Outdoor Odysseys

Revisiting the Fairfield Horseshoe: A stirring trek through some of the Lake District’s craggy beauty

17th January 2025

The overriding memory of July 2022 is that of the record-breaking temperatures endured during the middle of the month. In hindsight, it would have been more productive not to have tried working through this at all, telling my client as much at the time. Scarcely anything could be accomplished in these conditions.

Not having air conditioning in a terraced cottage in the north of England was no preparation for temperatures exceeding 30° C around the clock, which meant that nights largely were sleepless as a result. Having a place near the coast in Ireland might have made for a good holdout while this was happening, something that only came into my possession last year, two years too late for that episode.

Before all that meteorological fury, I scurried north to the Lake District for a day hike. The destination was inspired by reappraisal of photos in my online gallery, a pervasive trend throughout 2022. It had been the most of twenty years since I first completed the Fairfield; a reprise came not before time. Since film photography was my mainstay back then, this was an opportunity to engage in some digital capture of what is found around there while following a similar route.

Revisiting the Fairfield Horseshoe: A stirring trek through some of the Lake District's craggy beauty

Revisiting the Fairfield Horseshoe: A stirring trek through some of the Lake District's craggy beauty

The preceding night may not have been as restful as I might have liked, yet I got to Rydal at around 10:00. On that round all those years ago, there were fewer people around until I got as far as Fairfield. The reprise was busier, especially on the ascent of Nab Scar, where the steep slopes caused others to clump together on rest breaks. Even at that stage of the day, there was summer heat to be felt, so the ascent was sweaty work.

Revisiting the Fairfield Horseshoe: A stirring trek through some of the Lake District's craggy beauty

Revisiting the Fairfield Horseshoe: A stirring trek through some of the Lake District's craggy beauty

When the gradients relented, I found somewhere to stop for a while to take on board some refreshments and savouring views of Rydal Water, Loughrigg Fell, Grasmere and whatever else lay about me. Because it was likely that there was a bolus all staring at once that morning, I left others pass on their way. One joked that they were on their second way around when they passed me again after my overtaking them during the initial ascent. It might have been prompted by the pandemic strictures easing substantially, but there was a feeling of added camaraderie on this round.

Revisiting the Fairfield Horseshoe: A stirring trek through some of the Lake District's craggy beauty

Once I got going again, Heron Pike was my next landmark. With everyone now more scattered, each could have more space, and that also applied to me. The going was now gentler than before and greater views were opening around me. It never ceases to amaze me how stiff the first few hundred metres of an ascent can be, only for things to ease off once you are higher up; then everything can feel a little more plateau like. This can catch you at the end of a descent too, as I found on this hike, and glacial action often is the cause of such arduous going.

Revisiting the Fairfield Horseshoe: A stirring trek through some of the Lake District's craggy beauty

Revisiting the Fairfield Horseshoe: A stirring trek through some of the Lake District's craggy beauty

Revisiting the Fairfield Horseshoe: A stirring trek through some of the Lake District's craggy beauty

Revisiting the Fairfield Horseshoe: A stirring trek through some of the Lake District's craggy beauty

Revisiting the Fairfield Horseshoe: A stirring trek through some of the Lake District's craggy beauty

Revisiting the Fairfield Horseshoe: A stirring trek through some of the Lake District's craggy beauty

The summit of Grey Rigg was my next staging post as I navigated the undulations atop a narrowing ridgeline; gradients again stiffened on the final approach to the summit to open up more views for me. To my left lay the narrow valley leading up to Grisedale Hause and then Grisedale Tarn. It was a scene showing the latter that I had in my mind’s eye for its capture using newer technology than I had all those years ago. The further up and the further in that I went, the more that I got to savour.

Revisiting the Fairfield Horseshoe: A stirring trek through some of the Lake District's craggy beauty

Revisiting the Fairfield Horseshoe: A stirring trek through some of the Lake District's craggy beauty

Revisiting the Fairfield Horseshoe: A stirring trek through some of the Lake District's craggy beauty

Revisiting the Fairfield Horseshoe: A stirring trek through some of the Lake District's craggy beauty

Even with reaching the top of Great Rigg, I was not done with uphill gradients just yet. The last heave on the way to the flat top of Fairfield needed to be surmounted first. Patience was in order at this point before things became much kinder. On the way, I could glimpse my return route as it threaded between Dove Crag, Hart Crag and other eminences. Once on the top, the high point of my day’s walking, I could glimpse St. Sunday Crag and Helvellyn to the north. The former was the subject of a yomp around eight years before, and the end of August would see me surmount the latter. There was topological majesty in every direction anyone could face, all brightly lit on the day.

