Residing in the shadow,

Of the Redwood tree that graces my balcony eclipsing my perch as I contemplate an event in my personal life, the recent demise of an important personal relationship. A tragic event by anyone’s standards. What makes us toss away our contentment and beg for something more? We are all moving toward something though. Even if you’re a screw-up hasher, you’re participating. You survive one calamity, one catastrophe, and promptly move on to the next disaster in your life. Be that as it may, also providing me with significant trauma in my life is this past Thursday’s trail. Allow me to elucidate.

Our hare, Broke Bench Mountain, had originally hailed this week’s trail as a monumental milestone in Surf City haring history. An A-to-B, a scenic tour of the Santa Cruz coastline and a farewell to his and Cumz Out My Nose’s Eaton Street abode. They’ve been shown the door, figuratively and literally. Then the prediction of an Atmospheric River grabbed the local headlines. This apparently pleased our hare to no end, he would now not have to do anything involved with trail laying. He could now sing the praises of what would have (supposedly) been a landmark Surf City trail. He cried alligator tears upon hearing the weather prognostication. However…

As the time neared for trail, there was not a hint of moisture in the air. The only water present was on Broke Bench’s forehead when he realized he would have to lay an actual trail. Excuses were made pertaining to the original trail as rain having been predicted, he did not work out all the details so trail was shifted to the Blue Lounge and would be shortened to minimize the potential encounter with a veritable deluge. Here’s the story of what transpired then.

The Blue lounge is only slightly different from any of it’s previous incarnations, e.g., The Knight Owl, The 529 or Seabright Lounge. Concrete floor and concrete walls do a prison cell make. The covey congealed for safety’s sake and awaited zero hour. Drinks are quite inexpensive here, beers five bucks. I guess every dark cloud DOES have a silver lining. An actual band was setting up shop and Gizmo the dog inhabited her usual bar stool. Broke Bench tossed back hard stuff like Prohibition was to take effect at midnight. Finally he was convinced to get out in hopes of avoiding the incoming wave of water. Instructions of Trail were so brief I spoke with no one that remembered them. Hare away.

The next fifteen minutes passed amicably enough. dBASED took Virgin Megan outside for the proverbial Chalk Talk. Everyone settled bar tabs and watched the clock. When the allotted lead time had expired, we exited the building and performed Circleup for introductions which resulted in hearing from: TIMMY!!, Steamy Baanorrhea, Flowers For Anal Bum, Cum You Will Not, dBASED, Virgin Megan, Circle Gherkin’ and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. We were joined on trail by Courtesy Flush. No canine contingency this week, they are all way the hell too smart to show snout in this weather. Pack out.

There was initial confusion right from the get-go on this trail. There was a check where circleup had been staged out the rear door of the Blue. The first marks took an excessive amount of time to locate. Eventually they were discovered though down the alley to Logan Street and on-left to Buena Vista where another on-left brought us to East Cliff Drive. We continued along East Cliff to Pilkington Avenue where another on-left was indicated. At Forbes Street, a solved check took the troops on-left to Alhambra Avenue and on-right there to Murray Street. At Mott Avenue, we were circle-jerked on-right to Forbes Street, on-left to Cypress Avenue and on-left there and just before hitting Murray Street again, our favored BN mark was viewed and we entered Brady’s Yacht Club via the rear. It was here we found our hare sitting at the bar and again tossing back heavy hit drinks.

Time passed quickly here. We were also joined by a late running Courtesy Flush. Upon completion of our task here, the herd migrated to the walkway outside Seabright Social in an effort to stay out of the lightly falling rain. Here’s a synopsis of down-downs issued by RA dBASED: Puff for being ‘alone’ tonight, there were no canines to be given treats; Broke Bench Mountain for wearing a race shirt, Cum You Will Not for faking an illness on trail, dBASED for NOT taking a shortcut, Flours For Anal Bum for being ill last week thus avoiding taking over Beermeister duty, Circle Gherkin’ for not knowing so much as one hash song, Steamy Baanorrhea for thinking the false marking from Chalk Talk was real and lastly Virgin Megan who exposed her cute little derriere. On-on-on was at Engfer’s Pizza and turned into a concert for the employees as Bohemian Rhapsody was crooned for them. Possibly to their dismay.

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 they 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 remains 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 as with this motive in mind I recounted the events that comprised Hash Twelve-35.

