(Early for a change - I'll try and get details posted sooner!)
The Bell Inn, Bovey Tracey
Run No. 2060 - "Cock Up Your Beaver" & the birthday boy dun good
HARES: Pocket Rocket & Poacher
Who
wuz there: Pocket Rocket, Poacher, Man-Pig, Beefy, Pisswell, Piltdown
Man, Smellie, Red Rum, Warmfront, Smash, Miss Mash, visitors from
AshHash, Grim & Not Mrs Grim and, finally, returnee lothario -
Forrest-Stump
The
weather was crap. So crap that only 11 Hashers were present at the
Circle. AshHash visitor, Not Mrs Grim, would be joining us in the pub
later but two key players were missing.....the Hares. Whilst Smellie
wrestled with her phone to find out where they were the errant duo duly
turned up.....wet.
Almost
no announcements. Shitfaced was absent as he was on good samaritan
duty in Bristol and Smellie needs a Hare for 27 February.
This
was to be Pocket Rocket's virgin lay as, the following day, was his
birthday. His mentor for the evening was Poacher; he of a thousand
lays. What could possibly go wrong? Perhaps Rabbie Burn's poem, Cock Up
Your Beaver was an apt description of the events that were about to
unfold?
In
a nutshell, the Longs ran around the woodland paths of Parke and then
over to Lustleigh and back.....we were not supposed to go to Lusteigh!
In fact, I was beginning to doubt the wisdom of our meanderings when no
marks were seen over a 2.07 mile stretch. I wonder if Poacher had
imparted one crucial piece of information to our virgin Hare - "do not
underestimate the dizzying heights of crass stupidity than can be
attained by the pack....frequently!"
And so it was that thirteen committed (Shirley an unintentional [sic]) Hashers sallied forth into the night.
From
the station car park it was straight across the road and into the park
with the River Bovey babbling away to our right. Warm Front led the
charge to the first and second checks. We crossed the A382/Monk's Road.
More checks; surely it is up and onto the dismantled railway - now
part of the Devon cycle network? No. It was across pasture, over Parke
Bridge, and into the woods to the NW of Parke.
The
Pig was on the lower path heading up towards Wilford Bridge, soon to
be overtaken by Warmfront. A pyrrhic victory as Warmfront suddenly
ground to a halt. A fishhook. The next seven Misérables had to backtrack
to Poacher.
Back
on trail and a check that took us onto the middle footpath heading
whence we came. A check, a view point (as useful as a chocolate
fireguard in the dark), another check and, you guessed it, yet another
check. Three checks within 30 yards of each other with all exits
blocked with a cross. What was our virgin Hare up to......or was this
Poacher's doing?
After
what seemed like five minutes of fruitless searching, with the pack
equally distributed with four at each check, we heard a call. It was
Poacher. He was calling us back along the path that we'd just run up.
We
retracde our footsteps on the lower path, once again heading north
west towards Wilford Bridge. Tonight's Hash was the one that is closest
to Burns' Night and Beefy was running with a cardboard caber and a
false red beard; the Hash's only tip towards Burns' Night this year.
Even the Pig was sans sporan....and sans hat as this had fallen out of
his pocket somewhere on trail.
At
Wilford Bridge we came to another, soggy and almost washed out check.
Beefy and the Pig went through the five bar gate to check out the road.
Beefy went uphill, the Pig went down towards the stone bridge over the
River Bovey...one dot and nothing. Then we heard Warmfront calling
"On". We looped back onto a woodland path over a wooden footbridge and
up some steps, under a railway arch and onto a check, confusion and a
Hare with a dying torch.
After
a lot of fruitless checking near Beefy's former residence Poacher
directed us up a narrow lane. This was the last we would see of Poacher
until we arrived back at the pub some one-and-a-half hours later.
Sure
enough, we found dots. Beefy was well ahead, replete with fake caber.
At the T-junction at Forder, the marks took us left and up, up and up
Hatherleigh Lane.
At
its crest, a crossroads of sorts. Herethe road bears sharp right.
Directly in front of us was a public footpath leading into Higher
Knowle Wood (virgin territory) and to our left a track. A junction like
this is an obvious place for a check. We searched in vain and found
not a hint of flour. That was until we ventured onto the footpath in
Higher Knowle Wood.
Just
the other side of the kissing gate, we came across an arrow in flour.
