AUTUMN IN THE VALLEY by our Roving Reporter Manpig

Run #1880 Monday 6th September from the Bridford Inn with Forrest

 

The first of September heralds the first day of Autumn. I think that it would be fair to say that the summer had been, for the most part, disappointing; overcast and windy but not necessarily wet or cold. The cloud and mist from the beginning of the month evaporated to produce a beautiful bright day for our run from the Bridford Inn. Would this be the beginning of a long awaited Indian Summer? Only time will tell.

 

The pre-trail blurb on the internet of things....'tis the Devil's work methinks.....required a "prompt start" although the trail "wasn't long". Additionally, it was suggested that "torches were needed" followed by, "the trail isn't long". There was a common thread here. Just how long was this trail going to be? Was Forest going to trump last week's dusky nightmare of 8.14 miles? Again, only time will tell.

 

The drive up the Teign Valley is always scenic. However, what you do not want to see coming towards you is an articulated lorry. Soapy and Melon Picker were in front of me and just managed to squeeze past the stationary behemoth. I pulled into the Teign Village turn off to allow the huge lorry to pass....it was not one of Trucker's wagons. Before catching up with Soapy & Melon Picker, we had the Country Bus to contend with. Finally, I caught up with the bright red mini clubman but only to be stuck behind a cyclist! The Teign Valley road was busier than the M25.

 

Now, whenever I visit Bridford I keep an eagle eye out for a Vincent Comet motorcycle. For those who are passionate about motorcycles, and British motorcycles in particular, the Vincent is truly a thing of wonder. British engineering at its best. Tonight was my lucky night. There it was, parked in a driveway. Oh how I'd love to get my leg over that little black beauty. On arriving, and having parked up, at the pub car park another thing of beauty turned up. It was Piltdown Man on his Harley Davidson Sportster motorcycle. Another black beauty.

 

Despite the weather, numbers were a little lower than usual. On the upside, it allowed everyone to park in the pub car park with space to spare. With no virgins, or Teapot to welcome them, it was over to the Hare. Forest explained that there were two viewpoints that needed to be visited on trail. Both were a little off the main drag so it was a "run up to the viewpoint and retrace you steps back down to the road". There were Walkers', Shorts' and Longs' trails. No distances but just be back in the pub as quick as you can to enjoy Forest's home-made sandwiches. All proceeds going towards funding "Pole-Dancer's" trip to the Winter Olympics. 

 

Well, I don't know what was on Forest-Stump's mind but I'm guessing that it wasn't skiing. Additionally, we don't have any Pole-Dancers in the hash that I'm aware of, perhaps with the exception of Palmolive? But I think that is more Pole-aerobics where the women are clad. I think Forest meant to say "Pole-Dodger".

 

The trail took us back into the village and through the churchyard and onto the footpath at the rear of the churchyard. It must have been at least 10 years since we last started a hash from Bridford on this path. Very shortly we came to the first Long/Short split. The Longs went left whilst the others continued forwards. At this point the Longs comprised Bluebird, Big-End, Well-Hopped, Man-Pig, Pisswell and Deep Semen. A lovely winding footpath through woodland with some newly created timber boarding (covered with anti-slip chicken wire) spanning what would be boggy ground during the winter months.

 

We exited the footpath onto a lane at exactly the same time as the Walkers and the Shorts arrived at the staggered crossroads at Rowden Brook. A contra-flow system ensued as Forest directed Walkers and Shorts one way and Longs the other. Whilst the Shorts headed West the Longs headed north.

After 500m we came to our first check. Bluebird checked right (due east) and came back. Man-Pig stayed on road heading west and came to another check after 200 yards. Man-Pig continued west but found nothing. Big-End had checked north and had found two marks but no cross or third dot. We decided to double-check the northern route and had a jolly jape down to Lowton Farm. Still no third mark so Pisswell checked-out the footpath onto Lower Lowton Down....nothing. We doubled-back to the previous check and, miraculously, came across a cross for a false trail. Bluebird swore blind that it wasn't there before.

