WHAT DID YOU SEE? NOTHING. IT WAS DARK! by Man-Pig

Run #1885 Monday 11th October from the Rugglestone Inn with Beefy.

 

I am always a little doubtful about the wisdom of laying a trail on the high moor in winter. It is dark. There is little in the way of reference points to assess where you are, even more so when you are off road. Additionally, Garmin's and Strava's have their limitations when you are off road, especially if you have a rather antiquated Garmin Foretex 201. Hence, it was with a little anxiety that I jumped in (the wife's) car for the long trek up to the Rugglestone. The moor is surely a thing of beauty by day but, at night, it can become treacherous. Like most hashers, I also suffer from a little trepidation with the prospect of running alone in areas that I do not know well - particularly at night....and even when carrying two torches and a phone!

 

Despite the distance from Kingskerswell a very respectable number turned up for Beefy's trail from his new home in Widecombe. The Kingskerswell contingent alone comprised Hotlips, Zoot , Ali (who doesn't like beer) plus virgin, GM Shitfaced, Threesum and Man-Pig. Next door, OK, Abbotskerswell, attendees included Strap-On and wife. Even further afield we had the usual Teignmouth contingent of Georgie-Porgy, Piltdown and Smellie. The Penners were back in force, Wet-Johnny, Erection and "Two-Pies" Manopause who informs me that he was not the only one who scoffed two pasties at last week's On Down. However, the mini-penners were absent. No doubt October's exceptionally mild weather helped swell the numbers?

 

Zoot and Hotlips had brought a virgin which Shitfaced welcomed into the Circle in time-honoured fashion. There were no notices although Man-Pig had forgotten which pub we were running from next week. This was despite being the Hare. Beefy offered little in the way of instructions apart from advising that both the Longs and the Shorts would find themselves on the moor at some stage. There would also be a sweetie stop and an opportunity for a toilet break! Has TVH3 really aged to that extent already?

 

The first check was at the entrance to the car park. Despite the Bird having done his usual warming up exercises, which usually includes a sneaky pre-run check of the trail, he exited stage right only to find that he was not on trail (BB: deliberate loiter as I hadn't been reccying and wanted to avoid accusations later!). For some unknown reason the Pig wondered if we might be doing Beefy's June run but in reverse. Hence the Pig exited stage left and soon found himself on-trail as the FRB.

 

It was not long before he overrun an arrow that took us through Widecombe church cemetery. It must have been 15 years since we've been through here on the Hash; one of Poacher's I seem to recall. The thermometer on the car read 16.5 degrees when I left Kingskerswell. On reaching the Rugglestone the temperature had dropped to 9 degrees and there was a dampness in the air. The daytime warmth emanating from the stone pillars that supported the access gates to the churchyard was distinctly noticeable - just like mini radiators. That was the last warmth we'd enjoy till we returned to the pub.

 

Exiting the cemetery, an arrow directed us across the road and across the village green. Wet-Johnny out in front pursued by Big End, Ned and the Pig. But what of the Bird? Nothing. Our flightless friend had disappeared into the ether. We sped past the Old Inn towards Wooder Manor before arriving at the only Long/Short split on the trail. If Beefy's blurb was accurate, the Shorts would be doing 3.2 miles and the longs circa 6 miles and no opportunities for short cutting. My guess is that the Shorts retraced the last part of Beefy's June trail whilst the Longs continued to the footpath that eventually joins up with The Two Moors Way; a right turn here would have taken us onto Hamel Down and eventually to Grimspound for a re-run of Pisswell's run from Challacombe Farm. We would not be turning right.....too far!

 

The trail did, indeed lead up the long track to Kingshead. The last time that I had been up here was with a Devon A2B hash well over 10 years ago. I knew pretty much where it was going but it looked different somehow. Had the route of the track changed over the intervening period or was it the darkness? My earlier trepidation began to evaporate, even as we headed for the high moor. The marks weren't just good, they were excellent. Although Wet-Johnny was now some 200 yards ahead of us, Big-End and I had settled down to an even pace together. It looked as though I wouldn't be alone after all. Looking back from Kingshead, we caught a glimpse of a single hasher behind us. Was it the Bird? Was it Beefy sweeping the Longs? No. It proved to be Broadshit. The only other hasher on the Longs. Although we didn't find that out till we got back to the pub.

 

Past Kingshead, we found ourselves traversing a couple of fields that were only accessible by climbing over two high stiles. This was all familiar till we got to a 5 bar gate that took us onto the Two Moors Way. A huge arrow directed us left. Not much further we came across a cross laid in flour. We looked around and saw another large arrow pointing down a track in an almost reverse direction. We were on open moor now but after 500 yards we started a descent down a narrow but steep track with a stone wall to our left. This is definitely a track that I have never been on before. Ahead, we could hear Wet-Johnny calling quite regularly. Ned was just in front of us. We could follow him easily as he had something around his neck that looked like a blue glow-stick - but it flashed. At least we wouldn't lose the dog! This track proved to run past the back of Hatchwell Farm. It was a jolly long track, a little unstable underfoot and I was glad when we reached tarmac at Gamble Cot.

 

Only now that I'm working out the route from the ordnance survey map in front of me does the penny drop. We were now on the road that we would have taken to Pisswell's trail at Challacombe Farm. At Gable Cot a check had already been kicked out by ace FRB Wet-Johnny. So left it was, heading due south for the best part of a mile. I was convinced that we would have to turn right at some stage. However, referring to his GPS, Big-End reckoned it should be a left turn that we needed to take. The trail took us straight through Rowden Cross and to our left we could see a dim light. It didn't seem to be bobbing up and down so I didn't think it was a hasher....just a slow car with poor lights. I was wrong.

