Run 749: Just Bull Catherine Wheel Hemyock

Run Number: 749: 24^th July 2013

Venue: Catherine Wheel, Hemyock

Hare: JB

Hounds:  P2L, Why Bother.  Liz, Bigbird, Phantom, Ferret, Tenzing. Dormouse. Martini, Sourcers Apprentice, Brusoff, Grasshopper. 

Walkers, Bangkok and Floater

   

Quick briefing from the resident hare, Wasn’t listening as usual, (something about horses and cattle I think) so off we trot left for the pub then sharp right and up thought a field and left (quick pee stop) road and left and down to a cross roads.

On on called up by an athletic Frt. Up we run (well some did) check and after some wondering left through a farm with some young lads asking if we were following the flour (bloody hope so!). Through the farm on to the top field, now this is where I have a problem, do I say that Phantom farted while running or not, humm, best not then. 

On left and check more fields, right and down to the re-group. Sweets and much talk about fish ponds, water levels and drainage! 

On called and up right and down only to find a check and booby trap (garroting wire well place for the taller amongst us) on right and down, up then bit of road. Check right down through cow field and On Inn and back for a well-earned pint.

Lovely run, many thanks

Now some local history……………..

Hemyock is the largest village on the Blackdown Hills, Devon, which is now designated as an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty (AONB). The parish has an area of about 2350 hectares, and lies on the NW of the Blackdown Hills. The village has a very long history, some prehistoric remains may be found, from about 100 BC to well beyond. In the middle ages local iron ores were smelted in small  bloomeries (furnaces) to produce pure iron. In Saxon times a battle was fought at Simonsburrow between the native Britons and King Ime's Saxon army, which put an end (temporarily) to the Kings expansion to the west. 

The name Hemyock could have originated from the British stream name "Samiaco" (meaning summer), other authorities suggest a Saxon origin from a personal name "Hemman" coupled with a Saxon word for a bend or a hook (occi).

Hemyock gave its name to the Hemyock Hundred, a unit of 7 parishes, that was an administrative unit of local government during the Saxon period.

After the Norman conquest a castle was built adjacent to the Parish Church, the remains of some towers may still be seen.

Hemyock is a typical upland settlement consisting of a central "town" surrounded by a number of hamlets (Culmdavey, Millhayes, Simonsburrow, Ashculme, Tedburrow, Madford, Mountshayne etc). From the 1500's to the early 1800's much of the parishes wealth came from the production of wool. The population remained fairly constant throughout the 1800's, and until the end of the second word war. Since then a  number of housing estates have been built, and our population has increased to over 2000.

Hemyock remains a busy village, we have a primary school, excellent medical facilities, 2 garages, 2 hairdressers, a pub, a building society, 2 shops one with a Post Office, a playing field (soon to become 2), a Parish Hall (soon a 2nd will be provided) and 2 Churches. (Baptist Church and St Mary's)

The Cadbury family, of chocolate fame, originated here.

Hemyock was the terminus of the Culm Valley Railway that ran for about 100 years from our village to Tiverton Junction.

The first mechanically operated butter factory in the West of England was started at Mountshayne in 1886 by 4 local farmers, this was later transferred to Millhayes, and was only closed in the 1990's.

Run 748 - Liz Chargot Woods

Run 748    Chargot Woods        Hare: Liz        On Down: Ralegh’s Cross Inn                        Pack: Sorcerer’s Apprentice, Dormouse, Tenzing, Big Bird, Roadkill, Grasshopper, Phantom, Chris, Brush Off, Pink2Lips, Why Bother.  Martini 20 mins late.

We parked the cars at 347 metres and humidity was just as high after the hottest day of the year.   Instructions: some gates difficult to open.   Phantom found a descending grassy track.  Big Bird followed with the pack stretched out on the chase.  The trail widened and a check appeared at every bend of the downward zig-zags, enabling the pack to close up.    Espying white stuff on a rear entrance to a mine shaft, I ventured forth across a stream and ploughed bravely bare-legged into dense Urtica, searching like Harrison Ford, for the illusive second blob.  Histamine stabbed my veins as I called ON ON, though my gritted teeth, at the base of ascending wooden steps.  I listened to the screams below before checking, stupidly, a long way downhill.  The route was, of course, up to Kennisham Hill(382 m) and some had worked it out that we climbed a long way.  One of me made it 1000 feet but I was lucky not to have met the cruel fishhook near the summit. 

