So here I was back in Auckland for a short visit, and I got a ride with China the week before. He mentions he's setting the run next week, and it "should be a good one". I rearrange my flight schedules, business committments etc, to make time for this major event. Little do I know what I've got myself into.
The venue is apparently the Oraki RSA on Kepa Rd. Theres some hint that the run will involve "penetration" which presumably means one or other of the train tunnels in the vicinity, and that flashlights are mandatory. I arrive to find a carpark full of hashmen already drinking beer out of the back of CumQuix truck, this event seems to merit a full keg. Twenty dollars later, I'm signed up and ready to go. I grab the flashlight (kept in the back of my car for roadside emergencies) and get a handful of sticky liquid for my trouble. Further investigation showed the interior of the thing to be plugged with corroded, leaking batteries, and of dubious functionality.
Its an A to B run, which means we'll be hauled somewhere (point A) and run to somewhere else (Point B) which is by assumption the point where we started. Sometimes these things work the other way around, start at point A, run to point B and then get hauled back to point A again. There are various combinations of these things but you get the general idea. Anyway everyone PILES into the truck and we're off, presumably to find point A, which turns out to be rather further away than expected. The hares have covered up the windows of the truck so we couldn't really see where we were going, but the speed and shadows of bridges hitting the roof led us to believe we going up the Norwest motorway. Later on, some lurching around tight corners indicated we'd got to the scenic drive.
This turned out to be the case: one final steep winding road, and we found ourselves let out at Jacobsons Junction, the terminus for the Rainforest Express. This is a narrow gauge railway built many years ago to service the construction of the Waitakere dams. Everyone PILES onto the train, along with a Japanese TV crew who are doing a travel documentary for Tokyo TV. Off we go, chugging along the line (well in fact no beers allowed on board the train, but some still managed..) We arrive at Greenwoods Corner, about three km along the track after a few tunnels and some magnificent views. At this stage the camera crew disembarks, we back up a couple hundred meters, and repeat the grand entrance, filmed for Tokyo TV. I'm not sure that the Auckland HHH are a good advertisement for the country, but there you go. This time we PILE out of the train, and run the first part of the trail, about a km along the railway track, with a short side trip through a dark and muddy tunnel.
At the first halt we get the instructions for the run, there are three trails, easy, medium and hard. The easy trail basically involves getting back on the train, and going straight to the ONON. The medium trail involves a short train journey, followed by a short run. The hard trail starts straight down right here. RABBIT, the well known marathon runner, is off down on the ball buster trail, and I follow along behind. The first couple of kilometers is easy, because its literally straight down the hillside to the bottom of the valley. Easy enough, but we know that we have to recover all the elevation and then some before we get back to our final destination. Theres a check at the bottom of the hill with a false trail leading further down, and then we start on the slog uphill. Its easy enough to start off with, since we're on the access roads, but we soon head into the bush on a steep, narrow winding trail. Easy enough to follow the trail, which is marked with toilet paper (not the most eco-friendly form of trail marking, but I figure if anyone needs a shit, they have wipes at hand). I end up following SNIFFER who at least has a flashlight, and we make slow progress up the ridge. Theres a bit of a traverse around a dry stream bed that looks like it could be quite hairy in the dark, which is approaching quite rapidly.
We finally make the summit of the ridge, and have a view of the upper Nihotipu dam which we assume is our destination. From there its a fairly steep descent to the dam itsself which we cross, intersecting the trail for the medium run. From there we're back on an easy service road, and downhill all the way to the picnic area at the end of the tramway. It's nearly dark by this time and the stragglers are still arriving back. The runners from the medium trail started a lot later and are still out. There is a barbeque fired up with steaks and chops cooking away, and the beer is flowing freely.
Dinner is over, and then disaster strikes. A cry goes out THE KEG IS CUT. Of course our diligent brewmaster, one BALDRICK, was fully prepared for this eventuality, and had purchased a couple dozen pubpets. Unfortunately, he was laboring under the delusion that the point B of the A to B run we embarked on was to coincide with point C, outside the Oraki RSA, and this was consequently the location of the emergency supply of beer. Of course he should have been aware that something was going on about half an hour into the drive, and could have banged on the window and stopped the truck somewhere back in civilization and dealt with the problem at a local bottle shop. The hares, ARKLES and CHINA were also remiss in not briefing him fully on the situation.
