I am too lazy to update the web side but back end is up to date.
| Hash Details | |
|---|---|
| Hash Number: | 142 |
| What: | Hockessin Hash #142 |
| When: | Jan. 1, 1900 |
| Where: | White Clay Preserve |
| Hares: | Hornblower Rosebutt | Message |
| Nothing here yet | Hashers |
| Hash Trash | |
| H4H142: Going Live in White Clay Location: White Clay Preserve Number of hashers: 15 +/- Total time: one hour one minute Trail rating: excellent - I helped hare it Hares: Hornblower and Rosebutt Weather: wet First In: Hard On The day dawned wet with more wet coming. This seems to happen a lot with my hashes. The river was on the rise and the trail full of puddles. The gung ho and energetic hashers arrived at the designated start ready to eat hare balls. (Either that or spit them out feline-like.) The trail this day was to be live hared. A refreshing break from the normal routine of pre-set trails. So after the normal formalities of explaining the marks and making sure someone with a vehicle awaited at the finish for the pack, Rosebutt was given @ 30 seconds to race down trail laying flour. (Hornblower quietly slipped out a few minutes earlier.) The hash was then on and the hares were in full flight. Hornblower slipped into some deep shiggy to confuse the hounds and ended up confused and lost in very deep shiggy, needing help by the ravenous hounds to extricate himself. Rosebutt bypassed this shiggy morass to set trail further on. Hornblower was eventually extricated and the hash was back on, with directions as to where the trail was to be found. Meanwhile, Rosebutt doubled back to try and get the hounds back on trail, after laying a mile or so of trail and becoming increasingly worried about the lack of hounds baying. I'm fast, but not that fast. Once the hounds were back on trail, Hard On easily caught up with Rosebutt at Sharpless Road and gave him five minutes to get back on trail. From here on out it was hard and fast hashing. I crossed White Clay Creek below Yeatman Station Road, heading south hard and furious. A half mile in, my left ankle tried to self-destruct on one of those nasty rocks which make ankles into hash. Hearing the hounds close behind, I decided it was time to do something desperate to throw the hounds off the scent. So with the river rushing wildly by, when I came to a ford, it was into the creek again, striving hard against the current to reach the other side. Once up, with a nicely iced ankle, courtesy of the wild torrent, I headed south again towards the Delaware line. Chasing down the trail, it was quickly becoming decision time again, either risk another crossing and being swept to my death or do the wimpy polite thing and take the hounds to the ON IN with a lack of further excitement. This was a no-brainer. Just above the Mason Dixon Line, it was into the creek, a calm trickle (pussy) testicle deep and making more noise than the hounds. Fording desparately across the rapids, I headed onto the last mile of trail. Once across, it was to the south and occasionally east across the Delaware line trying to stay on familiar trail and not succeeding very well. With the sounds of distressed hounds in my ears, around 200 yards in, I lost the trail and headed uphill into the scrub. Up and up I went, suddenly coming across an unexpected ravine, with no easy way in or out. Knowing that there was no time to hesitate, I dove into the unknown, digging out worms with my toes on the way down. At the bottom, hoping that this narrow sided horror would eventually flatten out downstream, the direction was obvious. In the least, there was always the possibility of swimming out of trouble when at White Clay Creek. A less than 90 degree slope eventually presented itself, so by the finger nails, I hauled myself up, topping out, then heading back towards the creek and easily runnable trail. The ON IN from here was just a matter of not doing anything stupid and finding pavement at the end, with Rubber waiting in his truck. After meeting Rubber, I doubled back down trail to see if everyone was at least alive, if not uninjured or hypothermic. Severe disappointment greeted me, no one was dead, hypothermic or even injured. Everyone was actually smiling. I guess I did something wrong. | |
| Note: | |
| from web archive | |
| Files: | |
| 141-150.pdf | |