Revisiting the Fairfield Horseshoe: A stirring trek through some of the Lake District's craggy beauty

Revisiting the Fairfield Horseshoe: A stirring trek through some of the Lake District's craggy beauty

Revisiting the Fairfield Horseshoe: A stirring trek through some of the Lake District's craggy beauty

Revisiting the Fairfield Horseshoe: A stirring trek through some of the Lake District's craggy beauty

Once you reach the greatest height of your day, the only way is down, not that such a reality means that it gets easier from there. Initially, the inclines were kind enough, and I could peer into Patterdale and make out the outline of Place Fell, a summit I surmounted in January 2010 at the start of a year of career turbulence for me. The list of fell tops that I would cross became Hart Crag, Dove Crag, High Pike and Low Pike.

It was after the penultimate of these that gradients again stiffened, that being my lot until I reached the floor of Scandale at High Sweden Bridge. Walking poles were essential for saving some knee strain, and patient foot placement was my lot while allowing the fleeter of foot to pass me; everyone has to hike their own hike. For a time, it seemed easier to follow the informal path by the stone wall instead of seeking out the line of the public footpath.

That came to an end when a challenging down scramble lay before me. Then, I sought out the public right of way to High Sweden Bridge, leaving the topological drama of High Brock Crags and Low Brock Crags behind me. This also left a walking group to go their way, possibly towards Low Sweden Bridge, mine turning out to be a quieter affair; the rest of the descent to Ambleside was now at hand. This broad track better suited wearied limbs, allowing patient progress to convey me safely onto busier streets, where I sought out the main bus stop after a satisfying day.

In summary, I had experienced what I came to encounter, making many images and enjoying the round. Though I normally seek quietude, the moments of shared camaraderie added its own special moments too. Any challenge posed by the warmth of the day has faded from recollection now; it was a scenic grandeur that stood out for me. This was a reprise more than worth doing as it took me around places that I have frequented before. It was great to see them all again.

Travel Arrangements

A return train trip from Macclesfield got me to Windermere. From there, I had a choice of bus routes for getting to Rydal for the start of the hike. The same applied for getting from Ambleside to Windermere. You can use either service 555 or 599 for this; the latter goes between Bowness-on-Windermere and Grasmere, while the former goes between Lancaster and Keswick.

Hiking lofty Helvellyn: A commendable scenic detour on the way to Scotland

15th January 2025

2022 was the year when I really began to emerge following the constraints of the pandemic. Trips to Ireland allowed me to become reaccustomed to staying away from home, as well as seeing more of the place than I had before then. While there had been day trips to the South Pennines, Wales and the Lake District, none had featured a stay away from home in the U.K. before the end of August.

My not having been in Scotland since 2019 was what drew me north. Other than having a client meeting, I cannot explain why I did not take Friday as a non-working day for travel to Stirling. That might have got me some better days for hiking up there, negating the return visits that I have described in other trip reports on here. We live our lives with so much unknowing.

Another complication was the performance of Avanti West Coast and Transpennine Express. Both operators were unable to operate their full timetables because of staffing challenges, resulting in many cancellations. That, and the Friday evening travel time, meant that I spent two nights in Carlisle, facilitating the third (and final) Lake District day hike of the year. Having pondered an ascent of Helvellyn during July, that became my choice. Terry Abraham’s Life of a Mountain: Helvellyn was one inspiration behind that endeavour, and I reaped the rewards of my day around the Cumbrian landmark.

Hiking lofty Helvellyn: A commendable scenic detour on the way to Scotland

On Saturday, I headed to Glenridding from Carlisle, first by train as far as Penrith and then by bus from there. Car parks were full and visitors were struggling to find a space as I made my way towards Greenside Road, a gravel track despite the name. At one point, I found myself being asked if I was leaving, meaning that I was freeing up a space for someone. My mode of travel meant that I was no help in that regard, and I carried on from there to quieter surroundings. The sunny weather, the long weekend and the still reduced nature of international air travel all contributed to the busyness as much as the proximity of Ullswater and the surrounding fells.

Hiking lofty Helvellyn: A commendable scenic detour on the way to Scotland

Hiking lofty Helvellyn: A commendable scenic detour on the way to Scotland

Thankfully, I picked a quiet way to Helvellyn. It meant that I had much of the place to myself, though others very occasionally passed me. Naturally, there was an ascent too, and I noticed a certain lack of strength in my legs. Because the outing was part of a weekend away, I brought a heavier rucksack with me, the one that I used to use all the time before the pandemic came our way. Since the difference between that and the Lowe Alpine that I acquired in 2020 was easily perceptible, the effect on my legs was attributed to that. Taking things steady was the only option available.

