Category: Long Distance Trails
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Seeking quiet, being cautious around others
23rd October 2024 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.
Travel Arrangements
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.
Heading south and east from Hayfield in three seasons
8th October 2024 Assembling an account with more than one hike can get tricky; the amount of variation is what catches you. For one thing, the routes can alter, even in the middle of a hike. A chill in the air, a feeling of lethargy and a desire for quieter surroundings all contribute to decision-making. If they were all alike, what would be the point of writing about them and then reading these afterwards?
Here, there are three seasons: autumn, summer and winter. The order may seem wrong, yet in fits the calendar order from 2020 through 2021 to 2022. Photos were made with three cameras: one acquired in 2019, another from 2013 and one more from 2021. Only for the hiking year order, these again would look out of sequence. Not everything gets lined up as one might expect.
All the traipsing around Derbyshire reflects one more thing: the progression of a global pandemic. The revisiting of old haunts and the finding of their previously unexplored corners was a consequence of this. This was not a time for globe-trotting. Otherwise, it was a matter of inspiration and opportunity working within weather windows and other constraints. It all makes for a more organic approach to hill wandering.
Any Illusion of Endless Summer Gets Shattered
The decision to divert an ostensible Hayfield to Hope hike to end in Chapel-en-le-Frith was done up front. The idea of continuing further est never occurred to me. To my mind, the extent felt long enough. However, I was to find that it was shorter than I sensed it would be. Only later did I note Rushup Edge on the map and the possibility it opened.
An unseasonably warm September was coming to a chilly end. Nevertheless, I was lured to Hayfield anyway. This became the finale to a year which turned out better for hill going than the onset of a global pandemic would suggest. There was a lot of good weather and a desire to get out of the house, which helps with these things.
The arrival into and departure from Hayfield was under brighter skies than the previous encounter in July. Even with the portents of clouded skies offered in the forecast, they felt far away at that stage. The first portion of my amble was along the Pennine Bridleway, before I deviated around by Stubbs Farm for added quietness in advance of rejoining the Pennine Bridleway again. A portion of relative solitude had been won.
Once I began to gain height, the views began to open up around me. Clouds were on their way from the north, yet there was plenty of splendour to savour before everything changed. This was a vantage point from which to peer at what lay around Kinder Scout, vistas of which I never tire. They offered rest breaks while gradients tested the legs.
Around Higher Heys Farm, the slopes eased a bit before they stiffened around Mount Famine. An illusion about how far it was to Chapel-en-le-Frith may have kept me off that top. Cloud cover was coming fast at this stage anyway, so views may have been impaired in any case. That certainly was how things became by the time that I neared South Head. Again, I stayed on the Pennine Bridleway instead of reaching its summit.
It was when I was bypassing South Head that I really felt the chill to the point that I concluded that I was underdressed for it. Going more lightweight meant that my layering was less proficient than I needed. Since this was no time to dawdle, I continued on my way. Later, my decision to go this way had me reproaching it until a later walk set it to rights.
A decision point lay ahead and put this question to me: do I stay on the Pennine Bridleway or go around by Brown Knoll? The proximity of Chapel-en-le-Frith had dawned on me at this stage. The hours of daylight may have declining at that time of year, yet arriving there within an hour or two felt too soon to me.
Thus, I left the track to go across the moor on what I was expecting to be a muddy path. That was how it appeared at the start, too. However, it eventually became a flagged affair, which surprised me because this is not a right of way. The ability to travel is supported by this being access land, and I reckon that the Peak District National Park must take a more active part in its maintenance too.
The more appealing surface lured me along. If I had continued straight, the path would have conveyed me to Edale Cross. However, I turned right to pass the trig point at Brown Knoll. Others were out too, so this is not an unknown corner of the High Peak. Even with leaving room for others, good progress was made to reach the Chapel Gate track.
After more decent and noting the way to Rushup Edge, I was on Sheffield Road, not far from where the Pennine Bridleway would have brought me. That might have been rejoined to continue south or even return to Hayfield. Instead, I sought out a public footpath that bring me onto a lane near Sparrowpit that would take me past Blackbrook.
My recollection of this time is of heavy grey skies, yet photos show some blueness breaking through. The surroundings also were far quieter than what I had travelled in the moors. While that was relished, there was also a growing sense of anticlimax. It increased on the approach to Chapel-en-le-Frith on lanes and other roads until I fortuitously met with a bus stop moments before the next bus to Buxton. The greyness would not help to dispel that overriding emotion.
