When it came to actually laying the trail on Monday, things did not exactly go to plan. I had laid the trail over the motorway whn I bumped into a man on a quad bike, who claimed to be a farmer, Peter from Tynings Farm. He was not at all happy about what I was doing and kept me talking for what seemed like hours as my bare legs gradually turned to blocks of ice. Neither of us was able to convince the other of the justice of our case, but he agreed that I was entitled to do what I liked. However, he left me with a distinct impression that there might be some sort of trouble if I did.
In the end, I finished setting the trail, but I was not entirely happy with it. The only real reason I had chosen the route was to show off; to pull the the tunnel under the motorway like a rabbit out of a hat. It was OK as an idea, but it was not all that good as a hash. It was fractionally too long, and there were not enough opportunities for checks. Lickily, I had a plan B. I had already noticed a likely route, when I was looking for a short cut, in case any walkers turned up. So I resolved to buy some more flour and lay the alternative route as a live hare.
So, Libby and I turned up a little early. We found the hashers sheltering in a back bar and I gave a map to someone who said he could rad it, so that they wouldn’t get lost and I set off to lay the trail. The first third of the original route was the first third of the new route, so I was able to run straight out to the first regroup, which gave me a reasonable start.
From the regroup, I had to lay the trail along a bridle path across a newly sown field, which brought me up against the chief problem of being a live hare at night. It is very difficult to find your way along a diagonal path across a featureless field. Luckily, someone had taken a horse or two along the bridle path, so the field was not entirely featureless, so I ended up at exactly the right place. Relieved, I laid a couple of false trails along the hedge row and took off along the obvious trail across the next field to an enclosed track past a farm onto the road. I left another couple of false trails along the road and took off down the lane opposite. I left a second regroup half way along to slow down the pack and laid a check and more false trails where the bridle path I was looking for crossed the road. The bridle path down to the River Boyd was perfectly straightforward, and I left a check and more false trails on the bank. The path across the next field was less distinct and I was beginning to lose my bearings. I headed for the the place where I imagined the stile out of the last field to be, but, although I found a stile, it was clearly in the wrong place. By now I could hear the pack and could make out their torches making their way across the fields behind me. I went out into the road and ran to the right. Luckily, this turned out to be the right direction and I recognised where I was. I ran back and laid the trail along the road. Unfortunately, I was running out of flour, to I left some arrows and headed for the pub. The flour ran out before I got there, so I had to wait for the pack to catch up. Nevertheless, only one hound managed to catch me before I got there!
The pub was very welcoming, and after the down-downs, three of us finished up eating mussels in a rich sauce and Eton Mess. Yum-yum!
Monday was Firework Night, but I decided to go out hashing instead of letting off fireworks at home for my granddaughter, because I thought it would be better if her dad had a clear run at it!
Strangely, the hash was from Nailsea Rugby Club, of which I am a sort of member, because I am a social member of Nailsea Running Club, which uses the rugby club as a base. It was set by ‘Alice’ who is a very experienced and generally reliable ‘hare’, so I was expecting a good one. And I was not disappointed.
We had not gone 100 yards before we took off along I path I had never been down before, which is always a bonus. We went wrong almost at once due to a skilfully set false trail, but were soon put right and after splashing through some ’shiggy’ I was back on familiar territory. However, we were soon off on another false trail up the road towards the Bliue Flame, before we called back to cut across a dampish field to another field, where I thought I knew where we were going. However I was wrong and also misled by a ‘hound’ who couldn’t spot the flour in a gateway.
We went back towards the West End of Nailsea past a bonfire, which looked as if it had been set by a farmer who wanted to burn something he shouldn’t under cover of Firework Night. Back on the road, the trail went along the bridle path we always seem to go down when we are in this area, but Alice had a trick for us when he sent us out across the fields to the lane Nailsea RC use for their Festival 10K race. However, we did not stay on it long, but cut back to the bridle path across the fields.
We then ran along the path beside the leisure centre, which emerges beside the Parish Church and the Ring O’ Bells and finished with a stretch along the eternally confusing back alleys of Nailsea and a run across the rugby pitches.
The beer in the bar was slightly disappointing, as the Butcombe was off and I had to make do with Courage Best. If I had not been driving, I would probably ahve had the cider!
We went outside to the BBQ for the usual down downs and rude songs. The food was not ready, and I was not dressed for standing around outside, so I wimped out of the fireworks, one of which looked enormous!
