Category Archives: CSH3 – Write Ups

Finally its the end of the reign of Horny Monkey! A day for celebration? My day began when the Asshole called me at 7am to remind me I was co-haring with him and should meet him around 8. Good plan, lets get the run set before the heat comes. As I jumped out the car, Horny gave me a bag of powder and pointed me off to set the first false trail. I hadn’t had a chance to scout the trail, but HM assured me it was a good one – reusing the assault course he’d used for a CH4 run previously.

After a couple of checks and cutting across a rice field, along the bank of a river, we came to the edge of a village and the bamboo bridge across the river was in clear view. We debated how to set the trail at that point, and noted a little bar just past the bamboo bridge. It wasn’t open yet, but Horny went in anyway to find a family sat down to breakfast in their pyjamas – living up to his name, he quickly struck up a conversation with the daughter and quickly emerged with a couple of cold beers – it was after 9am (just), so what the hell – this could be a long day…

We finally decided how to set that bit of the trail, and as the beer tasted so good, we decided to share the wealth and add in a beer stop. Some hours later we would be sat there, enjoying another beer and watching HRA come oh so close to leading the way to us, but in the end it was Dog Shit who appeared leading the way. (Lumber Jack Off commented – “where are the FRBs? – no the REAL FRBs!”)

After a beer, the runners set off across the fields to the assault course (not before a hold and some more skiddy sticks brought a large group together). Unfortunately the trail f’d up a bit here as Skiddy found the out trail after paddling through a river, rather than the true trail across the field. Only Chuck Wao and Just Coming got to play in the assault course, while I had to sprint along to set the ONIN to help out the completely confused runners.

The circle came and it was time for Horny’s swansong! He eventually sacked everyone, and passed over the reins to me – I guess I am responsible for making sure we all have fun for the next year…!

(Courtesy Brown Finger)

The morning of the Songkran run was hot. By the time we started to gather at the Imperial’s beer
garden for the early start, it was as hot as sitting under a rocket at Cape Canaveral with the engines
fired and the countdown expired. The force of the sun at its zenith was relentless; the garden
seemed to trap the heat and the sun seemed to fire up the still air until it burned with the ferocity of
a cremation oven. I was already as thirsty as a camel with no humps and sweating like a pig tucked
up beneath a rather heavy duvet, and I hadn’t even started to run. Could we possibly survive such
viciously hostile conditions?

But wait, beer was already on tap, courtesy of Redundant Seaman, and there was ice, and laughter,
and a lot of new faces and some old ones, too. The day was going to be extremely hot, sure, but it
was also going to be refreshingly wet with copious amounts of beer to refresh the internals and even
larger quantities of water to refresh the externals once we got amongst the festive activities; it was
going to be fun.

Cool Balls had prepared some cute little signs for the trail, lots of little arrows with little red HHHs
on, and little white circles with little green Cs on to denote circle checks, and little strips of sticky
orange paper for us to follow. Wow, a lot of work must have gone into producing such a pretty little
trail, but would we be able to find it . . .?

Things didn’t start well at all. One of the three hares pointed the way of the trail by drawing a circle
in the air. WTF . . .? We all stood around looking stunned and bemused until someone with far more
brains than I decided the best thing to do was to head out of the hotel exit – clever, eh? And sure
enough we found one of the cute little signs. The pack was off brandishing mean looking water
weapons of mass destruction, squirting their massive pistols at all and sundry. Even the scrawny
street dogs were treated to a thorough soaking.

So the trail wound its merry way through the narrow streets of the city, heading towards the river,
then over the iron bridge, and finally down a very-hard-to-find dirt trail on the riverbank, which lead
us to the fist and very welcome internal refreshment stop. Tequila and beer was quickly downed
and mixed potently with the pre-start alcohol, and early splashes were given out by a more than
usually relaxed Manic Monkey GM coming to the end of his tenure. And there were visiting hashers
from Borneo who were having a smashed-whale of a time, dedicating themselves to making sure
that everyone else was having one too. And we were!

Then we were suddenly off again, heading back over the river, through more narrow streets until we
began to find the splashers, not the hash splashers but the Thai splashers who were lined up bow
to stern along the streets with buckets of icy water and . . . well you already know the rest! And we
hit the next internal refreshment establishment, the Riva, on the Moat; more beer, and chicken and
chips . . . if only they had been in the same basket with a couple of slices of dried out tomato and a
piece of limp lettuce – the quintessential British pub grub of the seventies. Oh my god how I miss a
good chicken in the basket with a pint of warm brown and mild . . . urghhhhh!

