Moist Leatherette was the hare for the last hash of September. And the weather cooperated, with a pre-run downpour that helped the hare live up to her name and, more importantly, provided plausible deniability for some of the more unusual “features” of the trail.

But the rain had mostly cleared up by the time we gathered outside Scallywag’s for chalk talk. At least some of us gathered outside Scallywag’s. The others, apparently under the direction of GM Rose Eh, crossed to the north side of St. Clair and circled up on their own. For some reason they included Flyer, who was drinking with us in the bar but then disappeared for the rest of the evening. There they must have had some sort of chalk talk, while those on the south side helpfully relayed the proper instructions from the hare, along with some comments about which side of the street sucked.

Of course, there would be consequences for this later.

Trail headed north on Yonge, once the hare pointed us in the right direction and the aimless milling about stopped. Then west for a few streets, then south back to St. Clair and along St. Clair as far as the reservoir. There more confusion prevailed until trail was found going through a debris-filled path bordering the reservoir.

Down the park path in Forest Hill, a bit more standing around, a bit more unfulfilled searching for trail in this direction and that. Devilishly clever of the hare to have hidden the marks so well. But marks were eventually found, steering us toward Avenue Road – if you’re into the whole precision thing, it was from Poplar Plains to MacPherson to Cottingham, according my map book.

And then after crossing Avenue Road there was no joy. The lazy pack was unable to find the abundant and virtually phosphorescent chalk marks that abounded throughout the neighbourhood. And by now we were so close to Yonge Street, where logic dictated the beer check must surely be. Instead we were stuck on parallel cross streets and alleys, helpless and forelorn, until the hare showed us the way.

The trail finally led to the corner and the beer check at Paulie’s, although Dead End was prepared to pass it by and keep on running, not trusting the “BC” chalked on the sidewalk. What with all the “marks” “washed out” by the rain, perhaps it was possible that all of those chalk molecules had been deposited there and formed themselves into letters. We tucked into the beer like Roman Polanski a teen, although Haipoo Gai as usual insisted it didn’t taste all that good. The beer, that is.

At the on on, retribution was swift, sure and severe for the rebellious throng that had refused to bow to Rose Eh’s wishes. Her punishment would take the form of the most severe penalty known to the hasher world – they would be down downed with water. And we all know what fish do in that.