Big Balls,

That’s what’s used here at the Boardwalk Bowl. It would appear that the same may be said for our hare-pair, dBASED and (second) wife Occasional Rapist. Now while the Boardwalk and it’s thousands of visitors may be directly across the street, the area mere blocks away is not safe to traverse unless armed. And that is, but of course, precisely where we were led this evening. More on that later though.

We assembled on the patio where it was warm and our canine companions were allowed. Speaking of our four-legged friends, Chewy, upon hearing who the hares were, tossed up his dinner. My Best Friend’s Cock was kind enough to clean it up but such an action would become more prevalent as trail progressed and more and more hounds became sick over trail. Occasional Rapist announced the hares would leave on time so those that were interested would be able to attend a band concert at the Boardwalk. This did not happen. Eventually though, after ingesting sufficient liquid courage, Occasional Rapist delivered Instructions of Trail. Hares-out.

The pack ignored the fact the hares’ leaving brought us that much closer to having to leave ourselves but, resigned to our fate, we ignored our destiny and continued socializing. This is one of the main tasks we’ve saddled our GM’s with: insuring the pack actually DOES leave and pursue the hares. To that end, co-GM’s Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain called for Circleup for Introductions and heard responding barks from: Today Is Monday, Jersey Lunchbox, Steamy Baanorrhea, Clearly Not A Hooker, My Best Friend’s Cock, Bacon Queef, Just Foot Pussy, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, Accuprick, Cum You Will Not, Wines Like A Bitch, Rainbow Buttthole, Virgin Kayla, Lock Nut Monster, Just Sam and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Dung-Fu Grip would hash trail long after us and arrive only just in time for Religion. Our canine companions were represented by Boulder, Junk Puncher, Spot’d Dick and Chewy(the barfer). Pack out.

The check on the corner of Beach Street and Cliff Street proved to be the hares’ SECOND 15 minute lead time as between dodging hundreds of people and sniffing for trail it took quite a while to locate trail on-left on Beach Street. This worked until Raymond Street where we were pointed on-left. Now this is where things became somewhat sketchy if not downright frightening. This is not an area where one would wish to wear red, blue is the preferred color to swaddle oneself with here. At least the sun was still high in the blue sky. Raymond was used until an on-right through Beach Flats Park and onto Kaye Street. We’re only getting in deeper. One block later the troops were turned on-left onto Park Place and came face to face with a strange sight.

The ‘park’ pictured above 1) Looks more like a Nebraska cornfield and 2) I am not aware of a large contingency of poets living in this general area. I bet locals were not asked by the City what would be an appropriate name for this spot.

We went around this park back to Raymond Street where an on-right brought us to Third Street. Here we were directed on-left and then on-right over the river and on-right again on the river levee until it ends below Oceanview Park. False markings were found on-up towards the park much to Jersey Lunchbox’s dismay. Trail proceeded through the former Jessie Street Marsh, conveniently filled in by our wise City fathers many years ago. Tail proceeded through this field, on-left on Lemos Street and one block later we were pointed onto the wilds of Alley 938.(Are all alleys in this town numbered?) This is an undeveloped, pot-hole filled path frequented by nefarious persons best not encountered in the dark. Everyone escaped but just barely. At the end of the alley, trail proceeded on-left onto Barson Street. Barson was used until making an on-left onto Riverside Avenue. Riverside was taken to Riverside Gardens Park where we traipsed through to San Lorenzo Boulevard and on-right on-up to Broadway.

Once there we went on-left over the river and then on-left again on the river levee and on-right on-up the hideously steep steps to the top of Beach Hill.

Once topping the stairs, trail went on-right on Third Street and on-right again onto Front Street, on-down to Pacific Avenue and on-left there. Along this stretch we encountered a man using watermelon rind as a drug delivery system. We gave him credit for being inventive at least. Trail progressed across Center Street into Depot Park. In the Park we were treated to a pointless circle jerk around the last remaining vestiges of what was the railway station. (Hence the name Depot Park) Trail circled the building and then turned on-right onto the Depot Cycleway. Along this stretch, our highly favored BN mark was observed and we pulled into Beer Check beneath the West Cliff Drive bridge.

