The Berserk Hash

Well dear reader, as I mentioned before, I am currently without the use of a camera. For this installment you will have to endure writing sans pictures. But even if I did have a camera, I would not have been able to take it with me on my most recent adventure. Many of my previous posts have been about some of my hashing adventures, but none so far are as epic and remarkable as the one you are about to read. This post is about my first “Berserk Hash.”

The Berserk Hash originated years ago thanks to a slightly crazed and salty Vietnam vet affectionately called “Berserk.” Berserk has lived on Guam for many years and is one of the few that remembers the inaugural Guam hash that began on June 21, 1981. Over the years Berserk developed a taste for setting extraordinarily long and difficult runs. With blatant disregard for safety and exhaustion, Berserk set trails that tested the limits and finally the patience of all of Guam’s hashers. Berserk set trails that sometimes took up to nine hours to complete and most were not able to finish them at all. Berserk not only became a living legend of hashing, but for the safety and sanity of all involved he was eventually banned from setting trails altogether. After a lengthy cooling off period, a compromise was reached; Berserk could set his own “Berserk Hash” on occasional Sundays and would only be allowed to set one regular Saturday hash trail per year. The day chosen for Berserk was the Saturday closest to June 21, the longest Saturday of the year.

Unlike North America, the length of the day on Guam (much closer to the equator) does not fluctuate very much during the seasons. While in June, the longest day of the year lasts thirteen hours, the shortest day of the year in December is only two hours shorter at eleven hours. Guam does not practice daylight savings time.

Over the last ten weeks or so, I have been on some difficult hashes. In one particular hash three weeks ago, several people got lost. Despite the length and difficulty, I managed to make it in before dark. After several hours of darkness veteran hashers were sent out and successfully found many of the dozen or so lost hashers. One guy was found up a tree, holding his glowing cell phone aloft and yelling for help. Another guy was not found at all and ended up spending the night in the jungle. The remarkable thing is that most of the lost hashers, including the guy that spent the night in the jungle are in the military!

After the easiest hash ever last week, I began to develop a false sense of security and frankly arrogance. I can handle any hash now, I thought. I should have known better. Despite my self deception and conceit, I was still wary of attempting a Berserk hash. I had heard and taken heed of the horror stories and warnings and while I was confidant I was physically up to the challenge, I was uncertain that I wanted to subject myself to such torture. Over the next week my coworker and hash guru James launched an effective psychological offensive, attempting to convince me to go on the Berserk. It worked.

At two pm on June 21, 2008 I gathered with the other brave hashers to begin the Berserk. While most hashes have around forty to fifty sometimes sixty hashers, our group only numbered fourteen. We had all been drinking copious amounts of water since Friday in preparation and packed water, food, flashlights, and cell phones (in waterproof bags) for the journey. The run began on the East side of the Island at Pago Bay on the Pacific. Before it began, Berserk recalled the first hash on Guam, “It all began here at Pago Bay twenty seven years ago.” Berserk then turned and ran into the jungle, his maniacal laughter echoed in his wake. He asked for twenty minutes head start but we gave him only fifteen before we began the trail.

The trail started out normally enough. Beginning in a single tight packed group, we ran into the jungle and swam across a large brackish saltwater estuary then we began a short climb. The trail then descended into a river valley and followed the river for some time before we began to recognize the trail from a previous hash. We were on the exact same trail that we had run on the Cinco de Mayo run back in May. In fact, the guy who had set the trail that day was with us. The trail was almost completely in a river teeming with mosquitoes. I remember hating it back in May and I hadn’t grown to like it any more in June. In one deep area of the river, I smashed my left shin against a submerged tree. The pain was excruciating but it was only the beginning.

J.J., the hasher who had set the trail back in May, suggested we take a shortcut up an off-road trail parallel to the river. About half the group and I took his suggestion and left the river trail for the road. After a mile or so, it was clear that the shortcut was anything but. We emerged in a junk yard and then into a village, Chalan Pago. We got on to a main road and ran about two miles back towards a bridge over the river where the May trail had ended and we found the trail again. Although everyone in our group of four thought differently, I was certain that we were far behind everyone else. By this point, I had consumed half my water. We were only at most a fourth of the way through.

