This will be a primitive Hash Trash apropos of the trail it will chronicle. Why this trail as opposed to any of the exquisite trails your acting Scribe has provided for you over the past fifteen months or none of the previous rude and crude outings thrust upon us by DungFu Grip you may wonder? Because, this trail, my dear kennel mates both old and new, marks our emergence from our chrysalis; our government-mandated and our self-imposed isolation, the evade-the-virus mentality that seized the world’s mentality since March of twenty-twenty. Hashdom never had to face such an adverse occurrence prior. Now hashers have been 86’d, expelled, banned and physically ejected from numerous venues since December of 1938 but never in all those eighty-six years has every Hash everywhere been prohibited from plying our trade.
Now that we have resumed REAL Hashing, let’s proceed with a condensed overview of Trail 1138.
We were instructed to park in an (unauthorized) dirt parking lot beside Roaring Camp Railroad. The designated area was 90% full when Puff and Dicky Wacker arrived prior to 6PM. The situation would soon deteriorate even farther. Many hounds had to park so far away that getting to the start could count as a trail in and of itself. Soon co-hare DungFu Grip would arrive and direct us to an abandoned homeless encampment in nearby woods. The only remnants of this former camp was a half-full ashtray and an exemplary stand of poison oak.
After as many hounds as would brave the near one-hundred degree heat assembled, the hare-pair of DungFu Grip and his accomplice Baker’s Dozen’t were seen off to the side drawing patterns in the dust with their shoes, erasing them and then repeating the process a number of times. Some aspect of trail they had planned bothered them which proceeded to have the same affect on the pack. After settling upon a course of action, they relayed Instructions of Trail. They were so far off the mark I will not waste my time regurgitating them nor your valuable time reading them. They left informing us we would find the first trail marking in the (over-filled unauthorized) parking lot.
After passage of the appropriate lead time, dBASED assembled the crew for introductions. Everyone mumbled in muffled voices fearful of what was to follow. We exited the homeless campground leaving the ashtray behind but would see copious quantities of poison oak again soon. Less than a hundred feet from the first mark in the (over-filled unauthorized) parking lot, hasher down! Hugh Heifer managed to take a tumble due to gravel no larger than a grain of sand. By virtue of the fact it was past the first trail marking, it qualifies as Blood on Trail. This also set the tone for the remainder of trail for Hugh too.
The mob has now invaded the grounds of Roaring Camp Railroad. The pack began to thin out through here. The less stupid among us returned to the start while the more stupid forged ahead, a decision more than a few would come to regret. We passed a wedding reception in progress on the grounds and then took an on-left and began to leave civilization behind. Soon we entered the area where the nuptials had transpired, ignoring the sign requesting us not to do so.
Civilization safely behind them, the hares began subjecting the pack to the terror and tedium told of in their Instructions of Trail. They warned us of a hill about one mile in but neglected to mention it’s angle of incline or of it’s longevity. We will speak no further of it.
Later, MUCH later, we reached the railroad tracks that would eventually take trains to the top of Bear Mountain. The Turkeys began cross-tie walking while the Eagles proceed to the next hill. We know where the tracks will take the Turkeys, let’s fly with the Eagles and see where they’re led.
Another series of hills, AKA mountains, would take this group to the top of Bear Mountain.
Was this climb difficult? Well, the only way humans previously were able to attain this height was having to build a damn railroad to get up here. You make the call.
The Eagles left here and began a circuitous path on-down, and sometimes back on-up, as they make their weary way back towards the start. Eventually passing under the railroad trestle spanning the mighty San Lorenzo River, they then reentered Henry Cowell Park and found River Trail. Eventually, these tired pups transitioned to Meadow Trail, passed the Felton Diversion Dam and fish ladder and back to the start. There they discovered Turkeys swilling away and munching on munchies. This further made them question why they undertook the Eagle trail.
As soon as a trio of DFL Eagles appeared; Just Holly, Under Where? and Puff, dBASED convened Religion. Chippin’ Ballz and dBASED were awarded congratulatory down-down for attending CAN’d H3’s Red Dress Run last weekend; Hugh Heifer was mocked for shedding Blood on Trail one-hundred feet from the start; a series of down-downs were assigned pertaining to missing/not stopping/ignoring Beer Check and the hares were justifiably roasted alive.
On-On-On was staged at Taqueria Vallarta in Felton for the few that had managed to retain enough energy to chew.
By Special Appointment of His Royal Majesty ‘G’, this Hash Trash has been compiled and printed by permission of no one other than the author and editor at Santa Cruz, Ca., or elsewhere if need be, on this, the twentieth day of June in the year of our Hash Two-thousand twenty-one.
the Magic Drag Queen
Surf City H3