And we were off again. I couldn’t find trail amid the chaos of the festivities around the Moat.
Thankfully Spunky Monkey was on hand to whisper the location of the next internal refreshment
stop – Tiger Kingdom. Thank god I knew where it was, so I hooked up with Fishy Fingers and ran

off-trail straight there. The landlord had only expected around 10 hashers and was completely
unprepared for the hordes that eventually arrived. But he made do and hurriedly set out some
tables next to the road. The beer arrived to refresh the internals and the water arrived from the
close proximity of the pickups and their barrels of iced water! But what the hell did I care, by now
the beer had working my mind up into a splendid state of insensitive insobriety.

And so it came to pass that we eventually headed back to the Imperial, and the circle started around
17.00 or so, far later than Monkey Spanker had said it would start – “no later than 16.00 start”, I
recall him yelling as we headed out on the run. We were still drinking draft beer. And then the Hash
Cash had a whip round to pay for another barrel of beer. We were downing the amber nectar like
brainless Australians – and there were a few of those present, too.

The circle was hilarious – or at least I think it was. By now I had surpassed all the Australians put
together in the brainless stakes. Nevertheless, Horny Holeblaster couldn’t stop the naked asses
hitting the ice, and I don’t remember him caring all that much. I certainly recall a fairy-white bony
ass belonging to Graven Image and a slab of visiting Danish bacon, and then there was the visitor
from Borneo, slipping and sliding, slipping and . . . A family hash, I ask you! And then Geisha Gash
was given a visitor’s T-shirt, but only if she changed into it in the circle . . . A family hash, well I never
did! And such naked fun and frolics in the beer garden of an entirely respectable hotel – goodness,
gracious me, whatever next!

The last thing I remember was Hairy Asshole leading the chant “One more year, one more year . . .”
and then there was this kind of blissful void. Great stuff the hares and the GM and everyone else.
One more year . . . one more year . . . zzzzz . . . zzzzzzz.

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(Courtesy Brown Finger)

It was the afternoon after the infamous night before – the drunken Animal Dinner!

The wise word on the songthaew was that the hares, Alice and his much better other half, or more
correctly, his perfectly formed other ninety-nine percent, Fandango, had been instructed to set a
short trail – no Wimp/ Rambo – for the benefit of all the assholes who couldn’t get enough of the
free bar the night before. But, no! Who the F is Alice if not an absolute asshole himself? And then
there was Chuck Wao giving me grief for not having been as drunk as him during the past two days,
moaning about how he hadn’t been able to sleep at night, and it wasn’t fair, and he wouldn’t be able
to keep up with me, and more shit like that . . .?

The hare brief was long and gushing, full of blue paper things and tales of trouble with the natives
stealing the trail, and about special checks named after specific hashers. And all the time the storm
clouds were gathering ominously above or heads . . .

Finally we were off, and sure enough a few hundred meters out we came to a Superman check,
where the FRB’s had to wait for Superman to arrive or twelve hashers – yes, 12! It goes without
saying that the twelve won the race; Sups was nowhere to be seen. So off we set again. Not much
had changed from the start, except that time had moved on even if we ourselves hadn’t, much, and
all the time the storm clouds were gathering ominously in the heavens . . .

A much happier Chuck Wao, now he was out in front, led us on through special Skid Mark and
Graven Image checks, and there was even a Brown Finger check, or so I was told back at the A. This
was the third run in the area in the past week, so we knew the trails fairly well. The hares had done
a splendid job collecting all the girly pink paper from previous trails and replacing it with manly blue,
and the manly testosterone was flowing through Chuckie Ducky’s protruding veins; he was having
the time of his life up front, all on his lonesome, hitting the correct trails off the checks time and
time again. And all the time the storm clouds overhead were gathering in ever deepening shades of
grey and black . . .

And then we hit a corker! Chuck Wao checked right at a circle and went up and over a small hillock
that Graven and I knew from very recent experience led nowhere whatsoever. We more informed
twosome checked a couple of trails off to the left and found the right one going sharply upwards.
Graven called on on, loudly, the circle was kicked out, and everyone else followed . . . except for
a now rather sick and disgusted Chuck Wao who proclaimed Graven a silent running bastards to
anyone who would listen to his rabid rants and raves, and all the time the thunder in the gathered
storm clouds was gaining in tempo and volume . . .