As we reached the next junction, we came to a check that had not been kicked out. However, we could hear Wet-Johnny calling "On-On" to our left. Big-End's sense of direction was correct and it had been Wet-Johnny's head torch I'd seen and mistaken for a slow car. We kicked out the check and turned left onto a small road that forms part of The Two Moors Way over Dunstone Down. From the top of Dunstone Down we could see the tower of Widecombe church - maybe a mile distant? Just as we started the steep descent towards Southcombe - a cross! What? We're almost home! An arrow to the right took us on a southerly track, bordered by a stone wall to our left. We followed the wall, and the abundance of marks, until we came to the hamlet of Higher Dunstone where the moor gives way to tarmac.

 

Maybe we'd become too accustomed to looking for blobs of white flour but, somehow, we clearly missed the enormous green illuminated arrow. No one had mentioned glowing arrows in the Circle. We knew where we were now. We didn't think we'd gone off trail. So, where was the sweetie and toilet stop? So close. Only a glowing arrow away.

 

We picked up the marks again as we turned left towards Lower Dunstone. At lower Dunstone four dots in a row swept us right and down towards Chittleford. A fast downhill and then an arrow left towards Venton. At last. The "OH" sign. Select a higher gear for the final canter back to the pub car park. In the final leg Big-End commented:

 

"We're really lucky to be able to go out onto the moor and do a 6 mile run. I'd rather have this than a posh flat in London".

 

"Yes. We are, indeed, fortunate to have all this on our doorstep".

 

Thank you MP and now the usual details plus the adventures of the Bird:

 

Roll call almost impossible to see in the dark but I've given it agogo:

GM Shitfaced, Piltdown, Georgie, SM Ellie, Steph, Beefy, Pisswell, Wet Johnny, Manopause, Erection, Strap-On, Ann, 69, BroadS, Man-Pig, 3Sum, Satnav, Gaga4It, Slip on Me, BB, Forrest, Hotlips, Zoot, Ali, Archangel, Big End, Melon Picker plus virgin making 28 or perhaps 29 Rugglestonies.

 

THE BIRD CAPERS

With most of the week missed with injury, the Bird fretted, clucked and trilled as he pondered the wisdom of hashing up on the savage moor. However, the thought of staying in and wondering what the lads were doing was an even more bitter pill for the Bird to Swallow [Shirley as sic as a parrot].

Mindful that three strikes and you're out, the Bird decided for once to be sensible and not put himself about on the long. The trail shoes (yes, I had listened to Beefy) were taken out of storage, examined but ultimately discarded. The grip they afforded not able to offset further aggravating existing injuries. And so the drums sounded their familiar beat of 'Hoka Hokum' as the Bird headed for the moor amidst the splendour of the setting sun..

 

A knot of hashers were already in the car park, booking their chariot tether in case of congestion. Young 69 had dropped by, Forrest - with a large dressing on his shin after having a disagreement with a sheet of corrugated iron, BroadS on a risk it and go as a biscuit visit, were joined by Man-Pig sans his Men in Black cruiser - in for repair and the Grand Master himself to be sure Shirley.

 

Now listen carefully, I will only say this once: the ag-ed Bird has to warm up before every run nowadays and this night he informed the mini gathering that he was orf to limber up.

 

There are only two ways to go from the Ruggles - left back to Widecombe or right up the hill into the boondocks. It was the latter that was chosen and walking, stretching and limping the Bird gradually got going. Nary a mark was seen - to the Bird's relief - as he was not about to be tarred and feathered [sic you fools] by Beefy for advance reccying.

 

On the way back, Piltdown drew alongside and enquired if the Bird had run all the way from Maidencombe!?!! Down over the hill and there was a brand new X that Shirley was not there before. And there was a check just outside the car park - Beefy was late laying evidently.

 

The circle was already convened and all the details of the run were missed - but as I was not going to embark on the long it would not be a problem - the warm up had not gone well.

 

The ON ON was called and note thee well, the Bird loitered at the entrance as Man-Pig and Wet Johnny exitoed Widecombe side. Forrest's call of 'We'll follow Bluebird!' eliciting a furrowed brow from Beefy who quite rightly harboured doubts at what the Bird had been up to previously.

 

From mid-pack, the Bird slotted in behind Man-Pig as the climb to the crossroads unwound - calling MP back as he had missed marks over a stone stile. The pack clambered over as the Bird saluted and abandoned ship to set off to have a little road run on his lonesome.

 

At the junction by the Old Inn, most remarkably dots appeared going left and up into the hills. 'That's 'Andy, 'Arry, pop it in the oven!' mused the Bird and off he ambled adventure bound.

 

But what trail was I on? Long, short or walkers? If it was the long, I would Shirley incur the wrath of the FRB's and the hare! An arrow pointing skywards beckoned and what a hill of woe unfolded as the Bird struggled to the stars themselves. Nothing behind, no lights, no calls - no retribution yet.

 

A left turn onto the moor (and apparently there was a L/S spilt mark here?) and the dreaded off-road but the Bird had found a game to be played and play it he Shirley would, whatever the outcome.

The marks were deluxe de Beefy standard and even a slight deviation was punctuated by an arrow. Bravo Beefy! 

 

Lonely as a cloud did the bedraggled Bird wander over the starlit moor, ever guided by the wise hare's marks. The sharp downhill was the only 'downside' and the injured legs did not like it up 'em one bit.

And now Oh Dearly Beloved, we come to the heart of the matter and I may be able to give 'illumination' to those that missed the Green Arrow and SS (which I was unaware of).

 

Immediately hitting the concrete there was a blob by a low wall. Continuing straight down for fifty yards with NO marks - and an alarm bell went off in the Bird's tiny brain and he retraced his footsteps back. AHA! There were two more blobs close together which would have been hidden coming down.