 

Back onto the track that Man-Pig had allegedly checked out 10 minutes before. Hey presto. After nearly 200 yards - a mark. Another 150 yards and a second mark then a third. Nearly a mile and 15 minutes wasted but we were back on trail. This was clearly a green lane and used for farm vehicles and dirt bikes; a red scrambler was disappearing in the distance as we recommenced checking.

 

At the end of the green lane we rejoined tarmac at Plaistow Green. Soon we caught up with Wetfart who was muttering about a viewpoint. It transpired that Man-Pig and Bluebird had missed the VP sign directing us up to Heltor Rock. Left at Preston Green crossroads and the next Walker to be dispatched was Able Semen followed by Melon Picker. It appeared that Bluebird and Man-pig had left the other FRB's behind. Not so. They had simply followed the marks to Heltor and taken in the view. Two fishhooks marked 4 and 3 were ignored as the Bird and the Pig were directed left by an arrow in sawdust. 400 yards later we were at a small car park where Forrest was directing us up the Blackingstone Rock for the second time in 7 weeks. We waited patiently for Smellie and Strap-On to take in the views and descend the decidedly dodgy and ridiculously steep steps that afford access to the summit. It was 8.35pm. The sun had just set and the normally spectacular views were now becoming obscured by darkness. In the distance we could just make out Heltor....."Wasn't that where we were meant to go? Shirley we've just run past that?" murmured the Pig. The Bird was, as ever, clueless. We did, however, recognise the woods behind the Blackingstone that we'd run through 7 weeks earlier.....although we now know that we shouldn't have.....I do vaguely recall a sign on a gate that read "Private" during our previous trail....oh well!

 

Back down the steep steps, but very slowly and carefully. This is one set of steps where it's far easier to go up than to come down. We rejoined tarmac to follow the Shorts' trail. There was a sense of deja vu as this was the lane that we had run up 7 weeks earlier, but in reverse. We soon caught up with Smellie and Strap-On and then Big End and Well-Hopped. They had visited Heltor but elected not to ascend the Blackingstone which explained how they had got in front of us. At the bottom of the hill there was a Long/Short split. It was dark so torches on and continue forward on the Shorts. This was despite protestations from behind us. "You've missed the Long" shouted Big End. "We're going Short" squawked the Bird.

 

At Laployd Barton we caught up with the Golden Girls, Twiggy, Rise 'n' Shine and Teararse. They had ground to a halt at a check. Which way to go? The Pig checked right and, after a very long 500 yards, spotted a mark in the gloom. "On one". "On two". "Check. On-On". Left towards Furzelands and another check at the end of a long, straight, fenced footpath. It looked strangely familiar. But from a long time back. Maybe 10 years? Bluebird and Man-Pig checked it out. No marks until we reached the gate at Hedgemoor some 500 yards later and came across an arrow. "On-On" and down through the woods skirting Rowden Rock until we reached Rookery Brook. It was pitch black now and no marks, but where else could we go? At a five bar gate we came across the On Home sign and commenced our ascent up a very dilapidated lane. Ahead, in the distance, the orange glow of an ancient gaslight. "The pub. The pub. "Hallejujah" grunted the Pig.

 

Salvation indeed as beer was a very palatable £3.50 a pint. The cheapest post lockdown pint encountered at an On-Down. Dean, the landlord, looked after us very well and the motorcycle extravaganza continued with Dean showing me some of his vintage machinery. Beer and bikes to finish the evening. What more can a man (or should that be pig) ask for?

 

Thank you MP and now on on to the technical data:

 

CIRCLE UP ROLL-CALL

GM Shitfaced, Piltdown, Georgie, Forrest, Wetfart, Pisswell, Melon Picker, Deep Semen, Able, SM Ellie, Twiggy, Teararse, Rise 'n' Shine, Well Hopped, Big End, Polyfella, Coldtits, Rambo, BB, Manpig, Strap-On, Ann, Archangel, 22 Buckle My Shoe - though might have missed one?

