A Post Long Overdue

If you are one of the half dozen or so people that check this blog every month or so, then I owe you a sincere apology. I can’t believe that it has been so long since I have written. I assure you, however, that I did not fail to write due to lack of suitable subject matter. On the contrary, since my hiatus many events have transpired, adventures experienced, and travels traversed. In a brief summary of highlights (and future blog entries), I have visited the island of Rota, taken a trip back to the states including an extensive inspection of Northern Arizona in general of the Grand Canyon in particular, briefly stopped at home in Tennessee, and most recently accepted a new job at Klondike Gold Rush National Historical Park in Skagway, Alaska (I leave Guam on March 20). So despite the ample material, I am taking the time to write about an even more recent event while it remains fresh on my mind – last Saturday’s hash (February 21).

In many respects and apart from my job, hashing has become the singular and defining activity of my Guam adventure. After telling my latest hash episode to my coworkers, I felt compelled to also share the tale with my minute and most likely dwindling blog audience. So here goes…

I have been hashing now for eleven months and over this time I have seen much of Guam. I have been constantly challenged by daunting and dangerous trails, slogged through thick jungle, swift rivers and gelatinous mud pits, climbed innumerous hills and mountains, tripped over countless vines, roots, rocks, and brown tree snakes, and been cut by swordgrass on my legs, arms and face hundreds of times and somehow loved every minute of it – especially in retrospect. Yet despite nearly a year of challenges met and vested, last Saturday was the most daunting and demanding of any hash thus far.

Sometimes hashes have themes and last Saturday was the Mardi Gra hash. Most themed hashes are either easy or go through a population centers in order to cause a scene as well as to embarrass the hashers who are unlucky enough to be recognized. As a consequence, I did not expect the hash be particularly difficult or of note, save for the theme itself. Boy was I in for a surprise. To make matters worse, in my state of mind with my impending move to another continent, I forgot to bring my flashlight (which I usually forget unless warned before the hash) but more importantly I forgot my knee brace (My need for a knee brace will be explained in the future blog post about the Grand Canyon).

But not to worry, I thought, because this is a theme hash and it will be easy! After our initial meeting in Hagatna, we were given directions to the box down south near Sella Bay – the most beautiful area of Guam. After our arrival, I though back to the last hash that I ran in this area. It was probably back in June or July and it was long and many people did not finish before dark. We even started in the same place along route 4. Despite this memory, I remained unfazed, but decided to tie an old shirt around my knee in an attempt to somehow support the knee similar to a brace. Yes, I realize how ridiculous this sounds now and no, of course it did not help, but I seriously believe that the illusion of a knee brace was somehow comforting.

We quickly took off and I hung back at a slow jog – not wanting to cause further damage or discomfort to my knee. The pack quickly found the first beer check. A beer check is a stop along the trail with cold beer or another suitable beverage. Most people ran on without stopping, but I lingered for some time while slowly sipping a beer and chatting with the few people that bothered to stop. From my high elevation, it was kind of fun to watch the pack run down the hills toward the jungle like so many ants. After the beer, I continued on the trail, again in a slow jog. Somehow, thanks to a deceptive trail mark I was back in the middle of the pack in between the extremely fast and extremely slow runners. Heading down a ridge and into a river valley, I picked up my pace and was soon joined by several others. After some time in the river, the trail exited the water and after a steady climb emerged onto a ridge line that extended into the ocean. I paused at the abrupt termination of the ridge to take in the incredible view. From the cliff top I could see down the coast for miles in either direction. To the south were Sella and Citi Bays and in the distance Cabras Island. These areas, despite their amazing beauty, remain untouched by development and their relative natural and unblemished status serves as the foundation of their splendor.

But don’t be fooled, I wasn’t thinking this at the time it was more like – pant pant pant “Whoa, sweet view” pant pant pant.

