Wild Western Badlands

It was the Northern New Territories Saturday Run No 2, and west of Castle Peak the sun beat down mercilessly from a gloriously clear sky over the barren hills and ravines of decomposed granite and the black-sand beach of Lung Kwu Tan. Hare Stingray had promised a rambo trail, a wimp trail and a walker trail. As it was so hot that everybody walked parts of the trail, the walker trail was cancelled and the rambos cut back to 15 minutes longer than the wimps. No matter, the trails were, as promised, sweet and virginal (without the sweet) and challenging enough to satisfy the most masochistic hasher.

The pack gathered just above the beach, whose black sands had attracted legions of photographers as well as the usual complement of garbage, and set off down the road in the direction of Black Point.

 

Catch Of The Day was caught out on a check at the pink dolphin lookout but soon resumed control at the head of the pack with Mango Groove. Salesman, One Eyed Jack, Walky Talky, Ah Duk, Stunt Double and Hoover all negotiated the next obstacle – a fence – leaving slowcoaches Golden Jelly, Plod, Screwless and GB to manhandle Malu the dog over the fence. Thus one pack became two. Across the road and past the yards, and trail started heading uphill.

The views were terrific, but so was the sun. “By golly it’s warm,” said Screwless. Malu was sporting a fine white cotton tunic fashioned from Golden Jelly’s uniform, but even the normally rambonctious canine was flagging in the heat and lack of shade. Hashers started taking time out.

GB was starting to black out so slowed to a snail’s pace and as a result was caught by a hiker, a member of Yuen Long Distance Runners Club, who’d been snared by our markings. Little did he know what he was getting himself into. Then we reached the fixed rope up a steep granite slab, which was a doodle really but added a point of interest in the relentless uphill slog.

Far above the puce of Catch Of The Day’s ensemble flitted in and out of vision on the ridge line. Ever upwards, seeking out places with a bit of breeze in which to luxuriate as slowly but surely the top got nearer.

The view from the top was wild, and we remembered Stingray’s warning from Wednesday night (but omitted before this run): He’d tried the run out on the Hong Kong Hash on Monday and one geezer thought he’d short cut back, but got totally lost, eventually being rescued by the Fire Services (complete with ambulance waiting) at 1.30 in the morning, long after the hare had scarpered. And who would wish to be associated with such shame, the only other recorded incidence of a hash calling out the authorities being the 2003 debacle when Aloha Baby got lost on the Shek Kong Hash. Oh the ignominy. But we also remembered that this was where the French hiker disappeared years ago, never to be found, not to mention other life-threatening scenarios.

Here’s a video clip from the run:

Trail went down, down the slippery granite marbles to – a swamp. Our hiker friend seemed most disconcerted to see us wading straight through it and stopped to take his shoes off. Then there was another little climb followed by a contour path, quite tricky and overgrown in places with boulder obstacles too. We thought it might be part of the ancient Lung Kwu Tan – Tuen Mun road (Lung Mun Ancient Trail). By now the sting had gone out of the sun and we could enjoy the late afternoon light and relatively benign terrain. After a couple of stream crossings, welcomed by Malu) we started to hit civilisation and soon were trotting through the village and back to the beach. Podium finishes went to first in Mango, second COTD and third Ah Duk. Backmarkers were GB, Jelly and Screwless.

A truly splendid trail.

After consumption of much liquid refreshment, and a cooling off dip by the large man Golden Balls, 69K arrived on his bike, plaintively asking if there was a riding route over the Castle Peak ridge back to Yuen Long. In your dreams pal. Non-runners were in evidence: Luk Sup Gow, Beer Tits, Mast Marina, as well as ankle biters Travis and Phil. Salesman presided over the circle, but there was almost as much entertainment on the beach as photographers galore set up to take the same picture. Meanwhile, some chicks took it upon themselves to clean the beach right where we were. Thanks! And as the sun sank over the watery western horizon, the excellent Saturday Run No. 2 came to an end.

Pictures and video by Walky Talky, except the top one (Screwless). Next Saturday run: 23 August.