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 thirteenth day of March in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-three.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3

Point the way,

To the exit from this trail. Clearly Not A Hooker and (purported) Mystery Co-Hare Dung-Fu Grip spared no chalk this evening. They also gave a sound thrashing to the hounds. What follows is the sad tale of such.

Point A was Sante Adairius’ Portal on Water Street. The interior was quite lively and the pack brightened the exterior. We were pleasured by old kennel mate Pinch the Head and Twist It. She has not been seen in two years, I guess she finally finished her time. Banana Basher also slithered on-up Cayuga to plague us with his presence. He still possesses no apparent intrinsic value. Half of last week’s hare-pair, Circle Gherkin’, showed snout but head hare( who said head?) Cold Smegma Kamikaze knew better than to manifest his muzzle this week. Many of us are still smarting from last week’s trail of terror. Speaking of last week, Flours For Anal Bum was to co-hare rather than Circle Gherkin’ but claimed to be too ill to do so. I make the assumption she refers to a physical malady rather than the (numerous) mental defects she obviously possesses. This week she was to take over the reins of power as Beermeister. She did not show this week either. She has traversed the distance from hero to zero in two short weeks. TIMMY!! will have the (dis)pleasure of continuing as Beermeister for at least another week. That’s as much gossip as can be relayed this week.

With a minimal amount of coaxing, the hare-pair relayed Instructions of Trail. They were just as uninformative as we’ve come to expect form the likes of Hooker and Dung-Fu, masters of chicanery they both are. Hares away.

The pack spent the next fifteen minutes of their lives eating, drinking, paying bar tabs and, most of all, ignoring what was anticipated to be a trail of little or no significant importance. We are somewhat prescient in that respect. The fifteen did pass and the herd was mandated to migrate to the parking lot by co-GMs Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain to conduct Circleup for Introductions. The result of this was haring from: Pinch the Head and Twist It, TIMMY!!, Cum You Will Not, Steamy Baanorrhea, Banana Basher, dBASED, Circle Gherkin’ and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Our canine contingency consisted of Scratch and Sniff, Spot’d Dick and Junk Puncher. Pack out.

Trail led the litter on-right to the evening’s first check at Poplar Avenue. Trail, heralded by arrows-only, was located crossing Water Street, Soquel Avenue, through the parking lot for Staff of Life and to exit the rear onto Gault Street. At Gault it was on-right past the abode of Just Foot Pussy and Bacon Queef, whom, incidentally, was at the start but opted to remain drinking rather than hash the trail, and then a quick on-left onto Sumner Avenue and two blocks later on-left onto Effey Street. Then we blasphemed the grounds of Star of the Sea Catholic Church and were ejected onto Fredrick Street. An on-right there brought us to an extended stay at the intersection with Broadway. After considerable sniffing here, Steamy located trail continuing on Fredrick and then to make an on-right onto Windham Street.

Soon it was on-left onto Darwin Street. When Darwin ends at Clinton Street, it was on-left. when Clinton comes to a climax, an arrow pointed the pod on-right onto Owen Street. Owen, too, was taken to the limit and when it ended an on-right was dictated onto Watson Street and took the troops to Seabright Avenue where one of the ubiquitous arrows turned us on-left and across Murray Street and, sadly, past Brady’s Yacht Club with no Gorilla Beer Check. The next street, Marine Parade, was chosen and it, too, was taken to it’s terminal point where it was on-right onto Fourth Avenue by necessity. Now we entered a slight danger zone. Partway along Fourth, the OTHER Yacht Club, that being Santa Cruz Yacht Club, kindly provides an on-left locals-only point of ingress to the Lower Yacht Harbor. I doubt such was placed here for the convenience of hashers and we may not even meet with their approval but the hares opted to drag us on-down this walkway nonetheless.

We are now at the Lower Harbor and here yet another arrow got the gang to on-left. Let’s fast forward to the steps on-left that lead on-up from the Upper Harbor. This delivered us back to Fredrick Street but soon arrows had us on-right into Fredrick Street Park. At the harbor side of the Park, Liquor Check was staged on a bar-be-cue grille! Everyone got toasted too! In addition to some rotgut liquor, it featured ‘edible stickers’. That being said, the digestibility of said ‘edible stickers’ is still a subject open to debate. Suffice it to say all the dogs present refused the offer made them. It was then on-down to the Upper Harbor and on-left and on-up through Arana Gulch to exit onto Agnes Street, on-right to South Park Way and on-left there all the way to Soquel Avenue.

