|Himalayan Mens Hash Run No 0092||Monday 27 July 1981|
|Location||West of Baudha||Hares||Kedwell and McMullen|
OK Wolczenski - you and your effin’ “tactical run”... where were you for this mother? You could have tackticked your head off as friends Kedwell and McMullen led us on a merry marathon over the hills and dales west of Boda. The drizzling rain all day long warned us of this one, even though it cleared up by the time we assembled in that waterlogged field. The Hares’ sopping wet footgear didn’t inspire much confidence either, but the clincher was when Pagella showed up with three young’uns and a hound, The last time he brought such guests the Hashers had to turn out a search-an-rescue team to get everybody back to the chariots.
Apparently DK took to heart the complaints about checks coming too often on his last Hare effort, because this run was noteworthy for some long hauls. False trails (a wee bit on the longish side) abounded, but we had to compliment the very distinct arrows which marked them as such. This week’s trail did indeed follow trails, so we did not get too lost seeking the spore in open country. The Hares also seemed to have a proclivity for the high ground - with each summit signaling another check. Like last week, yours truly was often enough off on false trails, so I can’t recall who found most of the paper. None of the chocks had us stymied for unreasonable amounts of time - a sign that the trail was well laid. Probably the most clever path snuck over a jeep track and continued on the other side of a barbed wire fence crossed only by a nearly hidden stile. This track took us, right up to the tip-top of the hill where we were accorded a magnificent view of the entire countryside.
Despite encouragement, some of the hounds declined the opportunity to partake of this view and headed for the downside of the hill. Back on the trail, we steamed past the local monastary (where, one particularly slatternly but distinctly non-oriental looking wench eyed us with a scowl) down the hill looking for the home trail. Our passage had provided no end of amusement for the inhabitants of the monastary, but as we plodded along the clearly marked trail we began to look for some diversion to liven things up. And Lo - our beloved HM rose to the occasion.
Tony’s beautiful full gainer with a side flip into the rice paddy was scored 7.3 - 7.8 - 7.4 by those in the immediate vicinity. A touch act to follow - it was, so no one even tried, but we had to admire the aplomb with which he rallied up. The Hash Horn was strangely silent for a while after that - being clogged with paddy cooties and other sorts of delightful flora and fauna. The remainder of the run was mostly a slick, messy scrable through long stretches of mud with a particularly grueling home stretch. Of course it was all worth it when the frosties were popped and the tales of the trails recounted. Despite some grumbling over the length (1 hr. 20 min.) and some lengthy false leads, all agreed that it was an excellent, well-laid, challenging run with a variety of conditions and diversions to keep our minds alert.
Hashit - If those Yank Gyrenes don’t get it back to us we’re going to have to go ‘take it away from them. You’d think they owned it.
Walking Stick - Due to the absurd technicality in the HASH Code of Behavoir, it is not awarded despite a standout performance by the person most qualified for the honor.
Farewell to - Bob Schaeffer - who didn’t even show up for his last
run (which, of course, makes last week his last run, but nobody knew it
at the time. - good luck & good hashin’ wherever you go.
Hash No. 93 - Hares Gough - father and son and we meet at their warren
– A pink pagod-shaped house with a brown gate just opposite the
Marine house and up the street a bit. Watch for other chariots.