Others could be seen on a track on the other side of the valley, highlighting that numerous route options are available. Because Striding Edge and Swirral Edge, well known though they are, seemed too airy to me, I opted for a gentler route. They may have been busy too, not the best when there is not so much space for everyone. Instead, I was bound for Whiteside Bank, from which the way to Helvellyn would take me over Lower Man. A longer option might have been to go via Stick’s Pass and include Raise on the way; eschewing Helvellyn altogether, that might have opened up a myriad of routes leading north. One thing is certain: there is no shortage of hiking possibilities in these parts.

Hiking lofty Helvellyn: A commendable scenic detour on the way to Scotland

Hiking lofty Helvellyn: A commendable scenic detour on the way to Scotland

The skies might have been full of dispersed clouds, yet they still obstructed the sun from time to time. A few of episodes cam my way while I was ascending the flank of Glenridding Common and around Whiteside Bank, and there was less luck with sunshine for anyone around Catstye Cam. Looking back towards Patterdale drew my eyes to what lay behind me and how far I had come. The lack of rapidity was no concern of mine, given the delights through which I passed. After all, shortcuts can take longer, especially when there is significant height gain involved.

Hiking lofty Helvellyn: A commendable scenic detour on the way to Scotland

Hiking lofty Helvellyn: A commendable scenic detour on the way to Scotland

Hiking lofty Helvellyn: A commendable scenic detour on the way to Scotland

Hiking lofty Helvellyn: A commendable scenic detour on the way to Scotland

While I was up high, a pervading thought struck me: the views from a lofty vantage point can save much traipsing along the ground. When you have distant Skiddaw and Blencathra in your sights, as well as nearby Ullswater and Thirlmere, that point is rather rammed home for you. Throw in a sighting of Bassenthwaite Lake and the suggestion becomes incontestable. It is little wonder that Helvellyn draws so many, some of them from the Grasmere side of the fell.

Hiking lofty Helvellyn: A commendable scenic detour on the way to Scotland

Though this might be rugged countryside, Helvellyn’s summit was a busy place when I was there that day. So many were making selfies around the trig point that I never got to touch it, a very human inclination that can possess me when I am near them. With all the scenic drama that lay around me, that was no omission and there could be no sense of loss. Though there may have been a compulsion to linger, there was a descent ahead of me. That meant that I needed to get going.

Hiking lofty Helvellyn: A commendable scenic detour on the way to Scotland

The way down to Thirlmere was unrelenting, possibly even brutal; this is not one to recommend for winter conditions when a fall could have consequences. In my case, it certainly took its toll on my knees, even with many breaks to savour the surrounding scenery. The hint of all this when a passing walker said that one of their number turned back on the ascent from Thirlmere. Others that following the same line uphill clearly were labouring and some were suffering, showing such signs of not being regular hill walkers that you could see them quitting. Even on the descent, pacing oneself became essential; this is not one to rush.

Hiking lofty Helvellyn: A commendable scenic detour on the way to Scotland

As often happens, the last part of the descent began to drag on for me. The routing felt indirect around Highpark Wood; it was a case of having come far yet having further to go. Once down on the A591 beneath Highpark Wood, the next move was to locate a bus stop to await the next service to Keswick. Thirlspot was in my mind, though it was not necessary to even go that far, which was just as well after the descent. While the terrain may have been more level, any rest was appreciated, and I marvelled at what I managed to get down while looking back on the route.

The bus to Keswick came soon enough, which felt just as well given that I was near a car park that was located away from so much. Even so, there are numerous trails around there would be more suitable for some of those trying to go up my descent route. My time in Keswick was brief, since I fancied getting going back to Carlisle as soon as I could. Cancellations of train services lay on my mind a bit, and they affected my eventual departure from Penrith so much that I wondered at my haste to get there. It felt like a ghost town after the busier spots in the Lake District, especially when so much natural glory had been my lot that day.

Travel Arrangements

Bus service 508 got me from Penrith to Glenridding after a train journey from Carlisle. The train journey to the latter featured changes at Manchester and Wigan. Bus service 555 got me to Keswick from the end of my hike, while bus service X4 or X5 got me from there to Penrith for a train back to Carlisle. The next day, train travel conveyed me from Carlisle to Stirling, with a change in Edinburgh. The rest of that story is elsewhere on here.

