The hashers assembled for run #19 inside the west entrance at Clancy’s. We welcomed those named, those still unnamed, and one virgin (Just-Phil) to our hash. Stepping outside, Hard to Swallow got things started leading, in Shunty’s absence, a fine rendition of “We’ve got virgins.” Trotsky, apparently inspired by the Sun, then guided the pack in the blessing of the hash with nary a word out of place. Following the blessing, the winter air warmed briefly. Bagboy took the opportunity to lay out a glossary of his markings. There was to be a Hymn Check (HC) and, just to mix things up, an Anti-Stares-Hard Check (ASHC). Anxious to get going, Bagboy then shocked the group with what could have been famous last words: “I should only need 3 minutes.” And he was off …

Exactly 2 minutes 59 seconds later, the pack started in pursuit. We zig-zagged briefly on the flat streets west of Fairview/Winnipeg, but most of us knew this run was destined for the hills. Our virgin, feeling good early on (despite a broken ankle) and picking up hash-lingo quickly, took position as FRB. The more experienced hashers were happy to let the virgin expose the dead trails. With our virgin tiring slightly, the pack came together at Preston and Main. The marks led us across Main to Nelson where Bagboy left a smiley face with a double-purpose: it revealed one of Shunty’s mystery marks from Hash #18 and, more importantly, it denoted the beginning of the ascent. So up we went.

The pack chased marks and dead trails through alleys and streets east of Main until reaching our first break in the climb: the Hymn Check. We gathered on the north-east side of Carmi and Government across from the hospital. Inspired by what has become a Dickweasel classic, Bagboy presented us with the Family-Channel version of “Tiny Beer Drops.” After reciting the three-verse hymn, and now itching for the taste of the golden ale, we departed the Hymn Check in search of beer.

The next part of the run took us to a very well designed check about half way up the hill on Duncan Ave. The choice were simple: up or down. Just-Lisa, clearly the smarter of the two front runners at the time, chose down. (Stares Hard chose up.) Her choice would be the first in a long series of keen decisions by the third-time hasher. The pack waited patiently at the check for the soft call of “on-on.” The trail guided us down Edgewood and then veered towards an all-to-familiar landmark. Arriving at the base of the big stairs, we encountered the AHSC (Anti-Hard-Stairs Check?). Though Bagboy may have been modestly oxygen deprived when he laid out the acronym, it was clear that Stares Hard (Hash Flash for this run) was to sit this one out. Pole Jockey, trying to cover up the fact that he had already passed over a curious mark north of the stairs, returned to his previous off-course position and loudly proclaimed “on-on.” Feeling good about himself, Pole Jockey then led the pack across Penticton Ave., over the BN symbol, and finally to the BC behind L’Ecole Entre Lac.

After another well-deserved break, the pack followed a large sheep-dog over the bridge across the creek. A check on the far side of the bridge sent pack members in a variety of directions. The next mark was well-separated from the check, but Just-Lisa was just getting warmed up. For the next several minutes, she led the pack with increasing confidence. We crossed Haven Hill and continued down Pickering toward Ellis. Crossing the creek for a third time, and moving through a parking lot, we arrived at a Main Street access tunnel. We crossed Main at Nanaimo, and continued up Martin to the OI symbol outside the north entrance of Clancy’s. We arrived to find Bagboy sitting at the usual table proudly displaying a Hawaiian shirt and working on his third drink. Maybe next time he’ll give the pack a 3-minute head start.

Down-downs:

To get things started, we once again recited the “We’ve got virgins” tune for Just-Phil. The relative ease with which Just-Phil completed his first hash run makes this author wonder what he might be like running without a broken ankle.

The down-downs were effectively spread around by Trotsky. Bagboy and Pole Jockey dove into the Shiggy Dusters’ song book for some new down-down tunes. It turns out that Pole Jockey has never properly recited “Doe-a-Deer.” (Considering the progression of tones in this song, it’s no wonder that most people leave the room when he sings.) In addition to picking at random from the song list, Bagboy and Pole Jockey smartly reduced the time interval between the end of the down-down song and the follow-up “Why are we waiting …” For Bagboy’s second down-down, Pole Jockey eliminated the interval entirely causing the usually smooth drinking Bagboy to spill beer on his loud shirt.

All in all, much fun was hand by all who participated in run #19. See you all next week.

On on …

Those of us who had assembled at the portal to the Copper Mug knew we were in trouble the second that Shunty pulled out his trusty map of Penticton prior to the blessing of the hash.   Looking back, maybe it’s more appropriate to call it an omen, a forebearance, a promise of what was to come.  Regardless, we all silently conceded… it is the hasher’s responsibility to keep their head up, their gazes forward, their feet moving, and their palate dry with anticipation.

Run #18 started like any other… we welcomed friends, and virgins!  Just Rowena had somehow managed to clone herself during the past week, giving us Just Caroline (aka Just Sweet Caroline) and bringing along Just Lisa as well.  Strength in numbers!  Strength indeed, as these hash virgins and Just Rowena managed to sniff out the trail in such a way as to make the rest of us wonder what is to be gained by faking hash virginhood!

After the blessing, and a brief, somewhat less than informative chalk talk by our illustrious hare, the Shunt pranced off through the nearest breezeway,  We could hear him for at least the next 2 minutes shouting ’10 minutes!’ back in our general direction.  9:59 later, we were off.  Little did Shunty know that we had all failed to appoint a pants-er in the event that the Shunt was overtaken.  He had nothing to worry about anyhow, as it turned out…

The pack leapt furiously in the direction of the trail, as we devoured mark after mark, making mockeries of checks, regaling the local neighbourhoods with the incessant chorus of ‘on-on’.  A little too eager?  Maybe, but what’s a decent hash without the promise of your pack biting on a few falsies… and finding false paths to boot?  The extra marks served their purposes though, as Bag Boy could be overheard mentoring the new recruits on the true flavour and form of the ‘on-on’.

