Category: Europe
Reprising a part of the Gritstone Trail
23rd September 2013 There are times in the year when I feel the need to force a break in an attempt to rupture what feels like a headlong rush towards a certain event. Though it's only September and I writing these words, the last month leading towards Christmas is but one of these. Another is in a contrasting part of the year: that leading towards Easter. It's as if the seasons of Lent and Advent see life going in such full swing that you, that there is a strong risk of your rushing right through them inadvertently. As ever, there's little point in rushing either the start or the end of a year anyway.
Last November, I booked in one of those speed bumps, and it came up sunny enough for me to get out and about. My sights weren't raised beyond Cheshire, though, and I fancied seeing more of the nearby countryside than had been the case for a while until then. In fact, the Friday was to see me follow the Gritstone Trail from Bollington to Disley, and this section hadn't been walked by me in entirety since January or February 2003. Then, there were some vestiges of snow and ice on the ground, but it was the lack of visibility that I really remembered, along with a foolhardy episode of taking rubber soled walking boots on ice that I mentioned in a previous entry on here.
Skies may have clouded later in the day, but there was no folly with the choice of morning as I left Bollington. Indeed, it felt more like October than late in November, and looked like it too when I took in the sights of what surrounded me. After record-breaking stretches of wet weather, it momentarily seemed as if some kind of Indian summer had come our way. If it wasn't for my own lethargy, November 2012 could have seen me do better than trips to Tatton Park, a trot along the Macclesfield Canal from Macclesfield itself to Congleton and this hike. That's not to decry what I savoured, since there are times when excuses to stay local can be needed when shining sirens can call from afar.
After leaving a bus to continue on its way from Macclesfield to Stockport, I pottered up Ingersley Road, passed where it became Smithy Brow to meet the Gritstone Trail and followed it into Spuley Lane. To an Irishman unaccustomed to such conventions, such naming of rural roads has its own amazement; until relatively, recently many of those in the Irish Republic hardly merited even a number. It's not often that I stick exclusively with tarmac while walking in the countryside, so the sign showing the way through a field was a welcome thing.
Crossing that field was to get me to gain more height until I met and crossed yet another named lane: Hedge Row. In October 2007, I actually followed this as part of a weekday wander. For some reason, the lure of staying on the Gritstone Trail all the way to Disley was insufficiently strong that day. Was it the later start or a certain heartbreaking outcome to the very reason for which I had taken a day off from work in the first place? November 2012 was devoid of any such feelings as I continued towards Harrop Brook while taking any views towards Nab Head that were being granted to me.
Once across the brook, it was time to continue uphill towards Berristall Hall, where I passed a pond with fowl such as geese around it. The farmyard itself was somewhere that I bypassed through nothing more than sticking with the route of the Gritstone Trail. My surroundings felt familiar, as if I had been there recently. That was something of a memory trick because it was January or February 2005 when I last passed the way on a crisp, chilly day when I was trying out my first ever DSLR. That was on a walk that took a section of the Macclesfield Canal before going cross-country to Pott Shrigley and then heading to Disley via the Gritstone Trail after coming up from the village via a path taking me by Berristall Hall that avoided going through the farmyard at the last moment.
My course last November took me uphill by a wood while I gazed upwards at the trees and across towards Billinge Hill. Its quarries were not on show, either through shadows cast by the low sun or because they away from my line of sight anyway. That non-sighting was not what on my mind, but the similarity to the Rainow of Kerridge Hill definitely was not lost on me either. Leaving trees behind me for a while, I began to cross fields, with Bakestonedale Moor to my left. Sheep were out grazing and stuck with that task instead of being distracted by a passing wanderer. The scene may have looked exclusively pastoral to my eyes but lay a road unhidden in a cleft of the landscape. It was one that I needed to cross, but that was further ahead.
