The last splash of the summer began on a hot and sunny afternoon at Tiffin Place, where Whoremoan and Stuffer hosted an impressive quorum of drinkers with a running problem. Two lovelies from Seattle, Screw Yourself and Who's Your Daddy, visited the hash and brought friends from Norway, Beastiality (who is actually from Finland) and "Mark" (who is actually from Wales). Well Swung and his lovely partner also graced our hash. After the geography lesson and introductions, Whoremoan got down to business describing the trail. There were X's and O's and most importantly a BC, although the NB and VPs were technically unmarked. There was a dog present, but being under-age was excluded from the festivities. One under-age human, Connor, was the sole cyclist in this run-bike-swim hash.
The hash began in earnest. While Whoremoan did well with most of the symbology and was particularly diligent about meet-up points, he confessed to not knowing where one of the circles lay, having asked a "friend" to make the mark for him. He would later suffer a down-down for this offense.
The circle was located (under a tree instead of on the corner as said friend was instructed), but by that time several hashers were missing and general disorder ensued. Beaver Fever retrieved a wayward Well Swung, who couldn't be blamed for getting disoriented considering he is from Alberta. You know it's a good hash when the Hare tells the Flash to look at the pictures to see who's missing. Homer spent his last Victoria hash running the trail backwards until being rescued by Deep Shit in Mount Doug Park.
Two coastal stops afforded nice sea-level VPs. And trails! Despite a lack of shiggy, the narrow, forested trails near Mt. Doug were a welcome delight. Connor kept up famously on his bike until just before the beer check, where Whoremoan borrowed his son's bike out of sheer exhaustion. Within blocks of the beer check, hashers ran aimlessly to nowhere in particular, from nowhere we had been before, until some wise sage led us to the House of Dikkus, where indeed we found the Beer Check.
On-afters were held poolside at Whoremoan and Stuffer's. A round of "Shitty Trail!" was bestowed on the hare, unfairly says this scribe. Visitor Mark was granted the hash name "Wet
Nappy", suggested by his (former) friend Bestiality. Songs of foreskin, head (who said head?!), and sweet chariots were performed. Crispy Bush crooned some particularly erotic hits. Double Hump charged Grateful Head for absenteeism and lack of delivery as hash scribe. Crispy Bush's song (put your left leg over my shoulder….) was so fascinating and distracting that Head could barely swallow. Swallow? Who said swallow?! Hi Beams was charged with something ridiculous so she could chug her own brew and be admonished with the flat chest song (hardly fitting!). Hot Nuts was charged for skipping the run all together, only showing up for beer, eats, and poolside frolicking. Pussies Galore, Plumber's Mate, and Grateful Head were charged for lack of hash attire. The charge-ees were swiftly swaddled in glorious old hash tees whipped out by Homer. 
A raucous pool party ensued, with Whoremoan tending dogs and salmon burgers on the grill, ably assisted by his lovely Stuffer. Hashers dove through rings, played miniature basketball, cannonballed, and slid. Only Crispy Bush was daring enough to strip and go naked, even sliding in his birthday suit (ouch!). Much peer pressure was on Hi Beams to disrobe, but she declined, insisting "I only get naked on the Blueberry!"
Connor was the star of the afternoon, gyrating to disco tunes on the diving board. He and several other hashers were awarded an artistic towel, the "Whack Mat... if crusting occurs, washing is recommended." Who's Your Daddy was awarded a prize for best bathing suit.
We mourn the departure of Slowcooker and Homer, who have the audacity to follow their dreams and move to Japan. Deep Shit thoughtfully supplied a hand-made card adorned with photos of the couple in hash splendor (or is it splendour?), signed by the motley poolside crew. Lots of hugging and laughter ensued, and Homer insisted on saying goodbye to everyone with his tongue.
Mahalo to our hare and hosts, to Hi Beams for brewing the beer, to Stroke for the web post, and to Deep Shit for the photos and card. On on!