Sometimes normality is just an illusion

27th October 2024

In the autumn of 2021, one could be forgiven for believing that the pandemic was beyond everyone. In Europe, most had two doses of the vaccine, so the climax may have been past us. However, there was once more variant at the end of the year that added more caution, at least for a while. Additional vaccinations were performed, and many still caught the infection. Thankfully, the symptoms were milder and this episode became part of the way out. This corresponded with a thought that I had before the full onslaught reached us.

Twice from Buxton to Macclesfield

Near the end of September, I walked from Buxton to Macclesfield during what now looks like an interlude between two waves of infection. The route took me from Burbage onto Goyt’s Moss before I went down by Berry Clough to reach a lane leading to Goyt Valley. That was not my destination, so I instead headed for Shining Tor via Deep Clough and Stake Clough, and no sighting of Goytsclough Quarry, hidden in the tree cover. From Shining Tor, I made my descent to Lamaload Reservoir and then went from there back to Macclesfield.

Sometimes normality is just an illusion

With new restrictions in place, I again set to wandering in more confidence, which may look odd to some. Thus, a reprise of the September amble happened on the last Sunday before Christmas. Until Lamaload Reservoir or even Rainow, both itineraries were alike. A stoppage on photographic recording obscures the end of the September tramp, but a new camera may have helped with that the second time around, for it tells me that I joined the Gritstone Trail as if to make for Tegg’s Nose Country Park, though I suspect that the place was avoided in favour of going via Back Eddisbury Lane and Buxton Road in declining light.

Sometimes normality is just an illusion

Sometimes normality is just an illusion

The overriding memory that I have of the September hike is one of greyness, and how busy things were around Derbyshire Bridge. The latter remains, while the former is disproved by the photos that I have. There was a bright start and end to the stroll, especially on the way out from Burbage and then again from Gout’s Clough onward; sometimes, your memory plays tricks on you. Otherwise, there was a lot of quite rambling, exactly what I needed at the time.

Sometimes normality is just an illusion

Aside from added restrictions that were nothing like what was in place at the start of 2021, the other thing in the background of the December outing was the presence of fog on the Cheshire plain. This affected flights in and out of Manchester Airport too, though there were not as many of those at the time. One thing that was unaffected was my strolling on higher ground; the bank of cloud lay further west. Thus, I got a fill of much-needed quietude in the winding down of the year. The added crispness gifted by a preceding overnight frost was another blessing that comes with a spell of December sunshine, even if low sun makes for longer shadows. Nothing could take from out in the hills anyway.

The Long Way Home from Poynton

While some risked infection by celebrating on New Year’s Eve, I instead opted for an elongated trot behind Poynton to Macclesfield that started in daylight and ended in darkness. Both places are not that far apart, but I added quite an elbow to the route by passing Lyme Park without entering it before continuing around by Jenkin Chapel. In declining light, I shadowed Cat’s Tor to rendezvous with the trail leading down to Lamaload Reservoir. From there, I ventured towards Vale Royal in the dark, equipped with a working head torch and knowledge of where I was going. Once I passed Hordern Farm, I was bound for Buxton Road and the last stretch to lit-up surroundings and home.

Sometimes normality is just an illusion

A fuller list of landmarks goes like this: Poynton train station, Poynton Pool, Prince’s Wood, Higher Poynton, Middlewood Way, Macclesfield Canal, Platt Wood, West Parkgate, Dale Top, Sponds Hill, Bakestonedale Road, B5470, Bank Lane, Jenkin Chapel, Howlersknowl, Thursbitch, Lamaload Reservoir, Valeroyal, Gulshaw Hollow and Buxton Road. Most farm names have been omitted from the list for the sake of added brevity, but it might remain sensible when compared with a map.

The canal was attracting others, as were the paths near Poynton, yet things grew steadily quieter the further along I went. This became a day laden with solitary wandering, which was just as well at the time. Some of it recalls an evening when I went from Poynton to Lyme Park, only to discover that I had arrived near closing time. That had taken me by surprise after previous experiences, so I wonder if pandemic reductions in staffing had anything to do with an earlier end of day for the place.

Sometimes normality is just an illusion

On the way towards Sponds, the skies opened to allow better photographic results from a new camera. A chapel, seemingly opened for the time of year, was passed as I shadowed the boundaries of Lyme Park. My hope was to spot The Cage, a folly atop a hill there, from my route. That got fulfilled, though I was a little too far away for photographic purposes, and there was a certain haze in the air too. Nevertheless, there were other pleasing sights to behold, and I was not left unsated.

Beyond Sponds Hill, the journey began to follow deserted paths in lesser frequented places, particularly after leaving the Gritstone Trail. The surroundings recalled a stroll from October 2007, when I needed respite after something I was doing went against me. Some people were around Jenkin Chapel and there was no throng. After that, it was unbothered wandering into the night, part of a pattern that emerged that autumn. Much of the ground was familiar to me from daylight ambling, and there was a certain release from being out in the nighttime air.

Even so, I was conscious of my use of a head torch near where people lived and worked, and did no dallying. A gate that was not friendly to cross drew my ire because of barbed, yet nothing was ripped or shredded; it became more of a challenge than an obstruction. It reminded me of a nuisance barking dog near a public footpath that appeared during a lockdown and since appears to have disappeared without a trace. It might that any tension caused by increased usage of local paths has ebbed now that everyone has more freedom in choosing where they want to go.

Sometimes normality is just an illusion

The day and night had brought an element of adventure, while overseas travel remained mostly off limits. Once past a bolus of infection, minds could turn to wider roaming in 2022. Mine was among them: getting to Ireland, staying away from home again, reaching Scotland, and visiting Yorkshire and Cumbria all came to pass that year. In some places, people came across as being more friendly. Having stability helped as well; it is easier to rebuild confidence if you are the only one making the changes.

Travel Arrangements

Bus service 58 from Macclesfield to Buxton on two occasions. Train from Macclesfield to Poynton on New Year’s Eve.

Seeking oases of calm in a time of unsettling change

26th October 2024

At doing something similar for three hikes starting from Hayfield, there is every reason not to repeat that again. The variation in routes and the different seasons within which they were followed all made the narrative long and tricky to tell. Sometimes, though, the residual commonality is what prevents the giving of three different accounts.

Solitary Ambling Under Grey Autumnal Skies

On 2021’s August Bank Holiday weekend, the walk from Miller’s Dale to Castleton on that Saturday was not the only excursion. Whatever caused me to embark on another that Sunday is unclear to me now; the passage of time has fogged my recollection of that. Nevertheless, one can think of possibilities: retracing steps along the Midshires Way from nearly twenty years before and fitting in a visit to Combs Reservoir after seeing it from passing trains for too long. Either of these would work, perhaps in consort.

The quietude of Buxton, though, has not been lost to memory; few were around under grey autumnal skies. This was a blissful situation in the middle of a pandemic, and it helped that I chose an unpopular way to go as well. While tempted by Corbar Woods, I continued along the A5004 until I could leave that after me for the Roman road shadowing Combs Moss.

Seeking oases of calm in a time of unsettling change

Views of what surrounded me were as plentiful as sunshine was scarce. The above photo may lead one to think otherwise, but any outbreak of sunshine was fleeting and ephemeral. The lure of Corbar Wood also applied to Combs Moss. However, I also left this for another time to continue towards White Hall Centre, before which I turned off the track for a public footpath in the direction of Combs. That left the course of the Midshires Way, which, if followed, would have led me into the Goyt Valley all those years ago.

My new direction took me downhill, with views of the edge of Combs Moss that would have been more of a delight if I had sunshine for making photos of it. Any sightings of Hoo Moor were declining behind me as I passed various farms around Allstone Lee to reach a lane near Rye Flat Farm.

Once on tarmac again, I passed a quiet Combs before leaving the lane for a path taking me under the railway from which I had been viewing the reservoir on evening returns from Buxton. Staying close to the shoreline of Combs Reservoir, I continued on my way to Tunstead Milton. No boats were out on the water as I passed; the deserted atmosphere of the day was persisting, though some were passing my way at times.

The rest of the way to Whaley Bridge has become unmemorable after the passage of time, though I left the course of Chapel Road; a busy thoroughfare is not me choice of route for hiking. Here then are a few guesses. Following Milton Lane to Hilltop sounds more likely than using a footpath to go by Woodside Farm, as does leaving the lane near Horwich Farm in order to go via Throstledale.

By then, clouds were breaking to allow more sunshine as I came to the end of my stroll in Whaley Bridge. There were more people around there than other places where I had been that day. Nevertheless, the pervading stilly atmosphere continued to prevail. This had been a quiet outing in quiet places that had to commend it for stilling one’s spirit.

Joining Places Together Under September Sunshine

The lures of Corbar Woods, Corbar Hill and Combs Moss drew me back to Buxton again. Whenever I had gone on quick sorties to Buxton, my strolling often took me to Buxton Country Park and Grinlow Tower once I had got away from the delights of Spring Gardens or the area around the Slopes. Never had I gone near Corbar Woods or Corbar Hill, though the former also gets managed by Buxton Civic Association. It simply had not entered my awareness until that Sunday saunter from Buxton to Whaley Bridge during the preceding Bank Holiday weekend.

Seeking oases of calm in a time of unsettling change

Seeking oases of calm in a time of unsettling change

This time around, I sought to address that non-visitation on what was a brighter day. Finding my way into Corbar Woods was the first task. Once that happened, there was the steady ascent through the trees in a small but pleasant space. Beyond that lay pasture, before crossing a wall led me onto moorland. An escarpment lay before me and I scaled that using a frequently used path to reach where a cross had been installed on the top. Pottering around there allowed to savour the panoramic views of the town and what lay around it.

Once on access land, at least partly owned by the University of Derby, I began to make my way towards Combs Moss, passing near Moss House Farm. If Buxton had been peopled, the moor was next to deserted. Only a few souls were wandering these parts while I was there. Distant views were obscured somewhat by haze as I followed an informal path around by Flint Clough and Black Edge, where a trig point could be seen catching the sunlight with its whiteness.

This was a journey along the moor’s eastern edge, so there were sightings of the effect of quarrying on the landscape around Dove Holes. The A6 below there too, and there was not that much to please a seeker of the picturesque. Passing Hob Tor and Short Edge had me wondering quite what the fascination was in staying so close to the edge with there being a steep drop. At times on the way to the fort atop Castle Naze, I kept in from the drop, even if it meant travelling over rougher ground than what the path had levelled.

After visiting the fort, thoughts turned to making a descent. The path marked on the map did not thrill me, so I tried going another way. Getting down worked well, but my problem was getting on to the lane. Getting on and off access land is not always easy, finding the entrance can be tricky, as I would find later in the day. Scaling an unfriendly gate was what it took in the end; the use of barbed wire looked peevish in the circumstances, for the access land reached up to the road.

Some bumbling around preceded my choosing a path for the descent to Combs; the reconnaissance probably was needed, for there were a few options that curtailed tarmac travel. One would have taken me towards Chapel-en-le-Frith’s train station, which itself is quite an uphill schlep from the town, before turning towards Combs. Another would have avoided farm buildings altogether, though memory cannot pick between the options at this point of remove.

Seeking oases of calm in a time of unsettling change

There was no dallying as I passed Combs, since I wanted to follow the western shoreline of Combs Reservoir in the hazy sunshine. Sailing vessels were out on the water this time around. If there were more in the vicinity then, that is largely lost to me now. If so, their presence cannot have been that much of an intrusion.

Seeking oases of calm in a time of unsettling change

This time around, I was not bound for Whaley Bridge. It is not clear if continuing to Chinley and New Mills was an intentional decision taken before setting out, or something that fell into place during the ramble. Either way, I made my way from Tunstead Milton to Eccles Pike, more likely via Sparkbottom and Woodside Farm. Once on Eccles Road, yet another lane of many, I sought the way onto more access land. Someone had been knocking fences around, a perhaps questionable if understandable act that made entry easier.

Seeking oases of calm in a time of unsettling change

Leaving Eccles Pike and the access land around it, I followed a right of way down to another road. Familiar hills like South Head lay before me as I made my descent. Reaching Chinley would need my going over the A6; thankfully, a road did that for me, avoiding a crossing of the busy thoroughfare itself. If I had wanted to shorten my walk there, going by train would have been the only option; there was no Sunday bus service.

In the event, it became a refreshment stop, since there was a shop open and a green park nearby. More uphill travel was ahead of me, so a rest break was needed before that. Crossing over the railway took me onto Old Hill Road, where I spotted a Royal Mail van doing Sunday deliveries, a striking thing when you are more accustomed to their normal six-day delivery.

Seeking oases of calm in a time of unsettling change

As the ascent got my heart going, there was a route choice ahead. Did I stick with the Old Hill Road in the form of a track, or use another one? The alternative was what I chose; the possibility of easterly views was what decided me. It was hardly busy, yet others were out using it too. Once the gradients slackened, I could peer in the direction of Kinder Scout and what lay about it. Kinder Reservoir could be glimpsed too, and I wondered if I could spot Hayfield as well.

Seeking oases of calm in a time of unsettling change

Evening was approaching by this time, and I decided against a descent to Hayfield in favour of one to Birch Vale. That got me nearer to New Mills and onto the Sett Valley Trail, where I had not trod since my first encounter with Kinder Reservoir the most of twenty years before. Given the time of day and the need for some to walk their dog, the uptick in human usage came as no surprise. The converted railway alignment also meant easier work for my legs, and I dawdled at times too.

