London Hash House Harriers running and drinking club

Tips
for Hares

Congratulations you have volunteered to set a trail!

OK maybe 'volunteer' is not quite the right word. Maybe one of the following is more appropriate:

You suddenly found your arm tightly twisted behind your back
Someone dropped the king's shilling into your pint glass
You woke in a drunken stupor with a signed contract lying beside you

Don't panic. Below we have gathered together these resources to help you on your way to setting that perfect trail.

West London City
West London's
Tips for Hares
City's
Tips for Hares

Want to set a trail? Then email our Hare Raiser who will be happy to help.

Memoirs of a Virgin Hare

I thought I would play it cool. I knew that it would not be long before some hare raiser schmoozed his way up to me, pint in hand, with the feared words ‘so, its about time you set your first trail’. I had intended to give a totally unfazed and laid back response of ‘well actually, here’s one I prepared earlier’. But things didn’t quite turn out like that.

It was fun at first. On spare sunny weekends I would be out, bashing about in bushes and exploring down mysterious alleyways, pretending to be a hare setting a trail. Then I set my sights on Hampton Wick as a potential hash area. Hampton Wick is a tight slither of civilisation wedged between royal parks and the river Thames. It looked perfect in its opportunities and diversity for a really good hash - then I spotted the snag. The park gates closed an hour earlier at the end of July. If I was going to make a Hampton Wick hash happen then I would have to do it quick - just three weeks - or I would risk having the pack either locked in or locked out mid trail. So much for playing it cool, I was now racing the clock.

There was just one slot on the West London runlist not taken in July. July 24th was the day, and I grabbed it with some hurried emailing with the hare raiser. Exhale and relax; panic over. But now what? Pretending to be a hare working out a trail was fun without the burden of obligation. Now I had a date looming and a head previously full of ideas was now suddenly empty.

Where do you start when planning a hash? I read the ‘tips for hares’ page and found that the place to start - like all hashes - is the pub. Trailing through online drinking reviews of pubs in Hampton Wick made depressing reading. The Railway - the pub nearest to the station - was by all accounts rapidly heading for the buffers; and the White Hart had gone so upmarket that you couldn't walk inside in a pair of dirty trainers without feeling compelled to wipe the floor behind you. Then I got chatting to Bulldozer who happily informed me that Hampton Wick had been ‘done to death’. Soldiering on I marched into The Swan on Hampton Wick high street with the promise of twenty to thirty thirsty runners consuming the pubs fine ale all evening. Trying to blag a couple of jugs of the establishments cheapest ale I thought would be the hard part, but I didn’t even get that far. ‘No! you keep your belongings with you at all times’ exclaimed a shocked landlady when I requested a safe place for us to leave our bags. My enthusiasm was quickly ebbing away into deep despair.

The Lion at Hampton Wick I was saved by a lion. The Lion at Hampton Wick. On recommendation of fellow hashers I trotted up to the bar and asked if the guv’nor was around. Ron was an absolute diamond. He had recently taken the pub over and had never heard of us, but this was not a problem. Neither was the secure storage and couple of jugs of ale on the house. Then with a large diary in front of him and pen poised he asked the name of my running club. ‘The West London Hash House Harriers’ I cheerfully replied. His smile faded as he asked ‘what, the stuff that you smoke?’. Damn, why didn’t I just say something like ‘The West London H3 running club’ or something like that.

Hurriedly I explained the whole Hash House Harriers story. The Selangor Club, hare and hounds paper chase and all that, and proudly strode out of The Lion with the deal in the bag. Cheerily I headed into Bushy Park to try out some ideas.

After three reconnoissance trips I had lots of ideas, but nothing would fall into place in a neat and exceptionally well planned trail. Running the trail entirely within Bushy Park was unimaginative and ‘done to death’, and my secret weapon was throwing up more problems than solutions.

"Secret weapon?"
'Yes, Home Park.'
"Where?"
'The park leading from Hampton Court Palace down to Hampton Wick.'
"Oh there, that’s private isn’t it - isn’t it just a golf course?"

Home Park is a royal park just like Bushy Park. It operates under the same rules, has lakes and trees and is roamed by red and fallow deer just like Bushy Park. The golf course takes up just a fraction of this wilderness. A wilderness that apparently had been completely overlooked by previous hares. Was it the answer I was looking for? Possibly not. Trying to string the two parks together could end me with a marathon sized hash that would leave me banned from trail making ever again.