Another wood lay by my path and there was an opportunity for navigational blundering, so care was needed. With no mishaps, I skirted a quarry to pick up a track that appeared to be making a beeline for a farmyard. Though I grew up on a farm and maybe because of it, I have no desire to walk through the farmyards of others, let alone wander aimlessly around one due to a map-reading error. Perhaps, it's the fact that I am outside someone else's back door that does it, so I prefer to pick my way through the countryside without having anyone else staring at me doing so. Though the track passed a dwelling house, the initial sighting was an illusion, and I was on Bakestonedale Road instead, another part of which had been hidden from me earlier. On a return from Lyme Park by bicycle one August day in 2009, I passed its entire length without fitting together the landscape through which I was passing; it can take a walk to do just that.
Turning right onto Bakestonedale Road brought me past the farmyard that I had been seeing. As if to prove that everything takes longer while you are waiting for it, the welcome signpost for the route of the Gritstone Trail over Sponds Hill felt as if it was taking its time to come into my view. When it did so, I was on the cusp of the best part of the hike and of the day. A little height was gained and below was a gash where a hairpin or switchback twist in the B5470 lay, another reminder of the return from Lyme Park in August 2009.
What I was after, though, was something that I had been denied by fog in 2003 and clouding skies in 2005: gazing towards the Derbyshire hills from one of their Cheshire neighbours. This time around, I wasn't to be disappointed as I looked beyond Whaley Bridge towards the sort of places that I rediscovered in April of this year. Here, I am thinking of Kinder Scout and what is found around it. Below me, the Toddbrook Reservoir was picking up the blue of the skies above it.
There was no shortage of vantage points from which to survey what lay to the east while clouds rolled in from the west. There even was some straying away from the right of way to visit the 410 metres trig point on Sponds Hill before I returned to the straight and narrow. Before that, I stopped at the CPRE viewpoint, which has a multitude of landmarks inscribed onto its metal surface. A bright cloudy day ironically might be best for identifying all that's mark on it, since sun-reflected glare could stymie such an attempt.
What gleamed in the near distance was the white house where the Gritstone Trail divides into one route for those going through Lyme Park and another for those going the way at times when access to the park is less certain. It was well clouded by the time that I got that far, yet I was not grumbling as I dropped into Lyme Park. A spot of sun could have been good for some sights, but they can form excuses for returning, and I spotted some alternative route options that make such errands less repetitive. There was one such scene that I had in mind for a photo from an earlier venture, only for this to be scotched on re-examination.
Once down through Knightslow Wood, I sought out a lunching spot, and a place that would be busy in the high season was blissfully unfrequented on a November afternoon. Even with their cafés, the National Trust still offer a covered area with tables and chairs in an old outbuilding for those wanting the DIY food stop. To repay their generosity, though, I patronised their vending machines to add to the sugar going down with my sandwiches. The sun may have appeared and disappeared during my refuelling stop, but I was more than relaxed about that.
Having stopped a while, I got going again to head into Disley. There may have been no sun falling on Cage Hill as I passed it but having savoured it when it was some was a more than sufficient consolation. As the sun grew lower in the sky, it did its best to light what it could as it did so. There were some photographic experiments, even if getting through the East Gate was my priority. Once out through that, I could relax a little more but not so much that I could overlook the declining light, even if I liked the effect of the weak light on the landscape surrounding Bollinhurst Reservoir and the hills to the east of it.
Once past where both routes of the Gritstone Trail rejoined, it was time to pass Bollinhurst Bridge and turn into Green Lane. At the bridge came a surprise because it no longer is open to any traffic, even walkers, you have to use the wooden walkway instead of something that must have been in place for centuries. Taking a mountain bike this way is a less practical option now, if it ever was, given how uneven the track can be.
While the fading light was motivating to keep going as I rounded Bollinhurst Reservoir, there were others seeking to make the most of a day they couldn't use more fully. One lady was making sure of that as I passed her on my way along Green Lane and shared a few words with me, saying as much. A straight track like that can feel long in declining light, so I checked my progress on the map to ward off any pangs of impatience with my legs. As I neared Disley itself after shadowing Higher Disley, what appeared to be a maze of lanes faced me, and I picked my way through these to satisfy myself that I was sticking to an intended route and not getting myself waylaid at the last minute. There was no hiccup, and I had to decide between train and bus travel to start my way home. The latter got my vote this time around, so an uneventful journey home fitted what had been a great day out among Cheshire's eastern hills.
