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Run #136 - Saturday 17 April 1999 | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
 As the sun rose above Bergen, a substantial number of BH3 Hashers and support crew made their way towards Bergen harbour and Strandkaiterminalen. BH3 was off to Bømlo, an island south of Bergen, to pay homage to the G.M.'s home turf (in addition Bømlo also happens to be the home turf of both our Beer Master and our Song Master). Shortly before departure time Dog Handler, Bubba, Little Lost Willie and Ingvild his wife and private masseuse, Creepy Crawly, Golden Clipper, Beer Stop, Foggy Glasses, Pizzaman and our weekend visitor; Crapper in the Woods, had all turned up. Having identified the boat bound for Bømlo, the Hashers boldly clambered down the gangplank and entered the lounge. Foggy, being a born Hasher, ordered a beer as soon as the "bar" opened. After a short while a few other Hashers followed suit. The rest settled down to enjoy the boat journey as best they could.The BH3 Hashers tumbled ashore on Bømlo two hours later, having concluded the first leg of the sea journey. Abominator picked us up in his small pea-green boat but more significantly; there seemed to be no bar onboard his vessel. Golden Clipper, who according to rumours checks vessels for their seaworthiness or something like that, had to be coaxed on board by Abominator. After a 10-minute voyage the second leg of BH3's sea journey ended at a beautiful cottage in very picturesque surroundings where we were welcomed by G.M. Sr. Quit a few Hashers experienced a severe attack of Weak Bladders and Wobbly Knees when informed that no beer had been procured! We took some comfort in the fact that an expedition to procure the required goodies from a local establishment had been planned. Dr Butt was in charge of the expedition and was ably supported by Bubba and Dog Handler. Having survived the weekend's first crisis with dignity, we settled down to re-charge our batteries for the run. A growing sense of anticipation crept into the Pack as the sun-dial neared the magic hour of 2 o'clock. Finally "ON ON" was called and the pack, consisting of Dr Butt, Abominator, Dog Handler, Crapper in the Woods, Little Lost Willie, Foggy Glasses, Beer Stop, Bubba, Golden Clipper, Creepy Crawly, Pizzaman and our guest Just Mona, was off! The run seemed to go on forever and ever: through gardens, uphill and down dale, through marshes, in and out of woods, through thick undergrowth, over savannahs, skirting packs of savage sheep and other dangerous locals until we arrived at the first Drink Stop, albeit a mobile Drink Stop. Foggy Glasses, who is regarded as a minor deity on Hash Runs, was sent out into the nearby lake to take a group picture of the pack. Having for the time being lost the ability to walk on water, Foggy sank to his knees but completed the allotted task. Having scrambled back on to dry land, "On On" was called and the race was on again. After another long, long, long, long run, this time mostly on civilised roads, the Pack ended up in front of a hotel, which we boldly entered for yet another well-deserved Drink Stop. This establishment is apparently called "Hilton" by the natives, but this couldn't be proven as the famous sign on the hotel wall seemed to be invisible (and this was before we had any beer). At this point everybody expects a lengthy chronicle of the sometimes musician we observed sitting at the bar, but all that will be noted is that since he isn't a member of Pink Floyd the less said the better. "ON ON" was called again after an all too short drink stop. We finally arrived panting and wheezing back at the starting point after what seemed like a lifetime of agony. Having regained some of our dignity, the circle was formed. Now that certain unmentionable Hashers have passed their 69th run, a new tradition seems to have been introduced, namely that of partaking of beer standing up-side down while the other Hashers pour beer up (or down as the case may be) one's shorts. This pleasurable experience was doled out to Foggy, who thanks to the excellent BH3 Statistics, was deemed to have completed 69 runs. Next Little Lost Willie was called into the circle and informed that he was going to be given a new Handle. According to LLW's wife his first handle was nowhere near the truth, as she didn't recognise either the "Little" of "Lost" part of the name. The R.A. reluctantly accepted that the handle was a complete bummer, and duly re-named LLW Wallbanger, and that's not because he's a carpenter, because he isn't. The Wanker seemed very pleased with the new handle and promptly had a go at the nearest wall! After this rather obnoxious display of unbridled lust, Wallbanger