Arseholeo

…and Lynxx says ‘farewell' you bastarrrds ! This was an ‘out through dense oil palm, back through  cashew orchard' kind of run. Better than Kee Mah 's last effort which was a 30-minute loop with NO checks....this was a 45-minute loop with 5 or 6 checks.

Kee Mah , a whorticultural specialist of some note, spent almost as long as the run describing the various flora and fauna we might encounter on the trail. He talked about cassava and other crops then waved a red, bulbous, phallic object with a cashew-nut poised invitingly on it's tip and warned the nut-lovers amongst us to ‘leave well alone' when we hit the cashew orchard. No snacking on the run…the cashew-nut is deadly poisonous until boiled or cooked. Nature symposium over, and keen to catch the last hour of daylight, we bolted off on the run.

The start did not augur well as we blindly overshot the out-trail…Dontcha hate it when that happens? All that pent-up enthusiasm goes ‘phut' as the pack realizes it can't find paper. We circled like headless chickens and gradually ground to a halt. Eventually some of the slower, more ponderous members of the pack caught sight of a few strands of the white stuff as they examined dicotyledonous palm kernels off in the rough - ‘On on' at last. We sped off, tripping and stumbling over the heavily rutted terrain. I was slightly ‘off piste'…yeah, and ‘pissed off' as I came face to face with a bamboo trap yet to be sprung. Taking half the pack with me we climbed gingerly over the taut trip-wire…the guerilla-warfare jungle hash training paid off and we all passed through leaving trap and limbs intact !

The next check, placed tantalizingly at the base of the ‘only hill for miles', took us forever to solve. In fact we didn't solve it. KeeMah did. ‘Half-way up a tapioca field, 3 and a half rows in', he gesticulated to the clueless pack. We slowly traversed the not-so-tantalising-hill gradually ascending its uneven tiers. The FRB's wanted to stretch out but the terrain was arduous and we were reduced to a single-file death march. A steep, but runnable climb came into view and the testosterone started to fly. The sight of my mountain-marathon running friend ‘ Indy ' out in front incensed the likes of Jello Butt and Festering Streaker who put on a spurt for the summit. The ‘spurt' was premature and our alpha males were quickly reduced to walking. Roger-the-sick-prick proved that he has both age and beauty on his side, and Mr. Nice Guy strode easily past us all to the check at the top of the hill.

Preferring to check ‘smarter not harder', I fumbled my way round the side of the hill. Why go over it when you can go round it? I was rewarded by finding trail leading down the opposite slope. I use the term ‘slope' loosely….much crashing and cussing ensued as we penetrated the impenetrable ground cover as only hashers can, and emerged covered in straw, seeds and twigs at the bottom of the hill. Of course the SCB 's [Beep Beep, NFN Victoria etc.] were already there and in the process of solving the next check. Thank you ladies!

Timmy Tight Pants led us with great difficulty through the next portion of the trail. Thick, overgrown jungle proved a big challenge to his long, lanky limbs. We followed a barrage of guttural Norgy swearing as TTPs snagged arms and legs on vines and creepers. The rest of us had a fairly easy passage thanks to the Norwegian ‘bulldozer'.

Once out of the thicket, and by now, really itching to increase our stride, we hit the sand and the red ants. It was not the joy-to-run-on hard-packed sand, but the suck-yer-gutz-out, one-step forward, three back, ‘shifting' kind of sand. The FRB's cried as every last ounce of energy was sucked from their threshing machines. Getting no-where fast, we finally looked up and realized we were in the cashew grove close to home. Roger-the sick-prick found paper at the last check and he and I jogged home leading the pack towards the parked cars at the A site. With ‘FRB' status virtually guaranteed, our genteel return was rudely interrupted by a gnashing, snarling raging bull…Jello Butt, guns a'blazin' barged past us, arms aloft, a look of triumph on his face, to finish first …humph…

Touch My Stuff and I have had a blast on the Jungle Hash thanks to you wankers but now it's time to go. Can't have too much of a good thing !  We're gonna miss you all. Bastarrrrrrrds !

In hashing,

Lynxx