So back to the present situation. We have about forty thirsty hashmen, no beer and we're about as far from a bottle shop as you can get in the greater Auckland area. The nearest supply of beer is on the Scenic Drive, at the end of the Piha Rd. So we have an extremely abbreviated circle, with dire threats of punishment for the offender at the first possible opportunity, as well as heavy fines. Since theres no beer, theres no point in hanging around, so we all PILE onto the train once again for the ride home. Its dark now but we can see glimpes of the bush lit by lamps on the side of the train. On the way through one of the longer tunnels the lights are turned off and we are treated to the magic of glow worms. That is until EMPHYSEMA shouting "GET THAT HAND OFF THERE" in a loud voice somewhat spoils the atmosphere. On we chug (as best we can without any beer) and at last we arrive back at Jacobsens Junction, where the truck is waiting to take us home.
We're all loaded up (well about as loaded as we can be, given the lack of beer), and ready to go when one of the hares, who''s been supervising the offloading of the train, produces a spare bag which someone has left behind. There are no takers, so we open the bag and determine the owner to be one PILES. Where's PILES? Some witty repartee follows about where PILES can be found, but the hashman variety is living up to his name by being a right pain in the arse, and out of sight. Some further discussion and investigation brings to light the fact that NOONE has seen him at the ONON, and he hasn't signed the book. Well in fact DUNCAN is convinced that he WAS at the ONON, which causes some confusion until we realize that DUNCAN wouldnt know if he wouldn't know having PILES even if stuck up his ass.
The sharp organizational minds of Auckland HHH are brought to bear on the problem and determine immediately to head home and leave the man in the bush. A dissenting minority, headed by DUNCAN, decide that this is probably not in the true SPIRIT of hashing and that some sort of belated rescue effort be launched. Some more discussion as to when he was last seen followed, and CARPARK indicated he'd been following him on the lower part of the trail. At least we have some maps of the vicinity, and we see that we can access the trail from a spot a short ways up the Scenic Drive. We drive there and organize a search party consisting of DUNCAN, who heads off into the bush before we can properly plan things. We send OBS and SHAKESPEARE off to check the railway and come back directly.
Meantime the cellphones are abuzz, calling wives and girlfriends with well rehearsed excuses about the tardiness of our return. Hopefully the man will have fallen down a bluff somewhere and have to be rescued by helicopter on national TV which will make the explanations for the 1.00am return a bit simpler. Somewhere along the line the police are called, but he's busy with a domestic down in New Lynn and cant help us just yet.
The concerned and altruistic hashers (Yes, that means you, GOLDFINGER) have now bedded down under blankets in the back of the truck, which looks like a bunch of refugees coming out of Afghanistan. We're plotting strategy, and send out the ute to search the far end of the Huia Road, where a lost walker could possibly emerge. The policeman finally arrives, and is briefed as to the situation. SHAKESPEARE and OBS return, having found no trace of either DUNCAN or PILES.
Common sense eventually prevails and we decide to send the van home (rather than say having a dozen more hashmen crashing around lost in the forest all night long) leaving a few hardy souls to keep watch. Theres a general plan to be back up there by daybreak and assist the rangers with the search. I leave my phone number with ARKLES, eventually arriving home sometime after 1.00am, and faced with the prospect of getting a phone call in about three hours dragging me back up to the Waitkeres to participate in the search. The call never came through, though ARKLES claimed to have tried. On the other hand he wrote my number down on a napkin with a felt marker, so some other unlucky sod probably got woken by a 5.00am call.
POSTSCRIPT. DUNCAN was found by the rangers at 2.30am. There was no trace of PILES, who finally emerged from the bush at 6.30am, went home to have a hot bath, and found there was no hot water left. Neither of the culprits showed for the hash next week, so the prick was given to BALDRICK for his brewmastry.
We made the news - morning radio told of rangers searching for two lost walkers in the Waitakeres. GYPSEY immediately thought Auckland Hash and called up from Whakatane trying to find out what had happened. We didnt make the national press (no good photos of BANANAS and DEMON this time) but scored a writeup in the Western Leader.
Ramblin' Rod