Run #1844 Monday 14th September from the Rugglestone Inn, Widecombe in the Moor with Hare Pisswell
𝙎𝙝𝙞𝙩𝙛𝙖𝙘𝙚𝙙, 𝙎𝙝𝙞𝙩𝙛𝙖𝙘𝙚𝙙, 𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙙 𝙢𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙮 𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙚
𝘼𝙡𝙡 𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜, 𝙙𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜, 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙚𝙚.
𝙁𝙤𝙧 𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙜𝙤 𝙙𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙩𝙤 𝙒𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙗𝙚 𝙁𝙖𝙞𝙧
𝙒𝙞’ 𝙋𝙞𝙡𝙩𝙙𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙂𝙚𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙞𝙚, 𝙋𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙡, 𝙄=𝙋𝙤𝙤'𝙙, 𝙏 𝙃𝙪𝙢𝙥𝙚𝙧, 𝙒𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙇𝙚𝙣𝙙, 𝙈𝙖𝙣𝙥𝙞𝙜, 𝙕𝙚𝙣, 𝙒𝙚𝙩 𝙅𝙤𝙝𝙣𝙣𝙮, 𝙫𝙞𝙧𝙜𝙞𝙣 𝙍𝙖𝙫𝙞, 𝙀𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣, 𝘽𝙚𝙚𝙛𝙮, 𝘽𝙞𝙜 𝙀𝙣𝙙, 𝙒𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙃𝙤𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙙, 𝘿𝙖𝙙, 𝙎𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙬𝙚𝙙, 𝙋𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙠𝙚𝙧, 𝘼𝙧𝙩𝙛𝙪𝙡 𝘿𝙤𝙜𝙜𝙚𝙧, 𝙎𝙖𝙩𝙉𝙖𝙫, 𝘼𝙗𝙡𝙚, 𝙂𝙖𝙜𝙖4𝙞𝙩, 𝙎𝙈 𝙀𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙚, 𝙎𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙥-𝙊𝙣, 𝘽𝘽, 𝙁𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙣 𝙒𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣, 𝘽𝙧𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙣 𝙈𝙖𝙣, 𝙋𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙮𝙚, 𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙋, 69 𝙥𝙡𝙪𝙨 𝙖 𝙫𝙞𝙧𝙜𝙞𝙣 𝙡𝙖𝙙𝙮,
𝙊𝙡𝙙 𝙐𝙣𝙘𝙡𝙚 𝙁𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙎𝙩𝙪𝙢𝙥 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙡𝙡
𝙊𝙡𝙙 𝙐𝙣𝙘𝙡𝙚 𝙁𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙎𝙩𝙪𝙢𝙥 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙡𝙡
No? Well please...
Come on, let's get this show on the road with another quick chorus to rouse the troops to action:
𝑯𝒐𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓, 𝒉𝒂𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒆
𝑾𝒆'𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒍 (𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆) 𝒕𝒐𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒔 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒂𝒊𝒎
A military operation had to be mounted to get to the Rugglestone, high up on the moor and a feeling of great anticipation prevailed throughout the day. Oh Yes, Dearly I Don't Get Out Very Often, Monday is undoubtedly the highlight of the week for many.
The Penners had finally broken radio silence and avowed to make this hash and other MIA had also pledged reinforcing the barricades.
Keeping religiously way under the speed limit over the moor - 40 mph way too fast - as roamin' cows, sheep and ponies all over the shop, I was pleased that there was a space for the chariot in the Rugglestone's congested car park just before seven.
Pisswell had promised that she wouldn't lead us into any bogs (shame that) and what with the heatwave and weather assur-ed, we were set Widecombe Fair for a glorious night, Oh Dearly Why Didn't You Make It?
Interesting chat with ParaP about Haldon aerodrome in WW2 and a quick catch-up with the regulars. However, the main talking point was the return of the Penners, Wet Johnny (looking ominously fit), Erection (still slimline) (Manopause nursing injury) and a new Penner, Ravi. Welcome back lads, we really missed you!
