‘Oh no!’ was the initial reaction, it’s raining and we are running in the jurisdiction of the flour police, this might not end well! But still they came, twelve by my reckoning. En route Desperado and I waved to a few groups of luminously attired runners who proved not to be Hashers - it was like a window onto a parallel universe, there were others, just like us, out there somewhere.
A steward’s enquiry ensued as to the nature of an erroneous post made by Sticky Shaft on the Hash Thread, it was later established that he was confirming he would be visiting a friend in the following week and had simply abbreviated part of the message to ‘C U Next Tuesday’, honestly!
Waterproofs, Head Torches and Hill starts were the order of the evening and then we were off, up the hill towards Heeley people’s park. Madge had brought along work buddy Nick and not warned of the dangers of ‘Checkers Peril’ - i.e. first to the check, make the right decision, first to the next check, right decision again and before long you’re the only one checking, sooner or later you will make the wrong decision, find yourself adrift and out of breath as the others, who have thus far piggy backed your hard work, ease past you. We were at the highest point in South Sheffield before Nick realized (in the absence of Skidmarks and with an injured Shunter) we were all sneaky sods and happy to let the new guy do the work.
Along the way Desperado was in the early stages of ‘Checker’s Peril’ when he noticed us carrying on in the other direction without calling ‘on on’, his subsequent mild hissy fit was duly noted. One hasher was casually conversing about their constant state of being coupled up since the age of 16, ‘One relationship would end and I would simply be taken by the next person’, well two’s company and two’s company and so on, so they say.
A man made rock climbing wall appeared at some point and a coalition of the willing began scaling it from all sides, Shunter had to retire from the south face due to his hand jams not being jammy enough. I believe it was New Nick of checking fame who made the summit first.
Back on trail Uglyman ensured we encountered as many wooded areas as the trail had to offer; Black Bank, Norfolk Park, Arbourthorne Common all felt our hooves that evening, it is at this point the trail took us to the gates of another seemingly wooded area, I will break off here to have a small nap….
It was meant to be a joke. “I’ll do the pond” said Smittie as he unfondly recalled the time we circumnavigated Ladybower Reservoir, including the pathless A57. How would he manage to do justice to this pimple at the head of a figure of 8, if that’s what you call the top O? So we arrived breathless at this outstanding gesture to nature conservation, of which a certain bureaucrat in Moorfoot should be justly proud. Tiptoeing in, lest we disturb any insomniac frogs we traced an imaginary line of white powder. Fast Eddie led the way as the rest of us hurtled down an hallucinatory falsie. But while he hesitated to marvel at the World Class diving board installed to encourage freshwater skinny dipping it was Soggy Bottom who took the baton. She charged off uphill shouting ON ON despite seeing no obvious trail. I say that in the knowledge that barely two feet from where she took off was a huge arrow-shaped blob of flour pointing back to where we had just come from. That couldn’t possibly be the way could it? Well, yes it could as it turned out and in no time at all we had escaped this looking-glass world and were back in the mean streets of Arbourthorne. And we missed the Hash Stash somewhere in there, according to Uglyman, despite what you will be told below.
[Sticky Shaft wakes with a startle, "must finish the report, must finish the report”]
….and with some courageous trail marking we were back off down Arbourthorne Road, t’was a lengthy street, according to Strava, and led us just short of Gleadless common, over on in perhaps? Nope a right turn towards Buck wood. A few delusional hashers put in the effort to find a trail where there was none. Us sheep simply followed Copper Job, he appeared confident especially in this none bovinious landscape. Buck wood offered all the delights of the Peak District minus the livestock and condensed into a few hundred square meters. An uphill path led us back into suburbia, the rain was pouring and checking was a struggle.
A small lecture ensued over the use of devices to pin point our location, apparently no rule against it, but it’s simply not in the spirit of the Hash, said one hasher, let’s called him Rapid Ted, as he glanced at his Garmin watch (other brands also available).
During the time this ethical debate had taken place the trail had still not being found, despite the choices being limited to back the way we came or straight on. A few of us passed the time watching someone’s 200 inch TV hung on the wall of a second floor flat.
Common sense finally prevailed and we were on on down, the hills and woods conquered, just the treats to find and the evening would be complete. Poor Desperado’s woes were compounded when a group of chatty hashers ran past without disclosing whether they were checking or on, oh the humanity!
I believe it was around this point, could not be sure as my device had been impounded, that the treats were signaled. Seek and ye shall not find. Having suffered the heart ache of not having my treats found, on more than one occasion, my thoughts went out firstly to the hare and secondly those lonely Jelly Babies who would be left out on the hills of South Sheffield for the evening.
Thereafter, we were on on down the hill and back to the Brother’s Arms. Fun fact: The Brother’s Arms is owned by the Everly Pregnant Brothers - probably only me that didn’t know that.
Conversation in the pub turned to the Christmas Hash, dress code will be your favourite pub, so if that happens to be “The Cremorne”, then err, well err, you should dress up like a Cremorne…
Otherwise another fun night pounding the cobbles!
On On,
Sticky Shaft & Smittie
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