Would anyone turn up? Even the Grouse hadn’t bothered to open its doors after a day of solid rain. But the lights were on at The George, a roomful of locals was busily engaged in a pub games night and we were into double figures before we ventured out into the dark.
Shunter had been enjoying a sly half when Ugly turned up to draw his circle but manfully went out on a spying mission and discovered the general direction of travel. So it was your scribe who was first across the packhorse bridge over the River Bradford. Plenty of time to establish that this was a very full river. Of course the trail took us back into the village through the raging torrent. Late arrival, Capt. Morgan wisely headed back to the pub rather than plough his own furrow through this lot.
Braving the waters
The rest of us were off past the old Mawstone Mine in the direction of Elton with only the odd swamped field to hold us back. Indeed the first sign of panic from the hare was a hasty Hash Rest on the first serious hill.
The second HR informed us that the local quarry produced millstones for the paper mills of Sweden and that the trough in which Trunks was washing his boots was Elton’s water supply. Then it was with a sharp change of direction that we plunged back on ourselves. In the case of Monty’s Batman this was literal but somehow no one else bit the mud as we slithered our way down to Dale End, although Capt. Colon’s dog got stuck in a narrow stile.
Wisely avoiding the scenic route via the former Hash Camp site at Hopping Farm the trail then struck out towards Middleton with the warm lights of Youlgreave blinking tantalisingly in the receding distance. There was just the piercing scream of the Gabriel Hound of Weaddow Lane to divert us from our task as we found the On Home, down in Bradford Dale, clearly signalling that Ugly had not brought enough flour, again.
Back in the pub it was dominoes, as if nothing had happened.
On On, Smittie