The full moon must have been shining at 1pm on Saturday 13th May when we gathered at a romantic old barn in Borrowdale for the first of the weekend runs. There was certainly no sun to brighten the sky and heavy cloud and mist prevailed.

The barn was romantic only to those unfrozen souls who had not spent the night there. It was so cold that Bubbles and Forever Blowing decided to wander about for the whole night on a mountain top with a bag of flour for company rather than sleep with the warm and comforting aroma of ancient pigs!

That can be the only explanation for the long unremitting climb, without any markings at all, that preceded a run which was itself not at all flat.

The hares announced that the run would be preceded by a Hash Shramble and that ice cream would be featured at some stage.

The Shramble commenced up a steep footpath and got steeper and steeper until the hounds were hanging on by their canine toenails – and still no flour!

At last it flattened out and a single blob of flour was seen, the only blob to defy gravity by hanging on to the steep slope. Soon afterwards a check led us over a stile and up to the really precipitous part of the run.

Wimps and Rambos alike toiled upwards, not so much running as plodding up to the skyline until at last a split was seen and the Wimps headed left for a less precipitous Himalayan peak and the Rambos right for Everest itself. There was no rest and no checks but the trail looped left through shiggy and along a barbed wire infested wall until the Wimps were rejoined and all mounted a hill honoured by King Edward VII before plunging down the precipitous slope where Wimps could be seen as tiny specks gathered far below.

The slope didn’t end there but plunged down a narrow valley through the forest on a treacherous rocky path through spring flowers and ferns.

Half way down was a fish-hook which gave pleasure to many hounds who enjoyed reclimbing the slope in ever decreasing circles, except for Baldbrick, who said he preferred a down-down to an up-and-down-and-up-and-down-and-up-and-down! That was a real cop out! We all know how much he likes his beer!

At last we reached the valley and the fleshpots of the long-promised ice cream shop, while resting by a double bridge and admiring the watery antics of dogs, sticks, ducklings and other wild life. No hashers went swimming for some reason! Something about summer being over before it had started!

After the beer stop the run continued on the other side of the valley, with a few side trails more suited to a caving expedition than a hash run. After getting lost on the intricacies of steep upward plods ending in big holes in the ground we all admired the rainbow colours of the rock faces while scrambling on hands and knees below the rocky slabs of Damocles.

Each time we rejoined the main trail, Forever Blowing could be seen gleefully counting the numbers lost down potholes. Only a few of us made it safely home, where a quick circle was held and down downs given as follows:

• The hares for the usual reasons (and a very unusual run)
• Baldbrick for not going back up the fish-hook
• Everybody for not using Hash names (Do you mean those weird titles were all real?)