Hash Rest

It's time for a Hash Rest
It is with genuine sadness that I write this, but to care well for one another in these troubled times we must follow the government's advice in practicing social distancing and avoiding group gatherings. While many of us would consider the hash 'essential contact', we must take that much valued camaraderie online to protect our vulnerable members and the vulnerable in society. It is no longer about us, it is about others. 

For further explanation please see this video.

Please bring your optimism, banter, support and laughter onto WhatsApp and keep in touch until we can hash together again. (Get in touch if you're not in the group and want to be).

Looking forward to the party when we return. Stay safe folks.
On and on and on....
Fast Eddie

March 2020

1179. 2nd March - Soggy B and The Apprentice. Nags head, Loxley.
1180. 9th March - Labradoodle, The Plough, Low Bradfield
1181. 16th March - Shunter, The British Oak, Mosborough

#1181, The British Oak, Shunter

The one for the few not the many.

Spring is in the air, temperature rising and flowers blooming, what better than to go out hashing at least that’s what eight of us thought, the pub disagreed, but we braved it anyway and headed south to The British Oak.  Shunter (him again??) had set the trail and took us to Mosborough for the latest instalment.

The pack which consisted of Trunks, C'ptain M, Soggy and The Aprentice had already set off by the time Fast Eddie, Desperado and myself arrived.  We were greeted by Spiv in the Car Park who had decided to show support by doing a solo hobble. We soon caught the pack who were puzzled by a check with seemingly no trail attached.  Of course our fine young checker ‘The Apprentice’ helped us out and showed us the way passed the school and through the housing estate.

Spiv decided to concentrate on his National Geographic
Photo Competition entry this evening
Another checking puzzle presented and solved itself, a speeding Mercedes was also headed up the same path and rushed passed us, I thought only BMW drivers had the monopoly on driving like door knobs??, it was then on on for a while down the lane.  

One of the main topics of conversation was how many events we would have to run in September due to the number of postponements, there’ll be some tired legs in Autumn!  Parkrun everyday for a month?? Desperado, not so fresh off the Grindleford Gallop and suffering from a recent bout of nobbly bobbly knees, was feeling the burn and in desperate need of Jelly babies to perk himself up – good effort for coming out to play!

With the lane at an end we hooked a left towards the woods, this eventually took us across a stream and led to a long ascent, there were cries of ‘familiarity’ amongst some of the group who felt they had hashed this way before.  I reckon I got three or four checks in a row correct during this ascent, which was doubly impressive as I think it’s the first time I ‘ve done checking three or four times in a row…and still the climb continued.

Part of the trail - at time of setting
We finally entered a field where lived a few horses, the owner was out tending to them, so all would be well or so we thought. About halfway through the crossing the equestrian asked a)  what we were doing and b) if we thought it was a good idea to scare her horses like that. We explained ourselves and her initial self-described grumpiness mutated, from suspicion to curiosity to concern to genuine worry for our wellbeing;

‘Are you poisoning horses? What are you doing then? Running out here?  Every week…out here??  Different pubs, have you been drinking??  Are you lost? How will you find the route??  Are you sure you’ll find your way back? You be on your way now; I’ll be backing off slowly…

I think we convinced her of our honourable intentions, she even tried to predict the route for us.  No need we said, someone has already laid a trail, ‘What out here?  With what, flour?  Are you Poisoning horses?  and so it went on…

We continued down the lane until we hit the road, a bit of checking went on then we were on on along the road and back into the woods, where treats awaited us.  The finder got a prize of an individual bog roll (topical) and the rest of us got to share the Jelly Babies and Meal Worms….yes meal worms, some were more enthusiastic than others, Captain Morgan gorged himself so much that he even gave away the last Jelly Baby. It was then on on down then up towards Plumbleywood Lane.

Mange Tout Rodders


At this point the Apprentice committed his first act of mutiny and took three with him, Soggy, Sticky and the C’ptain.  A wise act it would seem as we got back to the car park before the others.  We were greeted by Shunter who was very apologetic about the pub being closed, not your fault, simply a sign of the times.

With all runners back we discussed the possibility of a run next week. With a hare and at least two runners committed minimum quorum was met, just need to find a publess car park now.

On On Sticky Shaft

….phew just over 700 words without mentioning Coronavirus…oops!


Late entry for the National Geographic Photo comp




February 2020

1175. 3rd February - Desperado, The Millstone, Hathersage
1176. 10th February - Big Daddy's Daughter and Tree Hugger, Rivelin Hotel, Rivelin
1177. 17th February - Captain Morgan, Wisewood Inn, Loxley
1178. 24th February - Fast Eddie, Ladybower Inn, Bamford

#1178 - The Ladybower Inn, Fast Eddie

The one with the second Grouse Butt

Water, water everywhere but…well no buts, except grouse butts but that’s for later. You could say it was a wet evening that greeted us at Lady Bower Inn.  A fair smattering of runners made the effort, there was of course no head count as it’s difficult to count heads in wet weather.

