Morons' Mountain Hash

Run #1005, July 3, 2005

Hare:  Fuwangi Boner

Location:  Stinson Mountain, Rumney, NH.

Weather:  Clear, low 80's.

Present:  Basket Boom Boom, Dry Foot Fairy, Oozing SD, SESYB, Dr W.H.O., Seamus.

Present at the Beer Check:  The Fat One.

Not Present, but excused:  Tinker, Short-shorts, Granola Balls, Just Big Sh*t, Dogmeat, Snotty.

Not Present, but inexcusable:  Bondo Jovi, Short Peck.

 

The Run:

Hung-over from the night before, in unfamiliar wilderness territory, contending with heat, insects, flour shortages, and what he thought was poison-ivy, the hare came through with minutes to spare and set a trail. Well, coming through might be a bit of an exaggeration. But at least there was a hash. Not on a Monday. Not in Rhode Island. Oh just face it! Everyone knew this was going to suck! But an excuse to have beer was needed. (Bondo never needs an excuse, so he made a last minute decision to skip the run. He has never shown such good sense. All are worried.) They gave the hare ten minutes to drive ahead and "finish" his trail. They drove off, hardly filling Basket's van. They soon picked up the hare marking Quincy Road about 25 yards away from his van. Great! He climbed aboard. They stopped at The Fat One's house to try to recruit him. He also was too wise. So finally the few remaining diehards were led like lambs to the slaughter, to the starting point at a tree farm east of Stinson Lake Road.

They entered a meadow together heading east. No marks were seen. The overgrown grasses, bittersweet and stinging nettles hid the flour well. The hare had decided not to try to mark any trees or rocks that might actually allow his trail to be seen. He got them started. Trail led slightly north of east and uphill. The few marks followed old logging roads that were so overgrown that no one even tried to pretend to be running. And the woods alongside were impassable. The progress was slow. The mosquitoes had it easy. Some light shiggy was encountered in the form of spring-water and rainwater run-offs crossing the trails. But mostly it was knee-deep grasses that they had to wade through, and old brush piles that they had to pick their way over.

After a few checks it became clear that the hare was trying to climb to the top of the southern ridge of Stinson Mountain. Most of the checks could be solved simply by taking the uphill route. Basket, having some familiarity with the area, left the main pack and paralleled the ridge line. He was soon off trail. He was soon lost. Oozing followed him briefly, but was soon drawn back by the whistles of Dry Foot and WHO in the lead. They turned southeast. They crossed several more substantial left-over limb piles from the lumbering operations and finally reached the top of the ridge on a falsie. Basket rejoined them. He was soon lost again.

After a brief bushwhack, the trail turned south and downhill. It was now a much better developed trail, with less brush. It was well-shaded. The mosquitoes were happy for the break from the hot sun. The hashers finally were together, more or less, loping down the ridge. They were running. They were whistling and yelling. They might have been actually mistaken for hashers for the first time. The trail was straight and check-free. They finally came out at a (different) tree farm. The hare gave strict instructions to follow the trail quickly and quietly on the north side of a stone wall. He hadn't wanted to bother with getting permission for crossing someone's yard. He's obviously become hardened since his last trail in Woonsocket.

The group emerged, WHO and Dry Foot leading the way onto Quincy Road. An arrow pointed east. But the hare's truck was west. The hare's truck contained beer. Q.E.D. About ¾ mile of pavement west and they were at the hare's truck. They were greeted by The Fat One! Brilliant! The hare arrived and unlocked. They took the cooler around behind one of the many large boulders and had their beer check. Finally, some enjoyment from this run. They had some beer. They sang some songs. They swatted some mosquitoes. And with great joy they learned that they would be driven back to Basket's to finish the run. The hare drove Basket back to the start to collect his car. The Fat One drove the pack back to Basket's to collect some more beer.

The circle was joined in Loon Lake, next to Basket's dock. Ratings for the run: Impromptu trail, virgin territory, nettles and mosquitoes, and no Bondo had to compete with limited shiggy, too little elevation gain, and too long a trail from BC to Circle. Total: +6.9. Hashit to Basket for getting persistently off-trail despite hosting and instructing the hare. The Fat One was punished for showing up. Everyone was secretly envious that he and Bondo had not even tried to make the run. The circle would have gone on, but for the fact that Basket's neighbors, some with young children, were also out in the water. No one could remember any inoffensive songs. And they were hungry. So they packed it in. They swung low and came out for barbeque, Beer, Bondo dynamites, beer, WHO cheese and bread, and some beer. Bondo entered the canoe with umbrella sails, Dry Foot tried to steal various docks from around the lake, and WHO and Oozing tried to catch fish in a nearby swamp maple tree. There were no fish in the tree. But there are now several of Short Peck's prize lures in this tree. Then, Snotty arrived. This disaster ended the hash for sure!

 

On On