Travel Arrangements:
Bus service 392 to Bollington. Returned home via bus service 199 from Disley to Stockport and a train journey from there back to Macclesfield again.
Lyme Park: Beyond Late Arrivals and Fading Memories
2nd August 2013 A walk from Bollington to Disley last November that I have yet to share on here has been the cause of getting me pondering past visits to Lyme Park, and afternoons spent around Tatton Park late last year accentuated this. So, I have plundering fading recollections to collate what remains of them on here before they degrade any further. The amount of effort taken to recall happenings from more than ten years ago was brought home to me during my yet incomplete act of adding photograph dates to the photo gallery you find here. They have yet to make their appearance anywhere other than the test version that I have of this website; Ireland and Scotland are covered so Wales and England remain outstanding and there's a good collection of photos for those nations on here. It's just as well that I have this as a place of reference for those occasions when the troubles of life have erased memories that should be retained.
August 28th, 2000
Things were simpler in my early days because there weren't many trips away and even these could be associated with some other even to extract a date. Take the English & Welsh Summer Bank Holiday weekend of 2000. The Sunday saw me head on my first-ever trip to Wales, where I pottered towards the Swallow Falls from Betws-y-Coed on a day when the weather steadily improved after a damp start. There was a visit to Llanrwst and Gwydir Castle too, so it was a fairly full day. Also, my memories of it aren't too patchy and having a compact camera that added dates to the photos that it took helps reconstruction of recollections too.
The next day saw me head out on my bike for a journey that eventually took me as far as Lyme Park. That wasn't as planned as that first encounter with Wales, and my memories of the day are more hazy, too. It was sunny until I passed Rainow, before becoming less and less satisfied with the ups and downs of the landscape and the B5470; a road bike with no first gear and untrusted brakes is not an appropriate companion around those parts. There were good moments took and Rainow's a pretty place that I keep revisiting. There also was a stationery Massey Ferguson tractor that looked like it dated from the 1960's, and it was operating a backhoe loader without any throttle applied behind the engine's idling speed, a strange state of circumstances.
My cross-country route after that is lost to me, but a wetting from a passing shower beyond Pott Shrigley has stayed with me. One turning for Higher Poynton was passed before I used another, and that's where I needed to don waterproofs. They weren't needed for long, and I next recall coming onto the A6 near High Lane. The entrance to Lyme Park wasn't far from there, even if it was getting later in the day at that point. Even with bank holiday traffic and the need for a right turn, it is the long avenue into Lyme Park that was the more memorable.
My Ricoh GR 20 was pressed into action, though the fading light of that time of day exposed its limitations, ensuring that an SLR purchase was made within the following twelve months. The sun still did its best, and I reconnoitred some promising viewpoints for future visits. Those early seeds have come in handy since then, and the ride home along the A6 and the A523 went without incident and was quicker than the way there.
2003
Reading one of Mark Richards' Fellranger guides reminded me how sunny and dry much of 2003 was (that was when he did the research for it) and I got out into hill country quite a few times as a result. Apart from the low points of running out of colour camera film beside Loch Etive and getting several soakings in Fort William during a foolhardy week in Scotland at the end of July, it is the high points that stand out for me. A Summer bank Holiday Weekend spent around Fort William that featured a stunning walk along the West Highland Way from Kinlochleven to Glen Nevis set that July misadventure to rights, and there were multiple visits to Keswick to sample its surroundings. So many were made in March that the exertions could have run me down to the point of illness that Easter. August then saw a few that poured balm on a psyche wounded by poor look with my choice of week in Scotland. It felt as if my luck had run out with that country and I had been around Oban at the start of November 2002 when there were wet and stormy conditions, so I was wondering if that had blighted me. Any trace of that fatalism has been more than well banished.
With those more notable hill wanderings, it appears that they displaced recollections of visits to Lyme Park, and I now reckon that there were at three of these during 2003. The first was near the end of a walk along the Gritstone Trail between Bollington and Disley early in the year, maybe at the start of February. That trot had me venturing through misty hill country that retained some evidence of wintry weather in places. It was under cloudy skies when I entered Lyme Park, so the conditions were not conducive to photography, and my mind was more focussed on reaching Disley before it got too dark anyway. Quite why I had to discover the point of crampons on sheet ice now only can be explained by feckless fatigue. Even if my legs ended up above my hips momentarily as a result, no damage was done apart from a feeling of bewildered foolishness and self chiding. The right equipment would be put to use in the same circumstances now.