The trail continued up the river. We were all thoroughly sick of the river. For hours we had been wet, the rocks were slippery and we were all starting to get very tired. We began to slip and fall more often. Our pace slowed. Mile after mile the trail continued up the river and the sun began to fade into the horizon. After an interminable period of time, the trail climbed out of the river and up onto a steep grass-covered ridge. After an exhausting climb, we reached the pinnacle and collapsed in a heap. We took a break to eat some food and catch our breath. As we continued on, the trail weaved over the grassy ridge and then suddenly, much to our disgust, descended back into the same river valley. While we paused to curse Berserk and his reckless trail, we evaluated our options. Unfortunately the ridge we were on was inaccessible to any roads, to get out we would have to follow the trail back down to the river and up the ridge on the other side. The sun was gone, leaving perhaps only twenty to thirty minutes of diminishing light, but we soldiered on nevertheless. By now, my legs were weak, rubbery and beset with cramps but since I was almost out of water, I couldn’t drink very much.

As we clamored down the steep descent, we re-entered the jungle and plunged into almost total darkness. We paused to take out our flashlights and slowly continued. As we neared the river, I slipped on a rock and fell head over heels, tumbling onto several sharp rocks. As I landed on my rear, pain shot through my body and I shrieked in agony. Before my brain could determine which bone I had broken, the rear leg muscles in both legs (I believe the biceps femoris) began convulsing in excruciating cramps. New shrieks and curses spewed from my mouth in rapid succession. The group came to an abrupt halt to investigate my predicament. After a few moments, I was able to gather myself and struggle to my feet. “I think I broke my ass,” I said. “You all will have to carry me out,” I kidded. After a brief laugh, we continued on.

The trail ventured back into the river. About a month ago I bought new shoes specifically for hashing. The New Balance shoes were lightweight all terrain running shoes that were on sale. After wearing them four times, I realized that they were woefully inadequate for hashing. Although the light weight, thin sole and mesh material was nice when wet and dried quickly, it did not provide any protection whatsoever to my feet. After hours of walking on sharp rocks, my feet had gone from numb to steadily throbbing in pain.

The trail finally exited the river for the last time and began to go straight up the grassy ridge. I finally ran out of water climbing the ridge. On all fours climbing up the ridge, I was experiencing new levels of fatigue I had never before known. As I was climbing on my hands and knees through the pitch black seven feet tall grass, one hand grasping a flashlight, I slammed the side of my face into a tree. I fell backwards momentarily stunned. I felt as if I had been punched in the face when it began to dawn on me; I did this on my own free will. All the warnings were correct this is unimaginably hard and painful. Why on earth did I choose to do this?

After we reached the top, it was night and we could not find the trail marks. After a brief search we located the trail which thankfully followed an off-road vehicle trail towards Nimitz Hill. Thinking we were home free, we began chatting, but the road continued on an on. I noticed that a piece of my left shoe had begun to fall off. I reached down to yank it off and half of the bottom of my shoe came with it. I had only worn my new shoes five times. After nearly two hours we came across Dave, another hasher who we hadn’t seen since our “shortcut.” He was surprised and relieved to see us. Apparently Dave, who had been with the other group, became so exhausted that he just laid down and fell asleep on the trail. He woke up right before a 4x4 truck was about to run over him.

Eventually we made it up to Nimitz Hill and walked past a water tank. “Water!” I yelled. Much to our dismay, however, the tank was surrounded by a barbed wire fence. While we pondered our options, Dave scrambled over the fence, through the barbed wire, and turned on a valve. A powerful blast of water shot through the fence. We greedily drank and refilled our camel-backs with water. We continued down a paved road and attempted to call James. It was 9:15. After walking another half hour, James called back only to tell us that we had passed the on-home (finish) about a mile and a half ago. After a collective groan, we turned around and walked back finally reaching the finish. We were the last ones in. It had taken us over seven hours. During the campfire I was given the honor of an official hash name: Overdue Goo.

Today, as I write this my entire body is sore. My shin has swollen to nearly twice its normal size. There are bruises and cuts all over my body, even the bottom of my feet are bruised and I will probably have a black eye. Despite the exhaustion and pain, the Berserk Hash is not something I will soon forget. So, will I try another Berserk hash? Perhaps, but once a year might be too often for me.

Talafofo

So, my camera is gone so here are some older pictures of the village I live in.

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Catholic Church

Downtown

Home

Store

Talafofo Mayor's Office (usually closed)

Baptist Church

La Isla de Los Ladrones

In 1521 Ferdinand Magellan became the first European to discover Guam. The native Chamorro people provided the famished Magellan and his men with food and supplies and expected to be paid or compensated. Magellan, apparently unaware of the basic concept of trade, refused to give anything in return. Angered at such an insult, the Chamorros clamored aboard Magellan's ships and began taking anything made of iron. The fact that the Chamorros already understood the intrinsic value of iron prior to European discovery suggests a preexisting trade network with Asia. Magellan, however, did not pause to ponder this conclusion and began to kill the Chamorros and burn the villages. Magellan named Guam "La Isla de Los Ladrones," the Island of Thieves. Luckily, the islands were later renamed.

