IH3 Trail #530: Taughannock

Silly me — I forgot to announce the trail location for last hash. Muchas apologias! ~Baster
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Perhaps it was reading the last rehash or being blinded by the weekend spring-sunshine that images of Jack Nicholson breaking his way out of the ward in One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest comes to mind. What was left of the former IH3 hash met in what can only be described as serene compared to the drama-trauma queens of the last hash.

For all you scared and scarred survivors (vicarious or otherwise), this rehash is for you. This hash offered so many things— starting with hashers who… get this… could follow markings and sniff out beer! It’s true; no lost trail, selling beads and who knows what for a drink or hint of trail, no “white outs” (only black outs) and no lame a## excuses … er, I mean, harsh circumstances, leading one to break down and call for help. Admitting you are powerless is the first step. Cumming to believe that a Power greater than yourselves can restore you to sanity is the second and maybe, just maybe, the experiences, reassurance of happier times and mockery will lure you back to the power of the hash.
We had two out of town visitors from Tucson, Stuffed in My Box and Bunker Baiter, who naturally tried to take credit for bringing the sun (before our galant hare showed them where sun don’t shine); along with Spike, PG, Mindy, Jiffy Lube and hare, Butt Floss.
Trail began in the falls overlook parking lot at Taughannock State Park. We ran up trail and crossed into a fresh, fertile field. It was magical really. Our feet grew double in length and a couple inches were added to our height. Who knows what else grew. PG began to stumble, regained her slippery footing before going down, hard and fast, just the way she … um…landed was graceful. She tried to shake off what can only be described as schmear and it covered her entire back side. A re-naming conversation arose when she complained of her hip being sore. Showing ourselves to be great helpers with unsteady footing, we just stood there exclaiming, “Oh My” until she got herself upright. Hell, it must be said here—PG is just that sweet or was too preoccupied with her new look to think of taking us down with her. We could feel the love on this fine sunny day. (Note to last hash: Not all misery loves company.)
Down the road we went with forewarning that we may be chased by hounds. The group responded as such: the FRBs took off quickly—clearly taking the gamble that if they couldn’t outrun the dogs, they would outrun everyone else and be spared. The remaining DFL (aka disabled) fodder quieted down in hyper vigilance as the fearless hare formed his artillery of snowballs. Luckily, the dogs passed on the snow cone entree and stayed hidden. At this point, we arrived at the ice pond on Rice Hill and were rewarded with a BN in the bush after saying hello to Trojan’s sister and chasing off a couple kids trying to dib in on our goods. (Note to last hash: That’s right, we found beer.)
Down the hill we continued, skipping towards the beautiful blue lake with the warm sun surrounding us. The Sound of Music was playing somewhere, I swear. No sooner had we stepped out of the sun and into the descending forest did a dark mood overtake each hasher one by one. Nature joined the force by snagging hashers with tree branches; poking at them; tripping them; offering to lend a steady grip and then breaking when used. Indeed, loud torturous curses were heard echoing out of the gorge. With an evil laugh, our hare stood on high ground as the climb brought everyone to their knees. But good overcomes evil and the sun (no rainbows) led a path to swing sets were we proceeded; then a hop, skip and jump over stacked picnic tables as we headed our way up to the next BN. (Note to last hash: Did you catch that? A second (as in two) BN was found ON trail.)
Into the parking lot we returned to conclude the hash. With such a small but exuberant group, we attempted to accuse and sang a few songs, but really we just got distracted. Bunker Baiter will attempt to blackmail us later with photos. The sun began to wane and Mindy’s whole doggy-body vibrated with such vigor that the table shook and beers spilled. PG took her into her arms and held her close. With a few raised eyebrows, we packed up and rode off into the sunset leaving our land of abundant beer and trail– it was beautiful, really.