Here is what could have happened…

The devilish clever hares had laid an excellent trail with great skill and ingenuity. We were honoured by a yet to be discovered Maori tribe that joined us for the run, and a good field of 40. It was the only time everyone got together for the run as the field soon spread out.

The trail more or loss ran round the hill opposite the other side and many an anxious glance was aimed at the top. Most of you thought you were going up there! The first half was on an incline round the side hill in and out of the houses and was cold and clear, However with evening closing in and the country opening out the second half, mostly down hill, was almost enjoyable.

In the end it was a pleasant hash in good conditions. We had the usual ups and downs, river crossings, hashitty paths, etc. The hare once again performed admirably in marked contrast to Rotter. Nature lovers were interested to observe a large rat snake making desperate efforts to bite Dingaling or was it Hole in One, who must be hashitable for taking a camera round the course (Perhaps not as it could hardly be classed as a camera). [ed. what the hell is this idiot prattling on about!!]

The hashers set off at a brisk walk, soon to be reduced [by] the thick tangle of undergrowth and the incredibly narrow trail (?) to a slow crawl. Along we crawled in Indian file, till brought up by a check. Up or down? The only obvious way was back the way we had come since there was no track to be followed. Down it was, though, so we slipped and slithered and slid through the bushes till we reached the stream at the bottom of the valley, then up again along a path where goats fear to tread.

At this stage of the most dreadful hash to date, the cry of 'On, On' was clearly heard wafting across from the other side of the valley. Was it one of the hares urging on the leaders from the wrong side of the valley - surely hashitable? Or was it one of those still tangled up before the stream? For by this time the field was well and truly spread.

The hare led us off downstream in wet-going following fairly heavy rain, making the paper a bit hard to see. Essentially we went down the stream then came back up the stream, which all sounds very simple. However in practice it was a different story.

On the first leg Howe’s That placed his foot in one of the finest hashitable specimens the scribe has ever observed, and a remarkable gap suddenly opened out around Hurry Krishna. Next we crossed a raging torrent in mortal fear of being "swep[t] away" and entered the mountain climbing phase. Optional pitons, rope and crampons had been left behind (obviously an oversight) and those members who survived could be seen crawling along in single file on the side hill traverse and the one-slip-is-death stage which followed.

The trail led off down a steep bank. Things were a bit slushy and skies looked ominous but the rain held off except for a few gentle drops to cool the fevered brow etc. Rubberlegs generally managed to keep everyone moving, particularly on those single file wet slippery paths where the pounding panter definitely encourages a sharp pace.

The pack was generally fairly spread out. It was an excellent trail with plenty of variety and not many people, and the checks were well sited. Perhaps we could have a little more yelling of such words as "ON ON" or "CHECKING" in preference to the ones actually heard. In winding and close country those of us responsible for observing and therefore compelled to stay towards the back of the field find it difficult to know where the G-Mizz and Nice Hash have gone. Of course yelling is a mixed blessing as they generally go wrong anyway. But LETS HEAR IT next hash.

Crime was at a fairly low level except for Trouble and Chimp [ed. who?] not only caught short cutting but actually telling the hashmaster to xxxxx about it. Deserving a down down! Apple was continually standing aside to let people like Tibetan Gal pass him and is a worthy winner of the walking stick. Should he be away next hash the family will have to carry it by proxy.

The trail was laid thick & fast, almost like a snowstorm, along six feet high, 4-inch-wide paddy bunds. This had several of our members attempting to outdo the ballerina act of He-Bitch (Where was he anyway!)

Coming back, some of us were rewarded for coming late, helping out, dancing like a Kiwi, dressing like a Kiwi, wanking like a Kiwi, and being a Kiwi, not shouting on-on, not giving us any mountain views. All together a beautiful hash, hope to be running with the pack next time.

On-On He Bitch (hee-hee)