Religion was staged under the same bridge on the tracks. Accuprick victimized a number of hashers and here’s a sampling of those poor bastards: Broke Bench Mountain celebrated his 469th hash with us; Visitors were welcomed; Virgin Kayla was accosted; Dung-Fu Grip mocked as DFL; Clearly Not A Hooker was punished for staging a Gorilla Beer Check at her house; Cum You Will Not for having an Ice Cream Check; people whose dogs crapped(or puked!) on trail and short-cutters. Oh. The hares. They were thanked for the good starting spot but no mention was made of trail. Seeing the hares again prompted Accuprick to declare and end to this Hash and I do the same for this Trash.

The preceding was a factual accounting of actual events though possibly not as they actually occurred. One should never allow the facts to stand in the way of a good story. Do not allow the profound be the enemy of the interesting.

A Scribe’s sole purpose is to provide entertainment to their kennel mates. Whether or not they are successful in this endeavor is still a subject open to debate.

I chose not to complicate this Hash Trash with facts thereby allowing me to extract almost any end I desired. It was with this motive in mind I recounted the events that comprised Hash Twelve-Oh-4.

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 at Santa Cruz, Ca., or elsewhere if need be, on this, the eighth day of August in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-two.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Welcome to the wilds of Ben Lomond,

That’s somewhat redundant, isn’t it? Ben Lomond itself is 15 miles from the nearest nothing and we have taken a side road that completely bypassed town, such as it is.

Be that as it may, here we are surrounded by trees, hills and all manner of wild animal. Co-hare My Sister’s Dildo has supplied pizza knowing 1) There no place within 10 mile of eating and 2) she doesn’t think her trail is especially good. She proved correct on both counts.

The pack trickled in slowly, most possibly due to the fact even Google Earth has not mapped this off-the-grid area so their GPS hadn’t the foggiest idea where the hell they wanted to go. Eventually though all the players were on the board and the pre-lube pizza-and-beer-feed began. Long before we wished it to happen, co-hare Baker’s Dozen’t delivered Instructions of Trail with Rubik’s Pube standing behind him prepared to flee if the pack rebelled. Hares-out.

In the interlude between hares-out and pack-out, Accuprick delivered the Chalk Talk to Virgins Jill and Ben. I doubt much of it sank in. If it truly had, they would have fled in terror prior to on-out time. After the passage of the requisite 15 minute lead time, co-GM Broke Bench Mountain signaled for Circleup for Introductiions and as a result heard from the following hounds: Banana Split, Throttle Bottle, TIMMY!!, Womb With A View, Steamy Baanorrhea, Accuprick, Virgin Jill, Virgin Ben, Clearly Not A Hooker, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, Just Sam, Occasional Rapist, Cum You Will Not, dBASED, Rainbow Butthole, Wines Like A Bitch, Bacon Queef, Just Foot Pussy and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Dogs are verboten on trail here so Fido remained at home this evening. Pack-out.

This will be a rather brief description of trail as it basically was on one trail. The scenery was too spectacular here so I took the Eagle trail. Eagles took Woodrat Trail(terrible name) and were subjected to over 500 feet of elevation gain. Even the local deer don’t come way-the-hell up here. There was a Liquor Check at one of the two Vista Points we passed.

Eventually we started a serious on-down and transitioned onto Sunset Trail and rejoined the Turkeys. Just as trail flattened out, Beer Check was staged. By this time, Rubik’s Pube and Baker’s Dozen’t, manning Beer Check, realized the Turkey’s were laggin’ and Baker’s took off at a high rate of speed to retrieve his vehicle to carry the last of the Turkey’s on-in. Soon after Beer Check, trail transitioned onto Lower Chaparral Trail which bought the pack back to the start.

Once Baker had retrieved the Turkey stragglers, Accuprick started his Religion machine. Here’s a sampling of down-downs issued this night: the Virgins were welcomed; Just Foot Pussy mocked as DFL; the visitors were welcomed; those convicted of using technology on trail; those that shed blood on this trail; analversaries were celebrated. Oh, almost forgot. The hare-trio was brought to the altar, the general consensus was they should be abandoned here with the turkeys and deer…and especially the cougars. After dispensing with the hares, Accuprick declared this Hash as being over and I do the same for this Trash.

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 at Santa Cruz, Ca., or elsewhere if need be, on this, the seventh day of August in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-two.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Ahoy landlubbers,

Sunday Wharf to Barf and we find ourselves rollicking and rolling at the Santa Cruz Small Craft Harbor, colloquially shortened around here to the Yacht Harbor. The pack is moving slower than the nearby wind surfers or even a rowboat in the harbor. W2B Saturday took a lot of wind out of our sails and today we will recuperate with short, non-stressful trail culminating with a face-feed with leftovers at the palatial estate belonging to our GM’s.