Yours truly had an early recce and found the first check, however due to my reputation still being in tatters from incident at the The Crispin everyone went the other way, I left them to it and waited at the bottom of the rocky trail. When the headtorches turned back, me and a couple of the faithful set off with a bit of a head start. My smugness disappeared as I found out the trail did not head towards Bamford but towards Ashopton and I retook my rightful position at the back.

The trail appeared predictable, but our dear Swift Edward had found a lesser walked trail with which to ascend towards the edge.  Monty’s Batman thought he had found an even lesser trodden trail and could be seen with his four legged companion skirting the woods, either that or he had found a discrete place for a comfort break.

On on and up up we went, with the wind picking up.  We eventually came to a familiar trail and had a regroup crouched behind a wall, it was strangely comfortable sat in the wet grass and few were willing to face the inevitable and to head up to the summit. Eventually we peeled ourselves from the wall and began face destiny.  A rather sprightly Uglyman seemed to enjoy the ascent tremendously and included a bit of heather bashing in what proved to be wise short cut, all the while the wind grew stronger and stronger.

Atop the summit was MBM and canine companion sheltering in the flooded Grouse butt nr 1, Fishbait checking left and Soggy Bottom + Apprentice heading on home to the right. Such was the wind it might be worth checking if Soggy and Son did make it back down.  With wind chill at a maximum we decided it was straight on down the hill.  The descent provided more and more shelter from the wind.  A few hashers had congregated in what was later discovered to be grouse butt nr 3, all very cozy but where were the treats?  ‘He’s not left any’ it was concluded, ‘the mean so and so’ said the looks on everyone’s faces.

And so we continued, up to our knees in bog, hungry, cold but with at least some respite from the wind, thanks to the Derwent edge. Unfortunately, the edge did not provide total cover and the sleet soon enthusiastically took the place of the wind as chief tormentor.  In treacherous conditions like this you need a good guide with local knowledge, unfortunately we only had Monty’s Batman and he led us over small fence to short cut the route.  The opposite fence proved not so short and was topped with barb wire, MBM soon leapt it and disappeared out of sight, leaving the rest of us to help each other over. It was back to the rocky trail for the remainder of the route, parts of it were flooded and a gentlemanly Fishbait waited for his Pingu who was last seen trapped on the barb wire fence.

Back at the watering hole the staff eagerly informed that no drinks were available so we decamped to the Yorkshire Bridge, who were only too happy to receive us and a Soggy Monty. One by one hashers turned up congratulating Fast Eddie on a run well set but carefully avoiding the elephant in the room. Drinks in hand and joviality restored, someone took the plunge, ‘Thought you would have made us some of that lovely flapjack eh Eddie’  (I think this was asked in either a Northern Irish or Geordie accent but wouldn’t swear to it).
Eddie greeted the question with first a smile and then a realisation that he would have to go and retrieve said snacks….

‘How could you miss them? They were in the second Grouse Butt!’ retorted Hasty Edward



Epilogue
The diary was passed around, the subject of F-Eddie’s reimbursement for £1.57 in diary expenses was discussed but not resolved, an EGM was suggested.

The diary is now full until June, but no takers as of yet for the 1200thrun, a return to White Edge moor perhaps?  BBQ in a carpark?  it did bring out the masses.

The following day FE staged a retrieval run to keep up the pretence of having provided snacks. 

On on,

Sticky Shaft
   

#1171 - Scotsmans Pack - Shunter

The First one back after the holidays…

…or not, for this year hashing had continued unabated throughout the festive period. 14 assembled for Shunter’s New Year Masterpiece, a few sick notes had been submitted on forehand, so we were mildly thin on the ground, but enthusiastic nonetheless. A well kitted out Labradoodle provided batteries and head torches for the disorganised, challenging Search and Rescue’s well established hegemony on catering for the unprepared.

Why, oh why, do we have to start every Scotsman’s Pack hash by going up that dreadful hill? On the bright side we passed Little John’s grave which was on my ‘must see in Hathersage’ list.

We soon came across our first challenging and boggy check, hashers were off in all directions, barring the obvious, fortunately our learned Prof soon showed us the way and we started our long ascent. It was noted that The Apprentice seemed to have boundless energy and enthusiasm for checking and was fairly quick on his feet…a replacement for Skidmarks perhaps??

It was a tough ascent and the fact that it took place early only heightened suspicions that Shunter would put another one in. The route finally began to level out and Shunter added in some heather bashing for the sake of tradition, i.e. Desperado once did it on the first hash of the New year. Alas nothing good ever comes from wading through heather and a no doubt unplanned abrupt righthand turn took us towards The Dale. A bit of road running harmed no one, that night at least, and was a welcome relief from the bog.

Murmurings of Stanage Edge began and sure enough the next check took us left and towards Ringinglow road. Once across Ringinglow, Shunter set a check that fooled no one and we all took the Tiger Line (golf term) to the edge. ‘Would there be snacks at the trig point’ wondered one overoptimistic hasher, ‘Perhaps he has set up a buffet in Robin Hood’s Cave’ speculated another, ‘That cave is full of sh*t’ summarised a third. ‘I once sheltered from a storm in there’ said Smittie.

