Rehash of Winter Camp, Run 1620, 7 Sept 2013
Arriving at Ashley Gorge at 6pm we found some Hashers were already there and after unloading the car and selecting our bunks (shared bunkhouses for all), we joined them for the first of several beers. It didn’t take long for the place to fill up and eventually a group of forty-five Hashers assembled.
We all had to register and received a goodie bag (6 bottle cotton wine carrier) containing the following:
A Stainless Steel Dog Bowl (to eat from)
A Fork (to eat food from the Dog Bowl)
A Tea Towel (to dry the Dog Bowl and fork)
A Clear Plastic Flashing Half Pint Mug (Doris’ flashing unit was missing! Lab Rat’s quality inspection process obviously needs improvement!)
An old Hash Magazine (presumably included by Dagy to show how young and fit he was back in the 1930’s, his mug was plastered all over it)
A laminated Place Mat with lots of useful (?) hash information.
A Bottle Opener (for emergency use only of course)
A Bag of Condoms & Femdoms (?)
Oxy gave us the opportunity (strong-armed more like) to buy some raffle tickets, which I duly did. I didn’t hear of anyone complaining of being physically assaulted by her but you never know what the quiet ones are capable of.
Everyone moved around chatting to different people, renewing old acquaintances or making new ones. There was a selection of two tap beers; one was a Dark Ale but a little too sweet for me and the other a Lager that tasted ok (where was the Real Ale?). Wine was available should you want it and of course a vast selection of homemade spirits. Music was supplied by the maestro himself, the one and only, Wank Plank, ably assisted by a mate on guitar. I never realised Wank was such a talent; watch out “New Zealand’s got Talent” is all I can say…
Dinner was served at about 8:30pm and we all traipsed into the canteen where we surveyed a selection of hot and cold food. It all looked very appetising and we filled our Dog Bowls, found a place to sit and filled our bellies.
The rest of the evening was devoted to the party. Lots of drinking, a little dancing, some long tales (some were even believable) and eventually, a short walk to the bunkhouse to join in the snoring saw the end of our first night.
We got up just after breakfast had started and took our dog bowls with us to the cafeteria. Scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns, mushrooms, baked beans and that was just the hot stuff. The breakfast selection would have done any large hotel chain justice; they were spoiling us. We helped ourselves and I helped myself to some seconds, a nice thick bacon sandwich, couldn’t let it go to waste after all.
After breakfast, we assembled for the hash run; it was just after 10am. We knew it would be tough, someone suggested that it would be at least 10km. With the surrounding vertical hills that would be very daunting. I hoped they would just take us along the Ashley River. Normal hash rules applied and we all had to sign out for the run and have a beer before the actual start. As the organisers couldn’t get their act together (nothing new there I hear you say), the start was delayed; I ended up having two beers. Then, just as the hash looked like it was going to start, Doris gave me her bottle of beer. “I’m going to be with the front runners and won’t be able to take this,” she said as she thrust the beer into my hand. Nothing else for it, but drink it as I went along. The trail started through the woods beside the river before suddenly backtracking and heading for the steepest of hills. “You can’t be serious”, exclaimed several hashers as they strained their necks looking for the top of the hill. “There is no short cut, you have to go to the top or you’ll get lost”, lied Dogs. I knew at the time he was lying but had no way of proving it. I started the long steep climb.
All around hashers were taking a breath and admiring the beautiful views before heading further up the slope. Several people tripped or slipped including me. None of them however was daft enough to try to grab a Gorse bush as they slipped as I did. I didn’t hold on long and as my balance went completely. I butted the bush with my forehead, scarred for life I am!
Finally, with the summit in sight, I could hear some strange strangulated calls I couldn’t understand. As I climbed on top of the hill, I too made a strange strangulated sound. Another steeper hill was before me. “There is no short cut, you have to go to the top or you’ll get lost”, more lies from Dogs or was it just bollocks. I pressed on and on, stopping several times and slipping once again before finally getting to the top. I looked around and in the beautiful sunshine admired the majesty of the view. The braided Ashley River winding its way to the coast, the fields full of sheep and hills covered in forests. It was truly magnificent and worth the effort of getting to the top.