 

 

 

That Yuen Long Ridge Again

Walky Talky recycled her run for Shek Kong of a few months ago, but with a better finish. From the park opposite Yoho trail went out along the nullah, under the highway and turned right. After about half a mile a check took us left into the village and soon we were pushing through high overgrown vegetation on an invisible concrete path that it was easy to miss and roll your ankle on the edge. Then followed a bit more village trail during which I encountered Eunuch coming back from a wrong check, followed by Catch Of The Day, Kiwi and Liberace. Dingaling, Mango Groove, Stingray and One Eyed Jack had solved the check properly and were well ahead. We started to climb up through the graveyards and grasslands until gaining the ridge. It was hot, humid and very slippery underfoot, but great views and a cooling breeze on the ridge made up for it. This is a splendid little trail, seldom hiked despite its proximity to Yuen Long. The trig point was gained, then a slippery descent and return to the start through the villages. GB short cut, meaning that after his long cut on the Shek Kong run he has yet to complete this trail. Kiwi went missing but some gent went out to guide her home. Non-runners Fartypants, Overdue, Sam Miguel, 69K and Golden Jelly turned up for the circle, conducted by Dingaling in the absence of the committee seniors. A splendid trail by Walky Talky.

The Art of Manliness

By Salesman

And so it was that One-Eyed-Jack single-handedly engineered a return to the traditional, solid standards of the N2TH3 night run: mozzies, steep hills, shiggy replete with spider webs, dastardly checkbacks just when flaking out, and a swamp dip.
The GM was unusually on time, having sped on his new triple cylinder 850cc Yamaha to the start up Mui Tsz Lam Road (Shatin’s favourite road for uphill cyclists and foxy female night joggers). He was met only by Liberace, performing a 15-point turn in his rape-van, and the moping hare, OEJ. The GM, being on a motorbike, then proceeded to ride up the road looking for trail, overtaking the unmistakeable loping form of Gunplowder Plod and his K9 only friend Dougal, who was not only sneakily checking trail – he had started so he could get ahead, the FRB! We never saw him on the rest of the run.
Back at the sitting-out area start, the strains of a domestic ding-dong heralded the arrival of the lesser-spotted Yin Yin and her Chelsea-supporting husband. But where was everyone else? Where were the lover-batty-boys Mango Groove and Eunuch? Where was Catch of the Day? “Don’t worry”, said OEJ, “they’ve got the beer, ice and Catch of the Day in the car. They’ll be along soon”. Mmm.

The travelling ogre Golden Balls was next to arrive and, despite the protestations of the spawny hare, conspired with Salesman to set off before the runners arrived. “You’d better go first, Yin Yin” they politely waved, to which she took great exception, “Why me? Who’s to say I’m not better than any of you lot!”, at which point she was gently reminded of last  Sunday’s search party and two hour circle delay in her honour. So off they went, up the road, walking straight through all the checks until they had a nice little rest at another sitting-out area as Golden Balls and Salesman strolled leisurely past, chatting about all sorts of hash nonsense and gossip, oblivious to what was to come.

Left over the dam they strolled, and up back along the dark upper Mui Tsz Lam Road. Then they heard the runners below, approaching fast, shouting poofy hash things like “On to a check!” (unmarked, of course), “Trail!”, “On!On!”. At the check GB wisely proceeded straight on through the hole in the DSD fence. Salesman, seeking challenge, elected to check the precarious shiggy climb option, leading to a philosophical diversion.

Across cultures and time, honour and manliness have been inextricably tied together. In many cases, they were synonymous. Honour lost was manhood lost. Because honour was such a central aspect of a man’s masculine identity, men would go to great lengths to win honour and prevent its loss. Salesman’s foray was bad timing, however, as he let out a rapid series of shrill screams about a spider or…something, and did a little rain dance, just as Catch of the Day ran past, suitably unimpressed.

Through the hole, and it was a world of in-your-face, uphill shiggy on the lower west slopes of Ma On Shan. Most knackering. Eunuch and Mango caught up at this stage, though the delightful squeaks of COTD could be heard still some way ahead. Up to the ridgeline with great night views of Shatin, and nice open downhill paths, but still tricky to the majority of us having broken/pinned ankles. Then a tricky check back, the trail naughtily breaking left immediately at the on-on, and down into steep shiggy and bamboo on slippery gravel, rocks and roots.

This lower part, completely dark, hot, humid and mozzie-infested, contained OEJ’s pièce de résistance – a dunk in a muddy swamphole – followed by pushing on into ever encroaching face shiggy, and finally, whilst only 50m from the bucket, a check back.

