Trashes from Hashes

So there I was. Drinking. When I realized that I hadn’t been to a new city to hash in more than a year. Go aHEAD and call me pathetic. In the ultimate coincidence, it was just as I was gasping at my pathetic-ness that I found out Pump’tKin was motoring up to Chattanooga for a little quality time with the ChooChooH3. Count me in.

Apparently, if you tell the drunks in Chattanooga that the hash is starting at the second Bi-Lo on Hwy 58, they know where that is: just north of Harrison Bay. This hash even had a title: The 4th Anal WASH. I don’t know what that means, but apparently some sort of shiggy is involved. Hares? Sticky Banana and Cooter Hog.

It was hot at the start, in a temperature sort of way. And lots of out-of-towners. In fact, there was more out-of-town hounds than in-town hounds (the locals drank for that later). SB dashed across the parking lot for his 10 minute HEAD-start, while the pack gyrated to “Father Abraham” and a certain Trasher hijacked circle just long enough to belt out “It’s Grandma.” On Out.

For those of you breathlessly following along with Google Maps, we hit Greenwood Road and a check had us searching up Banther and down Island Point with no luck. More Greenwood. Another check had the FRB’s running an extra mile trying to find trail, which ended up being down Snow Hill. The first beer stop was at a lot where the street crossed over water. More assfault here, and a sharp turn to a tiny gravel road off Savannah Hills Dr. Then the swimming began.

I had pushed really hard to this point, so the swimming was quite difficult. Some of us cramped in the water. Somehow, we all got across to a Penis Peninsula where SB’s parents live on the west side of the shaft. Beer stop #2. This was where I thought I was going to die of exhaustion, but guzzling a frosty Hash BEvERage of Choice woke me right up. More swimming and a little poison ivy brought us to Pierpoint and a Beer Stop on Coastal.

A mile of shiggy completed the circle jerk back to the house. Huge piles of deadfall were here, as well as a creek that turned into a warm, stinky, watery mire; either chest-deep or waist-deep, depending on your height. Just before we hit the actual lake, flour took us to Island Point Drive again, and the house. Length of true trail: 4 miles. Actual mileage: 6 miles.

Once everyone was in, circle commenced almost immediately. As was expected, we were “forced” to drink for any number of offenses. Your Humble Scribe consumed for crimes such as being a first-timer, being an out-of-towner, and being an extremely lazy swimmer. Hot dogs and other delights followed, as well as extra beer as a thank-you gift for the travelers. Plans for an on-after campout fizzled, so Pump’tkin and I ended up getting drunk with her wine-loving parental units. The homemade Licor 43 I brought for camp? We drank it at the house. Ha.

Thank you to every warm-blooded being that helped make it an entertaining day.

May the Hash Get a Piece

# posted by L&F @ 7:39 AM