The trail went along the ridgeline for a while before we had to negotiate a barbed wire gate and round an outcrop only to encounter yet another hill. I slumped to the ground breathing heavily, other hashers slumped beside me. Dogs produced a hipflask of brandy (he’s not that bad after all) and after we all had a long pull on it, we set off for the summit. Finally, having crested the hill, I could see the piss stop. It was downhill now. Doris was there and claimed to have been there for about thirty minutes. I got a beer and had a long drink. We headed off across and down some fields, yet again I slipped due to the steepness of the slopes. I watched as others decided the easiest way down was on their bums and sliding, straight through the sheep droppings! The second piss stop was not far away and after another beer, we headed off again. The final piss stop was where we had started from and everyone signed back in. The hash had taken over three hours, I had no idea how far it was but I was tired.
As usual, fines followed in the circle before we all headed back towards the bunkhouses for the ‘Games’. First up was a form of golf, Gloworm provided the clubs and table tennis balls and someone else the plastic buckets. Chaos ensued as the organising committee showed their strength by redefining the rules to suit whoever was shouting loudest at the time. My team won that one. The next game involved carrying a different team member on a toilet seat over each leg of a shuttle run course whilst drinking a beer. We were disqualified for having the intelligence to have our lightest team member, Fiddlee Dick, take her top off on each leg and put someone else’s on. She was impersonating other team members and there was nothing in the rules to say you couldn’t! The final game was the boat race and Fiddlee dick excelled, whilst 007 shamed himself gagging on his beer, twice! If it hadn’t been for the fact RLD was refereeing and making the rules up as the race went along, we would have lost to the Nelson Hash, but finally 007 drank like a man (boy) and nearly matched Fiddlee Dick’s efforts.
With the games concluded and much discussion about the fairness of the refereeing we all headed for lunch. Cold meats, cheeses and bread, heaven on a plate and washed down with yet another beer. Some Hashers were in need of an afternoon kip now and some had actually earned it (Fiddlee Dick hadn’t drunk for over month). The rest of course stayed with the beer and drank steadily until it was time to get ready for the evening’s festivities, a themed evening of Ashley Hillbillies. We had borrowed some old clothes from Doris’ brother and his wife to make our costumes from, and we did look rather good if I do say so myself (so what happened to the best dressed prize I’d like to know?).
Once everyone had reassembled and more beer had been drunk, it was time for dinner. Yet another feast faced us and yet again we manfully or in certain cases womanly attacked the food. It did, just briefly, cross my mind that I could just sit in the canteen and graze on the food for the whole evening. Sense, however prevailed and I washed my Dog Bowl and returned to the essential task of drinking beer. I was not the only one and you guessed it; more beer was drunk by all and lots of chatting eschewed. Hashers who had been for a kip re-emerged and as the sun set and the evening started to get cold, a brazier appeared. Mole brought out a contraption that Heath Robinson would have been proud of. He and Sif filled the tank at the bottom with kerosene and poured some barbeque lighter fuel on top. A cigarette lighter set it roaring and roar it did especially when they fully opened the air vent. It radiated a glorious heat but you didn’t want to be downwind of it and get a lungful of the exhaust fumes. We all stood around chatting away, only leaving the heat to refill our glasses. Few went inside to where the music was (Wank wasn’t actually performing this time, he was drinking with the rest of us), the ambiance by the brazier was all that most wanted. We had an early night, in the bunkhouse before eleven and the chorus of snoring was a familiar tune.
Yet again, we rose for breakfast at eight thirty, this time we had sausages added to the list of eggs, bacon, mushrooms, beans etc. I filled my Dog Bowl and filled my belly. After breakfast was the recovery run, it’s not a run in fact, but a walk. We congregated at one end of the camp, signed the book out (did we actually sign back in?) each received a plastic bag and slowly walked the length of the camp picking up any rubbish we found on the way.
The final event was a hair of the dog, some fines and the raffle. I won third prize, a bottle of Stil NZ Vodka. All in all a very good weekend and first and foremost I must thank and congratulate Ezee Ryder and her ‘friend’ for their efforts in the kitchen. The food was fabulous, scrumptious, mountainous and just what the doctor ordered. As for the organising committee, thank-you for arranging a very enjoyable and memorable weekend, we all appreciate the effort and sacrifices you make (I bet that gets some comments from the unwashed masses or is it unwashed hashers).
