#1093 The Day of the Triffids

The Packhorse Inn, High Green
4th June 2018

The Hash assembled under a cloudy sky, beginning the evening with the customary debate on whether a headtorch at what is almost a mid-summer hash was really necessary (spoiler: it is). Prof, after a short tussle with a metal post, succeeded in parking up and the hash was ready to depart.

We set off straight into the woods enjoying some nice trails, oblivious to the challenges ahead. After some time we came to the first patch of nettles, a carpet of young potent stingers standing waist high with a just narrow channel forged by our fearless hare. With much cursing we charged through, only to be faced with the next obstacle! The near vertical bank of mud was attacked with enthusiasm and after much slipping and sliding we all made it to the top. Apparently we could have just walked around it but where's the fun in that??

Winding through the forest and ducking the odd fallen tree we ventured through a clay shoot area where Prof, our resident recycler, was unable to resist the lure of a few unbroken clays. “I wonder if these might come in useful” he mused. I wonder…

Before long we arrived at the field of Triffids* we had been warned about. (*a cultural reference to the 1951 post-apocalyptic John Wyndham novel I admit had to be explained to me by a wiser, worldier hasher! Thanks Spiv). These man-eating plants spread as far as the eye could see, reaching almost 6 feet tall. Drawing wisdom from ancient english folklore “can’t go round it, can’t go over it, can’t go under it….have to go through it!” we dived into the undergrowth. Donning our pith helmets we hacked our way through the rapeseed jungle, opening the uncivilised lands beyond High Green to the British Empire. In a remarkable effort of uncharacteristically accurate navigation Chas had somehow managed to tramp blindly through the undergrowth to emerge directly in front of the stile. Bravo!
The Day of the Triffids
Brief respite as we waited for everyone to catch up - woe betide anyone who got lost alone in that field. A shape emerged, exiting the thicket “Ah, Dr Livingstone, I presume?” no, just Copper Job bringing up the rear.

Well the excitement was far from over as very soon we found our way blocked by a large herd of cows with calves huddled around the field exit. Lead by the fearless Uglyman we skirted past Daisy and her mates, successfully avoiding being stampeded by what turned out to be a very placid bunch.
As the daylight began to fade thoughts turned to the pub. A mutinous glance at a map confirmed we had a fair few kilometres left to go...but Captain Colon had more delights left in store for us. As is tradition for a Chas hash we were soon merrily running past a ‘Private Land’ sign...although in a turn of virtuousness he had actually asked permission this time! (Turns out the cheeky beggars had put the sign including “no horses please” on a public Bridleway!)

A turn through some more woods before quick descents along the edges of a couple more triffid fields - their poisonous tentacles doing their best to slow us up.

As the siren call of the pub sounded some of us without headtorches sped off through the half-darkness, at some point missing a left turn an ending up in a housing estate. No bother. Shortcutting through a few alleyways saw us back at the pub.

A great hash enjoyed by all (not least the bemused locals as we piled into the pub) with many a story to tell.

On on!

Fast Eddie

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