But no, our dreams would not come true, instead our dear hare took us most of the way across the top of the edge, a feat which is arduous in daylight and inspires only hare-icidal sentiments at night. There was apparently some enthusiasm to find the cave still and small splinter groups could be seen climbing down then climbing back up.

Not soon enough did we begin to turn down, treatless and kind of back towards Hathersage, by this time the Hashers were well spread out.

After heading through the plantation, we were joined by special guest Crystal Tips who was on her bike due to injury, she uttered some words of encouragement to each Hasher as they cross North Lees Lane and headed into the woods. It was later found out in the pub that CT’s injury was toilet visit related a bit like CMs, strange coincidence and equally strange thing to put in a report but I need the column inches.

By this time I was all alone, I could hear few shouts of on on both ahead and behind with accompanying head torch glows, other than that it was a long lonely run back to the Pack, where my fellow car poolers were waiting for the key.

A bout of aggressive diary filling took place and we are now scheduled up to the end of May. There was talk of compensating Fast Eddie’s £1.59 total diary expenditure (2019 & 2020) by an evening’s free use of the Hash Barbecue / oil drum. Crystal tips elaborated on her injury and it seems she shares some commonalities with captain Morgan.

On on,
Sticky Shaft

#1170 The End of a Decade


The Apprentice Debut Run with Soggy Bottom; Norfolk Arms, Ringinglow

Recalling that the last time a run was set between Christmas and New Year, when only the hare turned up, there was some doubt about the prospects for this run. Maybe it was the balmy weather or the barmy hashers but a respectable egg box-sized pack assembled; namely, Labradoodle, Sticky Shaft, Captain Morgan, Trunks and Smittie. The newly monikored Jon Peatman, whose handle still escapes me, came up fast all the way from Guildford, or somewhere more impressive for the distance than the location. Once Capt. Morgan had attended to his toilet we were off towards Houndkirk, turning into Lady Canning’s Plantation. A slight feeling of guilt overcame your scribe at the thought we hadn’t sought permission from the City Council for this “eventuality”. Anyway, the struggle up the main path through the woods, direction Ox Stones, was proving a moving experience for the Captain who was spotted doing an impersonation of the Congleton Bear. Dodgy turkey leftovers?

Some of us had only turned out on the assumption this was going to be an excuse to put the repeats of Death in Paradise behind us, with a gentle stroll up to Ox Stones, a hidden bottle of whisky and a return to cheap ale in t’ pub and a chortling review of the past year of hashing. When we crested Brown Edge Quarry and descended to the farm disabuse was setting in. A glance back spotted a flash of light and the eerie sense of being watched began to creep in.
Hound spotlighted by cunning Hare
Captain Morgan’s plight was getting worse as he pulled a fetlock and had to retire from the proceedings whilst the rest of us charged manfully (there being no women present!) up towards Rud Hill and a checkback . Returning sheepishly to Fulwood Lane we realised that, had Captain Morgan found a trail heading back to the pub he would have called us (but then again?). True enough, we were still heading in the general direction of Carlisle and it wasn’t long before we had plunged down from Knoll Top towards Lodge Moor. Cue lots of milling around in a field before a circle appeared by the Conduit. So a swift jog to Fulwood and across Mayfield back to the pub was in prospect?

No. It was up the conduit past the incongruous sight of a row of caravans and into the woods above Wyming Brook. A welcome Hash Rest saw delicious sticky crispy things consumed and the current score of 6kms was announced. Maybe it was the cakes but the, by now, totally disabused rabble was speculating on how far we could be going. Labradoodle copped a sly glance at his new Christmas present and laid a heavy bet on Stanage Pole, others opted for a circumnavigation of Redmires. Our cunning hares put a twist in the tale by doubling up to Fulwood Head via the bottom resser. Enough flour to summon a posse of Park Wardens out of Moorfoot provided reassurance that the trail was indeed re-tracing steps all the way to Brown Edge Farm. So that mysterious light was indeed our hares tracking our every movement. Just as well Capt. Morgan had retired early.

Turning to admire the crisp clear views across South Yorkshire we thought we had come under fire from an irate farmer as a series of shots were fired in our direction. Then the source, a dazzling array of fireworks, was spotted in the far distance. Seemingly Grenoside was getting ahead of Sydney in the race to celebrate the New Year. Another “source” of bemusement followed with Stanley Livingstone Trunks pointing to the origins of the mighty Porter seemingly oblivious to the torrent of running water above him. Jacob’s Ladder beckoned as we stumbled down Porter Valley but were relieved instead to be taken back up to the Alpaca Farm and On Home back at the pub by 9.35. It had been an excellent way to see out the old year and a great first hash by the Apprentice, ably assisted by his Mam. With Monty’s Batman’s run the week before, perhaps the establishment of a new tradition of hashing over the festive period?

Back in the pub Soggy Bottom revealed that she had scouted the path up the side of the reservoirs and back over White Stones but it was too boggy. For that we were truly grateful, even Labradoodle.

A hounds-eye view of the route
On On, Smittie