OnOn
FurLined Booties
We all had to register and received a goodie bag (6 bottle cotton wine carrier) containing the following:
A Stainless Steel Dog Bowl (to eat from)
A Fork (to eat food from the Dog Bowl)
A Tea Towel (to dry the Dog Bowl and fork)
A Clear Plastic Flashing Half Pint Mug (Doris’ flashing unit was missing! Lab Rat’s quality inspection process obviously needs improvement!)
An old Hash Magazine (presumably included by Dagy to show how young and fit he was back in the 1930’s, his mug was plastered all over it)
A laminated Place Mat with lots of useful (?) hash information.
A Bottle Opener (for emergency use only of course)
A Bag of Condoms & Femdoms (?)
Oxy gave us the opportunity (strong-armed more like) to buy some raffle tickets, which I duly did. I didn’t hear of anyone complaining of being physically assaulted by her but you never know what the quiet ones are capable of.
Everyone moved around chatting to different people, renewing old acquaintances or making new ones. There was a selection of two tap beers; one was a Dark Ale but a little too sweet for me and the other a Lager that tasted ok (where was the Real Ale?). Wine was available should you want it and of course a vast selection of homemade spirits. Music was supplied by the maestro himself, the one and only, Wank Plank, ably assisted by a mate on guitar. I never realised Wank was such a talent; watch out “New Zealand’s got Talent” is all I can say…
Dinner was served at about 8:30pm and we all traipsed into the canteen where we surveyed a selection of hot and cold food. It all looked very appetising and we filled our Dog Bowls, found a place to sit and filled our bellies.
The rest of the evening was devoted to the party. Lots of drinking, a little dancing, some long tales (some were even believable) and eventually, a short walk to the bunkhouse to join in the snoring saw the end of our first night.
We got up just after breakfast had started and took our dog bowls with us to the cafeteria. Scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns, mushrooms, baked beans and that was just the hot stuff. The breakfast selection would have done any large hotel chain justice; they were spoiling us. We helped ourselves and I helped myself to some seconds, a nice thick bacon sandwich, couldn’t let it go to waste after all.
After breakfast, we assembled for the hash run; it was just after 10am. We knew it would be tough, someone suggested that it would be at least 10km. With the surrounding vertical hills that would be very daunting. I hoped they would just take us along the Ashley River. Normal hash rules applied and we all had to sign out for the run and have a beer before the actual start. As the organisers couldn’t get their act together (nothing new there I hear you say), the start was delayed; I ended up having two beers. Then, just as the hash looked like it was going to start, Doris gave me her bottle of beer. “I’m going to be with the front runners and won’t be able to take this,” she said as she thrust the beer into my hand. Nothing else for it, but drink it as I went along. The trail started through the woods beside the river before suddenly backtracking and heading for the steepest of hills. “You can’t be serious”, exclaimed several hashers as they strained their necks looking for the top of the hill. “There is no short cut, you have to go to the top or you’ll get lost”, lied Dogs. I knew at the time he was lying but had no way of proving it. I started the long steep climb.
All around hashers were taking a breath and admiring the beautiful views before heading further up the slope. Several people tripped or slipped including me. None of them however was daft enough to try to grab a Gorse bush as they slipped as I did. I didn’t hold on long and as my balance went completely. I butted the bush with my forehead, scarred for life I am!
Finally, with the summit in sight, I could hear some strange strangulated calls I couldn’t understand. As I climbed on top of the hill, I too made a strange strangulated sound. Another steeper hill was before me. “There is no short cut, you have to go to the top or you’ll get lost”, more lies from Dogs or was it just bollocks. I pressed on and on, stopping several times and slipping once again before finally getting to the top. I looked around and in the beautiful sunshine admired the majesty of the view. The braided Ashley River winding its way to the coast, the fields full of sheep and hills covered in forests. It was truly magnificent and worth the effort of getting to the top.