It did look as though the trail went into someone's garage by all the parked cars but just off to the left, a lane opened up. Around the corner and the Bird stopped to gaze awestruck at the splendid green arrow - reflecting back the light from his head torch. The magpie Bird had never seen such a beautiful thing and even contemplated claiming it as a trophy - thinking it was a council direction sign for a concealed byway.

 

Fortunately for the Bird, the desire passed and he unfastened a gate and proceeded but... what was this, it led down to a house, this Shirley could not be right! But the marks were clear so it must be a strange right of way but the house owner Shirley could not be happy with all and sundry flitting past 24/7?

A window was open so turning off my head torch, I tip-toed past and legged it when clear - that was a close one!

 

Back on tarmac true and a couple of hundred yards later, another strange sight did assail mine eyes. A large band of walkers (Gaga4It, 3Sum, Satnav and Uncle Tom Cobley and all) led by the be-staffed Grand Master approached, going against the marks! What on earth was going on!!

 

The Bird babbled his close escape from the chateau of fear and warned the walkers to proceed with caution. They didn't seem that interested so I left them to the mercy of the chateau's owners, who Shirley would hear the large group passing.... It was only much later that I discovered it was the SS at Beefy's abode.. Whatamistakatomaka!!

 

Oh the glory of the flattish road but all too soon the OH appeared and it must have been the short trail I was on as barely half an hour had elapsed. I determined to get my money's worth and set off for another lap - and even more adventure as it turned out.

 

Turning off again onto the moor, a shout! Shirley that was Wet Johnny, but how was that possible? As I coursed across the moor, the shouts continued from a tangent above and to my right and were getting closer. I called back and on hitting the concrete legged it past the Green Arrow one more time and fled for the final mile, determined to hold the rampant Wet Johnny off. A quick chat with Archangel en routey and the OH passed for the second time. 

 

In the Heat of the Night (1967) the legs just about held up and triumphantly did the Bird enter the car park with an hour on the clock.

 

WJ, Man-Pig and Big End were not that far behind having covered a fair more distance on the long. BroadS had a similar experience to me with a solitary trek on the long with (I think) only trail sweeper Pisswell behind. I needed a beer after that..

 

ON DOWN AND DOWNDOWNS

 

Snug as bugs in a Rugglestone were the hash après trail and the Butcombe hit the spot. Forrest was the RA and the awards went thus:

 

FUKARWI and POLE DODGER (not Dancer as Forrest stated again!) had popped over for a pint and took the opportunity to thank the hash for their support of Pole Dodger's fund for his upcoming competition. A round of applause from the hash.

 

Forrest awarded the Cheeky Chimp hat to SHITFACED for 'Popping out'.

 

A DD for SLIP ON ME for her 'long p***er' hound.

 

Confusion never far away, in the absence of Beefy, Forrest given a DD as 'substitute hare'.

Right on cue, BEEFY appeared in the doorway and was awarded the Viking hat by 3Sum for the SS cum toilet stop at Beefy's 'Green Arrow' abode.

 

PISSWELL had the Homing Horse Head hat to award but was (thankfully for me!) too late to award.

 

POSTSCRIPT

The evening turned out a lot better than anticipated and yet another adventure to savour. The ground that Beefy covered was prodigious and notable for the excellent marking for which I was most grateful. It was well worth the journey, thanks Beefy.

 

ON ON to next week and the Park Inn at Kingskerswell with Man-Pig.

SANITY & INSANITY AT THE RED ROCK (BABY) RANCH HOUSE

Run #1884 Monday 4th October from the Red Rock Brewery with Well Hopped & Big End

 

Roll call:

GM Shitfaced, Piltdown, Georgie, SM Ellie, Wet Johnny, Manopause, Erection, Swinger, virgin Matt, Hotlips, Zoot, Paul, virgin Jenny, Coldtits, Rambo, Kelvin, Man-Pig, Ali, 3Sum, Satnav, Strap-On, Big End, Well Hopped and little Emma, Beefy, Pisswell, Alexis, Wetfart, Archangel, Gaga4It, BB making a Dirty Gertie thirty Braveheart hashers.

 

THE SANE VERSION of the trail words by Man-Pig

Well, at least we didn't get wet. The forecast rainstorm held off pretty much until all hashers had returned from whence they came. Even 'the perfect 10" Pisswell made it back before the Heaven's opened. The weather only really presented a problem for those trying to access their cars after 9.45pm as it was raining cats and dogs by then.....blustery too.

 

So what happened out there? Bluebird and I looked at each other in the bar across a half-eaten pasty. "What did you see on tonight's trail Man-Pig?" "Ermmm."

"What all, Man-Pig?" did the Bird ask. "I stayed with Kelvin and Pollyfella. Didn't see a thing. Well, at least I saw Kelvin and Polyfella I suppose".

 

This might have proved to be more than blind-as-a-bat Bluebird had seen. In an attempt to avoid a repeat of last year's fall, the Bird deviated off trail to escape the descent on the steep footpath that leads from just south of Colway Cross and exits onto the bottom of Forder Lane in Bishopsteignton. I may have only seen two other hashers on trail but that's better than none! I wonder if Bluebird saw more than two hashers out there?

 

Big End invited us back to the Red Rock Brewery for his second lay for TVH3. This time a solo lay sans l'assistance de Bien Hopped. Solo lays can be hard work, especially when Sunday's copious marks have been washed out by Monday's mini-monsoon. So well done to Big End for re-laying significant parts of the trail just before our 7.15 departure time (in 26 years of hashing with TVH3 we have never commenced the trail at 7.15!). Instructions were simple: "I've relaid some of it. If you don't see a mark, continue in a straight line!". What could possibly go wrong?

