Foreword

In honour of Mother Hash's 3000th run and the many, many terrific Hashmen who have made the Hash what it is today, I recount the following events that happened March 3rd, 1998.

Although nearly three and one half years ago, the experience is still very much with me today. The sounds. smells, instincts and a six inch long and deep scar on my leg from the initial fall, but most importantly, and the best memory of all…………….the incredible camaraderie, concern, dedication and efforts of all of those who did everything possible to help find me.

I know who they are and will hold each and everyone of them in the esteem one can only hold those who truly embody the spirit and soul of true Hashmen.

So while many Hash's have passed, however, the memories have not faded.

Once again to all, a big, heartfelt, Terimah Kasih ~On-On."

Run Report - "Hash from Hell"

Arriving at the run start at 5.45pmafter one of those easy, relaxed, nothing much to do days at the advertising agency, it dawned on me that I'd left my shoes at home. Ever run a Hash without shoes?

By the time I'd gone home to get them and got back to the start, it was 6.40pm. So it was chocs away. An hour later, I came across another runner who was wisely heading towards the beer wagon.

With hindsight, I should have listened to the Muse who was whispering in my ear, 'join him, join him..." but determination to catch up drove me forward through thick undergrowth and places I thought familiar from previous runs.

I then reached what I believed to be the 3rd or 4th check with paper piled up behind a tree. What happened next might well have changed the course of my personal history. Nemesis kicked in.

I slipped and tumbled for an eternity (in truth 10 - 15 feet). Jungle Tom, Mr. Macho, with more than a bruised ego, picked himself up and clambered back in the direction from whence he thought he'd come.

Then a second slip, - down another 10 feet, incurring more bruises, a seriously cut leg and a shredded hand. It was decision time. Common sense said: find somewhere safe to rest up until the hashers come through later that evening or first thing in the morning. It was pitch black but I found a pool of water for a drink and to soak the cuts and bruises.

Jungle Tom lay on a steep decline sideways, - survival training tells you to do so. - and listened to the sounds of fighting wild boar and bird calls. Armies of ants dined on his open wounds. Why hadn't he taken his mobile phone with him so that he could tell anxious family and friends that he was still breathing?

At daybreak, another drink from the small pool (the Muse whispering again about the beer wagon...) and off to look for paper. No luck. Endless hours of thick undergrowth, encounters with every thorn Darwin had chronicled and then some, 6 foot ferns and, well, little progress. This was The Jungle Book from Hell without Disney. At 11.00am, I reached a clearing. Now, at least, I could be seen from the air.

I sank beneath a tree, exhausted and dehydrated, waiting for the midday sun to pass. Then, clambering over bulldozed trees and branches. I trudged wearily up to the area behind Bukit Cahaya Golf Course. Meeting the lorry hantu drivers, it took quite some persuading one of them to give me fresh water.

Another hike, another swamp and finally. I arrived at the edge of the golf course. Nemesis kicked out and Lady Luck finally kicked in as I got a lift on a motorbike to the entrance of Bukit Cahaya on the Sg Buloh road - some 4 kilometres away. By now it was 3.45pm and a kind couple of Samaritans stopped and allowed me to make that all-important telephone call. They took me to their unfinished house and gave me teh tarik and mee.

The timing of the telephone call was spot on as a search by police and park rangers was about to be mounted. Picked up by a relieved Mrs Jungle Tom and colleagues preceded visits to 3 Police Stations where kindness and sympathy were etched in plaques over every door.

Lessons learnt: don't be too ambitious when starting late, don't forget your shoes, don't panic (which I didn't) if at first you don't succeed in finding paper, try again. Then once more. And again. Keep drinking water. Put a mobile phone in your pocket if starting late and keep looking for the paper.

A huge thank you to everyone who showed such caring. To my Hash brothers, who spent time through the night looking for me, ~thank you" is inadequate but heartfelt.
 

Terimah kasih, from Jungle Tom Besar.
 

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Last updated on 14 September 2001