With fading light, there had been no opportunity but to scud through Lyme Park, even if I recall skies clearing as the sun declined. So, while I had passed closer by The Cage than previously was the case, a sighting in better had to wait. While I considered that this was addressed during an autumnal visit, looking through photos suggests that I did it during the spring before leaves appeared on trees. That's not to say that there has been no autumnal visit like that around ten years ago, but I am having to leave things at that because one's memory only can take so much scrutiny.
What is more memorable is a visit from July 2003 when I finally had the brighter light that I didn't have on that first visit and the access that I was denied on those which took place away from the peak season. A cycle along the Middlewood Way took me to Marple, and getting from there to Lyme Park revealed how fatigued it had made me. While at my destination, I paid to access the gardens where some of the BBC's then recent adaptation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice had been filmed. An SLR with a selection of lenses had accompanied me, but my use of print film and ever milky skies thwarted the ambitions that lay in my head. The results of my endeavours only were discovered later, so they did not spoil the day. That, and the need to try again, ensured that more encounters followed.
January 2005
For some reason, I got it into my head that I acquired my first ever DSLR in January 2006. In fact, my Canon EOS 10D arrived a year earlier and the fact that a hard drive mishap was the cause of losing photos taken with it in 2005 and 2006 didn't help for a correct recollection either. Then, film photography was my mainstay, so it didn't bother my that much, though I now realise that certain files that I could have done with keeping got lost. Now that I mainly use digital photography, it's small wonder that I have more than one copy of any image that I create.
Other memories of 2005 weren't much clearer, even though it was a good year for exploring hill country. That around Llangollen and Dolgellau got to see me a fair bit, and there were successful trips to Scotland too. One weekend saw me trotting across Mull at its narrowest point and embark on a mad circuit that took in Glen Strae, Lairig Dhoireann, Glen Kinglass and Loch Etive. The latter should have been started earlier in the day for I arrived at Taynuilt Hotel looking to book a taxi far later than I'd have liked (a dour Scotsman got me sorted though, and a friendly barman offered to keep me company while awaiting the taxi's arrival, so all was well in the end). Even with showers frequenting the start of the walk, memorable views were savoured and a combination of film photography and printing off the best digital images ensured that nothing important was lost. A July visit to Skye may have been foreshadowed by an attempted terrorist attack in London (22/7, if you need to ask) when my brother (never the luckiest of folk, it needs saying) was visiting the place, but a memorable trot from Elgol to Sligachan is an experience that I'll always treasure. The ensuing yomp about the Trotternish may not have been of the same calibre, but it was no disappointment either.
With those highlights, it might be forgivable that I cannot work out exactly whether it was January or February when a walk took me to Lyme Park. A loss of digital records doesn't help either, but I was testing out the EOS 10D when I did so. The hike itself followed part of the Macclesfield Canal before I veered cross-country to Pott Shrigley. From there, I decided to make for the Gritstone Trail for a sunny entrance on foot into Lyme Park. However, cloud invaded the sky before I stepped onto the long-distance trail to thwart what dreams I had of sun-blessed Derbyshire hills. The visibility certainly was an improvement on what I got in 2003 though, so it was by no means a complete disappointment. Lyme Park may have been under dull skies when I reached it, but a walk had been enjoyed, and that was the main thing.
August 22nd, 2009
Being of a more recent vintage, my August 2009 visit to Lyme Park is better remembered so far, and having a full set of dated photos helps too. To make sure that those recollections are somewhere for reference, I'll stick them down here, too. In some ways, this was a repeat of that July 2003 visit in that I cycled all the way there from Macclesfield. A combination of the Middlewood Way, the Macclesfield Canal and the A6 saw to that. It may surprise some to learn that I reckoned the Macclesfield Canal towpath to be the least suited of all these for cycling, and that seems to apply to its full length, even if there are those like me who give using it like this a go.