 

The only announcement in the circle concerned who had, and had not, pre-ordered a pint and a pasty. Swinger advised that Carl had pre-ordered a pasty and a pint but couldn't make the Hash. Manopause was the first to pounce and gobble up the opportunity of a second pasty....he'll grow up to be a big boy. His Mum would be proud of him. I think there were mumbles of 4 miles for the Shorts; under 6 for the Longs and a Walkers' trail. Back down the driveway. Longs to the right. Shorts and Walkers to the Left.

Bluebird, apparently fully recovered from last weeks' near death experience, shot off and ignored the first check as he careered down Humber Lane. Wet Johnny checked right, up Humber Lane. Man-Pig, in third place after 150 yards, followed the Bird knowing full well that he would have had a crafty reconnoiter of the trail beforehand. And so it proved to be. Three clear new dots and then an arrow that took us along a Hare's favourite track in this neck of the woods. Exiting at Colway Cross, the Bird's reconnaissance went awry....or so I thought. The Bird flew straight across whilst an arrow directed FRB's Wet Johnny, Beefy, Man-Pig, Kelvin and Polyfella to the right. Swinger could not have been far behind as I had heard a female voice behind me for most of the first mile. That voice disappeared as another (new) arrow pointed us down the steep and slippery footpath to the bottom of Forder Lane.

By the time we hit Forder Lane, Beefy and Wet Johnny were well gone and I only had Pollyfella and, the usually very fast, Kelvin from Plymouth for company (great effort to travel all this way to join us, especially given the weather forecast!).

 

As we climbed up Forder Lane, I did wonder if another mishap had befallen the Bird. I was oblivious to his alternative route Avoiding Low Bridge and slippery descent. "I was not going down there again" screeched the Bird later on in the pub.

 

A short way up Forder Lane, we came to the Walkers and Long/Shorts' split. The Walkers taking a left up Great Furlong, or was it Murwell Crescent? Never mind. The Longs and the Shorts carried on up Forder Lane till another arrow took us left and up West Street; straight across and onto Berry Hill, past a pub (I'm sure this pub had been renamed) and a quick left and right onto a public footpath. For those of us who knew where we were, we knew what was to come. Over 100 metres (330 feet) of unending ascent to Beacon Copse. In the far distance, I could see the shadows of a torchlight bouncing off the trees. This must be a hasher. One of the Shorts, I suspected or maybe Beefy or Wet Johnny? The dancing beam must have been a good 300 yards distant. It later transpired that these flickering lights emanated from none other than the Bird's head-torch....Short Cutting B*****d!

 

Rejoining tarmac another arrow. Right this time and up towards Teignmouth Golf Course. At White Well (another copse) a Long/Short split took the Longs into the copse and a loop that brought us out near the picnic tables where Bobbiball had his birthday drinks back in May. A distinct absence of marks meant that we had to rely on local boy (or should that be parrot?) Pollyfella. A left for about 150 yards before turning right towards Little Haldon. After 400 yards it was left and onto Three Trees Lane. A nice, but potentially treacherous, descent down a badly dilapidated track that had once been a tarmac road. Eventually we came to a proper road. Lo and behold, we were back on Humber Lane yet again. Left and left again and were back at the brewery and........relatively dry!

 

Thank you MP and now:

 

FLIGHT OF FANCY (INSANE) VERSION

 

When all at once a mighty herd

Of red eyed cows they saw..

 

Oh Yes, Oh Dearly Beloved, the Shorts and Walkers Shirley got a surprise when they embarked on their Teddy Bears' Picnic from the Red Rock Baby Ranch House Monday evening under the threatening clouds ..

 

Now before we continue any further into what may well be a flight of fancy, I feel I must issue a disclaimer about the events that follow which may bear no relation to the actual events that took place on Run #1884.

 

Supping my £3.20 Red Rock Baby, I listened in awe to trail tales being spun - notably by Manopause - but was he talking about tonight's trail? I leave you, Dear Readers, to decide the fact of the matter...

Now where was I, ah yes, the Teddy Bears' picnic horror:

 

In abject terror the shorts and walkers fled, no match for the mighty stampeding herd of red eyed cows that bore down on them. All hashers were Shirley fully paid-up members of the Self Preservation Society and thereupon scattered to seek whatever cover that could be found out there in the wilds of Red Rock Baby country - behind trees, up telegraph poles, it didn't matter - all they wanted was to survive the encounter and get back to the Red Rock Baby for their Pint and Pasty offer at a projected bargain £5.50 agogo..

 

Their formidable leader, man-o-war Manopause, stood his ground unblinking in the face of what was Shirley certain destruction. Half a second later, the man-o-war blinked and dived for cover.

 

Meanwhile, at the crossroads where the longs, shorts and walkers would so cunningly converge, Big End waited, confident that the plan - and the hash - would come together. But no cigar for his starter for ten as the longs charged out of the lane.. Shirley it couldn't have gone belly up already...

 

Back at Custer's Last Stand and the mighty herd had thundered past leaving the shattered remnants of the shorts and walkers to regroup before sallying forth once more. The Pasty and Pint, projected at a bargain £5.50 the only beacon of hope back at the Red Rock Baby ranch-house.

 

The Bird, wearing his beloved only good on road Hoka Mach 4's and already mauled by the off-road section, entered a plea of insanity and asked the hare for mercy.

 

The quality of mercy is not strained. It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven and thus the Bird was spared further punishment and directed down, way, way down into the village to Shirley head the longs off at the pass, Percy. HA!