The rest of 2020 would see no more outings as substantial as this one, so there was an element of finality about it. Computing and exercise walks would sustain me through a restricted winter. Something that had waylaid me in spring had come to accommodation in autumn. Others may not have felt likewise at this stage, weathering one dreary spell was one thing, but doing the same for another may have felt like too much. Thankfully, that is not how it was for me.
Doing Some Tops While Bypassing the Great Ridge
A lot had happened between September 2020 and the following June. Vaccines were available, and the inoculation program was in full flow. For me, that meant that one of two jabs were received by the end of April. The initial wait for the second one was until early July before that was cut to the end of June, a weekend when others were invited to come forward, adding to a certain discomfiture at the time.
It was between these vaccination appointments that a return to Hayfield happened. After the number of outings during 2020, 2021 became a pale reflection. Novelty had dissipated, and it did not help that computing and weightier reading material had sapped some of the energy available for it. The way that everything kept changing also was no help, and an exceptional July heatwave added icing to the proverbial cake.
Even so, there were some bright spots that could inspire other trip reports. A hike from Monsal to Bakewell at the end of May is one possibility. In the middle of June, there was another from Leek to Macclesfield that may be worth recounting. At the end of August, two things happened. One was a trot from Miller's Dale to Castleton; the other was a spate of them going across Comb's Moss. Night walking took hold later in the year, not that so much can be written about that. Autumn and winter walks from Buxton and Macclesfield may be worth recounting too.
None of these got into my compilation of trip resumes, a waiting area for extended trip reports. A mixture of distractions, lethargy and loss of interest all possibly had something to do with it. Talking about an ongoing pandemic becomes increasingly tedious as time goes on, which did not help either. Looking back on it now, even with faded memories, possibly works better. It adds more flesh to the writing.
One prompt for getting out in early June 2021 was the prospect of sunny weather. There may have been a wait for a second course of vaccination, but life could not be put on hold. Thus, I could fit in some summits on a hike from Hayfield to Hope. This time, there was no deviation via Stubbs Farm, so it was a case of following the Pennine Bridleway all the way to the flank of Mount Famine, a top apparently named for the Irish Great Famine. The world can feel small at times.
The surrounding views were of cloud-shadowed hillsides, adding a dappled appearance to things. If caught under one, there was a wait before sunlit photography could resume. That was a small grumble given the other goodness on offer. Others were drawn out too, and my wariness about proximity to others had grown over the winter; keeping oneself ready for the completion of vaccination was another contributing factor. Thus, I was glad to leave the Pennine Bridleway to make ample use of the freedom of access land; the routing could be relaxed, and I possibly had the place to myself too.
On returning to the Pennine Bridleway, I was set to leave it again very soon after. A crossing of South Head was not refused this time around. While the slopes may have been steep, the resulting views were worth the added effort. It also helped that an annoyance from the preceding September had been remediated. Once I was down on the track again, the path to Brown Knoll was at hand.
Cloudy skies had beset the previous encounter with Brown Knoll, so it felt good to be in its vicinity under sun-filled skies. Bog cotton dappled the moors as I trampled the mix of boggy and flagged paths around there. On reaching the Chapel Gate track, I turned for Rushup Edge instead of the way leading towards Chapel-en-le-Frith. This was rough underfoot, but the forbearance was rewarded.
Since the views turned out to be extensive, there was no way that I was going to have the place to myself. To my left, they led the eye into Edale and onto Kinder Scout, and what lay around that. To my right, I was gazing towards Hope and Castleton. Looking straight ahead drew the eye towards Mam Tor and the Great Ridge. If Rushup Edge was attracting attention, then the Great Ridge had to be busy. Restrictions on space and previous visits made me partly bypass it for another way.
First, I had to get down to the road going past Mam Tor on a way up from Edale. The steepness and the amount of erosion made that inelegant, yet it worked out for me. Another right of way popped me onto tarmac that was offering a more direct way towards Blue John Cavern. While such a honeypot may not have been so apt in the circumstances, it offered a useful opportunity for getting refreshments in the heat of the day.
Seeing the remains of the abandoned A625 and the damage inflicted by underlying unstable geology was another attraction of going around there. The apparent freshness of road markings etched itself into my memory, a surprise given the passage of time. Following this direction of travel led me to Mam Farm and quieter surroundings. While others may have been plodding above me, I felt less troubled as I passed Woodseats and Only Grange Farm.
Beyond the latter, I needed to rejoin the Great Ridge around Back Tor to enter Brockett Booth Plantation. That was accomplished in a less than auspicious manner; the slopes were steep and occasionally boggy, too. Lose Hill got bypassed on the way to Hope village, thus cutting the encounter with the busy ridge to a minimum. Some were asking the way to Castleton as I did so, and I pointed the way as best as I could before continuing on my descent route. Once in Hope, I topped up with more refreshments before heading for the train station to start on my way home.
Including the Great Ridge, While Omitting Previously Trampled Summits
If anyone had thought that two courses of vaccination were enough in the middle of 2021, there was a more infectious variant at the end of the year that meant another inoculation for many, myself included. Restrictions reappeared, which added confidence in my case. These were less onerous, thankfully. Thus, a hike from Buxton to Macclesfield preceded Christmas that year, along with other excursions.
2022 began with a few, too. The first was an urban outing to Sheffield that preceded the trek from Hayfield to Hope that is described here. That became followed by one from Congleton to Macclesfield that reprised another from the previous July. Soon after that, it was back to work again in advance of coming novelties. Ireland became where I found international travel mojo again, while Marsden became the hub of a springtime Pennine Way project. Otherwise, Wales, Cumbria and Scotland all saw my footfall again. Novelty was returning on a phased basis.
Now that I think of it, it must have been the sunlit journeying between Macclesfield and Sheffield that returned the Great Ridge to my mind after largely avoiding it the previous June. Another yomp from Hayfield to Hope was in the offing. This one avoided the tops of Mount Famine and South Head. Otherwise, there was a frosty start along the Pennine Bridleway.
As following the Pennine Bridleway increased how high I was, the views opened around me. Since the sun was lower in the sky, shadows also were longer and there were more of them. None took from the delight at being out among these sunlit hillsides again. One should not tire of these surroundings, especially when they alter through the seasons.
There were no diversions to the tops of Mount Famine or South Head this time round, and no regrets at not doing so either. The curtailed hours of daylight might have been enough cause to keep such forays under control, yet the real decider was my being sated while there in June. In any case, I fancied seeing what I could capture photographically along the northern slopes of South Head. Shadows cast by the low sun would foil this to a point; it was just as well that I made something of the same sights during my June hike.
Again, I was bound for Brown Knoll. Thus, I left the Pennine Bridleway like the two walks described earlier. While frozen ground often can be less wetting, I am not sure if that was completely the case around there. Frost was lingering in places after the night before, a feature of crisp January days like the one that I was enjoying.
After Brown Knoll, I was again bound overhead the railway tunnel that carries trains between Manchester and Sheffield, one through which I often travel. It has a name too: the Cowburn Tunnel. In keeping with named objects, I bound for a named track, Chapel Gate. From that, I was headed for Rushup Edge.
Again, that offered panoramic views all around me. Less were out along it than on my previous trot along it, too. Many shadows were being cast, not that they took from any photos I made. In many ways, they added a little something. This might have been winter, yet there was a lot of green on view, the winter sun lit that wonderfully.
If I had thought that enough were back at work to ensure that the Great Ridge was deserted, I was wrong on that point. Going along the path that runs over Mam Tor, Hollins Cross, Back Tor and Lose Hill was a matter of getting over that state of affairs, not that it intruded that greatly at the time. This still was better than during the previous summer, and there were pleasing sights to savour too.
That was while daylight held because the day was nearer the arrival of nightfall. That much is evident from any photos made on the top of Lose Hill. Thankfully, I could capture a scene with Win Hill in it before then. Making for Hope's train station before daylight finally failed became a priority. Even so, care still was needed over steep slopes; one never knows what frozen could facilitate a slip. If it is not frost, then slippery mud can do it on you. Nevertheless, there is no recollection of a mishap, so all must have gone well. That has to include getting home by train.
Reflections
These three hikes extend over a dramatic period. The first felt like an anticlimax with an air of unfinished business. After that, the second was during a time of transition and completed the unfinished work of the first. Lastly, the third acted as part of a bookend marking the end of a period held in stasis and in advance of an increase in novelty that began in March. It looked both ways, as January often does. All provided their own essence of satisfaction, while the final instalment added an element of closure.
Travel Arrangements
All used bus service 60 to get from Macclesfield to Hayfield. The first outing returned from Chapel-en-le-Frith by bus with a change in Buxton. The second and third outings involved getting home from Hope. The former appears to have gone around Sheffield on the evidence of a photo seemingly made in its main train station. After that, a fast train would have got me to Stockport, where another train could be caught to get me the rest of the way. Another plausible and more sensible return option would use the slow train to go as far as Manchester Piccadilly to meet an onward connection to Macclesfield. That may have been used the last time around, but memory fails me here. The way home cannot have been that memorable, a sign that things were moving somewhat towards normality.
