R*n 59 started from Gilpin Bridge Inn, Levens and the On Inn was Black Bull, Brookhouse.
Hash Handle | Hare | Hound | Total |
---|---|---|---|
Bubbles - Hare | 16 | 36 | 52 |
Forever Blowing - Hare | 10 | 41 | 51 |
Cousin It | 1 | 28 | 29 |
Hash Drunk | 10 | 41 | 51 |
Lurch | 7 | 38 | 45 |
Morticia | 7 | 29 | 36 |
Peeping Tim | 0 | 3 | 3 |
Pick Me Up | 9 | 41 | 50 |
Pudsley | 1 | 27 | 28 |
Wednesday | 2 | 28 | 30 |
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10
This was our 1st visit. We also visited on...
Thank you Ruth for a new much needed commentary on hash life. Is "The Moon" news going to compete with "The Sun's" Headlines (where do you put the apostrophe in that?):
"That went down really smoothly for a virgin"
"He's running like a geriatric gazelle"
"You're ill! Ooh good I won't look so bad now"
Poor Hash Drunk: back ache deserves more sympathy, but less than all YOU POOR HASHERS who missed a real gem of a run: small but perfectly formed as they say. Meeting point was Gilpin Bridge beneath the imposing tiers of cliff overlooking Morecambe Bay. Only the hares were there when the Adams family arrived and the numbers looked a bit depleted, until the above-mentioned company made a non-too-early arrival.
We re-located to the old quarry at foot of Whitbarrow, surprisingly well-frequented by dog walkers, and set off North along the lane. Its at the boundary between the horizontal Lythe Valley and the near vertical hillside. At the next farm, Rambos zigged up into the woodlands gaining height in an energy-zapping diversion before a fast descent, rejoining wimps on a forest road lower down. A surprise route at a checkpoint fooled the FRBs and took us onto an unlikely looking path aimlessly wandering up down right, left, then left some more to arrive on Whitbarrow's bald crown and a hare, Bubbles.
Here we awaited the verbally incontinent: Morticia and Ruth, Cousin IT and Abigail. Down-downs later awarded for such crimes and particularly the young girls for winding up the Founding Father on the next stretch. Up to a magnificent viewpoint and then down, back into the woodland and then onto the evil looking black slanting slab that floors the quarry and back to base. This slab deformed Forever Blowing's backside and wrist as she attempted to skate down. Reports from down-under still not good.
Down-downs for demeanours listed above. The Gilpin Bridge pub's doors were firmly shut for too long, so we went back to the Lune Valley, got changed, dumped the cars and then sampled the Black Bull's beers and then sampled some more.....