 

MENTIONED IN DISPATCHES

Cheaper than flour but the sawdust marks were difficult to spot throughout the trail.

Melon Picker sans Soapy (dog-sitting) doggedly [sic Ha!] wandering alone.

Wetfart who had enquired in passing [lots of sics this week] if MP and I had seen the viewpoint. What viewpoint?? I must let mine guide carry the can for this oversight as I had been getting my head torch from the chariot and had missed the hare's briefing..

Twiggy and Rise 'n' Shine (or was it Teararse?) having a natter in the light fading lane - we'd come across them again later - much later.

Rambo conquering the ascent (and trickier descent) of Mt Heltor - Shirley he must have been well oiled? No? Well please yourselves then.

Piltdown Man chugging into the car park astride his Harley.

Able staggering into the pub after apparently going to Hull and Back on trail - fortunately had Coldtits for company.

'Bleep that!' comment uttered by MP when he saw the first fish hook. 'BLEEP BLEEP that! when he saw the second fish hook.

The second ascent of the Blackingstone rock this year. Grudgingly do I concede that the view continues to be worth the hike.

Big End, Well Hopped and Ned always there in support as was the rugged Deep Semen.

Waiting for SM Ellie and Strap-On to descend from the Blackingstone rock.

Forrest live laying from his battered chariot.

Twiggy, Teararse and Rise 'n' Shine dilly-dallying at some forgotten hamlet awaiting the cavalry after finding no marks along the byway or highway. Enter the cavalry and John Wayne (MP you fools) galloping into the sunset to save the pilgrims.

 

SHIRLEY OF THE TRAIL

Covering 8.4 miles, the only hasher to complete all of the long and on her feet for over two hours, the Shirley of the trail must Shirley go to Pisswell. I relied completely on Manpig's knowledge of the area (hence the Cruella 'clueless' clucking Bird comment) and Forrest's marks were by no means straightforward - especially if you were alone. If any of us deserved a drink, it had to be Pisswell. I tip my Bluebird cap to you in unbridled admiration.

 

DOWNDOWNS

Melon Picker checkin' chicken hat to Strap-On for allegedly standing on a mark by the church. Cheap shot Melon!

Archangel - on the defensive when heckled by the Bird - that homing Horse Head (mine!) rearing its head from various hidey-holes and always returning to Forrest - awarded to, guess who? Forrest...

Manpig horn hat to Piltdown, he of Leader of the Pack Harley fame.

And finally, Piltdown, hashit shirt attired, DIDASID - self-inflicted downdown to the uninitiated. And after that second DD, he rode into the night, forgot to get on his motorbike ohwoawoawo. No? Well...

 

POSTSCRIPT

A fair old trek out to the Bridford Inn and I had forgotten how far it was, even to the Teign House and that was just the turn-off. The trail was well thought out on typically Forrest tough terrain and it was only in the closing stages that I worked out the hare's devious tactic. As I remarked to MP, 'the further we go with no marks, the more likely it is we are on trail!' A quarter of a mile with nary a splodge and then an arrow - nicely done!

 

The beer price was remarkable, eliciting praise from Wetfart {and his wallet} who had checked the beer out before the run. 'Bluebird, guess what? They've got Jail on at £3.50 a pint!!' Quite a difference to the not so Legendary [sic] £4.60 encountered recently.. Cheers Dean, now there's a welcome in the Teign valley!

 

Platters of sarnies were proffered by Forrest in aid of Pole Dodger's fighting fund and a pity there were not more mouths (and money) to support his generosity.

 

Well done Forrest, your efforts appreciated by all that made the journey out to darkest Bridford.

 

ON ON to next week and the Wellington Inn at Ipplepen with Wet Johnny.