Soon we descended the near vertical cliff face to the beach below and continued on in a circuit of Sella Bay. In the middle of the bay I was astonished to discover one of the few Spanish bridges built in the late 1500s. Although there is clearly no work to protect or stabilize it and it is covered in vegetation, the bridge remains remarkably well preserved and clearly identifiable. Abandoned and largely unknown by the population of Guam, the bridge’s remote location – inaccessible by road – surely has helped to preserve it. Of course the Guam hashers decided that it would be a suitable location for a beer check. But, since bringing beer to the bridge in a large quantity was a logistical impossibility, shots of liquorish and apple schnapps were offered instead. Again, I paused to climb atop the bridge and marveled at its size and sturdiness (and to have a shot). I wondered how many people had crossed this bridge over its nearly 500 years of existence. As I pondered, the hasher at the bridge with me remarked, “I can’t believe those dumb Spaniards built this bridge out in the middle of nowhere.” I laughed and said, “Yeah that’s probably why their empire collapsed, they were always building bridges to nowhere. Must have been a pork barrel project or something.”

We moved on, but the small cohort that I was with proceeded at a faster pace and soon I was alone. After meandering along the entire bay, the trail shot up again onto another steep ridge. The climb was exhausting. Once at the top, I again could see several people ahead of me down in another valley some distance below. Again I paused to rest and briefly watch the sun as it began to set in the Western horizon. I was still unbothered by any time concerns. Now very alone, I continued on down into the valley. For the first time, the trail entered thick canopy jungle with extensive vines that grabbed at my body like grappling hooks. My pace slowed considerably. Soon I was again knee deep in river, but I began to worry as the daylight grew increasingly scarce. By this time fatigue was setting in and in a big way. Of course I was already extremely tired, but for some reason I was even more exhausted than usual before it dawned on me: I forgot to eat lunch. Crap – now that is something I almost never forget. The immediate psychological impact of this realization made my fatigue much worse. Suddenly the trail presented a choice: the Turkey or Eagle split. I had to choose which way to go – to the left on the eagle trail or to the right on the turkey trial. As you can probably guess, the eagle is intended to be much more difficult than the turkey. Usually I take the eagle trail, but due to my fatigue, the lateness of the day, and my knee situation, I wimped out and took the turkey. Much to my chagrin, the turkey trail immediately left the river through a tiny but long erosion ditch topped with dense root systems. After crawling and cursing for an interminable period of time, the ditch ended, but the trail continued straight up a steep ridge. I had to stop several times to rest along the climb. After I finally reached the top I stopped and looked back down into the valley I was just in. The sun was now fully set and I could not see anyone ahead of me. This worried me somewhat. I looked back toward the ridge that I had stopped at after walking around Sella Bay and saw several tiny people very far behind me. “Wow,” I remarked out loud to myself, “they’re not making it in before dark.” Then I though about myself, I still was not sure how much longer the trail was to last and I had perhaps only twenty more minutes of navigable light remaining. Perhaps I wasn’t going to make it in before dark either…

For about five minutes I continued to follow the trail along the ridge top as it headed away from the ocean and toward route 4 which I could make out in the distance then I stopped again. It was now too dark to see.

Make no mistake, I have been on trail after dark many times before, but in all the other times I was either with a group of people with flashlights, or I had remembered to bring my own. In this situation I was alone without a flashlight there was no moon and it was cloudy.

For the first time in my hashing career, I was going to have to be rescued. Being rescued on a hash is not unusual; in fact someone requires a rescue on most trails. Learning from the mistakes of others, I knew what to do. If you are out after dark do the following:

Stay on the trail, near a mark if possible
Don’t move, stay where you are and wait
Don’t panic someone will come for you eventually

So all I had to do was wait for the rescue effort to come get me, which in previous instances often took several hours. In the mean time, while I sat and waited I reflected on the past eleven months. Eventually, I saw a bright light on the ridge several miles to the East of me. It was the ceremonial bonfire at the end of the hash, also known as the “on home.” I was shocked at how far away I was from the end. Apparently, the turkey trail, instead of negotiating the steep ravine and large waterfall up to the ridge opposite me, went on the comparatively less steep ridge I was on then must connect to the road and over to the next ridge for the on home. I looked down into the ravine and saw at least a dozen lights spread along the valley floor.

