What originally was a news section for the rest of the website soon became a place for me to write about human-powered wanderings in the countryside. Photography inspires me to get out there, mostly on foot these days, though cycling got me started. Musings on the wider context of outdoor activity complete the picture, so I hope that there is something of interest in all that you find here. Thank you for coming!
“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.
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.
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.
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.
There has been a trip report hiatus on here. The cause was my assembling a visitor guide to Canada. Even with automation and GenAI, that took quite a bit of time; in contrast, this trip report is handwritten, not machine-spewed. There were quite a few websites to process, and Canada is a very big country. It could have been that I bit off more than I should be chewing. While breaking the assemblage apart now seems sensible, I will leave that for later. The whole effort may tempt me to return to the place yet.
Thinking about the delights of Canada turns out to be vastly more exciting than thinking back to 2021, a year when the big story was the roll-out of vaccinations for everyone. Some jumped at the chance to put the pandemic behind them, while others took a more cautious approach; I was one of the latter.
Even with a single dose of the vaccine, I still took things slowly. It helped that I had other things to do, and had acclimated to the situation anyway. There was no venturing beyond the counties of Cheshire, Derbyshire and Staffordshire for me. That applied to the Spring Bank Holiday weekend at the end of May that year.
Saturday was typical of what happened in the run-up to the weekend. There may have been a good deal of sunshine that spring, yet I stayed local all the while. The most memorable thing about Easter of that year was that all Easter Eggs had been sold; there were none left in the shops when I went looking. Otherwise, things were slowly opening after the winter lockdown. That was the backdrop to an evening cycle that took me around by Gawsworth.
The next day, Sunday, was hardly any more dramatic. The sunny weather allowed for a walk from Disley back to Macclesfield that avoided Lyme Park while taking passing Lamaload Reservoir. These parts were becoming very familiar to me through passing through them so often. The real bliss was in how few were going the same way; perhaps others were going further afield, leaving me with the reassurance of solitude. After all the restrictions, it might have been the others were getting bored, and I remember moans about the behaviour of visitors to the Lake District earlier that year. My own search for added novelty got going in 2022 when I could get as far as Ireland.
Stitching together frayed memories, I now realise that a Bank Holiday amble from Monyash to Bakewell was not quite the reprise of earlier ones going between the two places. The hint was my following the Limestone Way out of Monyash. Instead of venturing into and through Lathkill Dale as I had been thinking, I avoided it. Instead, I passed One Ash Farm and descended into Cales Dale only to climb out of it again, a steep down and up for my legs.
It all shows that there is an aspect of plateau about these parts, with dales being cut into that over the passage of geological time. Staying out of those gouges for at least a while had me going around by Low Wood, a Peak District National Park property. Thus far, I got the sense that I was facing a busier day than the one before. While there were quiet moments, more were drawn out by the sunshine, like I was.
My target was the River Bradford, and it was here where I would encounter quite a few groups going the way, adding discomfiture to this single vaccinated wanderer. Nevertheless, there were ample opportunities to admire the bucolic surroundings. Even so, my designs on following the river all the day to Bradford were stymied by gatherings on its banks. To look at these, one would think that the pandemic never happened.
Instead, I left the river to go through the village of Youlgreave before continuing to Bakewell on a hazy afternoon when the warmth of the sun could be felt. Maybe the sense of summer was the cause of there being so many sunseekers along the banks of the River Bradford. Piecing together the way from Youlgreave to Bakewell is a puzzle created by the passage of time. There are hints, like the spending of time in a cemetery away from the town centre. Any hint of a crossing over the River Lathkill by means of Conksbury Bridge appears plausible yet cannot be confirmed. The recollections are as hazy as the afternoon was. One thing is clear, the mix of road and path was not one that I followed before.
The thing that is better etched into my mind was how busy Bakewell was when I got to the heart of the place. There was a wait for the bus home, and it did not feel very comfortable about the lack of any form of social distancing. It felt like the pandemic had ended for many, and they were getting back to what they did before it. This was going to grow as the year continued; this was something that I needed to learn to handle. After all, there were signs of slippage with mask wearing on the way home, even if I bore no lasting consequences.
Getting to Disley on Sunday was by train with a change in Stockport. On Monday, there was a return journey on bus service 58, getting off in Monyash on the outbound journey and embarking from Bakewell on the way back to Macclesfield.