15 May 2008
87. Chili, an Oinker and a Really Tall Mountain
Black Sheep H3 - 11 April 08 to 13 April 08
FRIDAY
Did you know barnacles can have penises up to eight times their body length? We're talking the biggest in the animal kindom, relative to their size. Yup, that's as intellectual as we would get this weekend. Sounds like a hash campout to me.
Drive time to camp: 2 hours. You don’t really feel like you’ve left Atlanta until you drive through all the sprawl and hit the first stoplight on U.S. 23. By that time, you’re about halfway through the trip. After another hour driving north, you finally feel like you’re somewhere else. Black Sheep’s first “somewhere else” for the year is helping Black Rock Mountain State Park say goodbye to winter.
Pushing the campout to the second weekend in April gave us slightly warmer weather and some hints of green that we normally don’t see in late March. The extremely bumpy dirt road down to Camp Tsatu-gi was our last obstacle to the beer. And it turns out that Beer:30 was exactly at 5:30. Time to start cooking.
I entered the annual chili cookoff foolishly thinking I might win with a thematic spin on a very traditional and well-received chili recipe. Buffalo Chili contains marinated buffalo steak, Buffalo Trace bourbon and
Búfalo Picante Classica. The giant cast iron skillet fit perfectly on the propane turkey fryer base, and starting from scratch, the chili was cooked down perfectly in less than an hour. But how can you win when you find yourself up against someone who fiendishly puts chocolate in their chili?
Read My Boobs had a convincing win over her rivals with a very dark and very hot recipe-less tomato-less chili. I remember a few of the ingredients she rattled off as she was relishing her victory: mole, dark chocolate and freshly ground roasted chiles. Evil.
There was only time for a quick cleanup before we had to get ready for the Shooting Star Hash. The donors gathered in the main cabin to tweak shots before the main event.
Here are the donors : shooters : descriptions…
Pump’tkin : Key Lime Pie : Yeah, it tastes like the pie.
Hot Pocket : Cosmojito : A creative combination of a cosmopolitan and a mojito.
Yoron Weed : Becherovka: A full bottle of the real herbal liqueur from the Czech Republic.
Deposit Slit: Witches Blood : Vodka, Grand Marnier, orange juice, cranberry juice and spices.
L&F/RMB : Mountain Mango : Blended mango, coconut vodka, lime juice and ginger ale.
Davey Crochet : Chocolate Butterballs : Buttershots, Kahlua and a creamy chocolate liqueur.
As for the trail, rain kept us under a creatively-hung and very large tarp not too far from the main campfire. And there were zero complaints about the lack of energy we had to exert. It was a fantastic batch of shooters and a good time was had by all. But it seems like some of the good times went away by the next morning, knowing about the number of hangover complaints. Well, we did see a few happy campers drinking from big cups full of shooter goodness, so maybe shooters shouldn’t turn into gulpable delights.
Around a dozen of us stayed in cabins a mile up the mountain, and the frivolity continued there from 10:30p to 4:30a. Your humble scribe didn’t make it past 1a. Ear plugs kept me from even hearing the wild storm that blew through, which pushed our bedroom door wide open. I guess G wanted inside to sample some of our delicious BEvERages.
SATURDAY
We missed breakfast. Imagine that. But we did stumble to camp in time to snatch up the last remnants of lunch. I munched on my apple as I examined the apple up the pig's ass. Oh, I haven't mentioned the pig yet.
Actually it was more like The Pig. Bwana had made a metal frame and the group got a thick metal bar through the entire pig's carcass... from the back, all the way out the mouth. A few metal ties later, and the pig was a few feet above ground, apple in ass, ready for some heat.
Amazingly enough, I actually learned something at camp: you can cook a pig without putting any heat UNDER the pig. Niplets had a secondary fire near our soon-to-be dinner, and was shoveling red-hot coals at the base of two stacks of cinderblocks on each side of the pig. The heat travels up the bricks and creates an open-air oven.
Whistles signaled the real, official, non-shooter, non-easy trail. Bwana and Dribbles scampered downhill, and I swear to you, until the end when we hit the access road back to Camp Tsatu-gi, that was the only downhill we had. And remember: everything I write is 100% factual. Lungs busted as the hounds climbed. And climbed. Climbing, dodging tree limbs above, avoiding tree trunks on the sides and stepping over fallen trees below. The views were gorgeous and the weather was perfect. There we were, r*nning off our hangovers at the highest state park in Georgia, wearing only shorts and t-shirts. Sweet.
It seems like we had stopped climbing for a while when we reached a rhododendron forest, complete with water and mud at our feet. The squishing stopped at a small stream that kicked off our final climb: a slow, painful march up the most vertical of mountain faces. The scenery here was something I had never seen before at Black Rock: A huge field of shorter, thicker, wider trees that blocked out any bit of sun and gave us plenty of branches to move around. Now on the access road, we saw a chalk mark commemorating a moment of hash history from our first year at Black Rock, and further down the hill, the glorious BN.