We were directed across Soquel Avenue onto Park Way. This began a rather long, if not simply boring, traipse to just before where Park Way ends and there we took an on-left onto Roxas Street. One block later it was on-left onto Marnell Avenue. One block late the BN was observed and Beer Check was staged on Fairmount Avenue beside John D. Franks Park. It was here we discovered the hare-pair swilling away on Beer Check beer. After sufficient time was wasted waiting for the Walkers, a phone call determined the lazy dogs had shortcutted at Soquel Avenue directly to the site for Religion behind the Safeway on Morrissey. The hounds at Beer Check migrated there via Marnell and Melrose avenues. Upon our arrival, we found Pinch the Head cracking the whip on her fellow hashers. That is meant literally, she had a bullwhip and it was emitting cracking noises when she used it properly. Mercifully, dBASED fired up his Religion machine which (somewhat) calmed Pinch the Head. Here’s a sampling of what transpired during Religion: those that missed/skipped/avoided Beer Check; backsliders were punished; co-hare Clearly Not A Hooker for her ‘edible stickers’ at Liquor Check and finally the hares themselves. There was some mention of a relatively scenic trail but the length was deemed excessive and the absence of flour was inexcusable. This Hash is over.

On-on-on was held at Taqueria Santa Cruz, conveniently located directly across the street from the One-Double-Oh-Seven Club.

The preceding was a factual accounting of actual events even 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 remains a subject still 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-34.

By Special Permission 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 sixth day of March in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-three.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

It was a dark and stormy night…

Banal cliche? Damn right. However, it is sadly applicable to the events that comprised Trail Twelve-33. Explanation to follow.

Let’s begin with one of the hares became so ill(reputedly) she was unable to fulfill her obligation. This, of course, refers to Flours For Anal Bum. Emphasis on the ‘Bum’ portion of her moniker. She did not text anyone during trail to ask how it was going. Maybe she had more important business elsewhere? Her proxy, Circle Gherkin’, stepped up to take her place. However, this was but Gherkin’s second haring and lead hare, Cold Smegma Kamikaze, refused to divulge trail details to him. In theory, this will make it extremely, if not downright impossible, for Gherkin’ to assist with the laying of trail. Thinking back to his first haring with Jersey Lunchbox, you may remember what a tragic event it was so even if he WAS made aware of the planned trail, it would still probably not go well for the pack.

To further dishearten the pack, it is now well past that 6:33 mark and Cold Smegma has yet to show snout. The pack, all seven(!) of us, are becoming increasingly inclined to have Circle Gherkin’ drag us around the block and call it a Hash! With just minutes to spare before our self-imposed deadline, Gherkin’ received a text from Cold Smegma claiming he was almost there. As it was now raining and the temperature having dropped to the upper-forties, we were almost hoping Cold Smegma did NOT make the cutoff time. He soon pushed his burgeoning belly through the swinging doors here at the Over-the-Hill Gang Saloon to the dismay of many of us in attendance. After a little coaxing, like hurry-the-hell-up, Instructions of Trail were issued.

After informing us about a Turkey/Eagle split and a Beer Check quite close, the hare-pair slithered on-out. Hares away.

The hares said they would not require even a fifteen minute lead time as Beer Check was so close. Consequently, soon co-GM’s Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain, from the comfort of the interior of the bar, called for Circleup for Introductions and heard whimpers from the following hounds: Cum You Will Not, TIMMY!!, Steamy Baanorrhea, dBASED and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Canine wise we had Spot’d Dick and Scratch and Sniff. Yes, that was it for this week’s festivities. Pack out.

A hare arrow immediately outside the front door led the litter on-left all the way to 30th Avenue to make an on-left there. We went down 30th and made an on-right onto the Moran Lake Trail. That’s Moron Lake in Hash parlance. Just prior to the on-right, the BN mark was viewed. However, once into the darkened depths of the Eucalyptus forest, further marks eluded us. Eventually, the light-reflective jacket of Circle Gherkin’ revealed the location of the hare-pair and Beer Check was engaged. As we stood there, shivering and injecting ourselves with cold liquid, what could be interpreted as snowflakes swirled around our little half-minds. It was certainly cold enough. Hares requested a seven minute lead time and left. About five minutes later the pack, now down to five, decided to leave. Let’s get outta here. Pack out.

