Run # 2057 Just the Tip's Trail Fiasco Hash 7/28/25<br/>
Where: Big River<br/>
Hare: Pussy Galore<br/>
Hounds: Shemale, OOzing, Rusty, Basket, WHO, WIPOS, Just Pat, Just the Tip <br/>
Hashit: Basket<br/><br/>

On a warm evening in Big River, just beyond Tarbox Pond on Hopkins Hill Rd, the notorious Pack of WHO, WIPOS, Rusty, Pussy Galore, Just Pat, OOzing, Shemale Man, and the ever-scheming Basket-gathered for what was billed as a 5-mile hash trail called by Just the Tip. The stated length alone should've been a warning, but Basket, knowing the area like the back of his beer-soaked brain, had grand plans to outsmart the hare and slash the trail to a breezy 2 miles. Spoiler alert: the trail had other ideas.<br/><br/>

The pack took off, chasing flour like a gang of caffeinated squirrels, barreling down towards the Carr River. The trail veered left toward Tarbox, and Basket, with his shortcut senses tingling, bombed downhill, only to stumble upon WIPOS and Rusty, who were also plotting their own rogue routes. "Screw five miles," Basket muttered, eyeing the terrain. Rusty, with the confidence of a man who's lost his way before, peeled left. WIPOS, ever the contrarian, bolted right. Basket, sticking to his guns, charged straight ahead like a misguided missile.<br/><br/>

Then came the beaver dam. Basket skidded to a halt, staring at the rickety pile of sticks and mud. "No way," he thought, imagining himself plunging into the murky depths. But after a moment of indecision and a quick double-back, he spotted flour on the other side. With the grace of a drunk giraffe, he tiptoed across, only to find a lone check mark mocking him. The trail was playing hard to get.<br/><br/>

Basket spent what felt like an eternity zigzagging around the southern tip of Carrs Pond, cursing under his breath as flour marks played hide-and-seek. Finally, near the rope swing, he hit the jackpot: a beer stop! There, lounging in the cool water like a couple of hash royalty, were Just the Tip and Just Pat, sipping brews and looking smug. "Nice shortcut, genius," Just Pat called out, tossing Basket a can. Stripping to his skivvies, Basket joined them, the trio splashing and sipping while waiting for WIPOS and Rusty to stumble in. Spoiler; they didn't take too long. Those two were probably still lost, arguing over whose shortcut was dumber, and finally decided to follow the old fuck, Basket<br/><br/>

Beers drained, the pack slogged back across the Carr River to the car park, muddy, wet, and only mildly triumphant. The pack eventually regrouped, and the trail was unanimously rated "shit"-not only because of the hare, but because Basket's grand shortcut shaved a pathetic half-mile off the 5-mile slog. The hashers, in their infinite wisdom, bestowed the dreaded Hashit on Basket for his epic failure. "Half a mile? Really?" OOzing jeered, shaking his head.<br/><br/>

Undeterred, the pack piled into their cars and rolled to Tavern on the Hill, where they drowned their muddy misadventure in frothy brews and greasy bites. As the night wound down, Basket raised his glass, grinning. "To shortcuts!" he toasted, and the pack roared with laughter—because in Big River, even a shit trail makes for a damn good story.<br/><br/>