It was the actual birthday of Robert Burns (b. Jan 25, 1759), so most followed the hare’s guidance and wore a kilt. Even the forewarned virgin, the two-timer Just Rich had created kilt. (Not authentically worn, unfortunately for those on trail behind Just Jocelyn.) Even Just Rich’s dog was sportin’ a plaidie. Those that didn’t felt ashamed. Except Retard, who seemed oblivious to it all. Basket, probably stopped for transporting hazardous materials (the Haggis), was late, and the now cheerful pack was off promptly at 6:30.

The rain stopped just as the group started, but its effect were felt along the trail. A check was encountered at the entrance to the bike path, and sent half the pack east towards the harbor before they realized that there were no marks that way. Back on the bike path heading northeast, they soon found that the bike path might better be called the bike pond, as the rains had left 6-9 inches of water in the long low spots. Marks could be seen underwater, if you knew where to look.

The lead pack found an arrow turning left. Through a hole in the fence they went, and were well into some fine briars and mud, when they noticed the hare’s flashlight following them on the bike path. They could have just kept on, but they wimped out and turned back. After a while, another arrow sent them right. A brief bushwhack, and then the kilties got wet in earnest, as they forged across a swollen stream east. Trail led out to a path along the shore, and after a few checks, to the main path out to the point.

The main pack came out to the beach. Bondo and Retard stuck to the hare like leeches, and were able to skip this part. Too bad for them. The trail looped around the point, crossed a pond that hadn’t been there at 6 AM that day, and followed a deer path through the phragmites. This path was notable for having 4 inches of water over 1 inch of ice over 6 inches of ice-water. Lucky bastards! The hare led Bondo and Retard back a short distance on the main trail and then north to the only point of high ground in the area. Obviously the beer stop. They settled down to wait for the rest. With a beer, of course. Gradually, they all straggled in, and picked their way through the briars up the hill. There was plentiful beer, and savory snacks and everyone was in fine voice. And Basket wasn’t there. Oh, happiest of hashes!

The way back was through a sweetly scented pine-grove, with just enough briars to make it enjoyable by all. Trail led back to the main path, and then to the bike path where a surprising number showed their disorientation by going the wrong way. Realizing their error, they turned back and all followed the bike path southwest to the cars. Unfortunately they found Basket waiting for them. Not a kilt had he either, just a particularly unfortunate pair of plaid trousers. But the discerning among them could detect the fine smell of the Haggis coming from his car. Or was it dogshit on his shoes? We may never know, for sure.

The parking lot was secluded enough that they had the circle next to the cars. The run was rated. Plentiful shiggy, river crossing, water-ice-water, and no Basket. Hash of the year! Total: +69! Backsliders, two-timers and virgins were brought into the circle. No rings, a few lame jokes and maybe a song. Hashit went to Shemale Man for running the hash shirtless in a plaid miniskirt to the disgust of all present. And he somehow lost his BVD’s during his punishment, and ran around the circle showing off his shortcomings to everyone’s dismay.

After the closing hymn, they headed for the Oakhill Tavern. Initially, there  was some concern about the Haggis. But the hare managed to sweet talk the waitress and owner into allowing a wee snack, seeing as the array of kilts was so enticing to the other patrons. The steaks were cooked inside by the establishment, and Flexi piped the Haggis in with style. No Kilt-costume malfunctions occurred (although the hare got a few strange looks in the men’s room as he lifted and let fly), and they may even let us come back some time.