We were on.... or had we just been conned by the biggest false trail of
them all?
We
dutifully followed the direction of the arrow, but no marks. The tree
canopy had kept the tree trunks pretty dry and these moss covered
trunks were an ideal place to put a mark. But not a graded grain of
flour was to be seen. We backtracked to the only junction that we'd
passed and Warmfront checked it out for the second time. Still the
reflection of Homepride eluded us. We opted to follow the broadest
track through the wood.
The
Longs now comprised Man-Pig, Warmfront, Smellie and Pisswell. Poacher
was nowhere in sight and Beefy was way out in front and out of earshot.
Down,
down and deeper and down we went [sic]. Pisswell said that she thought
that we were headed for Lustleigh. Shirley not....too far out I
thought. The further we went the less we saw........well, as far as
flour was concerned. Still, we were ON. We had still followed that last
ARROW.
Meanwhile,
Beefy was, indeed well out in front and having no problem espying one
blob of flour after another. He was in front all right but not in front
of us!
We
passed through a gate that we thought marked the end of the woods but
no. We still had a a little way to go in woodland before arriving onto a
narrow lane and a staggered crossroads. The Pig was starting to head
towards Moretonhampstead before Pisswell called him back in the
opposite direction. It looked like we were at the edge of a village.
"Where are we?" I asked Pisswell.
Pisswell
had us heading southwest along Lower Knowle Road. More virgin
territory for me. To our left were some lovely upmarket rural houses.
To our right, the River Bovey. Warmfront seemed to know where she was
and disappeared into the night.
On
and on we trundled. It was 9pm and a slow trundle was about as fast as
we could muster. Where the dismantled railway passes over the lane a
footpath sign marked access onto the SW cycle path. We diverted up and
onto the old railway. Lo and behold - a mark - hallelujah! We were back
on trail and 'only' two and a half miles from Bovey Tracey. I checked
my Strava...... a mere 2.07 miles since the last mark! We were running
late, jolly late. So we elected to bypass the car park and go straight
to The Bell.
3/4
mile along the railway line, three arrows instructed us up and onto
the higher path. I was sure that this would be a silly loop and that
we'd be dropping back onto the railway line shortly. But no. Another
arrow - through a gate and continue along the public footpath that
snakes its way through Southbrook Farm.
We had just crossed Monk's Road when Smellie's phone rang. It was Piltdown Man.
"No. We're on trail and only half a mile away".
Poor
Piltdown Man had been waiting in his car for one-and-a-half hours.
Alas, the folly of trying to get the Longs, Shorts and the Walkers all
back to the pub at the same time.
We
took the wrong fork at a Y-junction on the footpath and ended up in a
newish housing estate. We arrived at cul-de-sac but Pisswell was sure
that we could get through and started ferreting around homeowners
garden. The security light came on and we suddenly decided that we were
all members of Dad's Army LDV (Look, Dive, Vanish). We found our way
onto St Mary's Road and were back on trail once more. We passed the
back of The Cromwell Arms and turned left up Fore Street. Bang on 9.30
we arrived at the On-Down.
Amazingly,
despite the atrocious weather earlier in the day, the gods had been
kind to us. It did not rain. We weren't cold and only our feet were wet.
However, we were all pretty thirsty.
Returnee thespian, Forrest Stump, has a tab running and buys us all a beer. That's what Hashing is all about.
Despite
the hour and the 7 mile tab it was an excellent trail. A lot of
virgin territory, even if a lot of it was unplanned. So a big thankyou
to our virgin Hare, Pocket Rocket - the boy dun good. Another big
"Thankyou" to Poacher for coming all the way from the South Hams to lay a
trail in pretty poor weather conditions.
Piltdown Man arrives and Smellie buys him a pint for his patience. Eventually a smile returns to Piltdown's face.
Initially
we had planned to give the Down-Downs a miss. A combination of low
numbers and the fact that it now past 10 o'clock. However, Poacher would
have none of it. The virgin Hare and birthday boy deserved his
Down-Down. An unprecedented return to a full pint of beer (Cobra lager)
for Pocket Rocket as we cobbled together all the right notes - but not
necessarily in the right order.
Later
than anticipated but, perhaps happier than anticipated (or should that
be "just plain relieved to get back?'), we all wend our way home.
All's well that ends well.
Next week's Hash is from Newfoundland Road car park, Newton Abbot with Hare, Beeflicker.