Wild times,

Or more precisely feral hares that led us into the wilds in and around Wilder Ranch. Hares Cum You Will Not, who barely escaped being arrested last time we were here, and Baker’s Dozen’t, still smarting from the rebuke of his trail last week, decided taking the troops to a place where they could not easily forsake trail and go to a bar would coerce hounds into hunting them. Well, in that endeavor they were successful. We DID pursue them but our intent was less than friendly after the first mile or two of this terrible trail.

We started this evening standing beside Highway 1, frequently known as Pacific Coast Raceway, attempting to look inconspicuous as the area is frequented by those black and white cars that disapprove of many of our actions. So, the challenges that laid in wait for us on this trail began even before Instructions of Trail were issued. Eventually, Baker’s Dozen’t called for quiet as he detailed what would assail us along this trail. He stood alone as Cum You Will Not saw the handwriting on the wall and wished to begin distancing herself from this trail.

There was a vague reference that Eagles would eventually hash the Turkey trail. While this promise was kept, it certainly came to fruition in a manner most rude. Hares-away.

The next fifteen minutes of our so-called lives was passed socializing and fortifying our mettle to confront this trail. Nothing was SAID about trail although all present felt it weighing down upon our shoulders. Now we know how oxen felt wearing those heavy wooden yokes. As zero hour approached, co-GM’s Broke Bench Mountain and Cumz Out My Nose called for Circleup for Introductions and heard responses from: TIMMY!!, Just Foot Pussy, Steamy Baanorrhea, Jersey Lunchbox, Rubik’s Pube, Just John, dBASED, International House of Pussy, Fucked-Over Fest, Chippin’ Ballz, Boneless Shelter and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Our four-legged contingency was (illegally) represented only by Scratch and Sniff this week. Pack out.

Trail led the litter back towards Santa Cruz. Many of us wish we had continued along Highway 1 until viewing the sign saying, Welcome to Santa Cruz! But we didn’t being half-minds one and all. Upon reaching the bike undercrossing of Highway 1, things took a turn for the worse.

After successfully, more or less, negotiating the dangerous on-down, the promised Turkey/ Eagle split was encountered. It’s a stellar day, let’s fly with the Eagles. Eagles were turned on-left, under Highway 1 and on-up into the wilder area of Wilder. Soon a hard on-left and on-up was dictated. This is where Steamy Baanorrhea perpetrated a hare snare.

Trail continued on-up until encountering marker that said…

While mocking Baker’s Dozen’t for his cutesy spelling is an obvious option, the sheer fact he made us on-up rather than simply adding some length to trail is inexcusable. Movin’ on…

Mercifully, there was a shortcut (of sorts) that delivered the Eagles back to the split where they took off on the Turkey trail. As in the past, we took off on Old Cove Landing Trail, crossed the railroad tracks and got a stellar view of Wilder Beach. We would then transition onto Ohlone Bluff Trail which (eventually) brought us to Beer Check at Fern Grotto. Mercifully, this area was sheltered from a strong wind coming in off the ocean that portends of the rain promised for this weekend. I feel I should also mention the treacherous on-down to the beach caused by a small trickle of water that runs over the rocks leading on-down. This moisture gives rise to an impressive growth of (extremely) slick algae. I will not embarrass the person who slipped and planted their butt on these rocks, I will only say this person resides in Monterey, California.

After abandoning Beer Check, trail proceeded along the cliff and eventually turned on-right and through someone’s yard who has kindly authorized such an activity. Just as we approached the road leading to the paid parking lot, a Ranger passed by in a truck. By virtue of the fact we were leaving, he opted not to harass us. We hightailed it back to Highway 1 and on-right to where we had abandoned our vehicles. Once the DFL’s straggled in, dBASED fired up his Religion machine.

Here’s a sampling of down-downs, justified or not, issued this night: backsliders were punished, dBASED admitted he has royally screwed-up the Hash Count, Cum You Will Not for sending trail announcement to the wrong email group, Just John for not knowing what a down-down is, (remember Just John did not understand last week’s announcement and went to Religion site rather than the start) Courtesy Flush went for a bike ride rather than Hashing, Chippin’ Ballz for leaving us and moving to a ritzy area north of the Golden Gate, Mr. Wiggly for saying he’s looking forward to 2035 when he will get his 50 Run patch from us. And yes, the hares were brought up and thanked for the scenery and recycling this lousy-ass trail for the umpteenth time. With that, dBASED dismissed the pack and called for reassembly at Upper Crust Pizza. And it was so done and there was much rejoicing.

That drew this Hash to a close and it does so for this Trash as well.

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 motive in mind I recounted the events that comprised Hash Twelve-10.

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 twentieth day of September in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-two.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe