About this run

A clutch of Sea Dogs moored their longboats at Hunston junction and made their way to Jack Sparrow's gaff (aka Chez Sausage and Slightly) for a Pirate Hash and BBQ on yet another hot dry climate change day. We had a virgin Corrine and visitor Dipstick (Oxford) who must have confused "Pirate" with "Pyramid" because he was wearing one, a large one, on his head, possibly hoping that Pyramid Power might further sharpen his brain. "Ahoy! circle up" we hear, and the hares tell us a tale of exhaustion, it was long and hot out there, but someone had to do it. We set the magic fish hook number at five, then cast off for'ard, cast off aft, and head North by East towards North Mundham. Dancer is running like he is being chased by Excisemen as he leads us on a testing trail over tarmac that now covers what was the course of the Portsmouth and Arundel Canal, imagine that me hearties, setting sail for Arundel to loot, plunder and pillage in a town so rich that Pieces of Eight lie in the gutters, ooo arrr. A fish hook soon reined him in, also slowing Dipstick, Dr Blood, Kinky and Bambi. A small squall came up sudden like, and took hold of our jib, taking us due South towards Saint Stephens. Stragglers included Bika who was busy extricating his tricorn from the thorny clutches of the rampant brambles on the shores. Others seemed to fall into little eddies to sample the fruit of the same plant which can give sweetness and pain in equal measure. Shiver me timbers if we didn't reach Black Dog nursery in double quick time as the wind took hold in the Mainsail. You would have needed a powerful telescope to spot Dancer and Grasshopper on the horizon by now as they tacked East by South out on to the parched flat dusty plains, heading for South Mundham. Have no fear though, the Hares got them good and true as a fish hook lay in their course. It caught Dancer, Grasshopper, Old Faithful, Kinky and Bambi, just before we spilled the wind and dropped anchor whereupon Cock Burns dished out many a tot of Port that rumour has it was looted from Lidl by Jack Sparrow. As we cast off for a second time, the Quartermaster reported that at least half the crew were now Lubbers and progress was likely to be like towing a Warp from now on. And so it proved although to their credit they did manage to come about in good fashion to head West by North to Fisher Common. In most years this tack is full of peril due to the ford at Little Fisher Farm. Normally a combination of cattle and high water gives rise to an extraordinary depth of shiggy here. Today, in an historic drought, the surface is as hard as concrete, which enabled a good few of the crew to run with the wind on a short cut to the road stile. Continuing on the same tack we skipped past the golf course, some said that we should have raided the club, for the gold watches and rings and such, but the captain said that it was not worth our while as the club was mostly frequented by common folk who had no such treasures. So it was that we hove to a second time, in the shade of good English Oak, the like of which is our keel, to sample another tot or two, this time dished out by Dipstick, who had plundered it from he said not where. Those of a discerning nature amongst us remarked that this Port was of a different calibre to the first. We cast off for a third and last time, now a more groggy and uncoordinated crew as it would be hard to find, even in the taverns of Port Royal. We were less than half a league from safe harbour but it took many an age before the true course to the Nor'east was settled on. Thus, few by few we all finally dropped anchor at the quayside from which we had ventured out in the morning. Now was all good cheer, the travails of the day soon forgotten amongst feasting, quaffing ale, and the witty repartee of us bold buccaneers. There was much thanking and back patting for Sausage and Slightly for their most … Full run report: https://www.chihhh.org.uk/run1092.php