Finally, with the rain falling in sharp-edged glass sheets, we hit the final difficult check, which after
much fruitless huffing and puffing and the arrival of a lot of non-checking-hashing-bastards,Turkey
Burgler found the trail and led us back to the A, and all the time the rain was falling harder and
harder and the wind was blowing stronger and stronger and the lightening was crashing to earth all
around us, cracking like amplified stagecoach whips . . .

Thank god for the shelter, but I and a few others stayed for a long while in the songthaew, and
even there the strength of the wind fired the rain right through to the back like a billion bullets of
ice. This had one big advantage for the boys in the back . . . HRA persuaded Cumalot to strip off her
wet clothes and put something dry on. Tulips held up a very thin piece of cloth, the size of a small

handkerchief, to protect her modesty, but . . .

So, a great job Alice and Fandango. One against the very big head of the Horny Asshole GM, because
there was definitely, against all the rules, a Rambo trail, and the supposedly short hangover run
turned out to be 7.5k. Oh I do love a decent run, especially when I was not suffering like Chuck Wao
from over exploitation of an open bar, and other debauched activities that caused him sleepless
nights . . .!

Photos courtesy of Alice
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A lot of history to this birthday run, so nervously I headed out to the runsite with memories of near death experiences this time the previous year. As we turned towards Alpine Golf Course, I was tempted to pull in and hit some balls, but Matty was keen to see if Asia was going to be there. (He didn’t stop speaking all day, and was sure Asia would be there). The parking was crammed – this was a big turn out, lets hope Scooby could deliver…

The hare brief was ominous – a wimp rambo, where the Wimp sounded like a rambo and the rambo like a ball breaker! Nonetheless we turned away from the mountain and that made me happier. At the first V check I picked left and was immediately confronted by a big snake – ugh! We were hitting checks every 200m and the lead cycled over and the pack stayed together, although numerous were spotted short cutting.

The short cutting was cut out as we hit the canal. There were several excellent checks where we just didn’t know which side to check – get it wrong and you have the choice of swimming across, going back around, or gambling on a bridge further up. Only HRA was stupid enough to choose the swimming option, and I spent quite a bit of time playing catch up as I kept picking the wrong side.

The beer check was a welcome respite – but with limitless beer in the fridge, there was a danger that we’d be there forever. Skiddy thought better of it and led Sloppy Rod off to check before the beer was finished. Brown Finger couldn’t resist either as he feared losing his lead. Fortunately another check just around the corner brought us back together. Then it was on to the Wimp Rambo split. It was already turning into an epic, so I ducked out with Horny Monkey and we made our way back with the walkers.

With so many runners present, the circle was already a tough job. Interruptions from a German visitor who started making up new rules. I can only imagine her reporting back to her home hash ‘ze hashers in Chiang Mai, zey drink with ze wrong hand’. Afterwards it was on to the OnOn – a great resort, but finding a way out of it wasn’t easy!

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The Rambo (courtesy Graven Image)

Frozen is gradually building a reputation for dragging us way out of town and giving us a shitty run – today he recruited Graven Image to assist – surely this would be a good run? I drove out to the site and after nearly getting to Chiang Rai, we turned onto a dirt road – and as I pulled up behind Bone Collector she crawled along examining each tree in detail. Nonetheless we got to the runsite and we ready for the run. Mr. Poo wasn’t – he missed the bus and had to play catch up in his own songthaew.

We set off in usual style with Brown Finger chasing behind me scaring me to run faster with his extended index finger. We dived into the bushes following some random dobs of powder only to hit some skiddy sticks. WTF? Skiddy sticks at the start? Who’d do a thing like that? (Muahahaha!) I went back to put the sticks where they should be, and played catch up through the forest darting between trees and walkers. I caught up just in time for the next set of sticks, and again was playing catch up.

Brown Finger and Chuckie danced off down the trail skipping and holding hands taking turns to do the wrong trail and waiting for each other. What a beautiful couple they make!

