The Sheung Tsuen Enigma

Possibly one of the most bizarre runs ever. Original hare Fartypants found himself indisposed, so at short notice recruited One Hung Low to step in for him for the run at Sheung Tsuen. A post-run curry had been mooted at the new Pakistani hash house run by Nepalese just over the road from the park, and part of the bribe was that the hare would treat the stand-in hare to a curry. What actually happened is still a mystery as there was neither sight nor smell of a hare, despite there being a trail.

At One Hung Low’s last run from this venue he was still out setting trail when the run started and there was no indication of direction of trail from the start, so it was no surprise this time to find no markings as we set off. Hashers dispersed in various directions looking for the elusive trail and after a few minutes Liberace called from somewhere down Kam Sheung Road. Trail was found crossing Kam Sheung Road and winding its way through the villages below the army camp, eventually heading up through dirt tracks to the catchwater exactly at the place where Shek Kong Hash had had a run the previous Sunday.

Canny heads smelled a rat. Could we be on the Shek Kong trail? But none of the checks were marked. This was passing strange. Why have a hash where nobody marks the checks. Disgraceful. Then Liberace remembered that only one person had done the wimps run on the Sunday and, as we all know when we’re the only one doing a trail, you don’t mark the checks when you eventually solve them. Or at least, it seems, GB didn’t.

With the culprit identified the hashers got on and did their own thing, some of them taking the 500 steps down to the fields, others wandering off in some other direction. Eventually all returned to the start, where there was still no sign of a hare. We decamped over the road and had a brief circle outside the curry house while waiting for our table. And the curry was good but not hot enough for Big Moany.

The Horror

“Saturday runs were instigated to encourage people to join the hash, see what it’s all about. A nice, gentle introduction, nothing too arduous. A little bit of fun.”

These comforting words from Golden Balls haunted me as I scrambled up the sheer rock face, heart pounding, one hour in to what proved to be a two-hour marathon of steep climbs, vertigo-inducing ascents and a mind-bending puzzle of checks and check-backs. To add to the fun, another race had been set in the area, also using chalk markers. Perfect for the novice hasher.

Joining the fray that day were Gunpowder Plod, Walkie Talkie, Farty Pants, Golden Balls, Penile Dementia, Dingaling, Mango Groove, Velcro Lips, One Eyed Jack, Overdue, newbie Last One (who has been expecting to join another hash, no doubt more civilised), and myself – the piss artist formerly known as Nick. More of that later.

It all seemed harmless enough to begin with, a bit of a jog through some sort of outdoor activity centre, and into some thick scrub. The trails, for now at least, were well marked. But soon came the ascent. Mango and I passed Velcro and Last One, the latter of which, admitted between gasps, that she’d been following the “clever one”. I looked up to see One Eyed Jack. Not him then. Who is this Clever One? Could it be Sam, the dog. He’d made more correct choices than most of us (particularly Mango) at the checks. At this point Gunpowder Plod bailed out and sniffed his way back home in 1:25. How he came to be smeared in blood he wasn’t saying.

On On. And on, and on, and on. One of many check-backs at the top – Mango ran the wrong way, a move that came to typify his modus operandi for this run. Shouts from Dingaling and it was back on trail. Then some country park road and some nice views of the reservoir, before another confusing check. I was ahead at this point, and began dreaming of being the first back. Scenes of adoring scantily clad babes welcoming back the conquering hero, me. Yes, I could do it. I was delirious at this point, of course. But Mango and I headed the wrong way, and by the time we heard the call, were well behind. Mango regained ground, but I was done for, and after yet more checks and check-backs, and many mutterings about underhand failures to mark the way, limped back in. Last One lived up to her name, coming in with Velcro a few minutes later.

The circle, then. Among the punishments meted out was one for Balls, for setting such a heinous run on a Saturday and some sort of excuse involving “his band”. Dingaling and myself for musing upon Anne Boleyn’s extra tit while teacher was talking, and Mango for not marking the way. Other miscreants included One Eyed Jack – two down-downs – something to do with not marking the trail again? Balls again for making his long-suffering helper bring him his lunch and hair products, only to be summarily dismissed for a long walk back to his gaff, clutching his sweaty gear. Velcro for ignoring the option of taking the wimps’ trail, and another for Dingaling, for working on the railways but sporting a watch an hour slow. “That wasn’t two hours!” he exclaimed, ignoring the sun sinking like a ship to the west.

And then my naming ceremony. A play on my surname led to Annus Horribilis; from that, Anus Horribilis (who would have guessed at the Annus/Anus pun, eh?) and from that the truly delightful Anus the Horrible. Like Ivan the Terrible, with haemorrhoids.

