Mountme has been busy raising mini-mountmes but breeding has now ceased and the products of earlier successes have reached the explosive growth stage: some have gone off to university, while others are in 11th grade. Considering it is probably 3~5 years since Mountme last hared a run this was quite a successful trail and much enjoyed by the hashers that have become inured to the trek across the bridges to N Vancouver.

Around twenty hashers ascended in the gathering gloom at the parking lot at the corner of Anne MacDonald Way and Mt. Seymour Road. This is an area oft frequented by hashers in the time of yore, but neglected in recent years with maybe three runs in the vicinty, most recently by DMF. 

Twilight approaches swiftly at this time of year, so Maple Schmekl chivvied us on to leave early and thus avoid the embarrassment of being sans flashlight, whistle and eyesight (the curse of aging hashers). Interestingly, we have the pleasure of Manhole's younger bro and his girlfriend, Fion, and YFI's friend Julie. It was immediately noted that 'boggin' and 'mingin' were words no longer heard in the circle. Usually, these are spoken loudly in Manhole's impenetrable Scott's accent; which probably sounds like the noise a haggis would make immediately prior to death at the hands of a Mel Gibson look-a-like (that is, drunk and abusive).

The trail headed briefly E across the road to the summit before striking off to the left via numerous back-checks. I find Shagger in the woods and we flail around in the heavy brush while the likes of Impaler and Mad Dawg float annoyingly by a mere hundred feet away, separated from us by salal, brambles and fifty years of uncut undergrowth. So much for that shortcut. Impaler threw herself at Mountme's feet, but got nothing for it except a bloodied palm.

So, West we go with the odd twitch up or down, and finally its down towards the subdivisions at the S end of the fairway and on to the beer check where Abysmal catches up and AFI strides past us purposefully as we depart still seeking the nivarna waiting at the end of every can of beer - alas he didn't find it.

Down-downs are accomplished in a haze of hungry mosquitoes with hash trash to Maple, and it takes very little persuading for us to bolt for the golf club and a fresh burger. This experience is tempered by a locked door, and it is only with a little cajoling that we are able to get in and experience $3/Lime-Bub pints and their burger. We are joined by Hardon who come bearing gifts of apples.