The hares had managed to find more shiggy and more uphill than I imagined possible. The most entertaining part was FD telling me about all the great trails there were in the area that we didn’t run on – instead we scrambled our way through scratchy bushes. The finish was the highlight for me – a circle check in the middle of a trail… Of course Brown Finger and Chuckie danced on hand in hand – both checking the same way for fear they might lose each other! Square Rooter spotted the dog waiting at the true trail and led us in. It seems Square Rooter likes dogs and had been eyeing him up all night!

Back at the runsite we enjoyed the view – a great location overlooking a great lake in some random guys private property – good job FD! The circle disintegrated quickly and it was back to the hash pub for food and more beer.

It was over to the Ag Centre for Shagless’s run. Rather than using the regular Ag Center site, we turned right and went down to the football field – and at that we went to the far side of the football field… Interesting, and ominous – there had to be a good reason for this – I was a little late for the hare brief, and only half heard something about private property. Clearly the run site took us half a km closer to the mountains and would let Shagless lead us half a km higher up them…

As we set off I pulled out my special weapon – Matty! Apart from Tonkla, he was the only kid there and wanted to come along for the run – sprinting off and immediately planting his face up Pamela’s ass! He jumped back up and carried on until getting tired after 400m or so and opting to sit on my shoulders for most of the walk instead. As the trail turned towards the hills, Matty was keen to stay on the flat and urged me to take a detour. He’s a genius! We promptly appeared ahead of the FRBs again.

As the trail turned towards the mountains again, Matty announced that he was certain they had gone the wrong way, and we should go straight instead – turns out he was right again and we promptly intercepted trail again and found our way back to the A bucket in around 30 minutes. Horny Monkey, claiming a foot injury, was sat drinking beer with the hare – they immediately assumed I was the first FRB home – yeah right and Matty was 2nd!

It seemed like the trail was well appreciated – looping around the bottom of the mountain and then later climbing up – I’d be interested in seeing a map of where he took you – Graven?

Courtesy Graven:-

It was time for the Sloppy / Gash birthday run – sure to be an epic as it had been planned for a long time. I wonder about the division of tasks? The Geisha to set the trail while The Rod organised T-shirts and the On-On? Who knows but with the run out in Maerim, I suspected Sloppy had a deal to do with the trail and I was looking forward to the challenge as I set off from home. Around 3,000 km later I got to the lakeside run site. Memories came flooding back of another Sloppy run from the same site.

With no sign of Sloppy, Sups gave a non committal hare brief and set us off around the lake. As usual Belly Dancer took off with Brown Finger, with the latter to be thwarted for the first time at the first V. I caught BD shortly before the next circle – as the hares had placed it down off the trail, I fruitlessly checked across the stream into the farm before BD belated called On-On – some would call it silent running! We followed Brown Finger for a while along the bank of a hill through the burnt ashes, and I feared we wouldn’t see him again. Eventually he was thwarted at a circle, and I lucked out – calling “ON ON” loudly at every opportunity. Another V check, correctly and loudly called by yours truly to assist Chuckie who was following behind. Luckily I got it right, and shortly found Sloppy looking exhausted at the Wimp Rambo split. I was tempted to take the Wimp, but Slops sold me a lie about how far there was to go and I jogged on.

The next circle was a killer! Getting there first I ended up zig zagging my way all the way around a resort with few calls coming from behind. It turns out Brown Finger jogged up with Horny Ass and pointed a possible trail out to him, but the blind bastard didn’t check it thoroughly enough and it took 10 minutes before BF went back and found the trail. Meanwhile I was the wrong side of a rice field, lake and road. I could hear some calls, but struggled to find a way back to the trail. When I did rejoin, there was a group running together and things were working again. As well as being falsely accused of silent running, I was also falsely accused of hash crash – nobody saw my parkour style roll as I eagerly plunged to the real trail with the sole intention of assisting with the checks!

It was then we got to the 2nd of the brilliant checks. While the first had done a great job of rejoining all those who’d take the Rambo trail, this one managed to split the pack. Brownie and Chuckie took off and from then didn’t put a foot wrong – most of the subsequent checks had been kicked out by wimps like Bone Hur. Graven took off after them, while I jogged along with Horny, Turkish and Crazy Crack. It was a tough up and down finish to a tough run – my GPS battery gave out before the finish – around the same time Turkish’s motivation died and we didn’t see him again.