At one point, the ground was becoming very sodden, possibly water rushing from a pit-shaft, but a flight of well-built wooden steps took us up and over a bank and on to a dry track.

Bird Bird was running well and out in front a lot (must have been all that marshalling at the Wellington Ten) and we were led to a junction of ways where Brush Off and Soc App took the two right-hand (and uphill) paths, Big Bird to the left.   My only choice was downhill (again) and by the time I’d returned it had gone quiet.  Heading downwards to a dark valley that I now know to be Collyhill Wood, I came upon an attractive pheasant keeper, probably descended from the Doones, who had already gathered enough feathers to stuff a quilt.  I was about to ask if she could spare the time when I realised it was Pink2Lips.   “Could be useful”, she says.   Many a story will be told about the days of austerity!!

  

I could hear Phantom calling so I joined the group behind her.  She had an unconfirmed report of an animal, a deer she thought, but couldn’t specify the make.  Sorry, Phantom.  It doesn’t count if nobody else saw it!

. 

History Bit: This vast area is dotted with pits and is the reason for the Mineral Line that took the ore from these hills to Watchet harbour where it was shipped to Wales to make slag heaps.  

There were two fallers, Why Bother and Phantom, ‘though I didn’t see either event.           Back at the cars, the GPS clan compared recorded running distances but the greater interest was shown to the descent and ascent totals.  

Thank you, Liz.   A well thought-out hash on unusual terrain.

Run 746 Dripped on and Nick

Hares:   Dripped On and Nick (ultra man)

Hounds: Phantom, Tenzing, Bangkok, Ferret, Bigbird, WAM, Roadkill, Liz, Martini & Dormouse.

Well what a beautiful evening for a hash ..... warm and sunny at last!   We arrived at the Rifleman’s to find Dripped on looking rather to stylish for running ..... unfortunately she has injured her shoulder and the painkillers have made her ill so it was all down to Nick to keep us on course.

It was noted by Phantom that we were a perfectly balanced, harmonic pack this week:  five male and five female hashers!  

Of we set to the left and very quickly headed up hill ...... will be going to the top of the Tor this time? .... not yet it would seem.   We followed a lane and then a check with a footpath closed (did Dripped on mention this at the start?) for no apparent reason, fortunately as this was the route we took.  Tenzing surged on ahead shouting “on to a check” ..... or was it “on to a chick”?  As the rest of us arrive, we find Tenzing talking to an attractive young woman ..... come on Tenzing we are supposed to be finding our way not chatting up the locals!

On we went through quiet country lanes in dappled light, across wildflower meadows and dusty farm tracks..... and behold what a view.   Wam became slightly panicky after finding herself “off piste” in the long grass .... what might be lurking in there?..... lions, snakes any number of scary things.

Glastonbury wouldn’t be Glastonbury without the little messages on the styles “this way to weed and LOVE...”.   We also came across a little collection of Yurts and what would appear to be people living a life of simplicity and self sufficiency ..... idyllic!

The regroup was held under a knobbly old lightening tree ..... I can’t remember the local legend about this tree but suddenly as we were guzzling our malteesers, a musician, guitar in hand, emerged from the undergrowth around the tree and wandered off into the distance.  

Off we set towards the distant Tor ..... will we or won’t we be climbing its summit?   Up, up we go with Ferret in the lead when he suddenly finds his shoe lace needs attention .... how strange it looked alright to me, but I thought I had better stop to help!  My caring nature was rewarded as a few meters ahead ..... a fish hook for three ..... and thanks to the shoe lace we didn’t have far to run back to the back of the pack.

At last we reach the foot of the Tor and up we toiled to the top .... and wasn’t it worth it!  The views all around where magnificent and truly worth the climb.

The final leg home was down hill of course and on in to the Rifleman’s Arms.

Thank you for a fabulous run, a pity Dripped on wasn’t feeling so good.