The 28th of December proved to be a relatively balmy day compared to the previous 10 days of winter weather. The sun was shining, the wind had stopped, and all gathered to chase down the virgin hare JustGreg. The hare himself arrived in full Christmas gear, including a yellow jacket bright enough to be seen from space. JustGreg handed out some Christmas gear of his own to the pack: festive reindeer antlers festooned with tiny jingling bells. After a blessing and chalk talk, JustGreg was off – grape juice powder in hand. During the 10 minute wait Shunty and Trostky regaled the pack with tales of their trip to Hash with the Vancouver HHH’s Christmas Hash.

Ten minutes later, the pack with antlers proudly held high, were off through downtown Penticton. A passer by was heard to shout, “On Donner, on Blitzen!”  Dickweasel continued his impressive form from last week and unerringly weaseled out the early marks. Much like last weeks Hash, this trail soon began to go up. And up…

The first set of stairs produced a casualty. Trotsky, already sick, had enough and returned to the on in  with drooping antlers. After the stairs, the trail led through some suburban alleys until it cut through a snow covered orchard (farmer no shoot us). Once through the orchard, the hare led us to a second set of stairs. Before its descent the pack paused at the top to admire the view, breathe, and wonder how much further up we could go, and breathe some more.

When the third set of stairs came into view there was much complaining. Sure enough a green arrow pointed to the top. Thankfully the beer check was at the top and Dickweasel, again with unerring instincts, weaseled out the beer.

The third set of stairs and the ice cold beer combined to produce a near second casualty. During a slippery descent down an embankment Dickweasel felt a terrible rumbling and moved off the trail in an near hurl.

Meanwhile, the rest of the pack navigated some more surburban streets and into some snow covered shiggy where behold, they found the hare’s abandoned antlers. After negotiating their way through yet more shiggy, the pack rejoined with Dickweasel who had zenned his way back on track, again with unerring accuracy.

Together again, the pack quickly got lost due to the cleverly hidden (possibly non existent) marks. Finally Just Ryan  zenned his way back onto the trail. Without much more effort the pack made their way to the on-in to find Trostki and a smug looking hare.

The hare was awarded down downs for a shiggy trail, and losing his antlers.

Trotski was awarded down downs for wearing yak traks and for leaving the trail early.

Dickweasel was awarded down downs for nearly hurling.

The entire club was awarded a down down for not bringing in any new boots.

Trotsky encouraged the hashers to learn some more songs already!

Finally a naming ceremony was held. JustRyan was dubbed Pole Jockey in recognition of his pole vaulting prowess from last hash. After being anointed with purple flour, Pole Jockey managed to down down a full half yard with only minor spills and pauses.

JustGreg was dubbed Stares Hard in recognition of his steely mark missing stare and for his laying of a brutal stair climbing trail. To the amazement of the pack, and other bar patrons, Stares Hard managed to down down a full half yard in one quick go with only minor spillage.

The next run will be on New Years Day at 1PM at 2420 Wiltse.

On-On!

Hard To Swallow

Chasing a hare down a trail dusted with flour in hopes of getting my hands on some of his beer, I rounded a corner and was shocked to discover that the ground had been completely covered over with a heavy dusting of flour.  How would I ever find that rabbit’s golden stash now???  I awoke with a start, realizing it was just a dream, until I looked outside and saw that it had really happened…everything was covered in a foot of fluffy white powder. 

Thankfully the real hare (Bag Boy) was not daunted by the snow cover or dropping temperatures.  He arrived at Clancy’s ready to dust the shig with a big bag of whole wheat flour that he had cut with a generous portion of crushed blue sidewalk chalk.  Armed with the biggest stick of pink sidewalk chalk any of us had ever seen (apparently stolen from some kid named Ollie) he dashed off into the cold while the pack warmed up inside the pub.  Rather than use the 10 minutes of hare lead-time to grab a quick pint, we instead milled about at the rear entrance to the pub, opening and closing the door repeatedly until one of the patrons politely requested that we leave the f@#king door shut.  On that note, we decided to go find the hare.