Here’s what’s good about Black Rock circles: There’s no rush. People have nowhere to go because we are already there. Stories were told. Butts, tongues and boobs hit the ice. And we named the newest member of the flock, who will from now on and forever more be called Centipenis. He even had a name necklace within minutes of circle ending.
This might be a good time to mention the kegs. Good beer of different varieties, all weekend. The keg that was tapped Saturday afternoon was this tasty IPA that we couldn’t seem to kill until after dinner. And since I’m on tangents, maybe I should mention the impressive work various campers did on cutting and gathering firewood. There seems to be a never-ending supply of fallen trees around camp and a chainsaw makes quick work of the bigger pieces. OK, one more tangent: the camp cabin now has a fridge and a ramp on the back side. Things are looking up.
A wheelbarrel full of snacks came out as Niplets worked out the kinks of his newest cooking method. A few of us grabbed the carving knives just before dark and our porker was soon trimmed and put next to Gentri’s chicken.
Fed and happy hashers retired to the fire. I passed out in the main cabin on a sofa next to the wood stove. At some point I was able to snap out of it for the drive up to the cabin. And let me tell you… that drive is so much easier at night when you can’t see the crazy drop-offs.
SUNDAY
I was the first one up in our cabin, determined to make breakfast. Not to mention getting to the shower before the air in the bathroom gets as polluted as a sewer line. The nine of us were soon up and cleaning, putting a shine on counters that were once covered in dirty dishes, snacks, booze and bloody mary fixings. We said goodbye to the mountain of towels and followed our noses to Sani’s hot breakfast. A group of us shifted right to the cleanup at the main cabin, while others grabbed a bag or two of trash to drive out of camp to the bear-proof bins. Drinks for the morning included Bloody Marys and various bottled brews.
Some extra credit put a new spin on the Sunday afternoon drive back home. RMB and I did the Ada-hi Falls Trail, which is halfway down the mountain. It’s a quick hike down to the falls, and a slower crawl back up. And in case you freaks drove by it but didn’t stop… yes, Goats on the Roof actually has real goats on their roof. It’s a touristy gift shop with expensive stuff inside and a ground-to-roof goat ramp outside. The goats like it on the roof because that’s how they get fed. And in case you noticed Jaemor Farms but didn’t stop at that either, here’s what you missed: Fresh produce, double-yolk eggs, scuppernong cider, boiled peanuts (in the south, pronounced ‘bald nuuuts’) and more canned jams, jellies and pickled stuff than you’ve probably ever seen before in one place.
I feel bad that I can't remember (or didn’t notice) everyone who helped throughout the weekend. It was a total team effort and a drama-free good time. Join us in 2009 for the next installment.
May the Hash get a Piece.
FRIDAY
Did you know barnacles can have penises up to eight times their body length? We're talking the biggest in the animal kindom, relative to their size. Yup, that's as intellectual as we would get this weekend. Sounds like a hash campout to me.
Drive time to camp: 2 hours. You don’t really feel like you’ve left Atlanta until you drive through all the sprawl and hit the first stoplight on U.S. 23. By that time, you’re about halfway through the trip. After another hour driving north, you finally feel like you’re somewhere else. Black Sheep’s first “somewhere else” for the year is helping Black Rock Mountain State Park say goodbye to winter.
Pushing the campout to the second weekend in April gave us slightly warmer weather and some hints of green that we normally don’t see in late March. The extremely bumpy dirt road down to Camp Tsatu-gi was our last obstacle to the beer. And it turns out that Beer:30 was exactly at 5:30. Time to start cooking.
I entered the annual chili cookoff foolishly thinking I might win with a thematic spin on a very traditional and well-received chili recipe. Buffalo Chili contains marinated buffalo steak, Buffalo Trace bourbon and
Búfalo Picante Classica. The giant cast iron skillet fit perfectly on the propane turkey fryer base, and starting from scratch, the chili was cooked down perfectly in less than an hour. But how can you win when you find yourself up against someone who fiendishly puts chocolate in their chili?
Read My Boobs had a convincing win over her rivals with a very dark and very hot recipe-less tomato-less chili. I remember a few of the ingredients she rattled off as she was relishing her victory: mole, dark chocolate and freshly ground roasted chiles. Evil.
There was only time for a quick cleanup before we had to get ready for the Shooting Star Hash. The donors gathered in the main cabin to tweak shots before the main event.
Here are the donors : shooters : descriptions…
Pump’tkin : Key Lime Pie : Yeah, it tastes like the pie.
Hot Pocket : Cosmojito : A creative combination of a cosmopolitan and a mojito.
Yoron Weed : Becherovka: A full bottle of the real herbal liqueur from the Czech Republic.
Deposit Slit: Witches Blood : Vodka, Grand Marnier, orange juice, cranberry juice and spices.
L&F/RMB : Mountain Mango : Blended mango, coconut vodka, lime juice and ginger ale.
Davey Crochet : Chocolate Butterballs : Buttershots, Kahlua and a creamy chocolate liqueur.
As for the trail, rain kept us under a creatively-hung and very large tarp not too far from the main campfire. And there were zero complaints about the lack of energy we had to exert. It was a fantastic batch of shooters and a good time was had by all. But it seems like some of the good times went away by the next morning, knowing about the number of hangover complaints. Well, we did see a few happy campers drinking from big cups full of shooter goodness, so maybe shooters shouldn’t turn into gulpable delights.
Around a dozen of us stayed in cabins a mile up the mountain, and the frivolity continued there from 10:30p to 4:30a. Your humble scribe didn’t make it past 1a. Ear plugs kept me from even hearing the wild storm that blew through, which pushed our bedroom door wide open. I guess G wanted inside to sample some of our delicious BEvERages.
SATURDAY
We missed breakfast. Imagine that. But we did stumble to camp in time to snatch up the last remnants of lunch. I munched on my apple as I examined the apple up the pig's ass. Oh, I haven't mentioned the pig yet.
Actually it was more like The Pig. Bwana had made a metal frame and the group got a thick metal bar through the entire pig's carcass... from the back, all the way out the mouth. A few metal ties later, and the pig was a few feet above ground, apple in ass, ready for some heat.
Amazingly enough, I actually learned something at camp: you can cook a pig without putting any heat UNDER the pig. Niplets had a secondary fire near our soon-to-be dinner, and was shoveling red-hot coals at the base of two stacks of cinderblocks on each side of the pig. The heat travels up the bricks and creates an open-air oven.
Whistles signaled the real, official, non-shooter, non-easy trail. Bwana and Dribbles scampered downhill, and I swear to you, until the end when we hit the access road back to Camp Tsatu-gi, that was the only downhill we had. And remember: everything I write is 100% factual. Lungs busted as the hounds climbed. And climbed. Climbing, dodging tree limbs above, avoiding tree trunks on the sides and stepping over fallen trees below. The views were gorgeous and the weather was perfect. There we were, r*nning off our hangovers at the highest state park in Georgia, wearing only shorts and t-shirts. Sweet.
It seems like we had stopped climbing for a while when we reached a rhododendron forest, complete with water and mud at our feet. The squishing stopped at a small stream that kicked off our final climb: a slow, painful march up the most vertical of mountain faces. The scenery here was something I had never seen before at Black Rock: A huge field of shorter, thicker, wider trees that blocked out any bit of sun and gave us plenty of branches to move around. Now on the access road, we saw a chalk mark commemorating a moment of hash history from our first year at Black Rock, and further down the hill, the glorious BN.
Here’s what’s good about Black Rock circles: There’s no rush. People have nowhere to go because we are already there. Stories were told. Butts, tongues and boobs hit the ice. And we named the newest member of the flock, who will from now on and forever more be called Centipenis. He even had a name necklace within minutes of circle ending.
This might be a good time to mention the kegs. Good beer of different varieties, all weekend. The keg that was tapped Saturday afternoon was this tasty IPA that we couldn’t seem to kill until after dinner. And since I’m on tangents, maybe I should mention the impressive work various campers did on cutting and gathering firewood. There seems to be a never-ending supply of fallen trees around camp and a chainsaw makes quick work of the bigger pieces. OK, one more tangent: the camp cabin now has a fridge and a ramp on the back side. Things are looking up.
A wheelbarrel full of snacks came out as Niplets worked out the kinks of his newest cooking method. A few of us grabbed the carving knives just before dark and our porker was soon trimmed and put next to Gentri’s chicken.
Fed and happy hashers retired to the fire. I passed out in the main cabin on a sofa next to the wood stove. At some point I was able to snap out of it for the drive up to the cabin. And let me tell you… that drive is so much easier at night when you can’t see the crazy drop-offs.
SUNDAY
I was the first one up in our cabin, determined to make breakfast. Not to mention getting to the shower before the air in the bathroom gets as polluted as a sewer line. The nine of us were soon up and cleaning, putting a shine on counters that were once covered in dirty dishes, snacks, booze and bloody mary fixings. We said goodbye to the mountain of towels and followed our noses to Sani’s hot breakfast. A group of us shifted right to the cleanup at the main cabin, while others grabbed a bag or two of trash to drive out of camp to the bear-proof bins. Drinks for the morning included Bloody Marys and various bottled brews.
Some extra credit put a new spin on the Sunday afternoon drive back home. RMB and I did the Ada-hi Falls Trail, which is halfway down the mountain. It’s a quick hike down to the falls, and a slower crawl back up. And in case you freaks drove by it but didn’t stop… yes, Goats on the Roof actually has real goats on their roof. It’s a touristy gift shop with expensive stuff inside and a ground-to-roof goat ramp outside. The goats like it on the roof because that’s how they get fed. And in case you noticed Jaemor Farms but didn’t stop at that either, here’s what you missed: Fresh produce, double-yolk eggs, scuppernong cider, boiled peanuts (in the south, pronounced ‘bald nuuuts’) and more canned jams, jellies and pickled stuff than you’ve probably ever seen before in one place.
I feel bad that I can't remember (or didn’t notice) everyone who helped throughout the weekend. It was a total team effort and a drama-free good time. Join us in 2009 for the next installment.
May the Hash get a Piece.
# posted by L&F @ 9:06 AM 
