Hash Trash – Oktoberfest 2023 – Hobart Hash House Harriers and Harriettes

Volume 42, Issue 25-ish | Oktober 7-8, 2023

OKTOBERFEST REPORT

With a new away-weekend venue comes a new tightening of the sphincter. Not every establishment welcomes an injection of thousands of dollars at the cost of putting up with a bit of exuberance in the same way. Would we be seen as rambunctious rascals, or hedonistic hooligans?

First reactions on arriving at the Fox and Hounds were positive – the staff seemed happy to deal with a Pee Wee or an Arsecutter, rather than their alter egos, and did so with a smile.

JM Growler and her assistants handed out willkommen packs, including Oktoberfest badge, H5 foot sticker, novelty beer goggles, Schokolade und Brezeln.

The advance party was well entrenched on the Friday night, outnumbering the locals by quite a margin. Eventually we relocated upstairs to what would be our special spot, bedecked in Bavarian bunting (and the obligatory appearance by Fluffy the goat).

The party was at full noise when ‘last drinks’ was announced at about 8:30pm, so DNR and Viagra invited everyone back to room 32 for an after-party. (It wasn’t necessarily their room, but no one was about to argue with 30-plus Hashers and several hangovers still in their bottles.)

The next morning’s roll call featured a few rough looking heads. None rougher than JM Sonar, who looked so bad that even a leper with gastro would feel sorry for him.

Fortunately, Sonar had the foresight to set trail the previous day, and the fivesight to get assistance from the super-sub, Hare Highness Eager.

Ever the model of German efficiency, Frau Growler called for the group photo at the appointed time, then sent the Packs off on trail.

Ever the model of Australian lethargy, Snack Bar was caught mid-log by the call, thinking that it was a noon start (well, it would be it it was the High Noon for Full Moons weekend), and therefore still had a decadent hour of ablution time on his side. Snacky was last seen racing across the car park while pulling up his running lederhosen.

By necessity, the first part of trail involved forming a slightly mobile chicane for the tourist traffic along the main road, before heading uphill toward the caravan park. Here we found the runners wandering around in circles, if those circles were being drawn by a four year old using their non-dominant hand while receiving electric shocks.

Eventually it was decided that the runners should probably join on to the walkers’ trail, which followed a broad bush track down to the beach.

Along the track there was a ye oldie lamp post, which Cracker told me marked the border of Earth and Narnia. After responding with a blank look, Cracker called me an ignorant bibliophobe, then went on to explain that it featured in The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe. I was going to ask Cracker which one she was, but I figured it out on my own.

Back out to a Master Check by the main road, although I suspect that the ‘MC’ part is more accurately interpreted these days as ‘Momentary Confusion’ as almost everyone paused, shuffled their feet, looked interestedly at something in the distance, then took off.

Soon we found ourselves back-dooring the Port Arthur Historic Site, surreptitiously skirting the works area, then dropping down through an unmarked gate to a lookout, where we did exactly what the name advertised.

This time a Master Check seemed to work. Sure, there were some feeble attempts to find trail and move on, but most of the Pack were happy to mill around and do a passing impression of Lord Litchfield (assuming that Lord Litchfield had used a Kodak disposable and had a serious case of the DTs after a big night on the sherry).

True trail then led down to the Park proper, heading through the ruins of the convict church (which Magic Touch claimed as her own for an Insta-post session that went on far longer than photographer Bad News was expecting).

The Park seemed to be totally devoid of visitors. Paying visitors, that is, for we blithely continued through the Park, calling ‘on’ with gusto, at no stage attracting the attention of any Authority types.

Heading down to the old dockyard we heard the angry voices we were half expecting, but they turned out to be a proximity-activated audio experience. (I think that TopDek may have had an audio-activated bowel experience, giving a little jump when it started up unexpectedly.)

From there we travelled the Stewarts Bay track, passed the sign that told us that we had needed a Park entry ticket – too late, now – and back up through the Caravan Park. The hill that we didn’t enjoy on the way out was enjoyed far less on the way back, with Uber options to auto-Hash far and few between.

Back at the venue we were confronted by Eskys filled with Germanic beers, with names that couldn’t be pronounced, such as Oettinger Pils, Früh Kölsch and Weihenstephan Hefe Weissbier. Thankfully, standing sentry over this foreign invasion were four kegs of stuff that we DID know – Sir Eve‘s Bavarian brews. If you’re going to be hit between the eyes with something, it’s better the 6% zjizzurebeer you’ve already had ‘experience’ with.