The chalk led us through the downtown core, across some rare and expensive urban shig, and upwards towards Vancouver Hill.  After nearly misleading us with a “smile check” that he had chalked sarcastically onto a long uphill grind, he immediately reversed the elevation gain by dropping down a steep snowy slope and across a wicked side slope covered in tobogganing kids.  At this point the Shunt may have slipped and “bit it big time”, but there were no witnesses and the story remains unconfirmed at this time. 

Onwards up Vancouver Hill and onto the Kettle Valley Trail on the east side of Lake Okanagan.  The icy wind racing across the lake bore down on the pack as we descended the clay bluff on a small trail of switch backs that wound steeply down to the water’s edge.  Near the lakeshore, we passed a group of birders excitedly discussing a strange spotting that had taken place earlier on.  Apparently a man had been spotted dashing about excitedly in the woods with a large pink object in his hand…he was last seen at the summit of a small exposed hill where he reportedly dropped the pack he was carrying,  and ran off into the trees. 

Knowing what the pack would contain, we eagerly made our way into the woods and up to the little peak.  The promise of cold beer had the pack clawing their way up on all fours in order to negotiate the steep snowy slopes leading to the check.  At the top, Dickweasel opened and distributed the beers…making sure to taste test each one for freshness before handing them over.  After a brief discussion about how Bag Boy should have the term “goat” and perhaps an explicative added to his name, Hard to Swallow suggested we head back into the woods to escape the biting chill of the wind.  Watching the pack slide off down the slippery slope, I was a little dismayed by the prospect of crashing down the hill and spilling my precious beer.  Without going into any details regarding the gracefulness of my descent, suffice it to say nary a drop was spilt.

Maybe it was just the reprieve from the wind, or the copious amount of beer in the pack, or maybe there really was some magic in that old red pack we found, for when Dickweasel put it on his back, he began to dance around.  After demonstrating his Jackson-like ability to moonwalk, he put on a small skit reminiscent of the opening scene from Clarke’s Odyssey, entitled; “Nectar of the Gods”.  Grunting and hopping about in a primate-like manner, he emerged from behind a large Bull Pine pounding his chest at a shiny can of beer that he spied near a fallen tree.  Clambering across the clearing on his hands and feet and covetously grasping the beer with both hands, he raised it ceremoniously to the sky crying “NEK-TAR OFFFFFF THE GODDDDDDDSSSSS!”  After performing a super simian slam on the contents, he crushed the can, grunted a few more times and began singing “Tiny Beer Drops”.  Needless to say, we were all spraying beer from our frozen nostrils.

Inspired by this highly entertaining show, Just Ryan attempted to climb up the “f@#king tree”, but dropped back to the ground about a third of the way up after we assured him we would call his family and let them know where the frozen body was if he fell off and broke his leg.  Not to be outdone, he found a long fallen tree that he used to pole-vault himself off the side of the hill he was standing on, down to where we stood drinking beer.  Again he let go mid-way, this time leaving the pole wavering upright in the center of the clearing for a few moments before crashing down towards us.  Thankfully, the beer was okay.

Still laughing about the shenanigans in the woods, we dragged our bloated bellies the last kilometre or so back to the on-in at Clancy’s.

Wishing you all a Merry On-On,

Shunty

Notes From The Circle

Down-downs were doled out to:

• The Hare for an extremely shitty trail with lots of great shig and cold beer
• The Hare for having a ruptured can of beer in the pack that ran down Hard to Swallow’s butt (which prompted Dickweasel to start singing “Tiny Beer Drops in his crack”)
• Hard to Swallow for allowing spilt beer bubbles to run down his crack instead of into his mouth
• Just Greg for sending our free food back the kitchen and wearing yak tracks
• The Shunt for taking a header in the snow
• Stinky for being late and having to solve all the checks alone
• Just Ryan and Dickweasel for setting the bar for beer check entertainment standards too high
• Dickweasel for complaining about too much beer at the check

Other Nonsense:

• The run scheduled for the 21st is cancelled as some of the PH3 are going to run with the VH3
• The run on the 28th is back on and will be hared by Just Greg; meet at Clancy’s at 1:00pm.
• The yard is required for the Naming Ceremonies to be observed at the On-In on the 28th
• Dickweasel will keep us updated with information regarding the Cambodian Charity run