The trail went along the ridgeline for a while before we had to negotiate a barbed wire gate and round an outcrop only to encounter yet another hill. I slumped to the ground breathing heavily, other hashers slumped beside me. Dogs produced a hipflask of brandy (he’s not that bad after all) and after we all had a long pull on it, we set off for the summit. Finally, having crested the hill, I could see the piss stop. It was downhill now. Doris was there and claimed to have been there for about thirty minutes. I got a beer and had a long drink. We headed off across and down some fields, yet again I slipped due to the steepness of the slopes. I watched as others decided the easiest way down was on their bums and sliding, straight through the sheep droppings! The second piss stop was not far away and after another beer, we headed off again. The final piss stop was where we had started from and everyone signed back in. The hash had taken over three hours, I had no idea how far it was but I was tired.
As usual, fines followed in the circle before we all headed back towards the bunkhouses for the ‘Games’. First up was a form of golf, Gloworm provided the clubs and table tennis balls and someone else the plastic buckets. Chaos ensued as the organising committee showed their strength by redefining the rules to suit whoever was shouting loudest at the time. My team won that one. The next game involved carrying a different team member on a toilet seat over each leg of a shuttle run course whilst drinking a beer. We were disqualified for having the intelligence to have our lightest team member, Fiddlee Dick, take her top off on each leg and put someone else’s on. She was impersonating other team members and there was nothing in the rules to say you couldn’t! The final game was the boat race and Fiddlee dick excelled, whilst 007 shamed himself gagging on his beer, twice! If it hadn’t been for the fact RLD was refereeing and making the rules up as the race went along, we would have lost to the Nelson Hash, but finally 007 drank like a man (boy) and nearly matched Fiddlee Dick’s efforts.
With the games concluded and much discussion about the fairness of the refereeing we all headed for lunch. Cold meats, cheeses and bread, heaven on a plate and washed down with yet another beer. Some Hashers were in need of an afternoon kip now and some had actually earned it (Fiddlee Dick hadn’t drunk for over month). The rest of course stayed with the beer and drank steadily until it was time to get ready for the evening’s festivities, a themed evening of Ashley Hillbillies. We had borrowed some old clothes from Doris’ brother and his wife to make our costumes from, and we did look rather good if I do say so myself (so what happened to the best dressed prize I’d like to know?).
Once everyone had reassembled and more beer had been drunk, it was time for dinner. Yet another feast faced us and yet again we manfully or in certain cases womanly attacked the food. It did, just briefly, cross my mind that I could just sit in the canteen and graze on the food for the whole evening. Sense, however prevailed and I washed my Dog Bowl and returned to the essential task of drinking beer. I was not the only one and you guessed it; more beer was drunk by all and lots of chatting eschewed. Hashers who had been for a kip re-emerged and as the sun set and the evening started to get cold, a brazier appeared. Mole brought out a contraption that Heath Robinson would have been proud of. He and Sif filled the tank at the bottom with kerosene and poured some barbeque lighter fuel on top. A cigarette lighter set it roaring and roar it did especially when they fully opened the air vent. It radiated a glorious heat but you didn’t want to be downwind of it and get a lungful of the exhaust fumes. We all stood around chatting away, only leaving the heat to refill our glasses. Few went inside to where the music was (Wank wasn’t actually performing this time, he was drinking with the rest of us), the ambiance by the brazier was all that most wanted. We had an early night, in the bunkhouse before eleven and the chorus of snoring was a familiar tune.
Yet again, we rose for breakfast at eight thirty, this time we had sausages added to the list of eggs, bacon, mushrooms, beans etc. I filled my Dog Bowl and filled my belly. After breakfast was the recovery run, it’s not a run in fact, but a walk. We congregated at one end of the camp, signed the book out (did we actually sign back in?) each received a plastic bag and slowly walked the length of the camp picking up any rubbish we found on the way.
The final event was a hair of the dog, some fines and the raffle. I won third prize, a bottle of Stil NZ Vodka. All in all a very good weekend and first and foremost I must thank and congratulate Ezee Ryder and her ‘friend’ for their efforts in the kitchen. The food was fabulous, scrumptious, mountainous and just what the doctor ordered. As for the organising committee, thank-you for arranging a very enjoyable and memorable weekend, we all appreciate the effort and sacrifices you make (I bet that gets some comments from the unwashed masses or is it unwashed hashers).
OnOn
FurLined Booties