observed a sailing boat on dry land and claiming to be a master mariner, pestered Abominator to be allowed to use it. Abominator finally caved in and the sailing boat was duly launched. Having seen how easy it was to sail, Creepy claimed he had been anchorman on the American Olympic sailing team or something like that, and waded aboard the sailing boat and set to sea. Having sailed a staggering 50 m from land the boat majestically keeled over leaving Creepy sitting on the upturned hull. Having nearly killed ourselves with laughter, the rescue launch set to sea and extracted Creepy from this rather embarrassing position. In the excitement as the rescue launch returned to the slip, Crapper did his bit. After a few tries he ended up in the water and was given a round of sympathetic applause for his troubles. Somehow Creepy managed to convince Abominator that his slight mishap with the sailing boat was not his fault but due to some freak of nature, and he should be given a new chance. To our utter amazement Creepy set off yet again. This time he managed to sail 100 m before disaster struck; the boat capsized once more and this time Creepy ended up in the water. He was extracted from the water by the rescue launch yet again but only after he all but managed to sink the unsinkable sailing boat. It finally dawned on us why Creepy had been an anchorman; the rest of the crew kept throwing him overboard all the time tied to an anchor. The BH3 pack settled down like a flock of vultures to wait for the next drama to unfold. We didn't have to wait long. Yogi, our esteemed Beer Master, arrived carrying three crates of beer. The Pack woke to life and started baying for beer. This must have scarred the pants of Yogi because he proceeded to the end of the jetty and threw the crates into the sea. Beer Stop nearly had a fit, and the big puddle that rapidly formed around him was probably just cold sweat. Being a resourceful young chap, Beer Stop used a nearby pike pole and managed to rescue the crates before they slid further into the murky depths of the fjord. After all this excitement Yogi probably got into the mood of things and decided that Foggy, having had to drink a beer upside down and roll around in the residue from the christening ceremony had become dirty and smelly and therefore needed a wash, and obliged by helping Foggy into the water by giving him a friendly shove. This was a completely new experience, as Foggy being a shrewd young chap, seldom gets himself into deep water. Having seen all the voluptuous mermaids swimming about in the crystal clear murky water, Foggy understood why so many BH3 members go scuba diving. This certainly gave a new meaning to the phrase "wet dreams in wet-suits". Everything has to come to an end and a couple of seconds later Foggy bobbed up to surface and made his way to dry land, albeit sans glasses and with a non-functioning hash flash camera. Having seen Foggy feel his way around trying to grope the Harriets, produce his "I'm Blind" sign and start accosting the other Hasher with pleas of money for his wife and 15 kids, Abominator concluded that it was better to fish the glasses out of the water immediately rather than endure this sorry sight for the rest of the weekend. It would also be rather boring changing Foggy's handle to "The Hasher Previously Known As Foggy Glasses And Now Known As Not So Foggy Contact Lenses" or "THPKAFGANKANSFCL" for short. So Yogi and Wallbanger (if there were any more taking part, the scribe was not able to tell who they were) set to sea in search of the glasses. After some searching and diving in the freezing cold water, the glasses were located and retrieved. After an emotional reunion, Foggy concluded that being able to see again did have its down-sides as all the ugly Hashers suddenly became visible again. After this emotional experience, most Hashers entered into a desperate struggle not to fall asleep. After a while Abominator informed the gathering that contrary to all traditions, it would not be the first Hashers to fall asleep who would lay the trail for the hangover run. Pizzaman and Beer Stop immediately headed for their bunks. The Norwegian Military concluded that the all clear signal had been given and Crapper and Dog Handler promptly fell asleep. The Wankers later claimed that the ability to fall asleep was an essential part of all military training. As midnight passed, the remaining Hashers entered into a rousing "Happy Birthday" as Wallbanger had just turned 26. After this most slunk of to bed except for Creepy, Clipperman, Yogi and Foggy who played Bridge and sipped (among other things) Single Malt Whisky well into the wee hours.
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