Food and ales were partaken of from the Crow’s Nest Beach Market. Socializing today was most definitely on the calm side and even more so when compared to the raucous rabble-rousing of yesterday. We picked up a friend of Broke Bench Mountain’s, Danielle, who decide she would accompany us. This was a decision she soon may come to regret.

After sufficient time was whiled away here, our lone hare, Occasional Rapist, gave mercifully brief Instructions of Trail. This was mainly due to the fact we already knew our ultimate destination so why waste any needless time. Without further adieu, the pack outed and began a slow speed chase towards the Upper Harbor.

The harbor walkway was taken under the Murray Street Bridge and continued until the rickety stairs leading on-up to Mello Lane.

Mello Lane brought the bunch of us to 7th Avenue where an on-right was indicated quickly followed by an on-right into Twin Lakes County Park, AKA BBM and Cumz Out My Nose’s backyard. We motivated to the area outside the gate to their place and once opened, we flooded the yard. Food was spread over a series of tables and plates were covered in leftovers. The face-feed began in earnest.

After finding no more room in out tummies, RA Dung-Fu Grip revved-up his Religion machine. Here’s a sampling of the down-downs issued this day: those that ran the Wharf to Wharf R*ce were punished for their racist ways; dBASED was mocked for his car dying at Greater Purpose; Penis Is Good For Me for using the expression ‘Undam the clam’ referencing harriettes that peed on trail; Virgin Danielle was welcomed; analversaries were celebrated; Occasional Rapist was congratulated on her 100th haring; Penis Is Good For Me acted as a proxy for absent Ska-Skank Redemption; GM’s were honored for their organizing a successful W2B and Baker’s Dozen’t because no one barfed this weekend and he had bet someone would.

Other than the on-going fierce socializing and heavy imbibing that is standard operating procedure for Surf City, that pretty much puts a cap on Wharf to Barf ’22. I believe I can speak for all attendees in thanking those, too many to label, that made this whole thing possible and such a huge success. On-on to W2B twenty-three!

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 at Santa Cruz, Ca., or elsewhere if need be, on this, the fourth day of August in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-two.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Welcome,

To Saturday Wharf to Barf. Normally, such a momentous occurrence would be termed the Crown Jewel of W2B but after perusing the pictures taken and having hashed the trail, I must sadly deem this the Clown Jewel of W2B.

I intend to provide evidence supporting my supposition. Let’s begin at 11 minutes before 11. I arrived on my bike only to find co-hare Dung-Fu Grip’s method of personal conveyance already firmly ensconced at Forty Thieves Picnic Area. I could not help but concluded some major pre-lay was in progress. Dung-Fu did not return to the scene of his future crime for a number of hours.

It was quite a while until other hashers began to arrive and offload copious quantities of food and kegs of ales. In order of importance, much effort was expended in assembly the two kegs and making sure they operated correctly. Co-GM Broke Bench Mountain felt it incumbent upon him as GM to insure everything was copacetic with the apparatus. By-the-by, this also allowed him to drink without having to wait for others to fill their drinking vessel.(Not that I would ever accuse him of an ulterior motive) While BBM was playing beertender, co-GM Cumz Out My Nose was manning check-in and trying to snare sneaky dogs that attempted to circumvent paying up. A rather unenviable task but she showed little sympathy for those thieving dogs that tried to sidestep her. Meanwhile, on the field of battle, socializing was especially fierce as many of us have been separated from each other lo these two years of the pandemic.

This portion of today’s festivities occupied a great expanse of our time here today which is exactly as it should be. The action kicked off around noon and was only interrupted by Dung-Fu Grip(finally on-in from pre-lay) announcing Instructions of Trail. After hearing what Dung-Fu had to say, I found his exaggerations, possibly just blatant lies, qualify him to run for political office, possibly even rising to the level of being Donald Trump’s vice-presidential running mate in 2024. We’ll save that discussion for another time though, there’s a trail to be hashed!

Trail began innocently enough but within minutes coerced the clan into crossing a creek. This was an iffy crossing as no stable means of keeping our rear paws dry existed. Two hashers went for a swim, details during Religion recap. We’re now on Branciforte Creek Trail and would take it’s winding way on-up to Top of The World which is also Hole 26a on the Disc Golf Course. We’ve just gained almost 300 feet of elevation from Forty Thieves. Yikes!

