smiles upon us all.
--/-/-<3--/-->
Date: Tue, 1 Nov 2011 13:34:29 -0400
Some hashes aren't worth remembering, much less re-hashing.
The Halloween(ie) Hangover hash was definitely not one of those. Though my memory of the hash is somewhat spotty (probably because the hash included GOOD beer instead of the typical swill), I remember that it was one of my favorite hashes of the year so far.
In attendance:
Spike
Country Cock
Cough n' Get Off (now re-named!)
Dong of the Dead
InYourEndo
Spermholio
Wowmomwow (Bobbitt)
Master Baster (Hare)
Porcelain Goddess (Co-Hare)
Staffy Puller (random over-achiever)
Hungover from our escapades the night before, Baster and I loaded the remainder of the keg into the car and headed to the start location on Freese Road. We arrived to find Cough n' Get Off and Spermholio waiting already. As others arrived, we cracked open the warm thermos of Winter Warmer and began drinking.
Interlude One--
Good beer on trail brings out the goofy in everyone. Before trail started, I learned that:
1. The hash is comprised of an equal part brown eyed, blue eyed, and green eyed folk.
2. Babies poop in all different colors, but there's such a thing as Baby Sh*t Yellow.
A decent amount of shiggy awaited us as trail began not along the road, but up and into the forest. In true hash fashion, it took us about 30 minutes to go 0.3 miles and my bare legs took the brunt of the action. We exited the forest only to go back in, though Donger and I decided a shortcut was in order! We arrived at the BN by the bridge just as Endo started b*tching that there wasn't any beer on trail.
Interlude Two--
1. CC may need to brush up on his parenting skills.
2. Donger is a documentary lover.
3. Dr. Bronner was a weird f*ck but his soap is good.
4. Boys will make anything into a game.
5. Skipping rocks is harder to do than it looks.
6. Crackers contain crack. That's why they're called 'crackers'.
From the bridge at Flat Rock, we wandered into the Plantations..
Interlude Three--
1. Cough n' Get Off would be a great dominatrix.
2. If you find a solitary M&M on a leaf, it's probably been left there by an abusive parent.
3. Spermholio had never been to the Bell Overlook.
4. Donger knows about random artists that work with natural objects (though probably she just watched another documentary).
Out of the Plantations and onto Cornell property. After nearly being run over on 366, we headed toward Game Farm.
Interlude Four--
1. If you don't provide beer at 0.5 mile intervals, Endo will be begin to complain.
2. Pheasants are really stupid birds who will drown if they look up while it's raining.
3. It's good to get a tetanus shot before hashing because metal fences will be clumbed (past tense of climb).
From soybean fields, we traveled into a junkyard.
Interlude Five--
1. Leave boys alone with a pack of cigarettes and someone will light the whole thing on fire.
2. A circle jerk is NOT actually men grabbing each other's penises and jerking off.
3. The last person that jacks off in a circle jerk GETS to eat the cookie placed in the middle that everyone has cum on. This is called Ookie Cookie. I wish I didn't know this.
4. Spike knows how to open a beer bottle on an old Derby Car.
5. It's a good idea to get a tetanus shot before hashing because you may wind up in a junkyard full of rusty pieces of metal and someone may start to throw them at you and eventually it will turn into a game akin to Ring Toss.
6. Old hubcaps make for good skeet shooting.
Back to the cars to find Wowie and Blind Jack (that's her dog) waiting for us. She'd already broken into the hares' car and helped herself to the keg. Circle went something like this:
Interlude Six--
1. Sometimes dogs look like pigs. Sometimes pigs look like dogs.
2. Endo is a half-mind who put his car in a ditch on the way up here. He drank. Or did he drink for being a comes-lately? Probably CC drank with him because we hadn't seen his *ss for a while either.
3. Wowie was a Bobbitt.
4. Baster like to wear new shoes to hashes just so that he can drink out of them. We had to convince him to cut the tag off first.
5. When one hare drinks, all hares drink.
6. CC made up a good song about his little beer. We'll let him sing it for you next time.
7. Cough n' Get Off can't hold his drink. Ask Donger about her soiled carpet.
8. If you stop b*tching long enough, you just might get renamed. Cough n' Get Off will now forever be known as Ookie Cookie, and he will like it, and he will quit his b*tching.
I'm pretty sure there were many more accusations, but my half-mind can't remember them. I had such a fun time with everyone and learned so much along the way that I didn't want it to end. But then we were drunk and cold and so everyone left. Then I cried.
I can't wait to do again. And again. And again.
On-sometimes the best hashes are the ones that I almost don't attend,
Peeg
Date: Thu, 22 Dec 2011 13:32:13 +0000
Hare: Kickstand
BEAB: CoCo, Just Dante, and little coco
BLAB: Buttfloss, and FIFI
thats it
Arriving a bit early a few hares may or may not have walked some of the trail ahead of time.
Finally the hare was found, sitting in a camp chair in the road drinking.
Floss arrives blinding us with his headlights, and nearly crushing kickstand under his front bumper.
Set out and figure out we dont have enough people to get through a check, little coco is brought out to much rejoicing, ( a stuffed dog i found at the toy store, named coco(a). he now lives attached to my mug.
Beer
Set out on trail, find some flour, have to have some flour pointed out to us.
Eventually Beer
more flour, Coco contemplates getting back to the group by crossing a natural gas pipeline, decides he is too drunk and not yet drunk enough.
Beer covered in mud and mulch, We occupy the occupation.
on in
Dante is now dubbed Mr. PEEbody, due to the fact of EVERY time we even so much as slowed down he was found pissing. then he does a side side on the bumper of the car cause we did have enough people to hold him up.
then we went home and warmed our parts back up.
coco