2024 Chardonnay Highland Fling – R*ns 1418, 1419 and 1420
8-9 June 2024 from Gowrie Park
Hare: In The Raw
Run Reporter: Grizzly
Just like our previous visit to Gowrie Park, the Mount Roland Range was at its Insta-worthy best, were you fortunate enough to see it after driving into blinding sunlight from the Sheffield turn-off. Snow angels were clearly off the agenda this year, and In The Raw’s knob was somewhat relieved.
After stowing away more gear than Amundsen took to last the 94 days of his South Pole trek we headed to the common room, which was awash with common people. It seemed that nearly everyone bought enough food to feed eight people, meaning that there was nearly eight-times more food than required (after accounting for Dyke’s absence). The leftovers were shoe-horned into the kitchen fridges, meaning that no-one would go hungry. It also set off every food-safety alarm on the north west coast, but we’ll get to that later.
With the official program not starting until the following day, early Flingers were left to entertain themselves. By ‘entertain’ you, dear reader, will no doubt insert the words ‘get p!ssed’. Hands On made an early bid for the Hell ‘n’ Back Award, although she maintains that she was not p!ssed and had no recollection of any ‘freeform gymnastics’. Pretty much an admission of guilt, right there.
At the JM-ordained time we assembled for the traditional Fling foto, however after a headcount it was found that Bad News and W3 were missing. It turned out that Bad News had a bad case of ‘tight nuts’ – which can happen when you’re wearing a kilt. A flat tyre refused to budge and there was no phone reception at their ‘off-grid’ hideaway, so Bad News flop-flop-flopped (which can also happen when you’re wearing a kilt) the car to Sheffield for repairs. If only they’d thought to drive to Gowrie Park, as Jaffa is quite adept at loosening nuts because… you know… Navy.
After a totally insipid chalk talk from Hare-elect In The Raw, the more attractive JM (that’s Luv Shack, just in case you were unsure) entrusted the Hash Horn to Kangaroo, although entrusted may be too strong a word. (Kangaroo tooted admirably on trail, but then swapped the Horn for a bag of lollies and it was not seen again.) Before setting off, the Pack enjoyed a tot of Murray The Rat’s highland special ‘Athol Brose’ and a piece of Dini’s blacker than a hat-full of arseholes ‘black bun’. That should slow the runners down.
At more-or-less the appointed time – more less and less more – the Pack was set loose, but then ground to a halt 200m from the trail head. (Head? Who said head? I’ll have some of that!) Runners flited left, right, backwards and forwards, running in ever-diminishing circles until there was an unfortunate accident featuring Hooray’s head and Snack Bar’s arse. ‘Ring the Hare’ was the call. ‘f*ck the Hare’ was the reply. I reached for my phone, as the only palatable option of the two on offer.
Before I could find ‘Dopey C*nt’ in my contacts, Jaffa called ‘on’ from somewhere near the next township. In a blur, Pole Dancer and Bee’s Dick flashed past, before following trail into a bit of bush. At this stage, Jaffa was still calling ‘on’ in a different direction, so either d’nephew had prior knowledge or Poley and Bee’s Dick just wanted some quiet time together. Given that they emerged 30 seconds later, the latter is still on the table.
Now that trail foreplay was out of the way, we hitched up our shorts and tackled trail proper, with Mount Roland looming large ahead of us. The runners were ‘treated’ to a lesson on why In The Raw is the one-and-only ‘most hated man in Hash’ with a ring-stretcher of a climb to nowhere. The walkers had a less tortuous path to follow, although Ringo was starting to look for a pair of jumper leads for his recalcitrant hardware.
The latter part of the trail followed some nice creek-side tracks, although again the low sun made following trail while staying clear of ruts and sinkholes somewhat challenging. The penultimate section along O’Neills Creek was a joy to follow, rounding out a very enjoyable trail.
Back at the venue a battery of Eskies made finding the right beverage a challenge, and the JMs had organised a spread of meat-like substances and sides to feed a small army. And for the ‘lucky’ Hasher, there may also have been a special ‘surprise’, but we’ll get to that later.
Chardonnay Lips Slippery Nipple and Smallgoods figured that a larger circle may require some special crowd control, and brought in ‘The Enforcer’ – a large block of ice for those who failed to show respect. When it was realised that TicToc was not at the Fling, the ice was repurposed as a day lounge for minor misdemeanours.
The Highland Games were refurbished, with the coits, golf and egg-tossing highlighting what a bunch of uncoordinated idiots we are, and Mr Sheen and Bee’s Dick confirmed that they were biggest tossers in camp. The finale was a three-legged boat race – not at all a recipe for disaster as ten people in bondage tried to crowd around a card table to skol a beer.
The evening called for formal attire, with Die Fester taking the prize for best dressed Viking smurf. The outside catering team managed serve 50 Hashers in good order, with roast meats and vegies followed by desert. If you were lucky, you got something extra with your bit of lamb, but more on that later. The fun continued with a game of ‘celebrity dickhe*ds’, where the aim seemed to be to make Arsecutter grumpy by blurting out whatever name he wrote on the Clan Leader’s headwear.
Ringo made a play to take out the Hell ‘n’ Back Award after requiring an ambulance to knock back the rev counter on his trail-inducted state of excitement. A Bit Of This later upped the stakes by throwing herself out of the gypsy bus, having been primed by Lone Arranger and a bottle of Drambuie. The two-and-a-half somersault in the pike position was fine, but ABOT failed to stick the landing.
The clothes-optional trail was, like many of the male participants, quite short in length – and not good to look at. The fireside circle was cut short by a visit from the fun police, who expressed concern for those young, innocent minds 50m away, in their caravans, asleep. They must have had CCTV. With a zoom lens.
The next morning it became clear that the Park’s septic system had been given a thrashing overnight. As such, not everyone was keen to tackle Arsecutter’s big breakfast. Forensic analysis of everyone’s dietary journey led to ‘divine intervention’ as the most likely cause of the Pro Hart splatters.
At the final circle the JMs presented the Hell ‘n’ Back Award to Hands On, who made a last-minute lunge for the title by walking head-first into a sign while on the recovery run.
Blah Blah Blah best summed up the weekend with this ditty:
Let’s head to the Highlands for a Fling they said! Gowrie Park, was where we were led.
Hashers came from near and far, some by motor home, some by car!
The fun begins with a slap and a tickle, but don’t drink too much or you’ll be in a pickle!
Watch out for The Lip, he’ll make you down, down, This year it was Hands On, who stole the Hell’n’Back crown.
There were plenty of runners out on the trail, and by the next day, most wanted a pail.
On to the Hash games, what a sight to be seen, Those legends McCampbelles, were the winning team !
We all kilted up for drinks and dinner, where some got fatter, while others got thinner
A porcelain throne was made this year’s feature, for unsuspecting Hashers, no paper was torture!
Thanks to the Committee for going above and beyond ya
But what we really want to know is, who invited sh*tonya?
Kudos and thanks to Arsecutter, Luv Shack and their entourage for a well-executed Fling. Good choice of venue, fine trail and fun company. And Spoof.
On On
Grizzly