I could have stayed at home that day, done a bit of pottering around the flat, a beer or two at the beach bar later. But I instead chose to spend the day with a bunch of low lifes, drink too much and then be daubed with an arse-themed moniker into the bargain. Thanks, Mango. Thanks a lot, mate.

The On On at some greasy goose restaurant in Sam Tseng, copious Asahi and more good fun and banter.

Not a bad Saturday. Not a bad Saturday at all.

– Anus The Horrible

Barking On Trail

Ruthless

It was a cold and wet Wednesday night. We all gathered at Eunich’s house and the run started late as usual. Before the start, Liberace announced the run would be flat, no shiggy and should be no more than 45 minutes. At which point, Luk Dim Boon wondered why we should be bothered and just get started on the beer.But since it was Liberace’s and Eunich’s birthday run [and T-Bird’s – ed.], we all shut up and went with it.

First a right, passing through a bunch of village houses in Kau Lung Hang, the pack led by Mango Groove, Catch Of The Day and her new girlfriend Erdoyhai. Out to open farmland, a few checks to keep the pack together, through some dense shiggy. Then the latecomer One Eye Jack, being “brave and smart”, went up a dark shiggy-covered hill, turned right and disappeared from the crowd. Velcro Lips and Dram disappeared too but at the opposite end.

Coming down the hill, was a two-way check. Ruth, Eunich’s daughter, tricked everyone into going the wrong way. Definitely, hash quality!!

On on at Eunich’s house to celebrate the birthdays with generous top-quality food and plenty of cold beers.

– Luk Dim Boon

Humpty and Dumpty go Hashing

For the second week running we pretty much got started on time, which was just as well as Golden Balls and Stingray got hopelessly checkbound and came back from the “short, flat” run after 1.5 and 2 hours respectively – not to mention latecomers One Eyed Jack and Catch Of The Day who were out even later.

Meeting at the rubbish-strewn dead end of a road outside Au Tau Pumping Station, we were told by hare Big Moany that it was a short, flat, “4.2km” run, very easy. Where he got that figure from is anybody’s guess. Not a promising start as the eight-strong pack of Dram, Eunuch, Gaele Says No, Golden Balls, Liberace, Mango Groove, Penile Dementia and Stingray jogged off into a labyrinth of village paths and checks. At one of these Mango Groove, Penile Dementia and Golden Balls opted for the left turn towards the plain (trusting the hare, perhaps?) while the others all went right, towards the hills. After 150m this trio heard trail called from the other direction and turned round, with Mango and PD sprinting in an attempt to catch the pack. Meanwhile GB plodded along and eventually saw torches coming back towards him. Reasonably assuming it was the pack coming back from a check-back he tried to sneak into the lead by checking up a hillside path past graves. By the time he got back down, having found nothing, there was nobody around. In fact the torches had been those of the myopic bumbling Mango and PD coming back after they realised they weren’t on trail. After a while GB picked up chalk again, then flour and paper, and came to a check in the grass, very faded and kicked around, that had held the pack up so the clamour of hashers on trail could be heard nearby. Suddenly Stingray emerged from the hillside. “Mango says it’s right at the check.” So they duly went right until the path ended at a ladder down to some concrete. Stingray went down first. “Hmmm, nothing here but a wall,” he intoned nasally. So back they went to the check, where they spent a good 15 minutes exploring every likely and unlikely option through the shiggy, to no avail, as the sounds of hash strife faded and died. Eventually they tried the ladder again. “Oh. Trail,” said Stingray.

So they climbed the wall and sniffed out trail up a wooded road until there was a checkback, which held them up another 10 minutes as there were several legitimate trails leading off the road. GB finally found trail on a dirt road heading steeply uphill. Up through burnt shiggy, and far far away to the west could be seen the last pair of torches of the pack summiting the hill. Latecomers Dingaling and Sam caught them up on the climb. “This leads to the helicopter dumping point for blahblah construction project,” Dingaling  gushed enthusiastically. “Then the path goes to the pylon and takes a right along the ridge…” He proceeded to describe – accurately – the course of the rest of the run. Hashing holds no surprises for this man.

At last GB and Stingray reached the summit. Dingaling had long ago disappeared into the distance. The erstwhile Trailwalker team members had practised solidarity on the climb, with Stingray waiting for the gasping GB. But when it came to the descent GB abandoned his partner and took off into the night. Trail went down a tricky descent to the Au Tau roundabout and along Kam Tin Road 1km back to the pumping station. We have no idea what became of Stingray, but he followed GB in 30 minutes behind him. Fifteen minutes later came One Eyed Jack chaperoning the injured Catch Of The Day and her puppy.

