A hash trash. :-)
There is a rumor that the Savannah Hash was dead. Or dying. Or at the very least hibernating. If that was the case, then their dead and rotting corpses did a mighty fine job of advertising the Full Moon Hash (biggest! Brightest! In 18 years!) that ran last Saturday night. Visitors came from near and far. If I remember correctly, there were three from Tampa, four from Jacksonville (gay, of course), one from Secession and even one or two from Washington State. There were two from Atlanta, one from the Trash, even two from Baltimore and of course, the coolest of the Savannah folks, nevermind the thousands of little nosees who showed up at the start but claimed they were leaving every 10 minutes.
Knowing that meet was 6:30, off at 7:35, those of us coming from the island were a little worried about making the start in time, what with traffic. Your scribe actually was stupid enough to ask Git In My Bed: “do y’all start trail on time here?” The incredulous look was response enough. And it was true. We waited for the sun to set and the moon to come up, it being nearly 8:30 before we actually headed out. The actual lunar body (biggest! Brightest! In 18 years!) was actually a bit of a let down; luckily (not so luckily?), Squats and Swallows provided his own bright pasty moon as substitute until it could rise to the occasion.
Our hares were Tequila Tony and Just Pauline (for now) and they promised us a true Savannah-style Full Moon hash –clothing optional—and a 3.5 on the shiggy scale. Half-excited and half-nervous, we watched our nekkid hares throw down some life jackets (“just in case you’re not a swimmer type”) and gave them their mandatory (“10 minutes!!”) 20 minute head start before following them. With the full moon providing less light than anticipated and the pack having about 2.5 flashlights total among them (RV’s breasts have to count for .5 on their own, no?), we all pretty much stuck together. Little did we know at this point that we would have no worry about a well-lit trail later on.
So off we went, starting down a bit of road until we shimmied over a concrete wall and went down into the woods. These woods on a shiggy-rating were NOT the 3.5 we were promised (warned of?). But given that a good quarter of the pack were crazy cool enough to actually shed their clothes (oh! The things we do for a free t-shirt!), this was not necessarily a bad thing. There were some step-overs and what we here in Atlanta call hamsterland (or maybe it’s just your scribe). And at one point, Goo Lite Special did run ahead and warn us into a detour so we all wouldn’t fall on our faces like she did (or was it the person in front of her? Hmmm. Well, in this story, it was both of them). We twisted and winded through the lightly-covered trees and shrubs, the pack pretty much all staying together and chatting along the way. Every once in a while there was a call of “let the nekkid people go ahead!” only to have those behind (with the flashlights) then call out “egads! Why did we let the nekkid people get ahead?!” Nonetheless, we all pretty much got safely into the beer check/stop without too many bumps, bruises or cuts.
Beers were had and there was fun chatter. Then off we went again – and in this scribe’s surprise, there was beer left! We distributed them for the rest of the trail, making sure to take our garbage with us. Cause, hey. We’re cool like that.
And this is where the fun began. Remember that a good quarter of the pack was nekkid? And there was no light? Well, that changed quite quickly as we shimmied around some woodlands, over a bit of sand dune and into another (quite young or thin) wooded area. Because this is when the night lit up in bright light!
Was it finally the moon? (biggest! Brightest! In 18 years!) Was it just Squats again, bending over and lighting the way? Nope. It was a Coast Guard helicopter, secretly arranged by the hares so we could have light for the rest of the trail.
Or, rather, not.
Props to the Coast Guard for noticing a dozen plus vehicles at the start and thinking something must be going on in the area (seriously, though. Four “no trespassing” signs are not nearly enough!). They circled around until they hit us spot on – and hopefully got blinded right back by all the full moons not in the sky but a couple feet from the ground…and moving at that! The pack froze; we “hid” in the trees that proved not to be trees at all; we were pretty much in full view. And we were at a point where we were to cross a completely clear, er, clearing, before we could get back undercover again. So, of course, we froze.
After about a minute of that (the ‘copter circling closer and closer), we realized we were being ridiculous. Like they couldn’t see us? With their bright-as-the-sun light right in our faces? There were shouts of “oh my god! They’re gonna land!” (hee!) and “Crap! What are we going to do?” (um…finish trail, I reckon) and then we realized: most of us have been through this before….they really couldn’t arrest all of us.
Could they?
Awesome clothed harriers whipped off their shirts to cover the nekkid harriets up and we all hastened back to the start (some folks moving the fastest they had all night!), fully expecting to see a cop there when we arrived. Surprisingly, no. In fact, everyone came in and had a beer or three; we even cracked out the orange food and hot dogs and set up a table in the middle of the road where we were going to start ceremony. I’m guessing now, but it had to be at least 30-40 minutes until an officer finally did show, and then it was only to ask us to leave. Score! No arrests!
But it did mean we had to find another location for circle. After all, Savannah was alive again! And Just Pauline was to get named this night. We packed up (probably everything but Goo’s red vessel – who the heck had that anyway?) and headed to a McSomething bar in the western end of the historic district. At this point, RV remembered her friends owned Blaine’s Backdoor Bar and arranged for us to have a semi-private area of the place (on a Saturday night even!) in order to continue the festivities.
We lost the Baltimore harriets on the way (if I ever see them again, they’re getting punished for leaving us), but most of the pack made it there. We did trail talk and then came the naming. Questions asked, deliberation ensued and long-time named hashers took it outside to come up with a perfect, albeit “pretty” name for Just Pauline: now and forever known as Innocent Until Drunk (OMG! She’s another IUD!). I personally wanted to add “and always drunk” to the end of that, but it didn’t fly. RV, realizing there was no flour, quickly thought on her feet and got some instant potatoes from the kitchen for the naming. She also quickly got a mop when Innocent Until Drunk took her tequila shot (hey! She asked for it!) and then promptly spewed all over the floor.
Overall, a fantastic time. The shiggy meter was incorrect: most of us who have been hashing for years realized it was more a 1.5 than a 3.5….but, again, considering nekkidness and scrapes on boobs and balls? Not such a bad thing. A big thanks to our hares for laying trail, fellow hounds for making it a blast, the GM/RAs who ran a great circle and the Savannah Hash for letting us all invade your city with our own personal little madness.
If Savannah is “dead?” Stay dead, my friends. Because you rock that way. And until next time? On-on!
