HVH3 #93 Hash Trash (The Hash previously known as HVH3 #85)
HVH3 #85, Thursday, June 17, 2004
Start: Junction of Rtes 47+63 in Montague, North of Mt. Toby
Hare: Anti-CocK (withe a K, -k?)
Pack: Madame Flutterby, Drill Me Sergeant, Comes on Vacation, Canis Lickus, and the regular hash hounds
Pack gathered up in a wonderful road side location, risking life and hearing while all sorts of vehicles careened past along the short 1/4 mile road between Rte47 and Rte 63. All drivers looking a bit askance at the fools parking in the non-breakdown lane. Hare was suspiciously unvehicled with a stupid grin on his mug... or perhaps that's just his standard look... Hare gave a minimal chalk talk insisting that there was no need for the typical elaborate AC Beer-Check directions. (recall the fallen birch triangulation off of rising venus directing to the pregnant biker nun who will ask you three questions...)
Having asked for a 10 minute cranium start, hare immediately scurries down the roadside embankment and into the babbling river... (wunderful) leaving the pack to kick the stones about and fear for their safety while more traffic careens by. Discussion ensued about using the perfectly good bridge just down the road, in sight even, but the more ardent hashers won out. About 8 minutes after the hare (screw him and his 10 minute 'who-said'-start) 'most' of the hashers waded across the raging ankle deep torrent and into the farside woods. A couple checks and false trails and... (bastard) trail recrossed the mighty Sawmill River about 200 yds down the road from start.
Trail then proceeded on assfault for 1/2 mile or so with a couple checks run out by the intrepid Madame Flutterby (soon to be Fraü FlatternVorbei). And then... into the hay fields we went, following bread loaves worth of flour into the middle, with the trampled trail laid out by the hare,(hmm, do ya think he went that way?). And out in this here field there was this huge sign telling all who cared to wander out into the middle that this was some sort of conservation, thing, area, place.... didn't bother to read it, sorry. Anyway, it became apparent that the hare wasn't lying when he mentioned that he used alot of flour to mark this trail, as the wee woodland creatures were scurrying about looking to gather up enough to make a loaf or twelve. (What fox, I didn't see no stinkin' fox.) And then back out to assfault.
A lure or two to get the pack into the woods failed, and then came the check that is probably still visible from the top of Mount Toby, poured with enough flour to feed a third world family for weeks, mountainous masses of white powder right after Tony Montana's heart, "Gee Opie, do you think we're on trail?"... yet, probably just enough hash to keep a small pack together. Roughly 7 false trails were run out from the "check that could be seen from space" but the persuing pack found true trail. A long slope side tour of the Sunderland landfill began. Eau du methane anyone? Or was it just some gravel pit thing?
A short obstacle course through some logging and down to Cranberry pond, we found the hare at trail's end. Shorty Corona's and some other piss water were quafed in abundance. Ever notice how those seven ounces just disappear quikcer than you expect? A brief circle with down-downs for the hare, FRB, FBI, DFL. Some accusation was fabricated to give the other member of the pack a down-down, (couldn't leave them thirsty!) and this hash was done. All in all a good trail. There was beer, it had to be good.
There was some discussion about where to on-after and with seconds of deliberation, The Harp was chosen over The Route 63 Roadhouse... fud being a definite at the former. Out on the Harp's nearly new deck we discovered that People's Pint ESB is NOTHING like Newcastle as our barmaid suggested. Of course this did require several sample pitchers to insure.
On-on
Canis Lickus
HVH3 Temporary Scribe
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