The F&H staff came out with pots of soup, followed up with bratwurst and sauerkraut. The Hash Lips took centre stage on the back of the Snack Bar‘s ute and entertained with a rapid-fire circle.

The Glühwein competition was next on Frau Growler‘s tightly controlled agenda. Cracker‘s Trumpian claims of vote rigging were cast aside when the JMs announced that the judges were to be F&H staff.

After tasting his initial effort, Gov’nor Honkers had declared it to be too sweet, offloading it to Entrance and starting afresh – but with half the sugar. Entrance came third; Honkers last. Defending champion In The Raw was feeling cocky at the judging, but was left feeling a bit of a dick when he finished well down the order (and without a Jaffa or Chuckie to wear the blame). The title of world’s best Glühwein (for the next 12 months, anyway) went to Bad News with his whisky-enhanced brew, mulled for three months in the bladder of a wild haggis.

A few nanna naps were taken ahead of the main event. Out came the good dirndls and with that came the ‘puppies’ – cleavage that may or may not have been digitally enhanced. The men quietly suffered in their lederhosen, at last understanding why the Germans have no sense of humour.

We were joined at dinner by H5 luminary Bo Peep and husband Ram It Up, who are now Port Arthur locals and had f*ck all else to do on a Saturday night.

We dined on wiener schnitzel, pork and yet more sauerkraut, followed by black forest cake. On the big screen played this year’s Oktoberfest classic – Heidi – but most had lost interest in it once the sexy goats had finished their moment in the spotlight.

With the locals having well and truly departed there was an attempt to get the dance party started, but a big Friday generally means a quiet Saturday, and the dance moves were less John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever and more Bernie, from Weekend at Bernie’s.

The traditional time for a ‘clothes-optional’ run used to be midnight, but it’s been starting earlier and earlier as the birthday suits become more and more wrinkled. This time around, the sun had barely set before a Pack of 16 – including virgins Dee’s Bick, Dovka Bruiser and Ninjaguts* – took off and took off. The trail inexplicably went through some of the rooms, and when In The Raw ‘presented arms’ at Scary Eyeball‘s bedside, she almost had a stroke!

* names changed to protect the indecent

The breakfast crew dealt out eggs and bacon, which were gratefully accepted by those who braved looking at the early morning through gritted eyes, but the still well-stocked Eskys remained largely untouched. I suppose breakfast beers aren’t normally 6%.

Frau Growler called everyone together at 10am for the recovery run, which wasn’t slated to start until 10:30am, but when the Frau says ‘macht schnell‘, you bloody well macht schnelled!

Hare Highness Eager read the room – which started with ‘It was a dark and stormy night…‘ – and set a modest recovery trail. By modest, I really mean… well, you know what I really mean. Cracker

was one of only a few to not load it up as a Strava activity, barely reaching 500m. Even Prickit couldn’t be arsed rounding that one off.

Snack Bar, recruited Grizzly to overfill in as his co-Hash Lip in the absence of TicToc, then stood back as Grizzly did Grizzly. Just like the old days.

Our thanks to the Joint Masters – Growler and Sonar – and to their helpers for organising another great weekend. Thanks also to the visiting Hashers, who added much colour and noise – mainly from Blah Blah Blah and High Beam – which helps make it such a fun weekend.

Prost!
Grizzly

SKOLS

Eager – Hare.
Fringe Benefits – came prepared for a Highland Fling weekend.
Fun Bags – yeah, nah. Can’t remember.
Truck Fukka – missing front tooth; now a Collingwood supporter.

Miss Bling – 25 Run millstone!
Mr Bean – 25 Run millstone!
Bad News – 125 Run millstone!
Snack Bar – 700 Run millstone!
Viagra – 125 Run millstone! (Sunday)

Austen Tayshus, Blah Blah Blah, Die Fester, Entrance, Fun Bags, High Beam, Scary Eyeball, Truck Fukka and Vodka Cruiser – can’t remembers.
Bee’s Dick, Big Mac, Gingernuts, Magic Touch, Quarter Pounder and Vodka Cruiser – Oktoberfest Jungfrauen
Pole Dancer – leading the runners’ Pack astray.
Brazilian – new FRB jacket holder.
Die Fester – log jam. Had to flush seven times.
…and other skols I forgot to write down.