This proved to be Liquor Check as well as a sight-seeing stopover. The skies were crystal clear and Monterey appeared to be almost close enough to reach out and grab…if that’s a place you aspire to touching. Bailas Con Burros and Oral Lickstation went exploring the small abandoned building on this hilltop but soon discovered they were but members of a long line of people who have been here and were saddened to find nothing of value unless you are a collector of beer bottles and used condoms.

After concluding our business here we headed on-down to Upper Park Road and peeled off on-left just prior to the road leading to the clubhouse. At a split in the sidewalk, the first of the two promised Turkey/Eagle splits was observed. It’s a beautiful day, too nice to miss the sights so let’s fly with the Eagles. Trail, now using the golf cart sidewalk, proceeded beside Hole 9 over 400 yards, before curving on-right to parallel Hole 8. However, not far past the tee trail took an on-left onto a (barely) maintained trail that led on-down to a water tank. Once we were tanked, we were pointed on-right onto Old Vineyard Trail.

Old Vineyard Trail would be traipsed until Parkway Trail where an on-right would yield onto a trail of questionable maintenance. We would eventually curve on-right and be spit out into the Rangeside Bar beside the driving range and rejoin the Turkeys. This was a welcome respite from what has up to now been a somewhat challenging trail. Little did we know what awaited us on the second leg of our journey. Upon completion of our task here the pack outed through the parking lot and viewed the second promised Turkey/Eagle split. It’s still early, let’s fly with the Eagles again. What could possibly go wrong by now?

We proceeded all 400 yards of Hole 9 and then curved on-right and started alongside Hole 8. However, not far past the tee, a hare arrow pointed the pod on-left to begin a steep on-down through some serious shiggy.

A semblance of a trail eventually became evident and we even passed a long abandoned bike pump track. The reason it was abandoned some became evident.

This trail passes Audrey Stanley Grove Trail, the locals-only entrance to the Shakespeare Santa Cruz venue. Then we passed the entrance to the long gone DeLaveaga Zoo and popped out onto DeLaveaga Park Drive and on-left to Pacheco Avenue and on-right past the dog park and on-down. That shiggy wasn’t so bad, now was it?

A shortcut through a church parking lot placed our rear paws on Goss Avenue and, at least ostensibly, heading on-in. Little did we know… Goss was used until an on-right onto Carol Avenue was indicated. Carol was abused until North Branciforte Avenue. Once there, marker made the menagerie motivate directly across and onto Old Sheriff Posse Cabin Road. It’s been years since we challenged this trail and I hope it’s years before we do so again. It steep and treacherous. Were the sheriff’s posse to breach this trail now, they would be as surprised as us to find a homeless encampment far, far off the road.

We struggled on-up through some serious shiggy until emerging into a small field. This soon became field of screams though as marker completely vanished. Ramrod, assisted by Crumple Zone, tried every possible avenue of exit…multiple times. Eventually, having been through here many years prior, we took the most well defined of the trails as we used years ago. Some distance along, marker was found. Probably too many hounds’ rear paws obliterated marker for those of we DFL’s. This trail eventually ejected us back onto the golf course along the fairway for Hole 3 and on-left. The golf cart path curves on-right and continues along towards Hole 2 but soon a hare arrow led the litter on-left and on-down a short distance onto DeLaveaga Upper Loop Trail.This was followed by a series of quick on-lefts that would bring us back to DeLaveaga Park. A easy crossing of Branciforte Creek deposited us back at Forty Thieves where the found the Turkeys asking, Where the hell have been? We chose to not scare them by answering their query. Next up was face-feed time and was quite welcome after the horror we had just been subjected to. After sating ourselves, Accuprick fired up his Religion machine. This was an extended Religion with almost no one being able to avoid Accuprick’s fickle finger of fate. Here is an abbreviated list of down-downs issued this day: Leaky Rubber for bragging about performing karaoke; auto and short-cut hashers were punished; those that went for an unplanned swim in Branciforte Creek; those that performed a hare-snare…by hashing trail backwards; two harriettes for using words no one else knew; the hasher that won the impromptu disc toss from Top of the World. I’d like to skip mentioning our hares again but they, too, were awarded punitive down-downs. Now for what everyone waits for at W2B: the awarding of the Watermelon Head Award. This goes to someone who has made an outstanding contribution to the degenerative behavior W2B has come to signify. There were a number of outstanding examples but the one that sang the loudest to us was…Ramrod. Just prior to opening the nomination process, a song was being sang to a down-down recipient and each and every time we tried to end the song and get along with the proceedings, Ramrod added yet another verse. I doubt he truly ran out of verses, I think someone just stuck a beer in his face and while he was drinking it, the RA was finally able to move on. Anyway, in the end it was Ramrod who donned the highly-coveted Watermelon Head Award.

