Ours must be the most dog-friendly hash, in the WORLD. There is no other hash that can boast a better ratio of man to 'best friend' than ours.
And so, starting a hash from the ONE and only pub in all the Peak District that doesn't allow dogs could only bode new lows for Amatuer Hour in the name of Sticky Shaft.
All started well enough, despite the chilly car park, with NO OUTDOOR HEATERS. (Note to self, must update TripAdvisor). The masses headed off down the hill, without a single on-on, only for Trunks to mention to us old die-hard traditionalists that he'd already spied the route going the other way, up the hill. We waited a while, then called on-on, with a chuckle.
A check-back soon followed by the mandatory conversation checking if it was a check-back or a back-to-check ... The flour led us down a muddy hill, through the gorse, and into an industrial hardstanding.
"Only this way" assured Shunter, with complete conviction and confidence, whilst listing all the reasons for carrying 3 spare batteries on what should be a quick hash... Looking back at my Strava trace, I note we dutifully followed him for a good HALF a mile, downhill, in the direction of Eyam before On-On was called, leading us BACK up the hill. Turns out there was another way...
Back to the top and down a lovely trail that was shouting out to be ridden by a mountain bike and onto our choclatey hash snacks without even a hint of celery.
And then it all happened... Coming up the hill, our hapless hare. Flat of battery and out of flour. Bedraggled in a torn coat, knowing he was never going to live this one down. He uttered some sorry story about his lack of preparation and a lack of flour about a Km away ... But we weren't listening.
Tales of woe were wasted on the pack. A backward glance by Two Loops Toby, Smittie and Trunks, betrayed hopes for an early mutiny.
Questions of what the proper protocol was for catching the hare were muttered, but feeling sorry for the poor mite, he escaped a deserved debagging.
And then, without so much as a "don't bother calling mountain rescue if you can no longer find me" Two Loops was off, with his faithful hound, Brodie and fellow mutineers.
Simultaneously, Shunter and Mudslide were headed in the opposite direction, seeking an imaginary stile, which existed at the end of an imaginary trail of flour. The team H&S policy was falling apart rapidly before our very eyes. I heard someone shout "come on, we've only done 4.5Km, too early for mutiny, let's do it" and realised, in an out of body experience, that it was me.
Off we went in any direction. The pull of gravity was too great for Fishbait, who bounded down down down ... "But the pub's UP the hill" wailed the weak of will. Even my idle self was doubting the wisdom of such haste.
With the words "must stick together" ringing through my mind, like a sheep I neverthelesd followed on down, with the pack behind. Amazingly, we found some flour. Sticky, now with us, looked as surprised as the rest of us.
On-on, we went ... Until that is, Soggy Bottom noticed the lack of hound and husband. Like a pair of techno-phobic geriatrics, neither husband nor hound had a phone turned on.
Meanwhile, front runners, with a sniff of beer, were bounding on, as much as they could, bound, up that muddy slippy hill. Fishbait helpfully mentioned that maybe microspikes could have helped in this moment ...
Eventually, we made it back to the pub. A merry band of mutineers, including one not so lost husband and hound, were found to be supping from their pints ... without so much as a glimmer of guilt, unknowing of the full search and rescue operation that had previously been launched.
Despite the excellent service, the good range of well-kept ales and great selection of bar snacks, the pub was just too hot ... Another nail in the TripAdvisor coffin, I concluded. The muted absence of hounds was also, haunting.
And so, with plans made for G-String and her Valentine's hash in place, the night's festivities drew us to a close.
Monty’s Batman
