Welcome to Hill Hell Haven,

AKA Back Nine Bar and Grill. We have assembled here at the behest of Snake Me Anywhere. This is her second outing in as many weeks as hare and everyone hopes she has corrected the errors she perpetrated (penetrated?) upon the pack last week. Her very own sister and co-hare from last week, Carlos Danger, opted not to attend this week and most likely due to the embarrassment she feels over her failed effort last week. Admittedly, co-hare Rubik’s Pube showed snout but also brought canine companion Swamp Rat knowing everyone likes him. We are in the outdoor drinking area and it’s quite nice for early February. This ‘bait-and-switch’ is a normal ploy of hares fearful their trail will be an abysmal disaster. Begin trail from a friendly venue, appease the pack and then physically and psychologically assail them on trail. The saddest aspect of this strategy? It has always proven successful with we half-minds.

As second rounds are being delivered by our lonely waitperson, whom, incidentally, took one of our calling cards, Snake slithers to the front of the pack and hisses Instructions of Trail. As a digression, many hounds have been sitting here with phone in hand viewing the map app of their choice and see there’s really only two options in this area: cross Highway 17 and make an on-left or an on-right and return in the opposite direction. Neither of those, incidentally, present a pleasant alternative. As it was blatantly obvious where trail would lead the litter, few hounds listened. That includes your Scribe who found his beer far more intriguing than our hare. Hare away.

The next fifteen was passed finishing drinks and settling bar tabs. Well, that is unless your hash handle is Courtesy Flush. The exact cost of his mixed drink was a mystery and remains so to this very day. He pranced, foot to foot, and eventually surmised approximately what the price should be based on querying kennel mates on the cost of their mixed drink and depositing that amount on the bar and exiting the area. At a rather high rate of speed too I might add. After the allotted allotment, co-GMs Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain corralled the congregation for Circleup for Introductions and listened to responses from the following: Bacon Queef, Hareless, Steamy Baanorrhea, Courtesy Flush, Slow Gherkin’, Just Bryan, TIMMY!!, Cum You Will Not, dBASED, Dung-Fu Grip, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, Flours For Anal Bum, Rubik’s Pube and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. This week’s canine contingency was at full strength: Spot’d Dick, Scratch and Sniff, Junk Puncher and Swamp Rat.

One thing about this trail that was favorable, it had to cross over Highway 17 and there was definitely to be a check at North Plymouth Street. This was the first of many predictions that proved to be true. Sadly. This check was solved as an on-right. The die has been cast, on-in will return here from the opposite dire-erection. Trail proceeded on-down to it’s first check at the driveway leading on-left to the Emeline Street County office buildings. Check solved and into this grouping of buildings we traipsed. Once this area hosted Juvenile Hall before being moved to Graham Hill Road. Again tonight it witnessed a massive influx of juvenile delinquents. In the late sixties, the County Hospital was opened here. Tonight’s trail may well have more than a few kennel mates wish this hospital was still in operation.

We wandered throughout the complex eventually being ejected onto Emeline Avenue where an arrow pointed us on-left to a check at Lee Street. Circle Gherkin’ chose the on-left onto Lee and soon chimed out; on-one, on-two and then on-three. Uh…on-three? Well, he’s relatively new but obviously more training is in order for this harrier. The pack regrouped and took off on-left onto Lee and peeled off on-right when the street turns and took the Market-Lee Walkway that curves on-left through a large apartment complex and then on-right onto a bridge over Branciforte Creek and to Market Street. Here was the promised Turkey/Eagle split. As it is dark and Scribe knows where trail will lead, I will be taking the Turkey this night. We Turkeys were directed on-left onto Market Street, under Highway 1 and to a check at the intersection with Goss Avenue, Branciforte Drive and Isbel Drive. There was no question in anyone’s mind but that trail turned on-left onto Isbel.

The first section of Isbel is not only unlit but dangerously narrow as well. Hare don’t care. Eventually Isbel develops sidewalks which is, needless to say a good thing. This beneficial development is though more than offset by the appearance of one of the steepest hills in recorded Santa Cruz history. So, in brief, it was on-up to the top. At the top of this precipice was an arrow pointing on-left onto Carbonera Drive. This being a fact unless your name happens to be Dung-Fu Grip. He is either visually impaired or, thinking trail may prove to be too short to satisfy him, he proceeded to ignore said arrow and continue trucking. Even this half-mind soon determined he had erred and upon returning to the intersection, discovered his oversight and rejoined the herd. Almost immediately Carbonera presents the antithesis of Isbel Drive, that being a monstrous escarpment. Unlit too, I might add. I will fast forward to the bottom of this hill, AKA the Valley of Death. Looming over the litter now was the second mega-hill of the evening and, seemingly impossible, but it appeared to tower over the hill we had just descended. I do not wish to torture you, faithful reader, or myself by reliving the living hell that was necessitated by humping on-up this hill. Let’s just remember we all completed the climb. As we neared North Plymouth Street, for the second time tonight, the BN mark was observed. While this instigated much rejoicing, the majority of the pack was too tired to even LIFT a beer, let alone enjoy one.

The pack had now reassembled and much resting is on the agenda.

We spent a considerable amount of time here as but few of the runners were still running and an even smaller number of walkers were still able to walk by the time they crested the hill leading here. We did, however, eventually head(who said Head?) on-out and back to Pasatiempo for Religion. Once back, via an incredibly dark and dangerous road, Religious Adviser Dung-Fu Grip cranked up his religion machine.

Here is a sampling of down-downs issued this night: Scratch and Sniff for pooping within feet of on-out, Broke Bench Mountain acted as his drinking proxy; Dung-Fu Grip for missing trail even though he KNEW where trail was to proceed; Cum You Will Not, even with Spot’d Dick to assist her, managed to fall down the very first hill on trail; Cold Smegma Kamikaze for finding the one-and-only mud puddle on this entire trail and backsliders were duly punished. There was no consensus for on-on-on so…oh. Hare. Most of the pack agreed this Snake would be best utilized as a snakeskin belt, not a hare. With no decision for on-on-on, the RA dismissed the pack.

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 that I recounted the events that comprised Hash Twelve-31.

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, Saint Valentine’s Day, in the year of our Hash two thousand twenty-three.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe