Time again to relive a trail from our glorious past…  SCH3 trail 129, held on March 13, 2003.  Hash Trash by Puff the Magic Drag Queen.

Welcome Whelps,

Allow me to sum this trail up succinctly, it was a triumph of mediocrity. I’m certain we’ve all heard the saying, “Third time’s the charm”. Drop the letter “c” for a closer approximation of this trail though. This was New Kid’s third (failed) attempt at haring and he has actually regressed from incompetent to unbelievably incompetent. And as for co-hare-brain Aching Cavity, that’s precisely what she gave me with her portion of this trail. This was a DeLaveaga disaster of monumental proportions. I consider it no small demonstration of the vindictive idiocy of this trail that even the deluge of water predicted for this night refused to be associated with these two. I wish I had been as smart as the rain. I resisted the urge to assemble three hash trashes as there were at least that many trail options available tonight. How two mere mortals are able to pervert such beautiful surroundings into this close an approximation of Dante’s Inferno boggles the mind. I submit to you that it is actually these two half-minds that the American military should be surrounding rather than something as innocuous as a murdering dictator who possesses weapons of mass destruction. Last year I left for Betty Ford on Thursday morning. I only wish I had been wise enough to repeat that brilliant maneuver this year as well.

When I arrived, Weiner and Andy were tossing a disc they’d stolen from someone smaller than themselves and Banana was basking in the last rays of another typically gorgeous Santa Cruz sunset. This was by far the most pleasant sight any of us would see tonight. The pack began to assemble while the hares huddled in the gathering gloom still attempting to concoct a trail for the night. As the seven o’clock hour approached, the hares were finally chased out. Together they hopped away, still trying to decide where trail should go. As zero hour approached, acting GM and RA Pearl Necklace leashed the following hounds to circleup: Weiner, dBASED, Last Call Norm, N.F.R., Sticky Caulk, Clitical Drinker, Drop and Blow Me, Hands Solo, Betty Cocker, Pussy Galore, Fill My Gap, Mia’s Hamm, Meat Head, Just Jaime, Just Kristin, Just Greg, Virgin Sue, BM Little Oral Andy, HC Cum Lord, On-Sec Banana Basher and HS Puff the Magic Drag Queen.

The stage is now set for tonight’s tragedy in one-act. The cast of villains and victims has been revealed. Let’s raise the curtain on another crime against humanity. I advise you keep that cell phone close at hand because you may want to call your Mommy after reading the script your Scribe has dubbed From But One Trail, Many.

By virtue of the fact trail was, at best, nonexistent, the descriptions thereof will be more of directions people were aimlessly wandering and personal observations more than the standard fare of street names and bars. A check was encountered but feet from where circleup had been convened. This would prove to be the only discernible marking of the night. The vast majority of the pack believe trail would take us to the Top of the World, and I mean that literally rather than figuratively, so the pack turned north on the road leading in that direction. Marker, however, directed perky pups to put paw to pavement on a narrow road leading deep into the black forest. Within a few minutes though, back check marker was observed and the gaggle galloped back almost all the way to Point A. A number of hounds began scaling the heights to Top of the World. And what to their wondering eyes should appear but a harried hare by the name of Aching Cavity hopping around like her little cotton tail was on fire.

This was, to say the least, a less than auspicious beginning to a trail that had been promised to overshadow the torture trails laid by dBASED. Since no one has much use for Cavity as a hound, let alone a hare, she was soon allowed to go hopping off into the darkness from whence she had appeared to continue being of absolutely no help to her co-hare. Sadly though, the covey was still circling aimlessly, still without a clue as to where the other half of tonight’s useless hare-pair had vanished to. It was about now Clitical told Banana she though trail proceeded south rather than north. When asked why, Clitical said that it was mainly due to the fact she’d seen New Kids r*nning in that direction earlier. Someone must have paid her off to keep such valuable information to herself. She’s never had a problem yapping before. I can hardly wait till she hares, she’ll probably leave us a set of directions for her trail. Needless to say, all hearing this took off down the entrance road towards the golf course clubhouse. Just prior to reaching the clubhouse, flour turned the troops onto the golf cart path and then onto the golf course itself. The flock flew southwesterly towards the tree line marking the rough. Or in this case, the “very” rough.

A turn to the west, as well as a turn for the worse, brought the bevy to the western most edge of the golf course and to a check mark as well. It was in this general area where the seams of the swarm began to unravel and frustrated hounds began to bay. A few short steps into the woods revealed three trails were available. dBASED selected the trail furthest to the right. The remainder of the pack therefore opted for the remaining two. Drop soon found that third mark we all seek and whistled his find. dBASED could still be heard a tier above while some other poor dogs had found their way to a trail a level below Drop. A check at a split further decreased the number of the pursuing hounds. As usual, dBASED was still trotting along on his own road-less-traveled and again a group was heard a few steps down the hill. It soon appeared as though we were hashing in a carnival’s House of Mirrors, no matter where you turned eyes or ears, you could see and/or hear a hound. Trail splits continued to perplex pups and send them up the down staircase and back tracking to search for lost trail.

More due to the sheer number of hounds involved than an easy to follow trail, a paved surface was reached and marker pointed the gang downhill and eventually Branciforte Drive loomed into view. A check halted our downward direction and pod members spread out sniffing darkened trail for droppings from the hares.  Soon an up and down, around and about trail was discovered paralleling Branciforte Drive and the gang lit out yet again. This trail too soon turned into a rat’s maze as packmates crossed each other’s path. By this point of the disaster, I had become convinced the hare, or hares, had become lost as well and began crisscrossing their own trail and simply threw flour in a totally haphazard pattern hoping to find their way out of the maze before being caught or to possibly just wear the pursuing hounds down until they just didn’t really care anymore. There was, as difficult as it may be to believe, a thread of commonality in this: we were being led mostly in the direction of north. With Branciforte Drive on our left and the towering heights of DeLaveaga Golf Course on our right, our direction was evident even though we were not really sure which path to take to get there. The most important question though was “To get WHERE?” By now, a long boring distance having been covered, the mob members still hashing, hoped for a beer check at lower DeLaveaga Park and a ride back to Point A.

The trail(s) continued on however, meandering much as would a profoundly intoxicated man on his way home around, say 2 AM. I have no idea how much PO was on or near trail as it was too dark to see anything. I heard the pounding paws of Hands Solo accompanied by the occasional expletive from litter mate Betty Cocker. Sometimes I was still able to glimpse dBASED taking the high road. That must be a first for him. Sadly, with DeLaveaga Park in sight, our spiteful hare-pair chose to began skirting the main field and continued on what appeared to be a mountain lion path. Just as Drop said he was heading down to Branciforte Drive to hitch a ride back to town, trail abruptly looped left and deposited we critters at the end of the road leading to the park. It was now that yet another horde of hounds popped into sight. This consisted of Clitical Drinker, Sticky Caulk, Meat Head and Just Jaime. They were completely across the park and vanishing into the black forest again. They apparently blew through, ignored or simply did not see a false trail marker a number of we other hounds had chosen to obey. After arriving at the northern end of the park, I found this group working on a check and soon vanishing even further into the forest primeval. dBASED, whom I’d seen for a second, had again vanished without a trace. Along Branciforte Creek this mini-pack plodded following……. Wait a minute. We’re following nothing except the end of our snouts apparently. dBASED has just resurfaced and giving the on-on as well. But where the hell is he? It appears he’s crossed the creek somewhere and is proceeding in the same direction as the pack I now find myself with.

Believing we obviously missed trail somewhere, Drop and I proceeded back to the last mark and most certainly do discover our mistake. Trail went over the parking lot embankment and down and across Branciforte Creek. We proceeded along it’s banks and were yet again coerced into fording it’s frigid depths. Then it was a prolonged on-up along yet another small path. It felt as though we were hashing in an echo chamber as voices were heard on three sides. Even worse, all were giving the on-on. When was the last hash through here? The ire of the pack was rising in concert with the angle of trail. By the time the down-on-all-fours cliff was crested, the chant of Hang the Hares was echoing off the surrounding hills. Continuing to clamber upwards, we passed a park bench. Who’s the mental midget that placed a bench where only skunks and termites would ever enjoy it? A check just past this bench was solved by turning east into a small gully so narrow Banana had to turn sideways to be accommodated. Trail meandered back to the north and began to circle a hill of substantial displacement. It continued circling and on-uping, now mainly in a westerly direction. Just as many began to think Monterey Bay H3 had recently been in the area, flashlights were seen and the call of “Checking” was heard. It was Meat Head, Caulk, Drinker and Jaime again. Do these people have twins in the area or a Star Trek transporter? They were headed back in the direction of Drop and Puff claiming a back check marker had been encountered.

This group returned to the junction with another trail and discussed the matter. Drop and Puff eventually went back to the back check and climbed the hill which turned out to be the Top of the World yet again. Caulk, Drinker, Meat Head and Jaime returned to the check at the bench, went another direction and found the hares not far away laughing, drinking beer check beer and downing shots of Tequila. Drop and Puff crested Top of the World and heard the laughter and came in to beer check from another direction. This group was soon joined by Banana from another direction and Norm from yet another. Jaime huddled under a tree with an ice pack as he managed to twist his ankle in his mad dash for beer check. Hounds slowly slid into to beer check from all directions much as cars fall into a Texas sinkhole. Just how many trails did these hares lay? Beer check having been successfully completed, the pack trotted across the flying disc course and to our waiting cars. While pooped pups paw their way back to the kennel and RA Pearl Necklace constructs his altar, let’s conclude last week’s business.

Last week you were asked to tell Puff why Main Street, now Front, never made it to it’s intended destination of Beach Hill. Check this out: there were too many ORCHARDS in the way that needed river access for irrigation water. I’m not lying, Scribe’s Honor. The only plants growing in this area today would probably be.. Well, never mind, we won’t get into that. I’m certain all those people have a doctor’s prescription anyway.

Let’s give this one a try this week. I mentioned mountain lions tonight. However, there was a far more formidable mammal around here in the days of old, the grizzly bear. Which of you grizzly hashers can tell Puff who and when was the last grizzly shot in the Santa Cruz Mountains?  It was not beside the Boardwalk while catching salmon swimming up the San Lorenzo nor was it at the annual County Fair. With all other examples of your incomprehension of real life, please send them to Puff at: Rgramseur@aol.com

I see the last straggler has dragged his tail in and Pearl has completed his altar. Let the stupidity begin.

The hares, and justifiably so in my opinion, were first on the RA’s hit parade. They were awarded down-downs in short order.

Virgin Sue was summoned and asked who’d made her come. Her response was the webmaster so she was joined in her welcoming down-down by Banana and co-webmaster dBASED. The only complaint from this trio was from Banana who was inadvertently handed a coke for his down-down!

The above crime against the hash netted our RA a down-down. Don’t let it happen again either, Pearl.

Andy was brought forth and awarded a sympathy down-down for the foolish completion of his 100th hash with Surf City, albeit one week late.

Now Banana, dBASED and Pearl were ordered to present themselves to the hash. They were awarded, respectively, down-downs for their 125th, 100th and 100th hashes with Surf City.

Puff was dragged forth, quill still wrapped in his left front paw, and was awarded a sympathy down-down for one attending one straight year of hashes with Surf City.

Puff was not allowed to slither away yet. He was joined by New Kids as co-ambassadors leaving tomorrow morning for the Betty Ford Rehab Hash. New Kids was joined by co-hare Aching Cavity.

Visitors were requested. This consisted of none other than Betty Cocker. I do not understand why we still consider her a “visitor”. I feel she’s proven many times over she’s stupid enough to be a full-fledged Surf City hasher by now.

Drop now nominated Puff for next week’s Stupid Award as Puff did not give said award to this week’s recipient, Meat Head. It just so happens the GM is in charge of the Stupid Award and GAS was unable to attend this week. The charges were reversed and Drop was awarded this down-down.

As the above was transpiring, the RA called Aching Cavity and Clitical Drinker for conducting a private party. They were joined by Cavity’s co-hare for the night, New Kids.

Footnotes: A number of hounds snagged little hare Aching Cavity on the Top of the World and anointed her face with flour. Just Kristin and PG became embroiled in a confrontation and Just Paul did little other tonight than help carry the beer to beer check.

Stupid is as Stupid Does Award to Drop and Blow Me. Drop, well into a double-digit number of hashes by this stage in his useless life, should know the GM is in charge of all awards, not the Scribe. Lastly, it is never, ever wise to try and award the scribe the award he created. Therefore, my old (ex) friend Drop and Blow Me will wear the Scribe’s Stupid is as Stupid Does Dragon Hat Award at Surf City hash #130. If he shows up.

And on that note I will return to my search for signs of intelligent life in Santa Cruz.

Submitted with all respect due,
Puff the Magic Drag Queen
Surf City H3 Scribe