There was no way forward, but to go back uphill through this shit, feeling hot and knackered, and check imagined trails to left and right. It just wasn’t champagne hashing. The way out was higher up but pretty obvious once found. How come we all fell for it? How come no one called? Because it’s the N2TH3, dear reader, and everyone finds their own personal hell on our runs.

At last, back on to the road and a 50m jog to bucket, and a jolly good circle, but no sex, as we were all too hot, dirty and sweaty for COTD, and Antiseptic’s waters on the verge of breaking, and too tired even if Golden Jelly, being a fresh non-runner, was up for it. But there were plenty of “down-downs” (another poofy hash expression). There seemed to be lot more hashers now. Maybe 14 or so. It was all a bit of blur to be frank. And then Yin Yin came.

 

Ode to a Hilly Hash

Brush flaying sinews

Warm Pocari sweat

Mass swells gravitationally

Decomposing ankles

Run on granite marbles

In overheated dankness

Temporary freedom

As friends bump gentle egos

In the circle

Beers and cars

Showers and dreams

Of the receptive earth

The Drainage Diaries

By Golden Balls

Arriving late at the start, I was slightly perplexed by the absence of anything that looked remotely like a hash. No piles of bags on benches, no eskies brimful of coldies, no chalk scrawls on the floor, no hashers. Nothing. Ah, but there was something. Indeed, a chalk scrawl: “WE ARE @ 7-11 SINOPEC” and an arrow pointing out of the park, where, just over the road, one could indeed discern a Sinopec petrol station. “What, are we the ruddy Little Sai Wan now, meeting at convenience stores near MTRs? And writing @ for at?” I hissed to nobody in particular.

Hare Mango Groove was there at the new start, actually inside the 7-11 buying beer. “No hash beer,” he lamented. “Eunuch’s got a puncture. Do you think that’s enough?” “Nah, get a few more in.”

Just behind the shop lay a cosy, intimate sitting-out area sized perfectly for the hash – yes, there was space for 10 people. “Bad back,” I lied, helping myself to a Tsingtao and parking myself on a stone bench. I settled in to watch the fun. Plod was first back, having short-cut what Mango insisted was a 13km trail. Dingaling arrived from one direction, One Eyed Jack from another. Or perhaps that was Stingray. Salesman turned up. Catch of the Day and maybe one or two others. And we all listened avidly to Dingaling’s tale of woe. Spoiler: This is boring. Stop reading now.

“I had a memo from the DSD (Drainage Services Department) pinned to my door telling me they’re digging up the road and I have to move my car. But it was all suspicious and not on official letterhead and nobody had knocked on my door to explain the situation politely like they do in Trumpton and I said I’m not having that. So I sent them an email, I did. Told them they can’t dig up the village to install much needed flushing toilets and water supplies for my neighbours without a proper note and their man asking me nicely. What do they think this is? Some bloody banana republic? I’m not having it! Told them if I move my car off my land they have to find me a nice new parking space and indemnify me against triad damage when my neighbours start puncturing the tyres, cracking eggs on the windscreen and smearing the door handles with human excrement. Oh yes, I told them all right. By email! Then my neighbours sent round a delegation to beg me to move my car so they could aspire to clean water supplies that would solve their rampant E. coli, dysentery and leptospirosis problems. But I folded my arms and said you’ll have to do better than that. Then they offered me a nice spot blocking somebody else’s spot. I told them to go drink fetid water. Finally my superiority was acknowledged with the award of the best parking space in the whole village, while the government is indemnifying my car for infinity trillion bucks. With this political triumph I intend to run for village headman later in the year with the ultimate aim of taking over Legco and running this show properly!”

We dispersed into the night.

The Usual Carnage

By Prowled Dong Up

“It will be a massacre”, announced the notice for the run, alongside some stuff about a safe house for chickens in Nai Chung. None of this bore any relevance to the run – no headless chickens running for cover, no chainsaw-toting Mexican gangsters carving people up to get their hides for sofa upholstery – and I arrived at about 6:45 to find the hare, Gunpowder Plod, sitting in a folding chair drinking a cold beer and wearing a Chinese police uniform and that horrible red cap he thinks is cool. There were also hordes of mozzies attracted by his salmonella? citronella mozzie-repellent burner. Oh, and Pop Pans: ‘Lay off my dinner!” he warns. Fat chance.