It was a rather unpleasant traipse along side Moron Lake. Ask TIMMY!! who took a terrible spill and not only injured himself but came away wet and muddy as well. Eventually we got to East Cliff Drive where an arrow pointed the pod on-left. This began a rather dangerous section of trail as there is no place to go should a vehicle approach. And it did. And there was no rejoicing. Mercifully, the driver spied us and gave us a wide berth. We were able to make it to Chesterfield Drive where a hare arrow pointed us on-right and allowed us a brief shortcut back to East Cliff Drive and on-right there. We now undertook a long and very windy jaunt along East Cliff until just past the bathrooms where we were directed on-right and on-down to the sand where Liquor Check was staged. It was quite windy here so our business was concluded quickly and back on-up to East Cliff.

The Turkey/Eagle split was encountered not far along East Cliff. The Eagles are disappearing into the darkness, that does not appear to appetizing, Scribe will fly with the Turkeys tonight. Turkeys went on-left onto 34th Avenue. Somewhere around Floral Drive we went on-right to 36th Avenue, on-left and on-in to Religion behind Cat and Cloud Coffee. The two Eagles were already present so as soon as Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain were collected from the bar where they wisely waited out trail, dBASED began Religion and promised it would be brief as the temperature has lowered itself into the low forties.

Here’s what transpired there: Cumz and Broke Bench for not placing one rear paw on trail; they were joined by Puff who decided to sing them the same song as one previously sang; dBASED for hashing trail sideways, albeit due to a very strong cross-trail wind; hares were doused with flour by all members of the pack for not USING any flour on this trail. This Hash is over.

That finished off this short Religion. On-on-on was at Taqueria Vallarta on 41st Avenue.

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-33.

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 twenty-sixth day of February in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-three.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe

Sunny Salutations,

A far cry from this past Thursday’s leather and lace of pink and red. Yes, it was fun and intriguing. This does NOT, however, remove the stain of trail. Our hare-pair, Pink Cherry Licker and Bacon Queef, with over 650 trails between them, should have firmly embraced the KISS method of haring: Keep It Simple, Stupid! However, the aimless twists and turns proved this dastardly duo do not subscribe to such philosophy. Details to follow.

This time we were called to the CORRECT hotel, that being the Marriott Courtyard on Riverside Avenue rather than the Hyatt Place on Broadway. While I personally see little, if any, connection betwixt these two accommodations, apparently Pink Cherry Licker does. Or at least DID at a previous point in her life. So this time she moved us from the relative safety of Broadway to the dingy depths of Beach Flats. In the dark. In the off-tourist season. The interior of the Marriott is quite nice I must admit and the outdoor patio will be quite a draw in the Summer. Sadly, that Summer season is a distant dream on this chilly February evening. In addition to a full bar, unlike the Hyatt, there are four person dining booths with TV screens in the wall and spacious couches and chairs a-plenty. The bar area filled and the few guests steered clear of the area.

Pre-lube time was it’s usual verbal exchange of gossip and events that have transpired in our lives since our last session of intercourse. This also involves ignoring what may befall us along trail. Half-minds racing through the geography of the area, wondering how safe trail will be and the possible location of Beer Check. This wild speculation was ceased only by the hare-pair’s declaration of Instructions of Trail. While almost universally ignored, there were enough blatant lies to illicit chuckles from more than a few hounds. In the colloquial, this would be termed Whistling through the graveyard. Hares-out.

The final fifteen was the settling of bar tabs, visiting the indoor bathroom and enjoying the indoor warmth. As everything must come to an end,(sometimes gratefully) co-GMs Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain ran everyone out the door to convene Circleup for Introductions. The result was names from: Flours For Anal Bum, TIMMY!!, Fap Jack, Cum You Will Not, Steamy Baanorrhea, Dung-Fu Grip, dBASED, Slow Gherkin’, Clearly Not A Hooker, Worm, Today Is Monday, Gary the Shit Stain and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Our canine contingency this week consisted of just Junk Puncher, Merlissa and Scratch and Sniff. Pack away.

