#1160 Rise of the Bolvers

A cool, crisp and thankfully dry evening awaited us in Curbar, more precisely at the The Bridge Inn. It was the turn of our canine assisted, ringer of a hare aka Monty’s Batman - let me guess, imaginative route, parts not trodden before, creative use of the landscape, well marked trails, exciting use of Check backs and Back-to-Checks (whatever they are) and as a real sickener, fantastic treats. All very discouraging to the novice hare. 

Quite predictably all of the above came to pass in what proved to be a good old shindig.

Heads were counted; eighteen in total, humans only, no hounds.  The initial trail took a bit of time to find. I was about to tutt at MBM’s lack of an easy start when I was duly reminded of the Monsal Hotel incident.

In a sub-plot to the run it turns out that a cross in a circle means ‘Check Back’ and that you should find the real trail somewhere along the way back to the previous check  [redacted in the interests of national security and the fine tradition of never quite explaining... - Ed].  A solitary cross, of the X Type, not the Christian Type, means back to check and that you should have taken a different route from the last check point.  Squiggle Queen and Fast Eddy were brainstorming some hybrid version which would mean….well I can’t remember exactly what it meant but it sounded complex. [The concept of a 'back-to-back-to-check back' was floated by Jon and Pingu and is very logical if you think about it... - Ed.]

The early section of the run saw us running alongside the Derwent, passing the weir and up to the A625. At this point the hare took some liberties with a fairly long back to check and we found ourselves back on the A625, where Soggy Bottom informed us that her and the family regularly jump off this bridge into the waters below. Soggy Bottom Jnr, now named The Apprentice, seemed to mouth the words ‘help me’.

With that someone hollowed ‘on on’ and we crossed the bridge to the other side of the Derwent. Enquiries were made as to Matthew’s Hash name and when he said he didn’t have one there were rumblings of a naming ceremony. Matthew did the honourable thing and grassed on Jon who also doesn’t have a Hash handle….a joint naming ceremony perhaps..?

The field to our right had Jurassic park style electric fences, one could only wonder what was behind them? Beyond that the inevitable climb started, through Froggat, back over the A625, into the woods. Heads downs, keep climbing!  

As the hill began to level out chatter turned to the recent revelation that we had an elite sportsperson within our midst.  A chance find by Captain Morgan had revealed that one of our runners was a gold medalist! Her modesty and humility had prevented her from telling us herself and unintentionally, I’m sure, denied us thus far the chance to learn from an expert.   So it was that we found out that Crystal Tips had won gold in the sport of Bolving. It must be said also that Rawhide was a silver medalist at the same games - credit where credit is due. When asked about her achievements, in Hilary-scaling-Everest-esque style, Crystal Tips simply replied "It was a proud moment". 

What is Bolving you may ask? Well you have to see it to believe it: 

Youtube: World Bolving Championship

Armed with images burnt onto our eyes (and ears) from what we had seen on YouTube and under the expert tutelage of Crystal Tips we decided to have a go.  Five minutes and several photos later one clear winner emerged and that was Labradoodle (the judge’s decision is final). Such was his prowess that there was some worry he may get accosted by an interested stag somewhere en route.

The Hash's attempt at bolving

Bolved out of our brains, we continued on, aware that a little bit of each of our lives had been changed irrevocably forever. So it was onwards and slightly downwards towards the snacks. 

Now everybody likes a unique feature on a trail, whether that be a surprise extra 5 km on White Edge Moor or the hare desperately trying to flour his way out of Strines reservoir, but there’s no need to be a fancy-pants about it; Scuttling treats in Mill Pond, routing the trail through a weaseling spot, what next you ask?  Well this evening the (fantastic and home baked) treats had been placed on top of a rock and could only be reached by performing a dyno maneuver. In moves that would have made Jerry Moffat cringe we one by one dyno’d our way to the nosebag. In conclusion it was well worth the effort and the rock proved a nice place for a chat…for most of us that is.

Poor Mincer, all alone

Fully charged off we set toward Clodhall lane.  At this point I need to add there will be a vacancy for an ‘Enthusiastic Checker’ to accompany Shunter.  Main qualifications include the ability to turn up late, still catch the peloton and then shoulder most of the burden of checking.  It seems our Skidmarks is heading to pastures North to establish a hashing colony in Norway. This was to be his penultimate Sheffield hash and he has promised to do one last round of checking next week, so for one final glance at his skiddy backside as he races off ahead get yourselves to The Crispin at Great Longstone for next week’s run.

Skidmarks Man - just don't ask what his superpower is...

Back on trail we could see the village lights, we sensed we were almost home, only to discover that the lights belonged to Baslow and not Curbar.  We weaved our way through and did a right at Bubnell.  With Shunter almost back to full form and Skidmarks in action all of the checks were nicely kicked out by the time I arrived at them. What followed was a steady jog back to Curbar, almost like a real run, leaving us suitably parched by the time we hit the pub.

Monty and his sidekick were there to meet us, Monty was supping from his own tankard on the floor and was suitably excited to see us all and the subsequent bags of crisps that we would no doubt share.  The hash diary was passed round and talk turned as to when its successor would be purchased,…when it costs a quid apparently. Otherwise the Hare was rightly congratulated on a superb trail and thanks were given for the great treats.  

On on,
Sticky Shaft