Run 900 – Waratah Winterhash
Hares: Urang and Phay Ray.
Gypsies Pee Wee and Saturn, and later A Bit of This, arrived at Waratah Friday to set up their camper vans. They woke on Saturday morning to find the town smothered with snow, with conditions that icy they believed there would be only three participants in Winterhash this year. Peewee pleaded to the Hash Monk to do something, so A Bit of This said “No worries” and waved her magic cigarette in the air. Immediately it began to rain, and soon the snow and ice had been washed from the roads. But ABoT’s powers are not easily leashed, and she was not able to stop the rain. At least, she reasoned, if I had not been here there would have been gale force winds, temperatures in the minus 40s and Hashers freezing to death on the r*n. SES officers would have been collecting flash frozen Hashers in various poses as they froze in mid-stride. Thanks be to ABoT.
Late on Saturday morning other Hashers arrived and found places to park in the hotel mud bath car park. ABoT, still feeling guilty, invited them into her van for a port but eventually found that she had gained a place in the Guinness Book of Records for the most people assembled in a camper van drinking port and wishing they were home in front of the fire.
Hashers began negotiating for the best room in the hotel, with Pioneer changing rooms to get the absolute best one, only to find later that it was above the bar and was noisy all night. A procession of people tracked mud up the stairs as the moved into their rooms.
The time came for the r*n. Urang tried to brief the crowd but true Hashers don’t listen to briefings and there was much “What’s going on?” as a procession of cars took the mob a few km away and dumped them into the original Dead Centre of town. With a cry of “On On”, the r*n started. The small group of r*nners soon disappeared into the distance, leaving a large group of stragglers mooching along in the rain.
Trail followed the road back towards town for a km or so before turning left into a dirt road along the edge of a lake. It then headed into bush where some straggly bushes tore at legs leaving plenty of scratches and giving the leeches a good start. Trail then emerged onto another dirt road following a fence line. Here the Hashers had a choice.
R*n on the narrow strip of solid ground on the left and get torn to shreds on the barbed wire.
R*n on the even narrower strip of solid ground on the right and get torn to shreds by the shrubbery.
R*n on the open and much wider section between these extremes and alternately get trapped in the mud or drowned in the puddles.
However even good bits like this had to end and soon the Hashers encountered Phay Ray with a car full of drinks and chocolate. Most r*nners r*n o, although some did stop for a sip and to say G’day you bitch! The stragglers, though, like any excuse to stop, and had to be forcibly moved on by Phay Ray after eating and drinking everything in sight.
Trail now followed an undulating button grass plain before emerging back onto the road and an HHH sending them back to the cars. The r*nners arrived cold and wet, with long waits ahead of them for the stragglers holding all car keys. Fortunately a few had keys and a car shuttle soon had the FRB’s back at the hotel.
Now it came to pass that even the stragglers emerged from the scrub and shuffled back to the cars, slower than Brown’s cows. A few drivers came along and picked up the better looking women, leaving the rest to fare for themselves. Way behind was Tracker, who had become tired of standing in the rain waiting for Tinsel and the car keys. He did a second lap of the trail, hoping to catch up with them, only to find they had taken a short cut to the road after the piss stop. He caught the stragglers at the car park after r*nning the course twice.
Back at the hotel, Ringo valiantly tried to run a hash circle, but was overwhelmed by peripheral circles as everyone excitedly bullshitted about their prowess on the r*n. A lot of people were made to have a drink before being sent to their rooms to prepare for the evening’s festivities.
There were lots of festivities. Ask Chewy, who out-festivitied the lot of them. Ask Gerardine (Noël) and Mabel, both of whom developed shagger’s back without the shagging. Ask Knickers, who hogged the microphone all night and promised Ratchet she wouldn’t have enough voice left to talk on Sunday, but then reneged. Ask anyone except Bastard and Ratchet, who retired early.
Ratchet (who wasn’t one of the Stragglers)
R*n 901 Winterhash Recovery R*n
After the revelry of the previous night, hotel management were amazed to find a queue outside the dining room door at least ¾ hour before opening time. When it did open, a wave of people surged in, overwhelming the single slice toaster and one egg cooker, but eventually everyone was fed and starting to look forward to their recovery r*n. All except the one who weren’t, and there were many of them! Ask Chewy!
Many people had to go home, but a reasonable pack assembled in the rain for the r*n. When “On On” was called, Ratchet was already part way along trail, only warming up, you see, and accidentally finding trail. Trail went up a side street and back along behind the pub, with Ratchet calling the pack on. A strange thing happened here. Only a few people took advantage of the big hash opportunity, with the majority opting to follow trail the long way round.
Ballpoint and the Inlet caught up with Ratchet, taking turns to find trail and lose it again. To keep warm in the cold wind and rain they jogged at times, but found this got them too far ahead of those despicable Stragglers.
Trail trespassed through a local’s back yard, over his back fence and up a hill where it rejoined a road leading back to the centre of town. Trail was lost for some time near the lake in the middle of town, but Ballpoint was blithely unaware of this as he raced past a false trail sign and continued to the end of the street where he miraculously encountered trail again. In the meantime the confusion further back allowed some of the Stragglers to catch up until Inlet found trail and led the pack towards Ballpoint.
Along the way they saw a strange looking local in r*nning clothes, legs purple with the cold, fishing in the creek running into the lake. This person answers to the name of FC, but the locals don’t know much about him.
Trail followed the lake, crossed the road past some tourist traps which trapped some Hashers, and finished at the top of a cliff overlooking a waterfall. Expressing great surprise, Ballpoint wandered down to the bottom to try to figure out how the waterfall worked, while the remainder in dribs and drabs wandered back to the pub, even slower than the worst of Brown’s cows.
Another noisy Hash Circle was held, noisy not only because the Launceston Hashers were still there, but someone had allowed Tals and Knickers into the room.
Chewy showed how he can still down after a night of revelry.
Ratchet FRB*, MBPL** BA (Hons)***
* Front R*nning Bastard
** Member Burnie Public Library
*** Hon Sec (Bullshit Artist)