Arriving at todmorden during stormy weather and the gathering dark was spookey enough but on entering the forbidding black stone building chosen for our abode and finding strange ancient beings gathered around a mystical board selecting and arranging letters to form words such as murder, kill, throttle, terror was truly disturbing . It was clear that the words hash, run, onon or pub stop we're never going to be selected as mystic forces kept control of the board.

Despite first impressions the gathered hashers were yet to don their Halloween gear just as well given how scarey they looked in normal garb.

It being Friday a trip to the pub was a must - despite copious amounts of alcohol available in house, there was a great pub with lots of choice of real ales, what more could you ask for?Sated and slept we were ready for the sharing of our meagre rations to break our fast and a quick recce of the local area in daylight showed a huge ( or very near ) monument on the hill behind the YHA. No doubt as to where the Saturday run would be heading then.

Not so .... We first got a lift several miles away from said monument and the set off in completely the opposite direction so not to be......except that after slipping on the noisy throat arisings deposited forcefully on to the pack horse trail by White Noise (who would have thought it?) we found ourselves turning back along the ridge line towards the monument which looked small from this position (unless it was very far away?) .  But the trail turned away again so it was not to be.......We next arrived at a wimp Rambo split where the wimps took one side and obviously the Rambos took the other three, give or take an extra mile of the blind leading the blind.

Rambos eventually caught up with the wimps after several miles of pack horse and drovers trails across the very impressive industrial moorland. Now we were clearly back on line for a visit to the monument which was looming larger and larger in our direct path, but again and most disappointedly this was not to be ........ as we followed trail downhill sometimes hinting at a turn back up but never delivering. To cheer us up, being a long way from home, we read the large engraved stone which read, or had at sometime read, 'This common doth belong to Lancashire'!

The route eventually took us to a lower second reservoir after taking us through a delightful wood and useful 'p' stop

The next check had a pointer all the way back up hill to the monument .... surely not...those dastardly hares would never send us back up there... Would they?

Bubbles was certain they would .. exactly as the hares had predicted! Onwards and upwards he went convinced he would eventually find trail whilst everyone else milled around awaiting the certain call on on..... Not to be.........no trail seen. In fact we continued further around the reservoir until hitting the access road and following this down until a very welcome pub stop an awfully long way from home.

Again what a great pub, excellent beer, very convivial, warm and welcoming, why would we leave given that uphill in wind and possibly rain was in prospect. But leave we did and uphill we trudged with beer filled legs onwards, upwards, upwards and onwards until at the edge of reason and where no self respecting tea shop should be we came across two ladies serving tea and scones from a trestle table almost on top of a mountain. A mirage surely, both serving wenches clad in pinnies and hair nets and looking very like UpperSkirt and Scouse Count. UpperSkirt made a passing cyclist an offer he could refuse but he was never the less happy to partake in the tea and scones.  Finally and definitely it was on on to Stoodley Pike monument, built after the napoleonic wars and rebuilt after the Crimean war to commemorate the local sacrifices to these causes. A massive and impressive structure with a dark internal staircase giving on to a balcony part way up. Looking upwards at this point gave you the feeling that the structure was toppling as the sky spun around the earth or so they must have thought (for it was necessary to think this way in those days).

From here it was a mere two miles ridge run and eighteen mile decent back to the start and on inn where once again superb beers were to be had, what a great part of the world this is.  Down downs for White Noise for gobbling, Bubbles and FB for fouling the trail, hares for the best run and best hash halt ever and Dormouse again for being blind.