Run #1641: The Total Eclipse Hash<br/>
Time: 6.30 pm<br/>
Date: Aug 20, 2017<br/>
Hare: O'Bone'r and Fineass Cuntsultant<br/>
Start: Brenton Point Park, Newport<br/>
Pack: Basket, Rusty, WIPOS, WHO, Pussy Galore, Crotch Tiger, The Tird in the Beaver, Butt Plug, Fecal Veneer, Just Pat<br/>
Visitors: Four on the floor/two in the air (San Diego H3), and Ice My Crack (Shenzhen H3)<br/>
Hashit: Tird in the Beaver<br/><br/>

There was so much to say about this Hash, that I couldn't wait for the Wanker Hashit to fulfill his duties. At 2:47pm, while the Hares was tossing flour to the seagulls, the moon passed in front of the sun causing an eerie shadow upon the water and surrounding terra firma of Brenton Point. The view from this location, as seen in the photo below, was unsurpassed in all of New England. The gulls were quick to gobble up the flour and the Hares had to go back twice to replace the lost trail markings, but in the darkness, got terribly lost and wondered aimlessly along the nature trails in the park. Luckily, as they became weakened and hopelessly in search of their trail, they came across the perfectly ripe blackberry bushes. Refreshed and in need of beer, they returned to the parking lot off Ocean Drive, where the pack was slowly arriving.<br/><br/>
WHO was already there as I pulled into the lot of Brenton Point. Standing there, overlooking the ocean, it was an angry sea, my friends. It was boiling and calling us to jump in like the song of the sirens called to Odysseus. For those that don't know, Odysseus was curious about the Sirens singing to him, and so, on the advice of Circe, he had all of his sailors plug their ears with beeswax and tie him to the mast. He ordered his men to leave him tied tightly to the mast, no matter how much he would beg. The Sirens were dangerous creatures, and like the Bimbos of the RIH3, they lured men with their enchanting music and voices, often to shipwreck on the rocky coast of Rhode Island. Roman poets placed them on some small islands called Sirenum scopuli, just off the coast of Massachusetts. Sometime later, rationalized traditions, the literal geography of the "flowery" island of Anthemoessa, or Anthemusa, is fixed: sometimes off Cape Cod and at others in the islands known as the Sirenuse, near Hope or Nantucket. All such locations were surrounded by cliffs and rocks. It was a song known to many of the men of RIH3, that would intimately be their downfall....but I digress.<br/><br/>
WHO and I enjoyed a beer, offered by the Hares, as Rusty pulled and shared my beverage. It was a flowery IPA that had a very nice finish with a touch of musk and dark fragrance of woman. Delightful! I almost hesitated to pass the bottle back to Rusty, but he insisted. Next came WIPOS and more of the crew that would enjoy this lovely Hash. Last in before the 6:30 start was Butt Plug. He too had followed the moon shadow to the very ends of Rhode Island. The gulls were still pecking at the the flour and soared overhead as the Hares chased them from the tasty lumps of dried uncooked biscuits.<br/><br/>
Two visitors joined the fray and introduced themselves. Four on the Floor and Two in the Air, from SDH3 has run with us before, notably at the infamous Fort Wetherill Hash, where Basket saved the day for the very loud Hashers cowering behind rocks. The other visitor from China has been in our area for 7 years and finally decided to give us a try. I'm sure he'll be back after this glorious event; just as Aerola was to return. The pack, almost complete now, started out following flour. Into the bush heading westerly, the first check sent Basket right to a dead end of thick briars, while Rusty led the pack out into the open trails leading to the fire tower. He climbed the tower and finding nothing, ran back on trail and straight into me. We both retraced his tracks to the base of the flour were we found the WS (whiskey stop) marked on the first step. Feeling stupid, as well he should, went to the top where others not as stupid waited for the Hares to bring cheese and crackers with a fine wine to celebrate the total eclipse of the century.<br/><br/>
A few songs were attempted, but most enjoyed delightful brie and halopeno cheddar washed down with a fragrant 2017 chablis. The Hares left to finish marking the trail, making sure the damned gulls had not removed the most important trail of the day, to the Beer Stop. I was following Just Pat, WHO could not help but stop and engulf as many blackberries as his little chubby cheeks could hold. We ran out towards the main parking lot on Ocean Drive and continued running towards Newport. Flour was found heading over the barrier, down the cliff to the water. The Hares had the beer on the rocks overlooking Beaver Tail, and we immediately started washing down the damned whine and cheese. A call of OnOn was heard over the roar of the sea crashing on the rocks below, and Pussy bounded over the cliff to our singing. Just as the song of the sirens called Odephus, she was unable to control herself and literally jumped in our laps. It was more than this hasher's poor heart could take, so I jumped into the water to lower my blood pressure. It was the first time in recent history, that Basket would not be naked as a perfect opportunity was missed. <br/><br/>
With the beer finished, we were back on trail to our cars. The circle was formed in the woods, just off the parking area. The Hash was rated a positive 6.9. The Hares received their DD and sang of lost love and lust. Backsliders and Visitors were next with a few pathetic attempts of singing on key. Lastly, the Tird was awarded the Hashit, for reasons lost to me now, but I'm sure if he ever gets off his ass to put pen to paper about it, we'll all know. From here we traveled to  O'Brien's Pub for some food and drink, as we reminisced about the wonder of Hashing around the world.<br/>

Basket<br/>

<image src="http://rih3.com/Images/sunset.jpg"><br/