The normal boisterous circle ensued before the pack dispersed, it being too late for an on-on. Another great night on the Northern.

It’s A Mystery

The pack: Big Moany, Catch Of The Day, Eunuch, Gaele Says No, Golden Balls, Gunpowder Plod, Kimberley, Liberace, Mango Groove, One Eyed Jack, Penile Dementia, Salesman. Non-runners: Beer Tits, Luk Sup Gow, Phil, T-Bird

Dram offered to hare this run at short notice and opted for the logistic safety of Nobble Park, changing the start at the last minute to the pagoda a few hundred metres down the road. It started conventionally enough: around the station, through the tunnel and up the stairway to heaven, all 582 of them. At the top trail followed the ridge and went down a slippery track before heading up a second hill that eventually led back to the start. I can’t give any more detail because I had a sore back and opted not to do the steps but do my own thang instead. If anybody who was there wants to write it up just send it to me at stevereels@mac.com.

Apologies.

Dram’s Goat Got

Seven hardy hashers made it to Catch Of The Day’s place Free Zone for this festive run, and all agreed it was an excellent trail: Dram, Eunuch, Gaele Says No, Golden Balls, Liberace, One Eyed Jack, Penile Dementia. T-Bird and Golden Jelly were also there at the start, with the latter in her wellies announcing her intention of doing some gardening. By the time we’d finished, an entire lettuce patch had been planted.

The start was unconventional to say the least, with COTD saying there was only one trail and the “wimps” should get in her Land Rover. Dram, GB, OEJ and Penile Dementia crammed in and were driven a few kilometres along Kong Nga Po road and told to get out and start running. COTD then went back to pick up the “rambos”. The wimps, or more correctly the headstarters, ran down a side road past the Police Dog Handling Unit until they reached a checkback. There was no obvious route, but after a while GB spied an arrow on a concrete drain pointing to a fence with forest behind it. A bit of a clamber, and the wimps were in forest on steeply sloping ground, following paper through the trees and down into a ravine. Out the other side and some runnable terrain until another apparently unsolvable check was reached by a dry river bed. The only way out appeared to be across a dilapidated, unstable looking bridge that sloped upwards towards a gate. And indeed this was the way out. As Dram managed to fall off the bridge twice the residents from behind the gate came out telling us it was “very dangerous”. We kung hei fat choid them and boldly stepped into their property, a little farm, and started looking for trail, much to their consternation. Amid cries of “No way!” and “What you doing!” GB once again found the route along the side of the river and up an embankment to the road we’d started on. A clever check here was solved by Dram, taking the line up a steep stepped culvert on the opposite hillside. Trail roved over a flat top and round the side of a hill until reaching another checkback, which is where the rambos caught up with the wimps, having been unable to solve the first section of trail and helped along by the hare.

Trail was found leading through long grass riddled with hidden culverts and then out onto a concrete path, where the markings vanished. Gaele Says No picked up trail about 600 metres further on as it went round the fence of a service reservoir on top of a hill with parts of the route hanging above very steep drops. Then there was a long rough descent followed by another climb to a copse followed by this weird hidden valley and then a dirt road to a metalled road. By this time the pack had fractured into two groups – the wimps and the rambos.

We followed the road for a while until a sign told us we were back on Kong Nga Po Road, where trail led off to a dirt road. GB kindly told Dram that he suspected another shitload of shiggy was waiting for them and that if he stayed on the road it would lead him back to COTD’s place. Dram happily accepted this advice and strode off into the night, never to be seen again – or at least never to be seen until his mayday telephone call to COTD after he’d got hopelessly lost and Gaele Says No drove out to pick him up. His subsequent gratitude to GB was something to behold.

Back on trail the three remaining wimps stayed together for a romp over grassy hillsides, through a tumbledown cottage, up and down lovely trails, in and out, double-backs, dirt road, concrete path, pylons…nobody knew where we were apart from the orientating sight of Shenzhen’s tower blocks not very far away. After a while trail emerged onto a road…could it be Kong Nga Po Road again?…yes…how far to the finish?…right there! A superb trail.

Back at Free Zone Desperate Dan and All The Way had swelled the ranks. COTD was on her second bottle of wine and cooking up meat on skewers and a kind of cabbage pancake, among other delicacies. Sake made its appearance and then a sort of wagering activity that saw Gaele Says No clean up, until – oh no! – the beer ran out, and it was only 11.30. Golden Jelly produced a slab from her car, saving the hash for the second time in three weeks.

At 30 seconds to midnight we stole a march on the neighbourhood by letting off a crate of whizzbangs that arced and fizzed in the night sky, before all hell broke loose as everybody around followed suit to celebrate the new year.