The Great Shredded Paper Famine of 2017
Well we all know about the great bagel famine of the mid 1800s when thousands of Irish starved and millions were forced to emigrate to NY to enjoy their favourite soft bread
roll with a hole.
Well, CH4 experienced the shredded paper version, with Ben Dover’s paper budget comfortably the low side of the average CM latte.
The A site was good, intimate under the little shelter and the area not overhashed. It was virgin to me. And it was pishing down. Pishing down like last Monday in fact.
Oh it’s monsoon season, so you’d think more paper not less would be preferable. And you’d be sadly wrong!
Trail was marked now and again with small clumps of cream shredded, almost invisible unless right under one’s nose and at varying distances apart. Anything from 20m to 120m it seemed. It was difficult to guage if you were on. There was no hope of seeing the next paper from anywhere. It was ground level, in grass or wetted flat to the path. Nothing was hanging visible from bushes or whatever. To coin Sheep Shagger’s phrase – it was one long circle jerk.
The pack set off and promptly couldn’t see paper. Recent experience of two other runs convinces me that the first 100m sets the template. Can’t see or find the second paper? Then that’ll be the routine all run because the hare won’t get smarter.
We ran down a flooded wide road. Check was called when it was just a clump of paper. Portents not good and diminishing. After a couple of minutes running on the road in the rain and not seeing paper, a real circle of shredded was spotted. The pack spread out front, right and right front. Nothing. Nada.
Suddenly a shout from behind and some DFL walkers headed into a monastery we’d already passed a good 100m back and there was the hare walking the other way out of the property, averting his eyes.
First check had foxed everyone and even back on trail, the paper situation remained dire. Calling was going on but the hammer of the rainstorm drowned out human voices.
Obscene and our Aussie visitor revelled in the puddles and flooded tracks. The rest of us just got on with it as best we could.
Down to an asphalt road and around to the right we went, every turn a challenge and often running on hope that we were still on trail.
V checks were much longer than 100m as the hare had told us, an ill-advised unilateral decision. The checkback side seemed to be better marked and keen as mustard Tainted Shit was shouting OnOn despite HRA’s caution. He was soon shouting False Trail, meaning Checkback. He didn’t learn and did the same thing later on. BMY would have crowned him.
TMB, Tainted and Sex Pistol were going well as was HRA, Aussie George and Obscene but with so many stops to search for paper while On, the pack was more of less condensed with ABB loving the limited markings because they kept him relevant.
At one point False Trail was again yelled as paper stars were seen, but they were just on checks as the hare decided to confuse us further. Why you’d waste time carefully criss crossing a few strands and planting a stone in the middle beats me. Again, not visible unless you were basically above it. TMB also followed ‘paper’ only to find it was small pieces of rubbish paper and not our paper.
Onward we sauntered through the sodden landscape as the rain stopped and the sun came out. We spread out to check when paper disappeared in the middle of a huge muddy field. Sex P found trail and the pack converged in her wake. FRBs were home in 55 mins I guess. TMB had 7.5km, 2km more than Sticky Wicket who wasn’t involved in the checking up front nonsense. Nearly an hour later and well after the circle began,
Tiptoe, Rooter and Frozen returned thankful to be alive.
Good trails that would have been a really good run if we’d been able to see paper better.
Only 3 rules for hares in the monsoon: 1. More paper. 2. Clear paper 3. Visible paper. On on,