Tales From the Trail - Hash #219

[WhoreShack]

Gather round you wankers, as I tell you about the incredible spectacle that was TCH3 #219. So, there we was, all 6 of us, standing in a parking lot just off of Green River Parkway just south of the county line. The hare, Goes Both Ways, was joined by a pack of tramps (Dubya's Bitch,Eat-A-Pus, Flaming Shit Pyle & Whore Shack) and only one harriette, Kinder Ball Digger. With the sun going down, down, down, GBW asked for 10 minutes (pussy) and headed toward the county line and the Savannas preserve. Sure enough, off into the usually wetlands he went, passing within sight of the pack just as time to go arrived. Now, for those of you who do not know GBW, he intentionally puts himself in position to be seen by the pack because it gets his blood pumping, and I am sure we all know what happens when the blood gets pumping. Personally I can't run in that condition, but he is Goes Both Ways, but I digress. Seeing as the pack had clearly seen the hare, the debate started: do we bee line right for him, or follow trail as it was laid? What to do, what to do. Well, I decided to go where the hare went, and set out on trail. I can only assume the rest of the pack came to the same decision, because most of us were soon heading following plops as we headed into the glorious shiggy. That is about the time the that it got a bit bloody on trail. First, I managed to fall through the litter of palm fronds that were suspended approximately 6 inches above the ground, and proceeded to receive a gnarly, bloody scratch on my shin. Not 2 minutes later, Dubya manged to trip up and cut his palm when he caught himself. OK, with blood on trail out of the way, on on after that waskly hare. "I thought we were in a drought" was Dubya's comment to the increasingly softer ground and a honest to goodness water crossing. Some, who shall remain nameless (Kinder & Pyle) chose not to soil their shoes, but kept pace none the less. On on through a back & forth of dry high ground and soggy wetlands as the trail led South by South East, toward the entrance of the preserve and marked hiking trails. As we approached within ear shot of the gate, it was decided that we would stay together in an effort to avoid using whistles and drawing the attention of the Federal game warden who would be locking the gates soon. A false trail here and a false trail there, and evidence of a mistake that had been covered up kept the hounds guessing. Oh yea, and by the way, where was Eat-A-Pus? Did that wanker bail on the trail? Oh well, on on. The injury list got longer as Dubya blew on on into the shiggy moving back West off the main trail. As Pyle was bounding into the shiggy like Tigger on caffeine, he suddenly yelped like a dog with a thorn in it's paw. Sure enough, Pyle had manged to puncture, through all protective layers of his foot, and was quickly removing all said layers and he hopped precariously on the other. After it was determined no souvenirs were left in Pyle's foot, we continued on to find the bad trail mark that Dubya had missed. Back to the main trail and full speed to the BN as GBW & Eaty were hiding just out of site. Beers were enjoyed and stories were shared as the pack and hare enjoyed the stop. Soon it was hare away and 7 minutes to on on. Pus was acting as pseudo beer bitch as he gathered the remains and toted them back to the start as the hounds let out to Jensen Beach Blvd and beyond. As the sun was finally saying goodbye for good, the pack was roaming both sides on JB Blvd looking for plops. Finally, someone checked the median, and we were on on again. Go West you wankers would have been appropriate, as the trail just kept dragging toward US1, with an occasional false trail into the shiggy. Finally, a check changes our direction into the Eagles Marsh subdivision. On on past the well manicured lawns and above average income dwellings. As Dubya and I rounded the corner near the fence line we were sure we would be crossing, a very physically gifted young lady with a small dog and cell phone salutated us with a "good evening" We replied in kind and attempted to look non threatening as we investigated other possibilities besides the fence. No such luck, back into the shiggy we go. Different from before, as this was a series or cleared wet lands and retention areas. On on through the grasses, around the wet regions, up and down embankments as we picked our way closer and closer to ON IN. the only significant hound discomfort to report from the second half was when Kinder had a bug fly into her eye. A little saline solution later and she was good to go. Circle up and let's do this thing. All the usual down, down were given and taken and there was much rejoicing!!! On After to the Jensen Ale House and a goodbye celebration for Dubya's Bitch as he was leaving to move back to the New England area. 'Here's to Dubya, he's true blue. He's a hasher through and through. He's a piss pot so they say. Tried to go to heaven, but he went back up to where they route for the Pats and the Sox anyways!'

Well, that's my story and I am stickin' to it. If you would like to have your name mentioned in the next Tales From the Trails, show up and go crazy. Remember - support wildlife, go hashing.

On Out - Whore Shack