Well it had to come, the first of the wet winter runs. A bedraggled bunch of hashers turned up at the Bell to find that the start was going to be wet and to ad insult to injury, the owner of the Bell had heard that the hash was coming and had closed the pub down.
Still the weather did at least mean that the usual preamble was curtailed and we were soon off in pursuit of the trail. The trail in question was laid in sawdust. I point this out because there were those who claimed not to have seen any sawdust all day.
Considering that a Scotsman had been instrumental in the trail laying I will say no more about this except to mention that they claim to have used nearly a whole carrier bag of sawdust!!
Being fair the trail was hard to find because the leaves that fall at this time of year do confuse little hashers who find it difficult to see yellow sawdust on yellow leaves.
So we set off across the road and to the first check, which Old Faithful overan, and the pack split in two as the option of field and forest were explored. The forest option proved to be the right one and off we were.
Wending our way through the forest we had a couple of more checks until we came to the theme of the day - hills. After one wet and muddy check Jan decide that the way was UP and like sheep we all followed. Fortunately this was correct and so we puffed and wheezed our way up the hill to join the South Downs Way were another check gave us the option of (1) down - and towards home or (2) up - and along the South Downs Way. Jan chose down but some idiot chose up.
When I came back down to rejoin the pack everybody was crossing the road and checking out the next trail. The obvious way was right but was it too obvious? The trail ahead (and up) looked tempting but it was a double bluff.
So the pack headed in the general direction of home until the next check when Csilla seemed to be blessed by the gods and found the correct trail to be followed by Miss Perfect, The Panda and your Humble Scribe whilst the rest of the pack went off on a route march of their own.
The trail led close to home and this was too much for some who launched into a run and went completely the wrong way home! (Including me). But finally a wet and bedraggled pack arrived to award the hashit to the Treefeller for boasting that he could not get the hashit as he was a hare! Wrong.....
A nice wet hash and fun for all.

Humble Scribe