 

And now, to prove to you that I'm no fool, I'll walk across your swimming pool. The first of two hardly credible tales on this doom-laden Fight for Your Pint and Pasty hash, I give you Walkabout (1971) Part 2 (Part 1, even more implausible, had already taken place). Alexis missed the left turn for the Descent of Death and continued all the way down to the Newton road before finally conceding that the hare's fateful final words did not apply here: 

 

'If you don't see any marks, keep straight on....' long sigh. But never mind, a seven mile plus trail bagged. Shirley shades of Coldtits Court Farm Inn Wong Wei here.

 

Dodging the Descent of Death, the Bird glided serenely down into suburban Bishopsteignton, Humming bird as he went. But thoughts of having a big lead evaporated when FRB calls could be heard in the distance. Wet Johnny and Beefy probably - but would they be pleased to see the Bird again? Possibly not.

 

Still on tarmac true but a climb to ye Olde Commercial Inn and a curious set of marks which left the Bird brain bewildered. An arrow pointing straight up the hill but to the left another set of marks: an arrow with O/R. Off-road, decided the Bird. 'That'll cramp their style Shirley!' and the Bird fled upwards, blissfully unaware that it was a road surveyor's mark he had seen... sigh.

 

A quick bugle Bird blast and then the FRB's swallowed him up. Ah, the pain of the near vertical climb on slippery field and furrow. Nearing the summit, a faint light was glimpsed behind, far below - Man-Pig! Anxiously, the Bird pressed on, waving to be-cycled Big End who was out and about, shepherding his flock.

 

Adventure aplenty was to be found and Beefy was sighted looking down into the woods for Wet Johnny who had gone astray on a lower path. The Bobbiball beer table loom-ed and the Bird didn't like the look of the next tortuous off-road section. 'I'll track you from the golf course road lads.' Beefy, tiring of the Bird's Hoka hokum exclaimed: 'You'd better wear your trail shoes next week!'

 

Wet Johnny was searching for marks when finally emerging from the mud and was called back onto trail as other lights were espied at strange compass points.

 

Ye savage gods, what was that ruined road descent all about?! It seemed to be endless and the legs took a pounding before blessed relief and the Humber road turn for home. Strap-On was soldiering on the short and just up ahead were Manopause and Erection who, seeing the Bird in their rear view mirrors, legged it back into the car park - I think they're getting fitter now!

 

Big End nodded permission to the Rain God above and the precipitation commenced as we scuttled into the ranch house to claim our Pasty and Pint offer.. HA!

 

TRAIL & BAR TITTLE-TATTLE

Missing the pre-booking deadline and on an away-day from Plymouth, KELVIN cut out the middle woman (Well Hopped) and ordered his Pasty and Pint directly from the Red Rock Baby!

COLDTITS smooth as silk on the short trail, never going Wong Wei at any point - hurrah!

Good to see POLYFELLA back on trail after injury.

KELVIN wasn't at the front with the FRB's owing to poor lighting - which you decidedly needed.

Happiness was Shirley WETFART who sat drinking his half of Red Rock Baby with a glazed smile. '£1.60 Bluebird, £1.60, now that's what I call a good price!'

 

THE DOWNDOWNS

BIG END most deservedly got his drink for double laying the trail - great effort!

PISSWELL awarded the Homing Horse Head hat for recording ten kilometres or was it miles?

MANOPAUSE singled out for punishment by Swinger for claiming Carl's pasty!

COLDTITS nominated by a babbling Bird for her Forde Park detour the previous week.

Finally, a BIG 400 Badge for SATNAV - and no, you didn't tell me Grand Master, it was just a good guess!

 

EPILOGUE

What a stonking evening we had at what has become a favourite On Down for TVH. Vittles and ale at bargain basement prices and a most convivial ranch house to enjoy them in. Many thanks to Big End for twice giving me 'foolproof' directions, once on the trail and how to get home!

The heavens opened up as Big End departed on his bike - trust the brakes worked on the descent!

Well done the hare.

 

POSTSCRIPT

What about Walkabout (1971) Part 1 I hear a solitary voice enquire? I shall merely relate Man-Pig's comment: 'Nobody could be that stupid!' I think you are right, MP and they wouldn't have believed it anyway - it must have been made up.. sigh.

Glad you happened along though!

 

ON ON to next week and Beefy's Walk on the Wild side up on the moor. Circle-up in the Rugglestone Inn's car park 7:15 pm. Details to follow.

COURT FARM CORRAL SLUGFEST & FROM ICARUS TO PHOENIX

Run #1883 Monday 27th September from the Court Farm Inn with Alexis

 

His face deathly white and peaked

His forehead even sweat bestreaked

His eyes despairing hollows of madness

As sped off he into autumnal darkness

From plunging Icarus to born again phoenix

A sad story Shirley befitting Kleenex...

 

Fading eyes discerned the transit of a satellite amidst the carpet of stars overhead. Still and quiet was the night. So very peaceful.. the eyelids grew heavy, flickered and slowly closed..

Ah, to drift away into final and eternal sleep...

A bright white light enveloped the crumpled creature and the Afterlife reached out to envelop the Bird gently into its comforting arms...

 

Yes, Oh Dearly Beloved, I had told you that I didn't feel very well and a few of you did comment on the ghastly wan features of the brooding Bird..

 

I had even asked Piltdown to move his chariot in case of imminent flight [soon to be sic as a parrot] and enquired how long the short trail might be.

 

Oh Liability, thy name is Shirley Bird this fateful night.

 

But let us dwell not on the melancholy most mischievous mayhem and returneth to this much anticipated virgin lay and the upcoming slugfest between Shitfaced Fury and the Archangel Joshua who waited with clenched teeth for the hare to reveal their fate.

 

There now will be a short intermission as sales staff dispense bedpans, emergency foil blankets, soft drinks and ices to the long-suffering readership.. This is going to be a truly Tolstoyan epic..

