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1917 - Sun 10 Mar 2019 - Hill of Three Staines - Hare: Bruce Almighty - Scribe: JC

Aberdeen Hash House Harriers

Run 1917

Hill of Three Stones, Fetteresso Forest

Sunday 10th March 2019

 was brought to you by Bruce Almighty

reminiscences by JC

At the approaches to the Slug Road the overcast sky turned a more menacing shade of grey as the drizzle commenced. However, as the car trundled up the steep Durris incline this soon gave way to steady snowfall, and by the time of reaching the entrance to Fred Olsen's Mid Hill Wind Farm, which was serving as today's OnOn, the increased intensity was sufficient to leave a carpeting of pretty white snowflakes covering the ground. Unfortunately, this festive scene all but obliterated the copious amount of white flour, which even at this late time the hare was still busy laying.

This area being a familiar haunt of Bruce Almighty, he had decided to leave the setting of his run till that morning, commencing before the sudden onset of snow, and had now overrun the start time. I arrived just as a confused pack was about to set off, and was duly awarded a non-functioning pen and a scrap of soggy paper for my efforts. Thruppenies had meantime magic'd up some maps for the walkie-talkies, but the slow progress of the runners due to the lack of visible flour meant that they instead elected just to stay with the not-so-FRBs. This was an unfortunate choice for anyone who had their heart set on anything less than a 12 km stroll.

Numbskull, who was on dog walking duty for Fireflaps, was an early victim of the conditions and soon retired back the cars, where he cowered with Haggisimo, who hadn't even attempted to leave the shelter of his vehicle. 'Thank goodness I've got my nice warm gloves with me' thought JC. More Butt approached, wondering if perhaps I had a spare set since Alexandra's pretty mittens were already thoroughly soaked. What choice was there for an intrepid hasher, but to tearfully part with his beloved gauntlets! Perhaps detecting a hint of uncertainty, Alexandra quickly rummaged in her pack of sweeties and proffered one of her least favourite flavours in order to seal the deal.

Upon reaching the junction with the track circumnavigating the Hill of Three Stones, signs of a check were spotted, and after much soul searching it was decided to proceed anti-clockwise. This proved to be the correct choice, but unfortunately we subsequently missed the Cryne Corse Road turn-off, which resulted in 40 minutes (and many kilometres) spent in the wilderness. Fast forwarding to the junction which lies to the east of Hill of Hobseat, Flaps, Redstripe and Struth had to be rescued from the folly of their efforts to tempt us ever deeper into the woods.

Heading westwards at last across an exposed and windswept section of moorland we were grateful some 5 km later to stumble upon the beer check. By now the sun was out and despite the windchill the snow was fast disappearing, bringing the promise of the occasional exposed blob of flour on the short stretch remaining to the On-Inn.

Back at the circle awards were presented to :

Old & Cold Numbskull for sensibly retreating in the face of adversity (he maintained that he was simply preventing the dog from the risk of hypothermia).

Shaky for behaving like a typical BMW boy racer, and daring to scream past Ballerina within metres of the run site.

Flaps, Redstripe and Struth, for mistakenly believing they possessed some collective mystic trail finding abilities, and exhibiting tendencies to lead innocents astray.

JC for complaining that the lack of exposed flour had denied him the opportunity to blow his trumpet.

Drillbit for taking a short cut to the cars when he was only yards from the beer check. Mitigating pleas about hurrying back in order to prepare the beer wagon, were recognised for the bullshit they clearly were.

Doghandler for allowing her child to execute a headplant, in circumstances where the snow depth, being less than 5mm, provided minimal cushioning effect.

Clueless Smiler for getting her hands on a run map, but still managing to get lost.

Mustaphe, the Virgin Hasher who had been coaxed along (and heaven knows what else) by Struth.

Bruce Almighty, for needlessly complicating things by camouflaging his flour with a layer of snow.

Unfortunately the most meritorious of the day's down downs would have to await another day, on account of the recipient still being lost deep within Fetteresso Forest. Our very own technophile and mission impossible candidate, It’s All Because, had confidently strode off into the inclement weather nursing his discharged phone and also a competitive desire to be first at the beer check. When a returning group of mountain bike enthusiasts confessed to seeing a solitary tall person clad in black near the Windfarm, Wee Willie (who had offered It’s All Because a lift) became distraught at the prospect of having to wait about for him to complete the 7 mile return trek.

Hence, whilst many headed off seeking the warmth of Stonehaven's finest taverns, a noble hearted crew co-ordinated a rescue. With Ballerina manning the car park and Bruce Almighty headed for Quithel, JC, Drillbit, Sharnie and Wee Willie managed to gain access into the forest with two cars in order to scour the network of tracks. The lone hiker when found was naturally teased remorselessly for his misadventure . . . . . but I fear that yet more retribution might be warranted.

 [Usual Disclaimer: Whilst any likeness to real persons is indeed intended, it is never-the-less possible that some events described were merely figments of the imagination].

J.C.

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