This pretty much finished off W2B Saturday. There was some more food munching as well as continued imbibing but events(and hashers) were beginning to move considerably slower than they had a few hours earlier. Let’s adjourn the party until tomorrow.

The preceding was a factual accounting of actual events though possibly not as they actually occurred. One should never allow the facts to stand in the way of a good story. Do not allow the profound to be the enemy of the interesting.

A Scribe’s sole purpose is to provide entertainment to their kennel mates. Whether or not they are successful in this endeavor is still a subject open to debate.

I chose not to complicate this Hash Trash with facts thereby allowing me to extract almost any end I desired. It was with this end in mind that I recounted the events that comprised Hash Twelve-Oh-1.

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 at Santa Cruz, Ca., or elsewhere if need be, on this, the third day of August in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-two.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Happiness,

We all know this evening’s route so our hare, the esteemed Steamy Baanorrhea, will not be able to jerk us around. Well, not to any great extent anyway. It was deemed appropriate that our twelve-hundredth hash would be a pub crawl. We have crawled into, and occasionally OUT of, many a pub in our twenty-one-plus year life so it is only fitting to celebrate this occasion with another crawling.

The assembly process began, appropriately enough, at the Redroom, just downstairs from the former Sports Grille Santa Cruz, the birthplace of Surf City H3. The outdoor area was the preferred venue and it soon filled with hashers.

Steamy Baanorrhea concocted a trivia game for trail and actually had a bottle of the hard stuff for the winner. The questionnaire consisted of trivia questions and of sights that would be seen along trail if you were attentive. After explaining the ground rules, Steamy laid a hare arrow and headed for stop number two.

Trail took us up Cedar Street and across Mission to the Rush Inn. Everyone’s heard the advertisement for this place: Rush Inn, Stagger Out! We took this admonishment to heart and extended our visit somewhat.

Upon completion of our task here, marker made the merry members of this madness on-down Pacific to El Palomar. Upon seeing us, the beertender, Tim, said, ‘I recognize you trouble-makers, I’d appreciate it if you went to the Taco Bar and got out of my bar!’ Not wishing to be forcibly ejected from (another) bar, we complied with his request and ensconced ourselves in the Taco Bar. Some of us decided to partake of the food offerings while others decided alcohol was on the menu for dinner. What a surprise!

After concluding we’d be more appreciated if we went elsewhere, marker pointed us back to Pacific and on-up the really long set of stairs to Rosie McCann’s. The wheels began to come off the pack here. First, there was a woman distributing free hard stuff as a promotion. Not sure anyone of us will be purchasing said bevy but we made sure to boost her attendance by stealing as many shots as possible. Then, just as those that did not consume food at the Palomar sat down to dinner, one of the apparently frequent fights erupted. Some biker did not appreciate comments from a non-biker. We should have known this place was trouble as soon as we arrived; never drink in a bar that has SIX security personnel! Those of us not eating exited via the back steps rapidly while those with food huddled together for safety’s sake.

The fifth and final(authorized) stop on tonight’s Magical Mystery Tour was, and no surprise here, the Jury Room. We’ve all heard the history of this dive bar; cop hangout where they unwittingly told mass murderer Edmund Kemper what they were doing to apprehend him. This is also the home of the Giant Gopher drink. Try one, once! Succinctly, the failures of this old watering hole far outnumber their successes.

There are rumors of more stops and other venues for a number of the pack but, as this was the official end, I will put away the camera and pen. Even if further events were related, upon the advice of council, hashers would: Admit nothing, Deny everything, Make counter accusations.

And so ended Hash 12-hundred for Surf City. As per hare Steamy Baanorrhea: No animals were harmed in the concoction of this trail.

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 at Santa Cruz, Ca., or elsewhere if need be, on this, the first day of August in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-two.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Sand gets in your shoes,

When you motivate from one beach to another courtesy of Cum You Will Not, Pink Cherry Licker and Thmp-Thmp. I believe this was more of a convenience to them than it was a well thought out trail. One could toss an empty beer bottle from our start at Black’s Beach to religion at Sunny Cove. Personally, I’d rather toss our tosser-trio of hares. Be that as it may, let’s delve deeper into the transgressions perpetrated against our bodies on the evening of July twenty-first in the year of our Hash tw0-thousand twenty-two.