Occasionally, if the wind was blowing in the right direction, I could hear loud voices from the on home. After about forty minutes, I noticed a light from the ridge I was on coming toward me. I yelled at the light and eventually I got a response. The light yelled back to me, “Come toward the light!” I asked myself, does this moron actually expect me to walk in the pitch black along a steep ridge? I quickly yelled back, “No!” and then added in a lower volume, “dumbass.” The light continued to move in and out of vision but was not getting any closer. Somewhat perplexed as to the intention of the guy carrying the light I asked, “Are you even on trail?!” but got no response. Soon I heard a screech and then the light shouted, “Shit! I almost fell off a cliff.” Finally, fed up with watching this light continue to move without any progress, I began to slowly attempt to move toward my so-called rescuer. Almost immediately I tripped and slid down the ridge in the wrong direction. I decided it was probably not a good idea to continue further.

A few minutes later I was found. The hare (one of the guys that set the trail) helped me back up. Initially I expected him to take me back to the road which was some distance – perhaps a mile away, but instead he gave me a flashlight and said “go towards the road.” I asked him which way the trail went to which he replied, “I have no idea where the trail is.” Somewhat bemused, I asked “Didn’t you set this trail?” to which he responded, “Well, yeah, but I’m not real familiar with this part - didn’t set this part my co-hare did.” “Awesome” I responded.

The hare took off in the opposite direction and I began my careful walk “toward the road.” The light was somewhat dim, so I could only see a few feet in front of me. This prevented me from being able to see far enough to plan my route. As a consequence, my route went on a zig-zag trajectory and eventually I encountered a wall or enormous ten foot tall sword grass. Sword grass of this height and thickness is nearly impossible to penetrate. It is extremely energy and time consuming as well as painful to force your way through thick sword grass. I pondered my options. From what little I could see, the most direct route to the road went through this sword grass down a ridge and up another slope and while I could attempt to go around the area, there was no way to be sure that any other route would be better. I looked around for a while but finally gave up and plunged in.

Five minutes later I was utterly exhausted and deep inside the impenetrable maze of sharp sword grass when the unthinkable happened – the flashlight died. I was instantly plunged into complete and utter darkness. For half a second, I expected a group of friends to jump out and yell “surprise!” There was no way that this was happening. I quietly muttered, “No way” and then I released a long tirade of increasingly loud expletives. Now I was WAY off trail, deep inside ten foot tall sword grass, no idea which direction I’m facing and without any source of light and no one knew where I was. I said to myself, “How the hell am I going to get out of this one?” After pausing a moment to collect myself, I attempted to continue on in the darkness. I lost count of how many times I stopped to rest. The physical act of forcing through sword grass is grueling and I was already spent. On the other hand I was getting totally shredded and poked from the sharp serrated edges of the tortuous devil grass. Eventually, I found a slight break in the grass. I put my arm on a tiny tree and leaned forward in an attempt to pull my foot free of the grass. All of a sudden the tree collapsed and I fell head long into a deep dark hole. It wasn’t until the fraction of a second that I was in free fall, that I realized what was happening. I landed on my side and laid there for a moment to collect myself. I was relieved that I was not injured beyond bruises, but then I stood up. I was inside an erosion ditch that was about five feet wide and at least twelve feet deep with sides that actually sloped closer together towards the top. “You have got to be kidding me,” I said out loud somehow amazed at how my situation continued to deteriorate. I felt around but could not reach the top of the ditch. I thought seriously about spending the night in hole, but finally resolved to escape. After several attempts, I managed to find a root that didn’t immediately come loose when I pulled on it. Using the root as a pull and the collapsed tree as a stool, I managed to launch myself far enough to grab a handful of sword grass at the top. Using every ounce of strength left, I ungracefully extricated myself from the hole and collapsed in a heap. I rested and probably dozed off before I was awoken by the sudden onset of rain. The rain renewed my determination to escape. I continued the effort of forcing through the impossible sword grass in complete darkness and after a while I realized I had just gone in a circle. Frustrated and demoralized, I sat down to wallow momentarily in self pity. Perhaps I am doomed to sleep out here tonight, I thought. Then I noticed a strange looking tunnel through the grass – a pig trail! I followed the pig trail on my hands and knees for some distance before it came to an abrupt end, but when I finally managed to clear enough grass to stand up, I could see a faint light – a street light! Several minutes later, I emerged onto the street, overjoyed that I had made it out.

By the time I finally got to the on-home, the festivities were long over, but many people still remained out in the jungle. It was definitely a memorable hash, but not one that I would ever want to relive.