There was an illusion of everlasting summer that September evening, as there so often is. Even so, the lengthening hours of night encouraged me to reach the bus stop for my journey home after a satisfying day on foot. In many ways, the route connected places that I had known apart from each other. It was good to join the lot together.

Quiet Saturday Strolling Over Combs Moor

After two Sunday strolls, we now come to a Saturday one. Quite apart from the opportunity of a day with less haze, it is difficult to say what inspired this departure to and from Whaley Bridge. One thing is certain: this was no reprise of the first hike; there are too many differences for that.

Seeking oases of calm in a time of unsettling change

Seeking oases of calm in a time of unsettling change

Seeking oases of calm in a time of unsettling change

Seeking oases of calm in a time of unsettling change

Seeking oases of calm in a time of unsettling change

The way out of Whaley Bridge is among those. The exact details may be lost to me now, but it did lead me south to Long Lane, which I used to round Ladder Hill with views over Combs Reservoir and towards Chapel-en-le-Frith. This was not a close encounter with that reservoir but part of a more direct route to Combs. Much of the way more likely was road walking; that would change.

Though much of the way from Combs to Combs Moss is no longer memorable, it is plausible that it avoided tarmac tramping for much of that. The final approach is beyond question, though: there was an ascent of the path that I rejected while en route from Buxton to New Mills. It was not as fearsome as I considered it to be on that occasion.

Seeking oases of calm in a time of unsettling change

Seeking oases of calm in a time of unsettling change

Thankfully, the rest of the way to Buxton is easier to relate. This went along Combs Edge and continued south and west to show me a different side to the moor. There were views back towards Combs Reservoir as much as what lay on the other side of the Goyt Valley. Though the sun came and went, there were ample photographic opportunities with any gritstone outcrops that I passed. Navigation on an informal path was simple, too, which was just as well on this access land.

Seeking oases of calm in a time of unsettling change

Seeking oases of calm in a time of unsettling change

Relaxing progress in a place with few if any about was my lot, and I relished it all. In time, I would shadow the outbound route from Buxton that I took on the way to Whaley Bridge at the end of August. The way off the moor would reverse the way taken while going from Buxton to New Mills. Some familiarity was beginning to help me as I passed Moss House Farm on the way to Corbar Hill. This was one lasting halt before the descent into the busier confines of Buxton. These were not so comfortable, yet I rushed nothing before catching a bus back to Macclesfield after a satisfying day with much respite from the world’s affairs.

Travel Arrangements

Bus service 58 got me to Buxton for the start of the first hike. The remarkable part of the return is the rail replacement bus from Stockport and how few were using face coverings. Between Whaley Bridge and Stockport, I could have travelled by either train or bus, more likely the latter, even if I am not fully sure of that.

Bus service 58 again did the honours for getting me to Buxton for the second ramble. The way home from New Mills is less clear. Was some of it by bus or all of it by train? The former seems more likely, and that would have got me to Stockport for an onward connection. For the last trot, bus service 60 got me to Whaley Bridge, while bus service 58 returned home from Buxton.

Better fitting boots would have helped as I plodded through some Derbyshire Dales

25th October 2024

“Freedom Day” probably sounded like a great idea to someone at the time. It was supposed to arrive in June 2021, only for an upsurge in infections to be caused by the delayed UEFA Euro 2020 Championship. Looking into any pubs that I passed back then, I could see no sign of social distancing as the punters watched the football games on TV. It did not help that England got as far as the final, either. Still, an important game meant empty trails for evening rambles, as I found that Sunday evening.

If I had hoped for a more phased opening up, I was to be disappointed. Such was the focus on summer holidaying in both 2020 and 2021 that I wonder if political populism overrode public health. Any daydreams about reaching the Isle of Man or the Channel Islands were scotched, and reaching Ireland felt more of a long shot. What was needed were baby steps, and everyone likely would make the same ones at the same time.

Even with two doses of the vaccine, “Freedom Day” did not feel like that for me. Add in a heatwave and a computer upgrade project, and you get a situation where outdoor activity was not on the menu. Hauling computers up and down stairs in a terrace cottage became sweaty work in any case (my workbench was downstairs for these things). Even taking a stroll late in the evening was no guarantor of coolness; overnight sleep was challenging at best. All in all, the three-week break from work in July became a homecation mainly devoted to indoor activities.