A hare arrow led the litter on-left to the first check of the evening at the intersection with Riverside and Third Avenue. This check consumed an inordinate amount of time. Whether this was due to hare deviousness or hound incompetence is a debatable subject. Also one not worthy of any more of our time. On-on was eventually sounded on-right onto Third and then on-right onto Raymond Street, across Leibrandt Avenue to continue on Raymond to a check at Beach Street. Here’s where the evening’s kink rose up hard and long. TIMMY!!, having spent the formative years with Pink Cherry Licker, crossed Beach Street thinking she may take the troops onto the Boardwalk. He surmised correctly. However, due to an inordinate number of fences, we were directed onto the Main Beach and on-left. Okay, we can do this, it’s slightly under a quarter of a mile to the river and it will be easy-peasy once we get there. However, at the very last set of steps on-up to the Boardwalk, the below was encountered.

Those of us feeble minded enough to fall for this began the stumble back to the check far, far away. The tide was in making the river too high to shortcut. TIMMY!! stumbled not once but twice on the irregular peaks and valleys of the beach before reaching concrete again.

Just as this group of dejected hounds hit Beach Street, on-on was given proceeding along Beach, into the large parking lot at Beach and Third and on-right and on-up to the bridge over the river. Once up to East Cliff Drive, a solved check pointed the pod on-right. Just past Pilkington Avenue, a hare arrow begged the brood to on-left across East Cliff and onto the tracks where Liquor Check would be staged. After consuming some hideous concoction here, trail proceeded east along the tracks to Seabright Avenue and a check. Here was our promised Turkey/Eagle split. The Eagles have vanished towards the Yacht Harbor. No thanks, it’s cold and dark down there, I will Turkey Trail it this night. We gobblers went on-left onto Seabright but were soon allowed to shortcut through the parking lot behind The Blue Lounge to Logan Street. Logan was loped along until Buena Vista where an on-right was indicated followed by the on-left and on-down the remnant of South Branciforte Avenue and then on-left on-up to Oceanview Park and then to transition on-right onto Oceanview Avenue.

The Eagles joined back up at Windsor Street and the entire pack found a check at Broadway. Everyone believed it simply HAD to be an on-left and it was so solved. The tribe traipsed Broadway and eventually observed the BN at Roberts Street. I must say it was a long two blocks until the REAL Beer Check in Mimi de Marta Dog Park. But we made it. And there was much rejoicing. It was but a five minute walk to the site for Religion behind Wheel Works on the now dead end section of Laurel Street Extension. It was here leather clad, skimply-attired Dung-Fu Grip fired up his Religion machine.

Here is the listing of an (extremely) abbreviated Religion so hounds could make it to I Heart Sushi prior to the 9PM closing time: Visitors were welcomed; hares were roasted; analversaries were celebrated(BOTH hares!) and Pink Cherry Licker was congratulated on completing another trip around our sun. This Hash is over.

It was a few blocks up Front Street to I Heart Sushi where eleven hashers reassembled and ran up a food and bar tab of almost 500 bucks! Broke Bench Mountain (foolishly) offered up his credit card assuming everyone would pay him back. Gullible, isn’t he?!?

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-32.

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 nineteenth day of February in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-three.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

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

Deja vu,

One more time around. The doubling-down of Beer Check location was not the only duplication on this trail. We again fell for three hare hell. Rubik’s Pube, Snake Me Anywhere and Carlos Danger(danger being the operative word here) led the litter through a pointless series of twists and turns worthy of a bag of stale, cheap pretzels. Allow me to elaborate. Or at least as much as I can tolerate to relive.

Point A was the Red Room. This is a typical ploy when the hares are concerned their trail will not please the pack, begin trail from a trusted, loved location. This lulls the litter into a state of relaxation. Getting the group to drop their guard is an important facet of this ploy. On the brighter side of things, this Hash saw the return of Clearly Not A Hooker. She offered little excuse for her extended absence. I have taken note of the fact she missed four hashes, that’s thirty days. Maybe we should consult the police arrest records to explain her absence.

Not too long past the announced time, Instructions of Trail were delivered. There was a lot of repeating of details. I’m not sure if this was intended to begin the Groundhog Day theme or was merely due to the hare trio’s level of intoxication. I assumed that question would be answered along trail very soon. Hares out.

After the passage of fifteen minutes of our lives, co-GMs Cumz Out My Nose and Broke Bench Mountain corralled we critters and shooed us to the outdoors for Circleup for Introductions. This resulted in their hearing from: Hareless, TIMMY!!, Occasional Rapist, Flours For Anal Bum, dBASED, Cum You Will Not, Pink Cherry Licker, Steamy Baanorrhea, Clearly Not A Hooker, Dung-Fu Grip, Slow Gherkin’ and Puff the Magic Drag Queen. Pack away.