Last week I had a run in with some thieves or rather some thieves had a run in with my unlocked car. It was after a hash that ended at Piti beach. It was well attended by about fifty hashers and we all parked within fifty feet from our bonfire. During the post-hash rituals, someone stealthily raided several of our cars. I assumed that my beat up P.O.S. vehicle would not attract attention but I was wrong. The culprit stole my backpack given to me by my late step mom. Inside the backpack was my digital camera and my government issued cell phone. Yes this could have happened anywhere, but petty theft is somewhat endemic here on Guam. One coworker recalled the time her car was robbed when she was inside the post office and another told me about when his car was broken into when he was at church.

Perhaps I should lock my car.

Underwater World

Recently I got to take a trip through Guam's aquarium, Underwater World. One of my new friends from hashing, Elaina, works at Underwater World and invited me on a special VIP personal tour. Of course I jumped at the chance. Underwater World showcases fish that inhabit the waters around Guam. Elaina demonstrated her knowledge and skill as she guided me through the glass tunnel of the main aquarium. It was an incredible tour. I'll let the fish speak for themselves.

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I renamed this fish the "Drag queen Fish"

Close second, "Tammy Fey Backer Fish"

If you step on this Stone Fish, you will probably die.

From the poison
(its poisonous - the poison will kill you)

Unless you get immediate medical attention in which case you might live but languish in the hospital for several months wishing you were dead

and still die.
In conclusion, don't step on this fish.

The infamous Brown Tree Snake.

It looks like I caught him getting undressed.

How embarrassing for him - screw you Brown Tree Snake!

This hurt turtle washed up on shore recently.

Behind the scenes, or rather above them

My Job Sucks

So, I've been here for over two months. Perhaps you're wondering what exactly I do here between hashes. Well, as a Park Ranger at War In the Pacific National Historical Park, my responsibilities are multifaceted. And no, I don't hike around with a gun looking for poachers or bears stealing pick-a-nick baskets.

For all NPS employees, our fundamental objective is to preserve the parks for future generations. To achieve that objective, I help people experience and understand the park. How does that help preserve? Allow me to quote an African philosopher:

"For in the end, we will conserve only what we love. We will love only what we understand. We will understand only what we are taught."

So by helping people understand the significance of places like War In the Pacific, I help preserve them. It's really that simple, not to mention highly enjoyable and very fulfilling. As a new employee, however, I am still struggling to understand the park myself. I have not visited every park unit, hiked every trail, climbed every rock, or read every book.

Much of the past two months I have been doing those things. My job has been one of orientation. For instance, last week several of my colleagues and I spent the morning hiking up to Mount Tenjo, one of the most remote park units. In 1910 the U.S. Navy used the commanding view of Mount Tenjo to build a coastal gun battery emplacement. Although the guns were dismantled in the 1930s, the same mountain witnessed the two U.S. beachheads come together during the fight to liberate Guam from the Japanese, thus assuring victory.

Guided by James, the intrepid Cultural Resources Park Ranger (and fellow hasher), we hiked up to Mount Tenjo. It was outstanding.

Here we are about to get started.

Erosion is a major problem on Guam, here it is caused by off road 4x4 driving.

Some great views from Tenjo.

Rain in the distance.

Soldiers carved their names and "DEC 25 1929"

Here we are where the guns were.

Last Tuesday, I accompanied two of our Natural Resources Division staff for a field day on the reefs off Agat. Over half of the park's 2,000 acres are underwater, so I needed to see firsthand some of the most threatened areas of our park. Natural Resources Division does extensive SCUBA diving to monitor the impact of sediment from runoff on the reef. I tagged along on the boat with my snorkel to watch them in action. It was yet another fantastic experience.

This is me, just signaling the girls on the boat that I saw a sunken World War II Amtrac (landing craft).

Oh yeah... I forgot to metion that they pay me to do this. With money.

The Best (or worst) Hash Yet

After an amazing afternoon among the fish, I headed out for another hash. Hashing has only become better and better. Each week the hash is somewhat easier, somewhat harder, always different and always an adventure. I am a very lazy person by nature and sometimes it is difficult to find motivation to do something, especially something physical, even though I know I will enjoy it. But this is not the case with hashing. I can not wait to hash and look forward to Saturday evenings.

This week we again ventured to the southland (third week in a row). The south of Guam is more mountainous and hilly than the rather flat plateau of the north. The south has a mixture of grassy and rocky mountain sides combined with jungle river valleys and waterfalls. This time the two hairs quickly begin the hash with a warning, “You all had better run faster this time, because this one is going to take a while.” This warning turned out to be prophetic.