The pack meandered up the gentle slopes, and wound around seemingly endless side streets until we finally came upon the somewhat confusing 3 blind mice check.  It was there where Mrs. Shunt and Shunt Jr. awaited the eager pack with a tray of strawberry flavoured gelatinous alcohol (aka jell-o shooters) and a challenge…  Hard To Swallow drew the smallest circle possible, and the idea was that we each would be blindfolded and have an attempt at throwing a dingy rat into the circle from a distance, after being manhandled by another hasher (read: being spun around to just prior to the point of vomiting).  Well, the kennel looked on as the ‘game’ twisted and turned its’ way into a somewhat understandable happenstance.  Pole Jockey amazed us with his perfect rat spiral.  Dickweezl and Stares Hard managed to throw the rat in directions that led us to believe that they had started into the jello a bit early.  Hard To Swallow, despite some outside assistance from Trotsky, still managed to only graze the outside of the circle, but Bag Boy was the lone standout, actually getting his rat into the circle.  At least that’s how we’re telling the story today.  Mice were awarded to Bag Boy, Hard To Swallow and Dickweezl for their efforts, and after doing some major tongue calesthetics in removing the ounce of jello from its unyeilding containers, the pack was off.

Heading north and continuing across the field, we soon sniffed out the trail, only at the circle to discover that the trail led off again from the point at which it was disturbed.  But we’re not here to question Shunty’s logic.  It suffices to say that any advantage he gained on the pack as the hare was quickly negated by our bold move north.  We soldiered on, and soon came to the base of a familiar set of stairs, this time, a Stares Hard check completely worthy of it’s name.   Stares hard hobbled to the top, his ascent reminiscent of a sunset I saw recently, and just about as bright.  As he disappeared over the lip of the staircase, his diminutive ‘on-on’ could faintly, but surely be heard.  When the rest of the pack reached the top of the staircase, they witnesses Stares Hard living up to his name – staring fixedly onto the front yard of the nearby residence, wondering if Shunty had intended for the pack to invade the living room.  It was Dickweezl who eventually realized that Stares Hard was standing on the next mark.  One has to ask if perhaps Dickweezl should have received a down-down in this case, for not realizing that he was indeed witnessing instinctive Stares Hard behaviour in the wild.

Off the pack trotted, and quickly approached the aptly dubbed ‘Memorial Check’.  While Quags and I were content to let the pack believe that this was to honour the trailing DFLs to that point (namely Quags and myself) we waxed nostalgic to the true purpose of this check, which was to honour the fallen marks of run #3: the White Papineau Affair – where marks had mysteriously disappeared, never to be seen again.  In the meantime, Pole Jockey, who is indeed in the running for the position of Song Meister, led the kennel in a rousing incantation of Sweet Caroline in honour of one of our virgins on the day.

The pack trundled on, and after a few misses, and hopped fences, came upon the beer check.  Nicely situated in an impromptu amphitheatre, the kennel was duly entertained, as Bag Boy quickly and assuredly handed out libation, and Dickweezl provided the entertainment.  Cheese humour aside, it was a time to catch our breath, and prepare for what was to come.

As we departed the BC, we found yet another false trail to tickle our fancies.  Trotsky convinced Stares Hard to zen the corner, as we were nearing the known on-after spot, but the rest of the pack stayed true to the trail and headed back to the check to try again.  They eventually found another check, but unfortunately lost the trail on Nelson Street.  Eventually making their way back to Main St, merely metres from the on-after, it was decided to head in.  Trotsky and Stares Hard had been looking to pick up the trail in the logical places, but were stymied, and upon seeing the pack cross the street, sprinted to meet them up.

We met at the on-after and nasty words were brewing in Shunty’s direction.  Mike was there, but soon left, seemingly anticipating the onslaught that followed.  But Shunty held his own, and was proved right, as after the circle, we drove the stretch of Nelson St (aka Blue Chalk Black Hole) and, disregarding the laws of chalk physics, Shunty indeed pointed out the 4 obvious marks along the street that the pack had missed.  Conceding that the apologiy he deserved would never be granted, and knowing that the kennel had skipped over 1/4 of his laid hash, he retreated to his caves, and prepared to hash another day.

At the circle, it was briefly discussed that a Full Moon hash will be instituted soon; Trotsky will hare the first incarnation of this run on February 25th.  Also, please get a hold of Hard To Swallow, or he will get a hold of you in order to schedule you for a hash.  There are plenty of spaces open!

Down-Downs:

The hare for an extremely shitty trail, full of stairs, false trails and challenging games involving nappy rats, dizzy virgins, and jello shooters.

The virgins for their inate sense for finding the trail, for leading the pack for the majority of the run, and for coming out to join us on our hash – we look forward to having them show us what to do again in the near future!

Hard to Swallow for making a bullseye so small that only an unblindfolded Olympic rat tosser could possibly hit it.

Bagboy for his extreme skills that allowed him to hit the target despite having consumed several jello shooters, being blindfolded, and spun till dizzy.

Pole Jockey for demonstrating true Backwash form and not completely finishing his beer at the beer check.

Stares Hard for tailgating Trotsky on his Zen to the On-In, with an additional penalty beer for again standing obliviously astride a mark.

Dickweasel for his caveman-like grunting of On-On during the run, and an additional down down for his overt fasination with the Virgins…and for hounding them throughout the run as only the Dickweasel can.

On-On,

Trotsky