I don't know if I dare to publish it - apparently, the pack's Va-Jay-Jays got wet in the little bit of rain and wind and they gave up on the trail and went back to the bar where it was dry and warm.
Meanwhile, I'm out slogging through this hellish quick storm that blew up and was GONE by the time I made it back to the bar. I think they just got scared when I went straight down the face of the cliff. Shhhit - it wasn't that far of a drop. All I heard was bitching and moaning about how far apart the hash marks were. Well they found them, didn't they?
Whatever. We drank bum wine. And beer. And then went to Arctic and drank more beer. I didn't get home until 5 AM, so I'd say it was successful.
Oh, and the Hash seriously needs to start hanging at Arctic more - those freakin' melee-ers are breedin' like rats or something. We're getting a bad rap AND LOSING AT BEER PONG.