Things started pleasantly enough; the sun was shining brightly and the beach was inundated with happy people, many of whom were in various stages of nudity. The Beermeister finally made an appearance, dragging coolers haphazardly along an ALMOST existing road to our perch on the cliff above the sand. Pink Cherry Licker presented bags of colored beads and lettered blocks. From these trinkets, hashers began constructing colorful bracelets, necklaces and other items of body adornment that I do not wish to visualize. One of these colorful creations would earn a certain harriette a well-deserved down-down during Religion but I’ll reserve that story until the appropriate time.

It took some arm-bending to get the hares to deliver Instructions of Trail. Well, actually what we wanted was for them to simply leave as it was well past the standard on-out time.

Socializing was fierce as, being Wharf to Barf pre-lube, a large number of denizens have emerged from beneath their respective rocks and have joined their kennel mates at the beach. Sadly, as all things, good or bad, must come to an end dBASED was eventually forced to call for Circleup for Introductions. Fearing a riot situation, both GM’s chose to avoid this potentially dangerous situation. This request led to responding barks from the following: Pussy Wood, Transcuntnanal, Just Foot Pussy, Princess Di(arrhea), Leaky Rubber, Fap Jack, Rainbow Butthole, Wines Like A Bitch, Virgin Breanna, Womb with A View, My Sister’s Dildo, Steamy Baanorrhea, Accuprick, Virgin Erika, Virgin Jim, Baker’s Dozen’t, Deadliest Snatch, Dung-Fu Grip, Occasional Rapist, Bacon Queef, Today Is Monday, Just Sam and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Junk Puncher, Merlissa and Spot’d Dick represented our four-legged contingency. Pack out.

The troops traipsed up 14th Avenue and the FRB’s were soon punished by discovering a back check. There was little option available, we migrated to the pedestrians-only section of Prospect Street. One block along Prospect and the hares had found a trashy alley for us to motivate through which brought us to East Cliff Drive and an on-right. Once back to 14th Avenue, we were coerced into crossing on-left onto 14th. When 14th intersected with Merrill Street, we went on-right to 17th Avenue. At 17th, we were turned on-left and encountered the promised Turkey/Eagle split at Felt Street. The Turkeys are being pointed on-right onto Felt Street. It’s a beautiful day, let’s fly with the Eagles.

The Eagles passed the railroad tracks which is the direction we believed we would take. We proceeded to the next street, Kinsley Street, and turned on-right. At the next street, Chanticleer Avenue, marker made us on-right. We can see a chain link fence beside the railroad tracks, the hares must know something we do not.

A gate has been breached creating a locals-only access to the railroad tracks. And so it begins. We turned on-left on the tracks and began an extended visit of almost 1/2 mile to 30th Avenue where we were pointed on-right to Portola Drive. Here, for probably the third or fourth time today, we encountered old trail markings. While the hares CLAIMED they would mark through previous trail markings, this proved to be another example of Hares Lie! Eventually the check here was solved and we motivated on-right to 26th Avenue and there it was on-left to 24th Avenue and on-right there to East Cliff Drive where we went on-right. This was good until 20th Avenue where we turned on-left and onto the beach where flour led the flock on-right and into Beer Check.

From Beer Check it was a short-but-sandy trek to Sunny Cove Beach where Accuprick would fire up his Religion machine. Here’s a sampling of down-downs issued this night: Pussy Wood for making a bracelet resembling a lizard at the start, backsliders were punished, Virgins were abused, dBASED for doing Virgin’s Chalk Talk on a manhole cover and Just Foot Pussy for feeling bad about calling him out for such, Ska-Skank Redemption for showing up halfway through Religion, Steamy Baanorrhea celebrated his 225th hash with us…and last as well as least, our hares. They were thanked for the party favors at the start and the rave that would commence after the RA dismisses the pack but no mention was made about trail. So the party could begin, Accuprick signaled an end to this Hash and I hereby do the same for this Trash.

The preceding was a factual accounting of actual events though possibly not as they actually occurred. One should never allow the facts to stand in the way of a good story. Do not allow the profound to be the enemy of the interesting.

A Scribe’s sole purpose is to provide entertainment to their kennel mates. Whether or not they are successful in this endeavor is still a subject open to debate.

I chose to not complicate this Hash Trash with the facts thereby allowing me to extract almost any end I desired. It was with this motive in mind that I recounted the events that comprised Hash 1199.

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 at Santa Cruz, Ca., or elsewhere if need be, on this, the first day of August in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-two.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe