| Starry Starry Niagara Night Hash - Niagara-on-the-Lake, Nov 12, 2009 | |  Here's a write-up by Oakville hasher ET:
Starry Starry Niagara Night Hash - Niagara-on-the-Lake, Nov 12, 2009
Hares: Donkey-Ho-Té, Mouthful of Girlfriend, Mount me in the Mud, assisted by the splendid and vociferous Jussst-Kelly
This being advertised as an unofficial Pre-lewd to the Hogtown Annalversery Weekend, a motley crew attended this lewd event in the lovely town of Niagara-on-the-Lake, formerly known as Newark and the first capital of Upper Canada. Being totally in the dark, except for my very useful $-store headlights, (head, who said head) I may have overlooked some hashers, but so far I counted the following attendees, not including above hares: from august Oakville H3: Two Jugs, Oral Sox, Black Widow, More Dick Please and Backslash, also OH3 Falls residents Phart, ET, Bonkers and MoHo; Hogtown's Drinks Like a Girl, and Rochester's Mudman and Robin Wood, and from Buffalo, after all it was a Buffalo Hash, Soup and some nameless jusssst-characters. So let's say 20, which was not too deliriously bad for a weeknight outa town. Any other Buffalo buffoons that I ever knew or met were too busy diddling to attend.
It being 6:30 in the eve, it was a dark, dark, and starry night. Some comments were made about the amount of starriness at the start-up location, and some smartasses actually knew the names of same, the North Star and Youranus, Your Big Dip and my ass is a star. We hate these know-it-alls, but never mind. Then we had a chalk talk, proffered by main hare Donkey-Ho-Té, explaining the unusual Yankee way of marking, and this bit about backtracking certainly came in handy later. Our valiant knight confessed he was from Pittsburgh, but that "he liked to hang around in this area". No wonder, since it was rumoured that he got laid while laying trail, but of this I was not a first-hand witness. It being a live hare trail, we now would have another chance of seeing him with his pants down, unless he was coming or going too fast. So giving the hares some slack, we waited around a bit, singing the Father Abraham anthem, being disappointed with the lack of knowledgeable lyricists, drinking the superior Canadian beer, and munching cookies and such. Some comment was made about an idiot on a motor cycle - turns out this was Soup on the way to his NOTL hotel. And how did said Soup get to the hash, the starting point of which was definitely a ways from his accom? Yup, he ran, can you believe it, a hasher who actually runs. I think this definitely depleted his gas tank, since for most of the hash he was at the back of the pack. And yes, just down, very steeply down, from the parking lot was the afore-advertised Smuggler's Cove, whence illegal booze had a habit of being smuggled Stateside during Prohibition, but no, we did not stumble down that path and probably into the Niagara River; it was heretoafter ignored. Too bad, it woulda been fun to see some hashers dunking in the water, but alas this falling down drunk path was apparently not on the hares' radarscreen.
Having loaded up with enough frigid beer and junk we figured it was time to take off, never mind the 12 minute-head-start (head, who said head) was not up yet. After nearly killing myself tripping over a little parking lot pole, let's face it, I love Poles, but not the short stubby ones, we got across the road, over a little bridge in the middle of nowhere, and onto the property of Peller Estates Winery. This establishment being cheapyos and not handing out free samples on a previous hash occasion, it was just as well that they were closed for bizniz. But nicely lit-up. So on we stumble through the dark, but it must be said that flour marks, in other jurisdictions also known by the name of anthrax, were copious and everywhere. We headed into the woods, like the ones Robin likes to frequent, and boy/girlfriend was it doggone dark! We heard yelling, singing, and dogs barking. Good thing we had the valorous Soup with us, since we were trailing badly, but finally caught up to the first beer stop, in the parking lot of Fort George, in the past variously occupied by the Canayuns and the Yanks, and now by a bunch of bi-lateral hashers who only fight each other to get to the last beer. More stubby, but pointy poles at the fort, alas not visible from our vantage. I had not even time to take a leak and drink my beer, and off we were again into the lovely town of NOTL. So here we go on, and on, this way and that, into the picturesque and architecturally attractive town, normally a hyped-up tourist destination, with people pushing you offa the sidewalk, but on a cool November night it was quiet, very quiet. We ran hither and fro, following this abundance of marks, until some front runner got to a false trail mark - stating 12 marks back. This being an unusual Yankee hash feature, Canayuns had some problem figuring it out, going back 11 or 13, but finally getting back on track, albeit into the cemetery of the old St. Mark's Church, which was formerly built in 1791 but then burned down by those damn Yankees in the war of 1812, but us Canayuns got our comeuppance and burned down the White House in revenge. O.K.., so it was bingo night in the church hall, but those layabout louts burning smokes had seen nothing, just nothing, no Yankee soldiers or Yankee hares or nothing. All this while Oral Sox was lamenting "where is Black Widow, where is Black Widow, he is always the front runner and knows where to go, and we haven't heard hide nor hair from him for the last half-hour".
Aha, ET having heard a hare proclaim that "the next beer stop is a bar", she just instinctively in her guts knew that this bar had to be the Angel Inn, the oldest acting Inn in Ontario (1789) because, lets face it, there are not too many bars open in NOTL on a November Thursday that would let in hashers, so it just had to be.... Well, never mind, the pack ran around in circles and circles down the streets around said Inn, but then, there we were, and who wuz knocking on the Inn window, beckoning us inn, no, not the ghost of Captain Swayze, who also haunts the premises, but the lost Black Widow and Mudman, who were not lost at all, but had caught up with the beer vehicle and hares, and sure enough got a head start on Angel Beer (head, who said head). Fortunately, more beer was called for from the maids, so that all thirsty gullets could be lubricated, and subsequently bladders eliminated.
And on on we go after that, ET declaring that she knew the shortest way to the chariots and sure enough, the front running basterds ran to and fro and all over the damn place, but slow and steady is the turtle and we get back to the beginning at the same time as those following real marks, except for having to stop for a peestop.
So then we have down downs for the lousy hares, who, it must be said, did an excellent trail in the dark, although it is suspected that a daytime reconnaissance had been executed priorly. More down downs and down downs, a confession that some Buffalo hasher hussies were partying their way on to the Hogtown Hash and an invitation to celebrate this fact at Captain Butlers Bar, but since we were already inebriated enough and some had a long ways home, it is not clear how many attended, but no doubt it was a good party, although probably not so good as Friday the 13th in Port Dover, when Soup and 10,000 other motorcycles congregated on the Shores of Lake Erie. Well, those damn Yankees always know how to find a good party!
On on
Hashtated by ET
| | Posted on Thursday, November 19 @ 18:42:13 CST by sscrash | | | | | | |
|
