TVH3 The Words for 27th January 2025

 (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

 

Circle

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.

 

Trail

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.

"Lustleigh".

"Nuts!"

 

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.

"Are you lost?"

"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.

 

Down-Downs

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

Next week's Hash is from Newfoundland Road car park, Newton Abbot with Hare, Beeflicker.

 

On-On to next week, MP