Trail took the troops south to Walnut Avenue and on-right there to Chestnut Street. Some minor confusion there resulted in trail continuing on Walnut and on-up towards Santa Cruz High School. Just past Rincon Street a set of steps on-right lead on-up to Towne Terrace, a pitiable, dark little street inhabited by old houses with shabby vehicles parked on the pothole filled street. A little farther along, a second set of steps will take you onto someone’s private property and to Grover Lane. Grover Lane is most likely as dreary as Towne Terrace but is just so damn dark it’s impossible to tell. This was the Eagle Trail while the Turkeys took the first set of steps. Grover Lane is, mercifully, but one short block and brought the Eagles back with the Turkeys on Towne Terrace. A short distance along, we discovered Rubik’s Pube dispensing hard stuff from the back of her car like a common drug pusher.

The pack staggered away on-up Towne Terrace to Mission Street and were pointed on-right to an on-right onto Chrystal Terrace. When this street ended, we took a locals-only on-left to Pine Place. Pine Place rapidly degenerates into an unpaved, unimproved, muddy footpath where all wheel drive vehicles are the norm. Pine Place ends at Union Street and dictates an on-left back to Mission Street. Trail turned on-right at Mission to a check at Chestnut Street Extension. Here’s where the tragedy of a tri-powered hare ensemble raised it’s ugly little head. There was much sniffing and more than a little cursing as hounds howled due to their inability to locate trail. All manner of avenues of exit was sniffed to no avail. On-on was eventually sounded on the opposite side of Mission proceeding on-up Highland Avenue. We were later to learn hares got their wires crossed somewhere along the line and we should never have been directed to Chestnut Street Extension. Meanwhile, back on true trail…

The pack proceeded on-up Highland to High Street and on-right to take the pedestrian overcrossing of Highway 1 and then along High Street. Once to Mission Plaza Park, our favored BN mark was observed and the hares were found there, cooler perched on a park bench like a common drunk. Two huge arrows were on the ground here. After completing our visit, trail made the members on-out down School Street to the perilous steps, both shallow and steep, on-down to North Pacific Avenue. Here we were directed on-left to River Street and on-left there again. We traveled quite a distance on River and were being to doubt the sanity of our hares. We were approaching Highway 1 and could not conceive of being forced into a crossing. At Potrero Street, a hare arrow directed us on-left. Our course of action gelled, we were heading back to Mission Plaza Park as per Groundhog Day rules! And we did, on-left and on-up back beside Holy Cross Church and back onto the previous trail to find the hares again/still in the park.

After the completion of our second (illegal) visit to Mission Plaza Park, we undertook the short jaunt to the top floor of the Locust Street Garage for Religion. Here, for a reason that remains a mystery to me, Religious Adviser Dung-Fu Grip put on a tie (a perfect Windsor knot!) and hopped up on the tailgate of Beermeister TIMMY!!’s truck and fire up his Religion machine.

Let’s recap with a sampling of down-downs issued this night: Broke Bench Mountain for DRIVING to Religion and making Cumz Out My Nose who is on crutches from her recent knee replacement surgery WALK to Religion; TIMMY!! for exhibiting his short-cutting tendencies(again!); TIMMY!! and Dung-Fu Grip for stripping on trail, well, really they were just changing clothes but they made sure their…uh…attributes were put on display; those that did not do the ‘Infinity Loop’ at Holy Cross Church; Rubik’s Pube for losing her chapeau along trail; Clearly Not A Hooker for going to the wrong parking garage for Religion and Rubik’s Pube for her impending birthday. On-on-on was staged…oh. Hares. It’s so easy to forget those wanks! Anyway, co-hares Rubik’s Pube, Carlos Danger and Snake Me Anywhere were thanked for the novel theme of their trail but I heard no compliments on trail itself. On-on-on was staged at the pop-up formerly home to Planet Fresh Burrito though Rumor Central contends a substantial percentage of the pack went next door…the Red Room!

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 remains 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-30.

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 sixth day of February in the year of our Hash two-thousand twenty-three.

Submitted with all respect due,

Puff

the

Magic Drag Queen

Surf City H3 Scribe