Having come by bike early in the day, I had some time to expend. In many ways, this proved to be the most satisfying of all my visits. Good photos could be made for once using the mix of sunshine and blue skies. While not being tired like on that July 2003 trip, I still relished the opportunity of lounging a while and wondering if long-distance walking actually deprived me of such chances at times. The way home was nowhere near as direct as on the very first visit in August 2000 since I went for a cross-country route under clouding skies. Exiting the Park using a back avenue that wasn't very suitable for bikes, even mountain ones, and is even less so following a bridge closure, I made my way onto Mudhurst Lane and followed it as it turned into Higher Lane until I reached the B5470. That road in turn was left for Bakestonedale Road into Pott Shrigley, from where I journeyed through Bollington and onto home on very familiar roads after going along a few that were new to me. Because there were steep inclines that I just didn't fancy because of my lack of trust in bicycle braking or my ability to steer at speed on downhill sections, I often dismounted and walked the bike instead. Given that this was a day out and not a commute, there was little point in rushing anyway, and that was emphasised by my arrival home at a very respectable hour early in the evening too.
November 23rd, 2012
Last November saw me make my most recent visit, and that was the cause of inspiring me to collect these thoughts in the first place. It was a reprise of the walk from Bollington to Disley from early. This time around, I had clear blue skies for much of the walk and some sunshine. Once I had savoured views towards Derbyshire hills under better conditions than I ever had before, I could drop into Lyme Park and linger a little while. Clouds did take over the sky by this time, but I wasn't bothered. The walk was needed and there was plenty to enjoy while the sun stayed with me. In fact, there is much more to say about this trot, so I'll leave things at this teaser. The full account is next on my list of trip reports (one that is not afflicted by a patchy memory would be good, at least for later reference) and I'll not be abandoning Lyme Park either if I can help it. It may feel as if I have seen most of what it has to offer, but there is any harm in revisiting spots with which there is a certain familiarity anyway. If anything, that makes for more relaxation because there is little reason to dash about it, which is a very good thing.
Three Trots about Tatton Park
23rd June 2013 During November and December of last year, I got to visit Tatton Park on no less than three different Saturday afternoons. It was the prospect of autumnal foliage on trees that drew me out on the first of these, though it took the second for that promise to become a reality. Life at the time was such that I was unable to summon the energy needed to go further afield on what were promising sunny days. Normally, I would explain this by referring to end of year fatigue, but things were happening over in Ireland that were playing on my mind too and quite a lot has changed over there for our family since then.
November 3rd, 2012
Sometimes, it feels that it takes more than one attempt before some things can be achieved. That probably shouldn't have been the case with my first attempt to enter Tatton Park via its Dog Wood entrance. Before then, things looked very promising, and The Moor did its best to detain me but I was focussed on the supposed plan in hand. In the end, I did walk the circuit around Tatton Mere, but not before a moment of madness brought on by a wrong turn. Only for stubbornness, I could have avoided soaking my footwear on soft ground and ripping a perfectly good jacket. Once at home later that evening, the trail shoes were dried and the jacket replaced in an attempt to assuage grumpiness at my own human frailty.
With the navigational flaw sorted, I was on the right track through Dog Wood with warning signs compelling walkers to stay on the track through the Site of Special Scientific Interest. That it was best to obey the signs was not at all lost on me because of my earlier blundering. The shore of Tatton Mere was not at all far away, though clouds had staged a takeover of the sky during my time spent among trees. Such was the cloudiness that my camera stayed largely inactive for the remainder of the day. Rounding the head of the mere, I made for the main park avenue. Dull skies would have given me little reason to stick around, and wet feet only gave me more reason to keep going.
That's not to say that photographic possibilities weren't logged because there were Melchett Meres and views towards Tatton Hall to be used. They were left for later as I got myself into Knutsford again. It was then that I realised that the clouds possessed a payload that was to be dropped: rain. That didn't stop the use of window shopping and trotting in and out of shops as a means to while away the time until the next bus to Macclesfield. It was during this that I spotted a branch of Rohan with winter down jackets in the window. Their water-resistant properties may have interested me but I was not in a mood for shopping after my self-inflicted mishap, so prices later were checked on the web. That investigation was enough to stall any impulse buying to the point that I discovered that a Mountain Equipment down jacket that I already own was water-resistant anyway, negating the need to add to my collection.
November 10th, 2012
Having dried out my footwear and replaced the ripped jacket, the next trip to Tatton Park was to be vastly more successful. For one thing, the sun stayed out for all of that afternoon until nightfall, which was a bonus. That I now knew the right way to the Dog Wood entrance to Tatton Park helped speed things too. That wasn't to say that I rushed by Knutsford Moor either, even if I wasn't dawdling either. On reaching the shore of Tatton Mere, I had to share space with a dog walker before moving further along. A later rise of ground came in useful for making whatever photos I could of Tatton Hall and overflying aircraft on their way from nearby Manchester Airport to whatever was their destination.
My amble then took me on towards Tatton's Old Hall and what remains on the ground of the old estate village that preceded the present day town of Knutsford. After that, I meandered through the deer park and herds of those animals were showing well. It was just as well that the rutting season was over with so many folk about to take in the sights of these majestic animals and views towards the hills lining the Cheshire-Derbyshire boundary. It was easy to pick out the likes of Shining Tor (Cheshire's county top as I was surprised to recently discover), Shutlingsloe and Croker Hill if you knew their outline and living in the area for more than a decade has given me that knowledge.
At the Memorial Stone commemorating the use of the Deer Park for parachuting practice during World War 2, I turned towards Tatton's New Hall and was granted many more deer sightings as I went that way. Others were taking their ease to look at the creatures too, even those in cars on their way into the park. At one point, I managed to spook a stag whose sight had entranced one of those car drivers, so my fieldcraft needs a lot more development and I hope that I didn't ruin anyone's day. Having had no altercation thanks to any clumsiness, I went around the new hall to discover a good location from which to make a close up photo of the grand house. However, fading evening light thwarted my attempts at capturing what lay before me and there was a wedding on there anyway, so having to leave for another time was no cause for complaint.
Then, I followed the southern shore of Melchett Mere and found boggy conditions as I did so. Being shod in boots and a knockabout pair of jeans meant any muddying was of no perturbation to my state of mind. Crossing the main avenue through the park, I made for a quieter path towards the gate, so there was no need for awareness of passing traffic. More views over Tatton Mere followed to complete a satisfying day. It was a world away from the disgruntlement that I had felt the week before and nothing but a sense of quiet satisfaction pervaded the bus journey home.
December 1st, 2012
At the end of November, my mother needed to go for a planned stay in hospital and it revealed some disturbing news about her health. That left me shaken by thoughts of her not being around with us for that much longer and thoughts turned to getting out for a walk somewhere in an attempt to clear my head. Hearing the sound of her voice on the phone again after she returned home was undoubtedly the lift that I needed and it's a memory that I treasure all the more now that she no longer is with us. While she was shaky over the Christmas and New Year period, she did seem to rally afterwards and grow a little stronger. However, it was an infection in March that returned her to hospital for the final time and meant that a new life had to be constructed without her being there for us.
Ironically, I went and pulled a cracker when it came to the weather that I had for that Tatton Park visit for it was an afternoon of unrestricted sunshine with clear blue skies overhead. If anything, it appeared that the weather was doing its utmost to brighten my life and I made plenty of photographic use of the sunny conditions. The walk was a variation of those I had done before with my mind being set on getting near Tatton Hall before the sun became too low in the sky. The itinerary took me through Knutsford, by The Moor, though Dog Wood and along the shore of Tatton Mere. The trees were more bare than was the case in November, but stragglers of leaves were hanging on, so autumn was not a memory just then anyway.
Once at the head of Tatton Mere, I crossed the main estate avenue to pick up a good path to the north of Melchett Mere and so avoided the boggy patches that I crossed on my previous visit. Plenty of folk were out and about and planes flying overhead, but neither detracted from the splendour that surrounded me and there was more to come.