 

Right you are, here we go again..

 

ROLL CALL

A solid turnout for our return to the Court Farm Inn (last hash from here on 21st October 2019 #1817)

GM Shitfaced, Piltdown, Georgie, SM Ellie, Wetfart, U Bend, Soapy, Able, Triple Jump, Julie, Carl, Swinger, Manopause, Wet Johnny, Erection, Roxanne, Piddler, Pisswell, Beefy, Man-Pig, Big End, Well Hopped, Roxanne, four mini penners, Muffin, Archangel, Mouldy, Zoot, Hotlips, Ali, Bird, Strap-On, Steph, Screwed & Bella, Coldtits, Forrest, giving another 39 Steps hashers true and with 3Sum at the On Down.

 

HOW LONG IS THE LONG?

A long of differing Strava lengths, spake the virgin hare, it could be six, seven or even eight miles... a frightful silence upon the circle fell as the Fury turned a Whiter Shade of Pale. Stoic and unmoved was the Archangel Joshua - he of unending stamina.

And so it began, and what a hash it was to be - on run number eighteen hundred and eighty three - I really do try and keep you all amused..

 

PART ONE: ICARUS DOTH SOAR

Cautiously did the Bird ascend Stoneman's Hill of woe on his journey to the sun - prepared to capitulate at the slightest sign of discomfort. Wet Johnny to the fore and the pitter patter of Beefy resuming station after taking the obligatory snaps of the climbing pack.

 

Down Stoneman's Hill and quite unexpectedly the lawnmower burst into strident life. Shirley it had been only a fuel blockage and now it was clear? A muttered curse by Beefy at the mile marker as his tech had failed to engage and then it was all systems agogo as the cemetery flashed by to port.

Beefy and the Bird came upon that Child of the Hash, Wet Johnny, by the check at St Mary's Church and merrily did we speed down the Church Path to the main road, taking a hard left and then right into Bradley Park.

 

WJ and Beefy orchestrated and stretched the rubber band to an ever-widening fifty yards or so and the Bird took a quick look over his shoulder to see if there were any other takers - Shirley the Man-Pig and Big End would be closing now? Yes, a light entering the park - GameBird On!

Reunited with the Turbo Boys as they took a pit stop and fortunate for the myopic one as marks could not be seen - even when WJ kindly pointed them out.

 

Crossing the Lemon and seeing the climb to Ogwell, the Bird bade a tearful goodbye to Beefy who merely replied 'Au revoir, L'Oiseau Bleu!' And remarkably, he was correct as the Bird just about maintained contact and the duo descended into East Ogwell and past the bombsite that was one of our former favourite watering holes - the now deceased and not so Jolly Sailor.

 

The indolent Bird was now locked into follow Beefy mode, but both ground to a halt as the marks had apparently petered out. It was here that things took a turn for the worse. Retracing our steps back into the village, Man-Pig lurched out of the darkness and spotted what I thought was an old arrow. Wisely ignoring my input, Beefy and MP veered left and quickly sighted marks on the right. 

 

However, convinced that Beefy and I had already come down that way (we Shirley had not), the Bird squawked loudly that it could not possibly be that way.. and an odd feeling of disorientation swept over his tiny bird-brain.

 

Reluctantly resuming and only a few yards adrift, it happened. A feeling that I could no longer stand upright and an overwhelming desire to get to my knees in case I fell. A swirling sensation and suddenly I was sitting down with my knees drawn up to my chin - awaiting what I felt was going to be my demise..

 

PART TWO: SLUGFEST

Meanwhile, back at the longs and there were precious few participants out there - perhaps disquieted by the prospect of a possible eight-miler. Carl and Swinger were making steady progress and some way in arrears was the slugfest grudge match with an observer cum referee alongside to record the saga for posterity.

 

Oh Yes, Screwed and Bella were witness to the legend in the making and even recorded footage at the five mile mark, coincidentally by the Two Mile Oak pub. Perky indeed looked the Fury and just a few yards back, the Archangel was playing a waiting game - Shirley the Fury would fall by the wayside soon.. How soon? Very sooon hopefully.. The big hitters who had waded in and taken the skinny odds on the Archangel doing the bizzo were now looking a bit anxious.

 

ICARUS continued:

Back by the wayside, the Bird slept, perchance to dream.. It had been nigh on ten minutes since Man-Pig had dolefully cried 'On-on Bluebird!?' and then around the corner Carl and Swinger appeared to come upon the dread sight of The Bird Who Fell to Earth (2021). His wings were scorched and smouldering Icarus-like and, for a brief moment they thought it was a corpse as Carl shone his head torch down.

 

Don't go into the light, don't go.. mused the hallucinating Bird. 'Are you okay Bluebird?' enquired Carl and the life force flowed once more as the Icarian Bird was helped to his shaky feet. 'I'm okay, I'm fine, just having a breather...'

 

And now, a return to minor insanity, I give you the rip-roaring rendition from your favourite roving reporter. Let's hear it for Man-Pig!

 

BLACK HAWK DOWN by Man-Pig

Late September is always an odd time of the year. It is a time for reflection on the Summer past and the bleak midwinter still to come. Looking back to the Spring we looked forward to the the extended daylight and making the most of Devon's best beer gardens in the evening. I always look forward to getting some motorcycle miles under my belt. I do not relish the inevitable and interminable gardening and the obligatory maintenance work that attaches to older properties. For all these are outdoor summer activities. I look back at over 25 years of hashing with TVH3 and I recall a time when there was a large variation in attendance between the summer and the winter months. However, in recent years, I rather get the impression that there is probably little change between the numbers in attendance throughout the year. This is a testament to the dedication of all you guys out there who turn up, week-in and week-out and make TVH3 such fun. And what fun we had this week with a fortnight's worth of awards to dish out. But what about the run?