By the end of August, something must have been stirring me, for the Summer Bank Holiday weekend saw me embark on nearby outdoor excursions. Both took me to Derbyshire, one through the Derbyshire Dales and another over Combs Moss. The latter became a hub for various wanderings that will be related. The amble through the Derbyshire Dales will do for this account.

Better fitting boots would have helped as I plodded through some Derbyshire Dales

Better fitting boots would have helped as I plodded through some Derbyshire Dales

Better fitting boots would have helped as I plodded through some Derbyshire Dales

Better fitting boots would have helped as I plodded through some Derbyshire Dales

While the route of the Limestone would likely have conveyed me the whole way, I fancied going into Monk’s Dale instead. Thus, that is where I headed after arriving in Miller’s Dale. Descending to the floor of the dale took some route finding in the woodland, for I followed a little of the Limestone Way at the start. Once down there, there was little to do but go in a general north-westerly or northerly direction, as directed by the steep sides of the narrow valley and any watercourse going along it.

Aside from simple navigation, I also got the place largely to myself. Straggly late summer vegetation may have intruded on the meadows, but the limestone outcrops could not fail to delight. This remained my lot as I continued through Peter Dale, Hay Dale and Dam Dale. Others passed me from time to time, yet this was a confidence building measure for any future return to normal life, that some may have assumed was already well in place.

Aside from dale-trotting, there was another reason for my going this way, and it dated from nearly twenty years before. Then, I was walking from Buxton to Castleton. Around Peak Forest, I lost my way somewhat; OS map sheets OL1 and OL24 do not overlap very well, adding to the confusion. In hindsight, I may not have helped matters by going through Peak Forest itself instead of sticking more closely to the route of the Limestone Way, which was already there back then. This is not a recently instated long-distance trail like so many others.

Thus, I needed to get to the Limestone Way from Dam Dale without messing things up again. With a modern mapping app on a mobile phone, that was a bit easier. Those paper mapping overlaps are an issue no longer, so I could cross the A623 with added confidence to get across fields to Old Dam Lane to continue east without any muddle. Then, I could avoid getting near Bradwell and walking on lanes around quarries to keep things more picturesque.

Another matter was more plain to me, though. The previous Easter, the sole on one of my long-suffering Meindl Burma boots detached from the upper while on a ramble around such locations as Langley and Higher Sutton on the Monday of Holy Week. The uppers looked well-worn, so there was little point in resoling them, especially since they had lasted since 2009.

However, I still needed a pair of boots for mud plugging, and I was reluctant to sully others that I had; these were being kept for when overseas excursions could resume. The result was my acquisition of a pair of Berghaus leather boots that proved to be too big for me. They should have been returned for a pair of a smaller size, yet I persevered with them, possibly for too long. The adage that boots need to fit well should have driven that.

Better fitting boots would have helped as I plodded through some Derbyshire Dales

Returning to that self-powered journey to Castleton, those Berghaus boots were to take a toll when I was in busier surroundings. Before that, I threaded my way past such landmarks as The Cop, Old Moor and various disused mines. What lay ahead of me was the descent into Castleton through Cave Dale. It was then that I hurt my feet while passing someone at a health-inspired distance on rougher ground. There was no tumble, only discomfort that did not play well on steeper slopes.

Castleton is a honeypot, so groups were out and about, inadvertently challenging my comfort zone. There had been a hope of seeing and photographing Peveril Castle in sunshine, but that was foiled by cloudy obstruction of the sun. Even so, I got myself to the village and its bus stop for the way home. There surely were refreshments too, even if there were around than I felt to be comfortable.

The offending boots later found their way to a charity shop, and a pair of Scarpa boots replaced. These are better, if imperfect, fitting, but their soles are well-worn at this stage, having seen me through numerous European wanderings. The uppers remain fresh, so resoling may be a more likely outcome than replacement. My feet have healed from any insults from the use of the Berghaus items, too. All is transitioning into a useful set of memories for future reference.

Travel Arrangements

Unlike a previous trip report, public transport experiences were less memorable in a good way. The outbound journey to Miller’s Dale was by bus, with a change in Buxton; bus services 58 and 65 were used. The return to Macclesfield is where memory again ails.

Since Castleton does not have a train station, departure by bus was unquestionable. Other questions emerge, though. Was it by service 272 or another one? Did I go all the way to Sheffield or alight near Hope station? From either, a return train journey would have commenced, one with a change in Manchester and another with one in Stockport. Railway engineering works were ongoing that weekend; did they impact the journey by a need to use a rail replacement bus? That seems unlikely because of a memory from the following day. Otherwise, all is blighted by a fug of uncertainty.