Tatton Park may have its own herds of deer but I wasn't expecting the sight that greeted me and I approached my vantage point for Tatton Hall: some stags walked ever nonchalantly one after another as they crossed from one patch of rough pasture to another. That the autumn rut was well ended was proven by their ignoring a throng of hinds who grazed just by the hall. It was a magical encounter that added to my seeing the hall well lit by the sun. Trees may have been in shadow but it was a matter of making the best of what was there and to grumble would have been most ungrateful.
With photographic errands completed, I started to make my way back towards Knutsford again. This time around, I passed a folly named The Temple before continuing towards Moss Plantation and noting any signs instructing folk against going right through it so as not to disturb tree roots. Being at a certain elevation affording good views of the hills near Macclesfield from over Tatton Mere. It's a viewpoint worth exploring again now that summer is with us.
While going this way, I found a freshly lost woollen glove that got handed in at a booth on my out in case anyone wished to get it back again. More likely, the owner gave up on it but I thought it to be better to get it in out of the weather anyway. With that piece of civic mindedness completed, I went into Knutsford with ample time to spare before the next bus. It was the sort of day that you'd be thinking of lingering, but that wasn't my state of mind at the mind. The outing had been restorative and that was what was asked of it. Before I left for home, I tried out the fare at the café in Booth's supermarket and it set me up well for the evening too.
More?
Since the passing of my mother, there has been a lot of walking with Derbyshire taking up a well-deserved amount of my attention for longer outings. Cheshire is doing its bit too, especially with lunchtime and evening strolls though there have been longer trots through nearby hills too. So far, there hasn't been a return to Tatton Park, though I do fancy the thought of visiting earlier in the day after a spot of breakfast in Knutsford (maybe Booth's, but there are other places). There is more photography that can be done and we have a different season now too. Spring is past us for 2013 so it's a question of being more selective about times of day to get the best light and you can get over constraints like those. Life itself goes on and restorative walking always has a place.
Travel Arrangements:
Return trips on bus service 27 between Macclesfield and Knutsford.
A little something for knocking around
17th June 2013 My first pair of walking boots were suede items from Salomon and I have stuck with them until long after that suede began to crack up due to wear and tear. Once they seemed too worn to be taken out on more demanding hikes, they were relegated to low level nearby trots. Currently, they reside at my place of work though I never really got to using them for lunchtime escapades in the likes of Lindow Common or The Carrs.
The hill wandering duties originally performed by those Salomons are now undertaken by a pair of Meindl Burmas that now are beyond four years of age and look as if they have many more miles in them yet. The leather may be scuffed and the soles showing a share of wear, but neither is anything that precludes their use on longer hill wandering outings. Prior to my fitting them with Superfeet insoles, they always felt hard on my feet at the end of long walks. That was something that I put down to my getting them in a sale for around £100 and does not stop my buying more boots with the Meindl name on them.
Even with that hardness more or less addressed, wearing them on lower level walks does feel like overkill. For that reason, I have been considering the option of fabric boots for those lower level walks. A review comparing a selection of such items caught my eye in Country Walking recently and what really surprised me were the prices; many cost more than my Meindls. Paying £150 for a pair of fabric boots is not that different from the amount of money that leather boots cost so I was resigned to remaining on the fence unless a tempting offer came my way.
Yesterday, such a thing did happen: I saw pairs of Regatta Crossland Mid boots on sale for £32 each in Matalan yesterday. Even without knowing that the recommended retail price was £70, it looked a good deal and I settled on a size 9 pair in grey and black for myself (size 8 ones felt a little too cosy around the toe for my liking). The soles do have chunky lugs and there is own-brand waterproofing, but my intended use for these is for low-level strolling when conditions get a little too muddy for trail shoes. Already, the new boots have been out on a short stroll by the River Bollin and there are no complaints from me about them so far. That revealed that the soles are not the stiffest since it was possible to feel the ground over which I was travelling, especially on gravel tracks. Because there have been times when stiff soles have divorced my feet so much from the ground under them that confidence in their gripped is dented, I am not complaining about this hint that these are not mountaineering boots. The main thing is that they fit me and that the lacing secures my feet in them.
While I get to make more use of the Regattas, I may add a stronger pair of fabric boots to their number. It'll stay on the back burner for now because there are plenty of other higher priority matters in life for me at the moment. A wish list never is a bad thing to possess either, though.