The run began normally enough with the prerequisite waterfall and steep hill side, but then began to deteriorate. The trail ran right through a large patch of “boonie bees” some sort of Guamanian wasp. Although there was much hilarity, "BEES!!!" this broke up the group and the trail. I ventured off on my own going through a desolate valley where a wild fire had recently ravaged the area. After an exhausting climb, I collapsed at the top of a hill and was ecstatic to see some of the front runners close by. This was the first time I have “flown” on a hash, or run off trail on my own, thinking that I knew where I was going. Luckily it worked.

Over an hour and a half had gone by, the end must be near I thought. The trail led us on to an amazing vista, a sea side cliff that overlooks the Philippine Sea and the sun was close to the horizon. Although I always regret not being able to bring a camera on the hash, this was by far the best view I have seen on Guam. I looked down the cliff and into the deep ocean bay hundreds of feet bellow. Much to my surprise I could make out a few tiny people on the deserted beach and then it began to dawn on me, those guys are hashing. This trail is not even close to being done.

Eventually I made it down the cliff and onto the beach where we walked completely around the bay and then straight up the cliff on the other side. After getting to the top, I looked back to the north and saw people on the cliff opposite me where I was about an hour ago. Whoa, I hope they have flashlights, I thought. Then I looked to the south and saw another group of tiny people on the horizon several hills over ahead of me. Screw the trail, I thought, I can find my own way over there and save time. After all, I’ve done it before and it was starting to get dark.

Much to my surprise, an FNG (F%*@g New Guy) – what everyone calls the rookies, decided to follow me. After much initial progress, I nearly led us both off the side of a cliff and in the growing dark I couldn’t see the bottom. We had to retrace our steps all the way back to the trail in order to continue. After over three hours total and the dark of night, I arrived at the on home utterly exhausted and spent.

Despite my time consuming error, however, most of the hashers were still unaccounted for. Over another hour and a half went by before everyone made it in. Some were enraged at the difficulty and length, but most were just glad it was over. Everyone demanded a full explanation from the hairs. Instead of planning the hash as a team, the two hairs had divided the task in two and neither of them was familiar with the trail in its entirety. As a consequence, it was nearly double the length of a typical trail and one of the hairs had lost his glasses, gone astray, and had to be rescued. Everyone relentlessly eviscerated the hairs for their many errors and celebrated the conclusion of another Guam hash.

In my opinion, it was by far the greatest hash yet.

The Ocean

I suddenly woke up Saturday morning in the middle of a vivid dream. In the dream I was scuba diving down to a sunken ship in Apra Harbor. The ship was in excellent condition and I ventured inside the wreck into someone’s former living quarters then I awoke.

Later that morning as I was trying to remember the dream it dawned on me; I have been here almost two months but I still haven’t snorkeled or even so much as dipped my feet in the ocean! So Saturday I decided a snorkel trip was long overdue. After a leisurely breakfast of oatmeal and coffee, I lathered up my torso in 1000 SPF sunscreen so that my pale skin wouldn’t spontaneously combust after contact with direct rays of the sun. I was once a lifeguard and although I am in all probability doomed to skin cancer, I don’t want to further antagonize either the sun or my skin.

I set out to Tumon, the tourist Mecca and also the best beach on the island. Amid the towering beach front resorts and hotels is a small public park, Ipao Beach. After fighting the weekend traffic, I arrived at Ipao. Clearly Ipao is a beach for the locals. Nestled in between the Hilton and Marriott resorts, the beach parking lot was loaded with the run down cars and Chamorro people that tended to clash with the swanky resorts and Japanese tourists a few yards away.

Perhaps the public beach park is merely an attempt to placate the local people so that they might not notice that hotel chains and resorts have gobbled up the best beachfront property on Guam. I parked my run down sputtering corolla next to another run down sputtering corolla and made my way to the white coral beach. I gathered my newly purchased snorkel gear and waded into the surprisingly clean teal water.

The ocean is almost always a perfect 82 degrees. Many people have told me about the fantastic snorkeling at Tumon, but never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined that it could be so amazing. A few dozen yards from the shore, I was suddenly inside an aquarium.

I couldn’t believe the tremendous amount of fish and coral. There were large schools of fish of a vast rainbow of colors and shapes. After swimming around for a while I just floated still and watched the show. Several times I surfaced to look around, certain that I had unwittingly ventured miles out to sea, only to realize I was still less than fifty yards from shore and a few feet from kids playing in the water.

I don’t know what impressed me more, the tremendous sea life, or the fact that that sea life could exist and even thrive despite the impact of millions of tourists. I left Ipao blown away and more determined to get a scuba certification.