We must be Mad. Totally and Seriously gone crazy type of Mad. There is no valid reason or other reasonable explanation that would have us leaving the relative comforts of our home a tad before sunset, backpack packed to the brim with survival gear (band-aids, flashlights) along with a bottle of water that was drank before we even got off Shademan's Bus.
Sitting in Shademan's Bus was in of itself a feat of survival. As Patrick drove his red mini-bus 'round the steep and narrow streets of Grenada, taking the turns on two wheels instead of four, honking his horn like a pan drum player, and yelling out the window to passer-by's to see if they wanted a ride, we were happily getting caught up with friends we hadn't see in a while !! Doug and Wendy (
Nahanni River) were back and we were so thrilled to see them, and it was great fun to see Dalynn and Glen (
Amoray) again.
The louder the chit-chat got, the faster Shademan zoomed on and around and up the streets, hitting a few way too deep truck sized potholes that had us hitting our heads on the roof, and when he finally spotted the rectangular plain white wooden board that was nailed to a sign post, big black bold letters spelling out HHH (Hash House Harriers) his foot instantly connected with the brakepad and our heads went flying forward instantly shutting us up. In a split second he was in Reverse and didn't even engage back into gear before he made a hard right turn up the even steeper and narrow streets and into the jungles of darkness, as the chit-chatter resumed.
And as the last light of the sun completely set, we scrambled out of the bus and the darkness and mosquitos and flying bugs of all types and sizes encircled us, welcoming us into the life that is Beausejour (Grenada),
our Headlights came on, and we followed the routine instructions. Sign In and when (or is that "IF" ??) you come back out of the bush, Sign Out. Double Imperative. They don't want to be combing the bush for you when there's beer to be drank after the Hash.
It's a tricky one, yelled the Hashmaster. Everyone does the same trail today. And it's a tricky one he yelled again. Darn, my hopes of a nice simple walk on a real street were quickly dashed !! Madness.
Dave looked at me with bug eyed wonder as the Hashmaster continued on to explain that there is only one section, oh maybe two, taped off with yellow Caution tape, where one needs to be Careful. And Dave looked at me with a grin, or was a pleading type of puppy dog look that might have asked, had I been paying attention, "Do we really need to be out here doing this? In the Dark? With the Bugs?"
The first minute as we exited the grounds was fine. The second minute as we walked by the line of parked cars was fine. The third minute as we turned right and veered off the beaten path was also fine until we caught a glimpse of the next ten minutes of pure sheer unadulterated OMG are you crazy we are walking up such a steep incline you had to almost lean forward and kiss the ground in order to make any type of movement forward. That got our hearts thumping. Well truth be told once you were halfway up, you really didn't want to turn around and go back down because that would you have in a very unpleasant position but fast.
Somehow we survived that climb. Then the real fun began as we veered off that real road and headed into the Darkness covered with Leaves and Vines and Scrub and Branches that go bump in the night. Everyone's excited chit-chatter quickly dwindled into sweats of heavy breathing as we continued our uphill trek towards the insides of the bush. The sounds of creatures burping and frogs croaking got louder as we headed more inland. What foolishness was this??
The crowded one lane line of people walking often came to a full stop as the path got narrower and denser and more steep until we hit a clearing where there was nowhere to look but UP. Straight UP. We were on the side of a grass lined mountain where there was perhaps a two inch wide indentation of flattened waist high tall grass that blew sideways in the wind, and once again our bodies leaned forward at a dangerous forehead touch the ground type of angle, our tippy-toes grasping at whatever mud was there in the hopes of getting and gaining a foothold, and we trudged ON ON, one foot in front of the other, up the hill. ON ON my ass !! And what's the point of globs of shredded paper if you can't see a thing around you 'cause it's blacker than black out here?
I looked behind me, as I took a water break break and saw nothing but pinheads of white lights bobbing wildly and erratically in the dark. But wait, you don't want to stop too long, otherwise there is no one to follow as your own stream of white light tries to find the path, or person, ahead of you. The only other light came from the bright white full moon almost hidden by the clouds off on the horizon at the top of the mountain behind those trees yet we were somehow hopeful that when we reached the top we would be able to touch her bright white and rocky moonscape.
When we finally got there, our laboured panting made talking quite impossible and once again our hopes of a moonlit photo op were dashed as we followed the trail of lights left, under the branches of the mango-laden tree, and straight back downhill. The path got wetter and muddier, the croaking of frogs louder and now we could hear the rushing sound of fast flowing water waiting to carry us somewhere should we trip and fall and get carried away. We crossed the rushing stream by jumping rocks and pebbles and boulders, the trick being not to land on any boulder that wiggled in the water, or like me, step on a wet rock and immediately land on my behind.
A noise in the dense of the thicket and my flashlight pointed the way straight into the glazed look of Oh Hi Mister Brown Cow. Yikes. Is he tied to something, please tell me he's tied to something? Somehow I giggled as I thought of the surreality of this moment... here I was, no one behind me, no one in front of me, in the middle of the Grenadian jungle somewhere, in the pitch Black of Night, doing a Moonlight Hash, face to face with, a Cow. Dr Seuss would have fun with this one!
And then that brief instant of time standing still was over and I realized with a heart-thump that I was alone, Dave had pulled way ahead of me, and that's when I heard the noise. The sound of Loud Breathing. Someone behind me? I turned my head around and the tree branches swang their way back to obscure the path that was behind me and illuminated nothingness. I heard it again, Heavy Snorting this time. And as the wind pushed the big bamboo branches about with a hollow cracking sound, I quickened my step. The large Banana Leaves rustled overhead. The hanging vines home to goodness knows what creatures and I shined my flashlight over and under the branches to make sure that there was nothing that might land on my back, like a million tarantulas. And there it was again. More heavy snorting and breathing. Whatever it was, all I could think of was that it was coming after me and what a nice tasty appetizer treat I would make. By that point I think I ran a few steps to instantly reach the comfort of Dave's Blue Shirt so he could protect me from the Big Bad Pumbaa Hog that was surely out there coming after me.
Before we knew it, we crossed the cement hump of a bridge that would surely have made Indianna Jones' Movies a tad lame, over the last rushing stream and were kind of disappointed to see that we only had a few more steps to walk up and we were done. What already?
We exited the shrub and got on the safety of the street and there Dalynn and Glen were waiting for us and instantly snapped a photo of our sweat logged bodies, beet red faces, and wide grins, proof positive that we he had survived.
The funky beat of music, the smell of chicken and chips surrounded us as we mingled with friends and although we couldn't wait to get back home, wash the DEET off us, and crawl into bed, we wished this evening would never end. Total Madness, indeed.