I was beat by the time I finished, so I’ll need a rest / massage before Monday! It was a good run (see I said it Slops!) well marked, with some interesting checks – 2 most notably. For me, not quite being an FRB, the last parts of the run were a shame – but that is largely due to Brownie and Chuckie getting away after someone kicked the circle out wrong – I blame Turkish! It does make you wonder about Wimp / Rambos… – but I think this one worked.

The circle was, well as circle. Square Rooter was brutalised and then refused the opportunity of a revenge splash – harsh! Well, we don’t have to suffer Horny’s wrath too much longer! The On-On was good – and today was a family hash with a bunch of kids enjoying running around together. Good times!

Ok, so it wasn’t Bone Collector, it is entirely Bone Hur’s fault and his philosophy was clearly why waste time scouting if you’ll just screw it up anyway! He set off throwing powder down and we set off in the same direction as the last time he set a run here. The big question was would we go up the 900 temple steps again? A circle check near the bottom teased us, but he’s spared us that torment. It was me that checked wrong there and the last I saw of Brown Finger was as he kicked up dust on the true trail.

The pivotal point was as we hit a ‘rubber wall’, and the trail set off to the right of it. It seems the wall marks some private property and our hare found no way through it. The solution was to just simply go all the way around it. The result a run of 8km, where the checks were beyond obvious – Hence everybody just ran through each check and Brown Finger’s calls grew quieter.

At the end of the wall, we hit the tarmac, and a tedious run was topped off with a 3km run back along the road to the A. Worst Run of the Year? Well it is certainly a candidate!

Many of the usual hashers were out of town with the Lanna Hash drawing several FRBs, and the pollution putting off hashers like Mr. Poo. Nonetheless the ranks were swelled by some visitors duly given the Horny Monkey welcome. We assembled, and the bus arrived, we were ready to set off.. Only one thing missing – the hares!!! Square Rooter and I did some jogging around sniffing for the On-Out, and fortunately found it. Still no hares! I found some powder in the car and Horny Monkey stepped in to give a hare brief as we guessed what might be install for us – actually the idea of setting off and having to guess what checks might mean was appealing, but sure enough a few minutes late the hares showed up and gave us a second hare brief that repeated the initial one – minus the V checks.

I jogged off feeling good – my legs were fully recovered from the mini-marathon, I was sober (mostly), and having hared with Superbitch a few times, I thought I might be able to figure her out… Lets see how this goes! At the first check I picked wrong first, but got back to the powder as most of the pack set off slowly – was I going to have to do all the checking today? I hit a few checks right and then we hit a tough circle in the bottom of a creek bed. Trying to outsmart the hares I headed backwards and the pack regrouped until Square Rooter led us onwards.

Fortunately the next check was back to the left and I hit the trail a short distance ahead of Turkish Delight. TD wasn’t happy and tried to chase me down, shouting and grumbling like a Dutchman! I wasn’t going to let that happen and opened up the legs so I didn’t have to hear him moan. At the next cross check I went straight and TD had to take one of the false trails. I was feeling good, but the calls were getting fainter behind me. At the next circle I wasn’t sure where to look, but lucked out on trail and from then on I couldn’t put a foot wrong – I hit every check right and I called On-On even though I knew nobody could hear behind me… There were some great checks in there, but for whatever reason I outguessed the hares.

The ante-penultimate circle check came and went – it’s significance being only to let me say ante-penultimate! The penultimate check took us back on ourselves as we turned back towards the A – the paper was almost visible from the trail, so I wasn’t fooled. The final check I got wrong, but after a lonely hash I had time to get back on trail and back to the ice cold beers before Chuck Wao came running up 10 minutes later. It doesn’t happen often, but today was almost the perfect hash (for me).

Circle time, and well, it was right on formula… We had several visitors who were willing victims for the HM punishment machine. Most of the awards were given out, but I struggle to remember the reasons behind them – apart from Pamela’s crash as the blood is still pouring from his leg. The CSH3 is a very welcoming hash that pays a lot of attention to its visitors and the Willys / Arms were plentiful. Almost as plentiful was the number of more regular hashers who weren’t brought into the circle and were left as casual observers (Stumbling Dyke, Big Top, Me, Sloppy Rod, Geisha Gash, Barbindoll, Blow Dry, Just Cumming…). Just saying, but on a serious note the hash needs to distinguish between virgins who are likely to come back, and one off visitors. Protracted circles that are centered around people we will never see again simply exclude the very members who come each week.