A good turnout of Hashers and Harriets of LVH3 gathered just outside Wray under a sky that looked like it had been washed on a cold cycle and forgotten how to dry. Grey cloud hung low and threatening, the sort that promises rain but prefers to keep you in suspense. Underfoot, conditions were already Hash perfect: wet, boggy and generously lubricated in parts with a thick layer of glutinous shiggy. To add to our delight the local farmers had also been busy, supplementing the shiggy with the contents of their middens so that the countryside carried that rich rural bouquet which reminds you of exactly where your food comes from… eventually. ?️?

Before we’d even begun, the day’s standard of competence was firmly established by Upperskirt. In a display of coordination that set the tone beautifully, she emerged from her car and tossed her hat directly into a puddle. Muttering expletives, she retrieved it and promptly followed-up by dropping her subscription record sheet into the very same puddle - an excellent demonstration of the basic administrative and behavioural standards expected of any respectable hasher. ??

We assembled in the Circle to be briefed by Lurch and Morticia, the Hares for the day, who delivered what could at best be described as a briefing in the abstract tradition. Apparently we were to follow trail marks that might be flour, chalk, or possibly something else and may be found on the ground, on any random upright object or in any other (un)suitable location at the whim of the Hare. We were also advised to look out for some landmarks, specifically “three trees” and “a wooded area” which would help us find the trail. Puzzled looks crossed our faces, given that we were running through wooded countryside containing, by a conservative estimate, quite a lot of trees already.

Ho hum, we supposed the Hares knew what they were doing…

As usual, Speedbump and Dormouse maintained their proud tradition of arriving roughly twenty minutes after everyone else, in time to miss the briefing but confidently ask to no avail what useful information the briefing had contained. Fortunately this turned out not to matter in the slightest.

So off we squelched across fields that had clearly given up on the idea of being solid ground. Every step made a sound somewhere between a suction cup and a pudding being dropped. The trail showed early promise and our spirits rose higher until it produced two early fishhooks, turning the pack around twice in quick succession and causing the usual mixture of suspicion, frustration and muttered accusations about Hare incompetence. ?

It was during one particularly enthusiastic crossing of the shiggy that Balbrick provided the day’s finest moment. With a heroic stride and a blast on his bugle he planted one foot firmly into what appeared to be normal mud, only for the earth to claim his boot entirely. After a brief wrestling match with the landscape he recovered his lost footwear and hopped to dryer ground to replace it on his foot, muttering inappropriate innuendos about the experience. The countryside, as ever, remained unmoved by his protest.

We continued On! On! through a delightful mixture of sheep-filled fields, woodland and hills interspersed with large patches of deep shiggy which turned our once colourful footwear a uniform dull brown. Resigned to remaining filthy to the end we were overjoyed to encounter a helpful stream at which point nearly everyone took the opportunity to wade in and rinse off the several kilograms of Lancashire that had attached itself to their shoes. The stream briefly resembled a mobile boot-washing facility, though with slightly more swearing. ??

Eventually, we completed the tiring but satisfying trail and formed a post R*n Circle where, just as proceedings began, an extraordinary multitude of large worms (were they actually small snakes?) decided to make an appearance, emerging from the muddy ground as if to spectate. Whether they were there for the entertainment or simply curious about the smell of damp hashers remains unclear. ?

In defence of his briefing, Lurch circulated a photo revealing that the infamous ‘three trees’ navigational landmark which consisted not of just three trees but, in fact, eight. He maintained that eight trees also contain a subset of three so the briefing was factually correct. We wondered if the Hares had been using a new navigation website called ‘what3trees’, much like the ‘what3words’ website but with significantly less precision. Whatever they had done, we had certainly found ourselves wondering ‘what three trees?’ on the trail.

With the formalities concluded and footwear marginally cleaner than before, the pack retired to the Bridge House Coffee Shop where recovery operations commenced in the traditional manner: food, drink and storytelling, the warm glow of another fun Hash completed and the gradual realisation that perhaps the mud hadn’t entirely washed off after all…

On! On! ?