The day of the hash came, and the weather was glorious (cheers God, any time you need a favour in return mate ...). I had followed the online advice and had been out the previous evening hiding bags of flour in the parks and chalking in the P trail from the station. On the day I got back to the pub just in time for a pint before the ‘on out’. It was commented that it looked like I had got most of the flour over myself and none on the ground. Not so. A devious trail now wound its way for six miles of grassland, pavement, and riverside. ‘Six miles!’ Butt Plug, the new hair raiser, had exclaimed in a conversation that week. I had a rethink and knocked it down to five miles with a one mile FRB bonus.
The pint helped. I was not looking forward to the next bit, the hare’s ‘on out’ speech. Oratory does not come naturally and getting tongue tied in front of twenty to thirty eager hashers was not something I was looking forward to.

‘The trail is set in chalk and flour. Part plain, part self raising - but don’t let that put you off’ I began. The round of laughter was a good start. Turning the ‘on out’ speech into a bit of stand up seemed to be a good move. Then my tongue formed a bowline and my head emptied itself of all the important things that I planned to say, except, ‘on out is that way’. The pack moved off in the usual half trot - half gossip. I watched them round the corner of School Hill Lane. Then I remembered the alley.

I probably did much more reconnoissance, exploration and practice runs than the average hare, but it’s worth it. Exploring is fun, and with each exploration you notice something new. Things like one of your checkpoints needs a re-think because it is too near another part of the trail, or an alley you never noticed before that might just lead somewhere interesting.

The doorway width alley that I spotted just around the corner from the pub didn’t lead anywhere. It just provided access to a couple of back gardens. I had checked it out and walked away disappointed, then a little voice in my head started singing ‘false trail, false trail’.

I remembered the alley just as I saw the pack disappear around the corner. They were now just seconds away from discovering the large arrows blatantly pointing into it. Would they be fooled? I hurried after them to find the pack queuing up to get into this shoulder width alley. It was hilarious. Those at the front could not get back because of the hashers trying to get in. All it needed was a couple of dobermans to come snapping at the heals of the front runners. Finally everyone re-emerged from the alley to the sight of me rolling around in laughter. Then I realised that I had completely forgotten to chalk the on out on the ground. A mistake easily rectified, but I had already made bigger blunders.

Soon I had the pack strung out across Bushy Park. The reason - quite simply too few checks. I could have put in a perfect check in at Heron Pond, and with experience would have done so. No matter. The whole pack caught up at my second check at the cricket ground - no one expected the trail to take them out of the park through Church Grove Gate - never to return.

The fountains on Longwater in Home Park By now I was finding just how difficult it is to manage the front and the back of the pack at the same time. Experienced hares, I had noticed, hardly break into a sweat; I was sprinting backwards and forwards like a hare on acid. Panting I arrived at my trail’s main feature - the fountain end of Longwater. The fountains were not switched on, but the view of Hampton Court Palace a mile down this long thin artificial lake is one of the things that made the trail work. By this time I had supervised the runners at the back, marked through several of the checks at the front, and felt as if I had run the trail three times instead of just two. I had even managed to do something sneaky under the cobblestone arch under Kingston Bridge after the pack had passed through.

Back to my trail setting dilemmas. From Longwater, plan A had been to take the trail out through the Lion Gate and back into Bushy Park. I had investigated this and found the ground to be open and featureless. Not good hash territory. Running the trail back to the gate we had come in I also rejected. This left the only option of taking the pack out to the river and giving them a mile long run unbroken by check or false trail back into Hampton Wick. There was only one way of breaking up the trail that I could think of - a drink stop.

One part lemonade, one part orange juice, one part vodka. After that not many hashers noticed that I had sneakily lead the trail back under Kingston Bridge in the opposite direction by reversing the arrows. Only one hasher, Cyst Pit, bothered with my FRB bonus mile. He complemented me on the extra mile of quality hashing afterwards in The Lion; although he did comment that he was rather distressed to find a checkpoint on it as he was all on his own.

I received many complements afterwards for the originality of the route to the point that it was getting embarrassing, but what can you expect when you dose up your fellow hashers on Sainsburys Own Brand vodka. I handed Butt Plug a pint in gratitude for giving up half of his run to man the drink stop. It occurred to me then that before deciding on this popular trail feature, its would be advisable to find someone to man it before the day of the run. Another thing that I learnt about drink stops is that it is wise to run them past the mismanagement first before going out and spending money; but receipt was cheerfully exchanged for cheque anyway.

Looking back it was really good fun planning and setting the trail. I learnt loads more about my local area. Running a trail as a hare is a whole new experience that I can highly recommend, and I got really drunk in the pub afterwards.

on on