An archaeological dig
6th June 2013 It's a lovely sunny summer evening as I write this and there have been times when I was out and about in the sunshine during the past few weeks. Last Sunday afternoon saw me trot from the Cat and Fiddle Inn back to my house. Spying a useful right of way that dropped me down from Shining Tor to Lamaload Reservoir was the cause of taking me around there though my hopes of seeing the former in sunshine largely came to not as much as I'd hoped. However, there was sun to be enjoyed while I was around Shining Tor and a peaceful atmosphere pervaded much of the walk so I wasn't embittered. There was no rushing about either as I continued to Rainow and then along Ingersley Vale to Bollington. The Macclesfield Canal and the Middlewood Way were what conveyed me much of the rest of the way home without the itinerary feeling overly long. In fact, I can foresee another wander by Lamaload happening when a chance offers itself.
The previous bank holiday weekend should have seen me do more with it but for fatigue and computer tinkering taking from my resolve. The greatest extent of my outdoors wandering wasn't to be limited to various shopping errands or watching Terry Abraham's The Cairngorms in Winter with Chris Townsend, though. The latter turned out to be a pleasing use of time with there being plenty of stunning countryside to ogle; the quality of the film footage was stunning. While the Cairngorms were the star of this film, Chris got to draw us to the area by tracing his love of wild country. The realities of camping (it includes bothy usage), walking, snowshoeing and skiing in winter mountains got a necessary airing and the featuring of a walk through the Lairig Ghru that was abandoned was no harm either. If that was insufficient, there is a wealth of social outdoors history surrounding the Cairngorms that could have been added too, but the sparing of that probably got us looking at the scenery more closely. After all, that was centre stage in this production and with a stirring soundtrack too. It probably was odd to be enjoying this film with sunny weather outside, and that's how it was, but I was lured out as far as Tegg's Nose on the Sunday evening. Just like a warm summer evening among Scottish hills, it too was quiet and peaceful as I took in the views towards Shutlingsloe on a circuit that took me by Langley and Sutton along paths and tracks that I have travelled a fair few times, so often that I hardly need a map for these any more.
Alongside all of this and midweek evening walks around Macclesfield's Riverside Park, I got the idea of adding more details to photos featured in the site's photo gallery. These include the camera used and the date that the photo was made. The first of these is not too hard to recall, but dates have been the more trickery because there have been times when I have wondered if part of my memory managed to fall into some sort of black hole. The blog certainly has helped from mid-2006 on and the move to digital photography almost nails your dates for you. Before both of those, unless a certain scarcity of trips, coincidence with a memorable event or the imprinting of dates on photos helps. There also is the trawling of old emails (yes, inertia has meant that more of these have been retained than might seem conventional) to see when train tickets were booked and peering at now historical calendars. The last two of these especially have a more archaeological feel to them, hence the title of the post. The fact that dates do not surface without some effort for trips between 2004 and 2006 is a reminder to me that I should be thinking of improving records for the future. After all, you never know what another bout of stress can do to a memory and, like anyone, I have had a share of that in recent years.
The addition of that extra information to the photo gallery continues and some refreshed or new photos are to come online too when all is done. Looking at those older photos has another effect too. When you see a photo and think that it can be improved, then a trip idea emerges. It already has been the cause of retracing some steps in the Peak District and it may be that 2013 could be a year spent exploring more of this alluring part of the world. What has been in my mind for a little while is a potential walk from Edale to Hayfield or Glossop that follows Grindsbrook Clough at the start so as to replace a photo that dates from the Summer bank Holiday Monday of 2001. Hopefully, it can happen before we lose the current run of good weather. There also is walking north along the West Highland Way from Bridge of Orchy, at least as far as Kinlochleven, to see if I can better photos from previous outings along the route of that well trodden trail. With the way life is going for me now, that is a longer-term ambition and it's always good to have them.
Things may be quieter on here these days, but the walking continues and I need to add a number of trip reports, as you can see from the Trip Reports to Come page. What's needed is the summoning of energy and it's hard to commit to scribbling them when sunshine is peering in your window as it is this evening.