 

What would virgin Hare Alexis have in store for us? Being slim and light-footed, would we get an ultra long Long? If so, how would last week's protagonists and this week's combatants fair? In fact, would Tyson Shitfaced and Joshua Arkangel even make it back to the pub before last orders?

 

Able Seaman apologised for Teapot's absence. He was self-isolating in advance of a hip operation. In Teapot's absence, Tyson Shitfaced called the hash to order. No virgins this week so straight over to virgin Hare Alexis for the low-down on the trail. "It is almost all road. There is a Walkers', Shorts' and Longs' trail; 2.5 miles, 3.5 miles and........" silence!!! What on earth were the Longs in for.......poor Tyson & Joshua?

 

This would be the first run of the year that would take place in almost total darkness. Hence, a trail comprising mainly road was actually quite a wise choice. Clear instructions to turn left as we exited the pub car park caused some confusion for those who did not know their left from their right and continued in a straight line up to the road. "Not that left. This left and onto the footpath".

 

The very short footpath took us into the centre of Abbotskerswell and at the first junction it was a steep uphill climb past Manor Farm. Beefy was back in photography mode to capture the groaning throng on the ascent. As the road towards The Priory began to level off we came to our first check at a staggered crossroads. Wet Johnny went right. Man-Pig straight on and Bluebird banked left and claimed the first "On-On" of the evening. After 300 yards (yes YARDS....post Brexit we're reverting to Imperial measurement....including PINTS....but they never went away!) an arrow directed us up a cul de sac and onto a footpath. I think that this may have been only the second time that we've run up this footpath since it was fenced-in a couple of years ago.

 

Exiting the field via a style we came to another check. Big End and Well-Hopped were tempted to check right and back towards Abbotskerswell. The FRB's, who comprised the usual suspects of Wet Johnny, Beefy and Bluebird had all gone left. I knew that there was another footpath 200 yards up the road that would take us to Decoy Country Park so I veered left too. At the style that accesses this footpath.....nothing. No arrow. No check and the sound of "On-On" from the FRB's who were heading towards Newton Abbot cemetery. Maybe the Hare's description of "....nearly all road" had not been espoused with forked tongue? Another footpath, this time down to Wolborough Barton, was passed and ignored until we came to the Walkers's split. The Walkers would peel off left, past a reservoir, and descend back down to Abbotskerswell. The rest of us were cemetery bound.....some more than others (see later).

 

At the cemetery the trail took us right towards Wolborough Church. I just caught a glimpse of Wet Johnny darting down the footpath that exits opposite the entrance to Bradley Barton. This was the last I'd see of Wet Johnny until our RV back at the pub.

 

The trail was well marked with a combination of arrows and dots - pretty closely spaced. Sure enough, on arriving at the Totnes Road, a Long/Short split kept the Shorts on road whilst the Longs descended into Bradley Barton and along the footpath that follows the River Lemon. Again, I just caught a glimpse of a head torch on the far side of Bradley Park, maybe 250 yards ahead of me? It later turned out to be Bluebird. That guiding light was soon extinguished as soon as the Bird embarked on the meandering trail along the Lemon; obscured by bends and trees there was no light to guide me. Nearly half a mile later we crossed the Lemon at the ford. It was at this point that there were lights to the left of me. Definitely hashers but where had they been? They were on the wrong side of the river. My guess was that it was Karl and Swinger just having completed an evening course on "How to resuscitate your Cock" delivered by the RSPCB.

 

A fast climb up the lane to East Ogwell. It would Shirley be left and back down to the Totnes Road near the cemetery? No! An arrow to the right and downhill to the semi derelict Jolly Sailor which had been destroyed by a fire earlier in the year. Another hash-friendly pub lost.....sigh. Lights! Not one but two. It was Bluebird and Beefy.

 

Initially all seemed well as we followed the marks up towards Stubbins Cross. Beefy was pulling away from me as usual. But where was the Bird? "On-On Bluebird" I cried but not a squawk of a response. Odd, I thought. We're fairly evenly paced. I called again but still nothing. I eventually got within hailing distance of Beefy, "We're Birdless". We concluded that the Bird had probably short-cutted back down to the cemetery.

 

We continued on-trail completely oblivious to the fate that had befallen our erstwhile friend. For, unbeknown to us, the Bird had taken a funny turn. As we ate up the miles the crashed Bird was lying in a hedgerow - barely conscious and hallucinating. "What is that yellow orb in the sky? Is it my Maker calling time on my all to brief tenure on this fragile planet?" Fortunately it was not. It was Karl's head torch. Karl and Swinger came upon the hapless Bird and helped him to his feet. Whereupon, after a few deep breaths, he manoeuvred himself for take-off. Very gingerly at first. A walk. A cantor. A jog. Airborne. The Bird flies again....thank goodness! Shepherded by Karl and Swinger the Bird made it safely back to base having completed all of the 6.73 mile Long.... a flight worthy of Amelia Erhardt.

Meanwhile, the carefree FRB's continued on oblivious. At Rydon Cross, a kicked-out check took us across Denbury Road and onto Rydon Farm. Man-Pig completely failed to notice the right angle bend and only stopped when he realised that he was in Rydon Farm's farmyard surrounded by agricultural machinery.....ooops (BB: I had to brake hard here).

 

Back on trail and an arrow at Dornafield Cross guided us towards Two Mile Oak. We could clearly see the pub car park illuminated in the distance. At Two Mile Oak Cross,v it was straight across the Totnes Road and a level run down Whiddon Road to Gulland Cross. The final check - kicked-out left. At Greatoak Cross an arrow pointed left and our steep descent into Abbotskerswell.

Beefy's Strava had kicked-in late, so he had to add an extra mile to the recorded total. Yes, a lot of road but well marked and fast....perhaps too fast for our octogenarian Bird? Some new road that I've never hashed on before. All-in-all an excellent virgin lay. And the best bit? We all missed the monsoon rains that started impacting TVH3's turf from midnight onwards. But what about Tyson & Joshua?

What indeed Man-Pig, and a timely reminder for a flurry of epilogues to put the readership out of their collective misery - if you're still here, you've done awfully well.

 

EPILOGUE: THE SLUGFEST

Back at the Court Farm Inn, a huddle of RA's deliberated when to launch the Downdowns, acutely aware that commencement was dependent on the return of Archangel and Shitfaced. ETA had been calculated at around five to ten - what to do and what a to-do? But then at around quarter past nine and well ahead of schedule, the slugfest boys were sighted in the car park - hurrah!

A few minutes later and the Heroes of The Trail (2021) entered the bar but what had happened out there in the rolling hills of the virgin hare's seven miler?

 

What we do know is that Shitfaced Fury was clutching a t-shirt bearing the legend: 'I CHALLENGED SHITFACED ON THE LONGS!' and 'AND LOST!' on the back.

 

What the savvy statisticians also know is that the virtually 100% road trail would have been most unsuitable - and indeed painful for Archangel (especially that downhill drop at the end!) and he would have preferred an off-roader 'mudfest' to give of his best. But don't let that detract in any way from the remarkable effort put in by Shitfaced in covering the seven miles and staying on his feet for an hour and threequarters.

Not a bad effort by Screwed and Bella either and great that she got some footage of the warriors en route.

 

Err, do I hear either slugfester calling for a rematch? SLUGFEST 2?

 

EPILOGUE: THE PHOENIX

A few faltering steps and it seemed it was not possible to continue and a fearsome thought that a Swing low, sweet chariot might be necessary to carry the Bird home.. Oh the shame of it, Shirley and the thought was banished.

 

The mantra 'Confidence is high' was mumbled for the next mile. Reassured by the following Carl and Swinger, I made my way home, aided further by the downhill drop into Abbotskerswell. From foolish Icarus who flew too close to the FRB's, to born again Flight of the Phoenix (1965), Shirley a tale with a moral lesson to have you reaching for the Kleenex... No? Well please yourselves then.

 

EPILOGUE: THE VIRGIN TRAIL

You will never hear me criticise a virgin trail as a first ever trail lay is usually stressful and confidence is needed to go out and lay [sic] yourself open to adverse comments from the beer-swilling rabble back in the pub.

 

The preparation and workload for the Court Farm Inn trail were truly awesome and I do not use the word lightly. Alexis reccied and ran the long on Thursday (66 mins 32 secs for 6.67M !) laid the full long trail (Strava 8M) on Monday and two more sorties for the short and walkers, filled in the gaps later and finally swept 3M on the hash! Whoa!

 

The trail was mainly road (my favoured terrain anyway) but took in Bakers Park and the scenic River Lemon stretch. Like Man-Pig, I've hashed around there many times but, in truth, never knew exactly where we were going (I know, what's strange about that!) and seeing the Two Mile Oak on the left hand side really surprised me. It was well marked and well-received by the regular hashers.

Just to think you were worried about laying a trail beforehand, Alexis! Very well done and thank you from all who went out on the evening. A shame you could not make it to the pub, you were missed!

 

TWO QUESTIONS

Just a couple of queries, what exactly happened to COLDTITS on the 'short' trail? Her Strava revealed 5.35 miles covered and on closer inspection, I saw that the extra couple of miles were due to a 'detour' to FORDE PARK! You kept very quiet about that, didn't you, Coldtits! A certain DD if anyone had spotted it. Quite an adventure and well done for retracing your footsteps and getting back on trail.

Also, I'm intrigued about the four mini-Penners. Did they do the long? I can vaguely (still not quite with it) recall Roxanne, drink in hand, going into the car park to see where they were.

 

THE DOWNDOWNS

A bumper edition as Mouldy (Hashit shirt), Forrest (Homing Horse Head) and Swinger (Checkin Chimp) all turned out with their awards from a fortnight ago. Man_Pig had the Viking hat and the Bird was sporting the Covid-secreted Bat Hat once more as his award from the Manor Inn. 

 

Man-Pig negotiated the halves and we were all set.

 

Swinger dropped the casual line: 'We found Bluebird in a hedge...' and got things off to a 'flyer' if you'll excuse the pun... After many a cruel jest, Bluebird got the Checkin' Chimp.

 

Mouldy's retribution was swift - CARL awarded the Hashit shirt for pulling said Bird out of the hedge.

Man-Pig jumped on the merry bandwagon and awarded SWINGER the Viking hat for aiding and abetting Carl.

 

Forrest had a throwback award for MAN-PIG and offered up his 2019 Trail of the Year shirt as well as the Horse Head hat (hurrah!) for always complaining about the award?! and for wearing white socks with brogues!!

 

Shitfaced pulled rank and stepped up to the oche to gleefully deliver his triumphant t-shirt and award a DD to ARCHANGEL.

 

Finally, Mouldy spotted an easy kill and summoned the owner of a blue bag forward to explain why he had left his head torch on - glowing through the bag... DD for STRAP-ON.. sigh.

 

And yes, I did have an award to deliver but was still in the Twilight Zone and incapable of the effort..

perhaps next week..

 

ON ON to next week and it's back to the RED ROCK brewery with Big End and Well Hopped.

RED ROCK MAP FOR MONDAY 4 OCTOBER