He then leapt to his feet, crossed the carpark and rapped smartly on the door of a large fuming parked truck, wherupon an angry oriental gnome (who had obviously been enjoying a prolonged air-conditioned wanking break) jumped out, hauling his shorts on. A shouting confrontation ensued in the way only Plod encounters seem to, although the verbose author of the best-selling Little Red Swear Book (Bookazine $39) seemed to win the argument with language so colourful it was spectral, and the gnome slunk back into his cab and drove off to the applause of the poor villagers washing their BMWs.

A good sized pack dribbled in comprising One Eyed Jack, Mango, Dingaling, Stingray, Gail Says No, G-Spot, Simon, Yin Yin and Dram.Velcropolips then arrived, driving through the bus lane and car park the wrong way having been to the wrong start. Teary and shaken, she declined the run and sat down for some counselling. “My husband is leaving me!” she wailed. “Who’s that then?” enquired Plod sympathetically, receiving a wallop around the ear for his ignorance.

The pack set off on what was a cunningly executed and well laid trail criss-crossing the road through the nearby Nai Chung old and new villages and then through a cow pasture and shiggy onto the golf driving range road.Then it was a check-back and up a ridge path with sea views and breezes and some above-head shiggy to a concrete path. This was familiar and it led us on some fast running to Che Ha village.

Here there was a Rambo/Wimp split where Dram and Yin Yin short-cut the main trail past her house (surprised she did not pop in for a bath) while we entered a deep and dark forest strewn with toilet paper and infested with spiders and mozzies. This eventually became serious shiggy ending via an abandoned farm with a mango groove leading to the beach.Then it was along the beach and in, negotiating a large pack of angry poodles near the finish. Plod had apparently planned to throw PLA firecrackers at us from the bushes but Velcro says he blew himself up on a test firing in the shelter!

The run was followed by the now familiarly chaotic circle run by everyone at once. This was prolonged by the presence of Plod’s mates blocking the road back north (strange they never block the road back to Sai Kung!).

 

 

The Annual Liberace Run

By Mango Groove

Turning up at Lib’s favourite spot – Wan Tau Kok Lane – Plod, One Eyed Jack, Gail Says No and Mango Groove were observed stretching and lifting a few weights. Because Libs always sets a toughie. However, their warm-up routine was suddenly halted upon the arrival of Eunuch and his Granny. She was quite a big Granny and all assembled suddenly rushed towards her to have a better look, including Dingaling and Overdue, who’d arrived on public transport and were looking a bit hot and sweaty. Anyway a very frustrated Eunuch pops out of his Granny blurting out some strange phrases such as “she’s still got some tickets on her” and “she drinks a lot”. Plod said Eunuch’s Granny smells of sex and Mango reckoned she was a bit on the wide side but Liberace loved her.

After further messing about the hare gave us instructions. “It is a short flat run,” he announced deadpan. So off we went to the first check that took us down into the subway and out near the MTR. In usual Tai Po Market fashion we got lost looking for trail and mislaid Plod completely after the second check. Picking up trail near the bridge and after running along the nullah for a bit we started to head upwards towrds Hill Top Gardens, where a few checks kept us together before arriving at the steps leading up the hill. At this point One Eyed Jack turned back, leaving Eunuch, Dingaling, Gail Says No and Mango to continue onwards. Actually the steps were not as difficult as we first anticipated and we eventually arrived at a junction with a check leading us leftwards and up some more steps. Everything was looking nice and easy at this point but our beloved Libs did not fail to live up to his reputation. The trail then took us down and down through dense forest, no real trail just the traditional Liberace “Well let me see what’s down here” type of trail. Eventually we came out onto a ridge wall, ten feet above the village boundary. We walked along this wall for about 20 metres, looking into windows and above vinyl PVC sheeting. After running around the perimeter of the village we eventually came onto Shan Tong Road for a nice run back towards Tai Po Market MTR and On Home. Talk at the bucket included Salesman’s Sek Kong Hash run the previous Sunday, and the upcoming Dragon Boat Race. At this point Golden Jelly had joined us but looked pretty exhausted stretched out on the concrete. Dingaling ran the circle and after a few more cans we headed home. Excellent run, Liberace; look forward to your full comeback in 2015.