And they weren't the only returnees - Wood Lend, Gaga4it, Big End, Well Hopped and Dad returned at long last and I only spotted Zen after the run as he was a bit late for the circle I think. Pisswell had brought along a virgin hasher and apologies if I missed anyone else. Pause for breath..
The Grand Master's chariot was tardy and the crew were trying to find a space, but with time a pressing and light a fading, Piltdown got on with proceedings - handing over to our hare of the evening, Pisswell of the Moors.
One L/S split, keeping to the footpaths and avoiding the bogs of certain death, the long about six miles and the short about three. Keep it simple, keep it safe.
As has been the norm for the past five hashes, there was a staggered start with small groups (maximum of six) setting off at intervals onto the trail.
The usual trailblazers, Plonker (last hash until December - can't say Christmas as apparently there isn't one this year) and Artful hadn't arriv-ed so the Bird felt lucky and pinged out onto the welcoming tarmac.
Things were going swimmingly until the first check where the Bird played the game checking but chose wrong and was ignominiously shuffled to the rear.
𝑩𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒑𝒖𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒎𝒂𝒏, 𝒔𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒌𝒚
𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒓𝒐𝒂𝒅 𝒔𝒎𝒐𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒆𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒅 𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒉*
SM Ellie and Strap-On were going for gold and then round the bend appeared Popeye, going like the clappers and furtively looking over his shoulder to check who was screaming to the gods on high.
Up ahead was Manpig making a good fist of things as was his wont and then an ominous patter of feet came from behind. Oh please let it be Beefy and not..... Arghhh, NO-OO, it's WET JOHNNY!
Dressed all in black, the hash assassin swept past with nary a sideways glance, never to be seen again... Sigh, back to the drawing board, Beefy.
But never mind, the mysterious moor beckoned, and teaming up with Manpig, we left the trickle of tarmac, shedding a farewell tear.
Wood Lend plus two tiny Baskervilles joined our tiny band and immediately we lost the trail. Big End, Well Hopped and Popeye arrived and spreading out, we searched for clues.
I did fear for Manpig as he approached a rather large cow which stood its ground, glaring at the intruder.
Trail found and resum-ed, on we coursed through many a gate and over high stiles galore.
The last vestiges of light retreated and the head torches were illuminated as we continued into the realms of darkness. Not really a place to be on your own and I was glad that I had companions.
'ROAD!' did the Bird scream triumphantly on several occasions only to groan as the marks almost immediately resumed onto the purple moor. But what the heck, it was gloriously warm, underfoot was dry and I had no idea where we were, Oh Dearly Never a Moan. Oh bury me here should I fall one night... and I Shirley did a few minutes later.
And many were the adventures the three hashers and two muttlies had before the garden lights of the Rugglestone were espied far below.
Descending a steep (tarmac) hill, another patter of feet closed fast astern and there was Plonker who had somehow mislaid Artful en route.
And then suddenly we crashed into Widecombe crossroads and a quick burst on the banjo saw us back into the car park. Olé!
We found out later the reason why Beefy hadn't overhauled us. He had been sweeping the trail to make doubly sure that none had gone astray. I believe there was a slight suspicion that Coldtits might have arrived late and was on trail but she messaged that she could not make the hash, so all was well.
Five and a half miles and an hour of fun on a tropical, adventure trail with at least one spill.** It was great, Pisswell, we really enjoyed it. Very worthwhile and memorable. Thank you.
I cannot really say that the Rugglestone was welcoming as it was closed inside but taking drinks orders at the door. Manpig and I plumped for the Butcombe and my word, what a fine pint it was. We supped and appreciated a couple - beers that is - in the garden before wending our way back home across the moor. Quite an evening.
Thank you for the words of encouragement, Wood Lend, appreciated.
*From one of the finest poems I have read: 'The Highwayman' by Alfred Noyes. Shirley worth a read.
**He who shall be nameless came a purler in some far-flung meadow.
ON ON to next Monday 21st September from the Cridford Inn at Trusham with hares Forrest and Manpig.
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