Tuesday evening was an unusual time.
The weather forecast predicted heavy snow around midnight but snow was already falling in a steady manner. Fortunately traffic was light as most people had had such a bad experience earlier in the cold snap that they preferred the warmth of their own hearth to that of the car heater and the car park that was all of Wycombe.
The only creatures that ventured out were the needy, the foolish and a few Hashers (who fell into both of the former categories).
Prior to reaching Burnham Beeches I had picked up my “ballast”, and potential pushers, in Tylers Green (Maggie and Dave, who trusted my abilities to drive in the snow for some reason).
The wind was very light so the snow wafted earthwards like fairy droppings. It was the sort of condition where previous events hung around in time without dissipating, reinventing themselves as they saw fit.
Janet C drove south along Bedford Drive. At the T junction with Hawthorn Lane she applied the car brakes. Nothing happened. “Oh poo” she exclaimed with excitement, turned the steering wheel, prayed and drove right, hoping there was no other traffic around.
A few minutes later, I drove into her expletive, still hanging around in time, as I made my way south along Bedford Drive. At the T junction with Hawthorn Lane I applied the car brakes. Nothing happened. “Oh poo” I exclaimed with excitement, turned the steering wheel, prayed and drove right, hoping there was no other traffic around.
At the Stag, there were some other hashers present, amazingly. Eleven in total.
Come the hour, we hounds and the hares resolved to go for a trot while Janet led another group for a more sedate stroll in the park.
In single file we set off in the rather strange order of hound, hares and remaining hounds. The lead hound was Cassie following some trail that was etched in her brain. She would turn every now and then to check that we were keeping up and to encourage the hares to make up their minds as to which route they would like to go.
Trees, roads, lakes passed by. Where they were I do not know. Suffice it to say that after leaving them in our wake we eventually arrived back at the Stag. Magical scenery en route. Saw a sign to Narnia, but I don’t think I could find it again.
Thank you to all who made it. As they say in hushed whispers, “Hashers do it whatever the weather.” Might be a quickie but they still do it.