A sunny amble through the Goyt Valley: Going from Whaley Bridge to Macclesfield
6th October 2024 Once grey July Saturday during the early noughties, I set off from Buxton on a hike that may use of the Midshires Way. There was a lengthy walk along the A5004 before I left it for an old Roman Road. That skirted Combs Moss before continuing east from White Hall Outdoor Pursuits Centre. Eventually, I would cross the A5004 on the way to the dam at the end of Errwood Reservoir in the Goyt Valley.
My next steps would take me away from the long-distance trail to follow the shore of Fernilee Reservoir more closely. By then, the skies were beginning to break overhead as part of a change to periods of sunshine and showers, the latter being annoying when it came to photography. When the sun was out, it was raining and then the sun went way when the rain stopped. While that might be an oversimplification, there were times like that which remain etched in my memory.
That pestering really got going after I rejoined the Midshires Way after being under cover of trees while near the reservoir. The twists and turns of the trail needed close attention to a map, not the best when it was made of paper and that gets wet. It is little wonder that I acquired a waterproof version that I retain to this day. Regardless of all the irritations, I made it to Whaley Bridge in sunshine and made my way to a rendezvous point for onward travel by public transport, bus or train.
My reason for going down that memory lane is that it partly inspired the routing for a hike that would take me from Whaley Bridge to Macclesfield via the Goyt Valley during September 2020. This was another of those hikes that conveyed me home after an outbound bus journey. The initial stretches, those between Whaley Bridge and Taxal, were shared with hikes between the two places that went via Windgather Rocks. This time around, they were trampled under grey skies in hope of later sunshine.
Thus, the way to the Goyt Valley would be a reverse of the direction taken all those years before. The weaving of the trail around Overton Hall Farm, Madscar Farm and others like Normanwood was etched somewhere in my mind anyway. Images of the farms were absent, yet the essence of the trail was not.
At Oldfield, I decided not to descend to the lower path that I followed those years ago and several times since then. This time, I stayed on the Midshires Way and on higher ground. Forestry surrounded me as the cloud cover disintegrated over my head. Tree harvesting added holes through which I could look out on what lay across the valley, a fortuitous development even if it meant timber stacks, warning signs and a rougher track. It all made for a more interesting stroll along the slopes of Hoo Moor.
The trail would return me to tarmac for the descent to the dam of Errwood Reservoir, where a photo stop was inevitable with all the sun on offer. After leaving the reservoir dam, Bunsal Cob was where I took my leave of the trail that I had been following. This time around, I was not bound for Buxton; it was not to be a complete reprise of the way followed those years before. The section of the Midshires Way leading north from Buxton would play its part in introducing me to Combs Moss nearly a year later.
Paths and tracks taking me down the eastern side of Errwood Reservoir became my lot after Bunsal Cob. Some of these recalled a hike from October 2012 in advance of a year when everything changed. 2020 was another for many people, so the wonderful weather and an illusion that all was well allowed a momentary escape from all that was happening.
Going beyond Errwood Reservoir was leading me into familiar moors where there was ample space for us all. Wild Moor always catches my eye, and the sogginess of Goyt's Moss dirties many a rambler. Since it is all access land, it hardly matters whether you are on a right of way or not, so long as you are heading in the right direction. This makes for good map and compass countryside and was a test for the mobile app that I was using; rights of way can be challenging to locate in a bog.
Goyt's Clough became where I again alighted on tarmac. My next step was to find the right of way that would convey me across Deep Clough and Stake Clough on the way towards Stake Farm and the A537. This meant a steep ascent with many breaks to take in what surrounded me; this was also ground that I travelled on that October 2012 hike. Having been to it several times already in 2020, I skipped Shining Top, an act that cut the endurance being demanded of my legs. Variation adds a bit of novelty to life, anyway.
The haul up to Forest Chapel lay ahead of me as I began to follow a concessionary path leading towards Torgate. Since this had been traipsed earlier in 2020, I knew that I needed to go down to Chest Hollow and pass near Cuckoo Rocks. That descent accentuated the ascent to be made after the distance already covered on the way from Whaley Bridge. Taking things slowly was the answer.
Getting as far as Torgate Farm was the first part of this. From there, a right of way conveyed me to the curiously named Bottom-of-the-Oven, with a right turn that took me across Torgate Hill. The byway going up to Forest Chapel was a real test. Overcoming that was not the end, for another ascent followed it, the one along the byway taking me into Macclesfield Forest, where a surprising route decision would be made.
But for the proximity of Tegg's Nose Country Park playing on my mind, logic would have dictated that going down to Clough House and then proceeding via Langley might have made more sense. Instead, more uphill travel, some of it steep, became my lot on the way to Walker Barn. That took me past Hacked Way Lane and Warrilowhead Farm, yet I got through it without much drama. This was quieter ground, which might have been another reason for going this way.
Good sense again took hold from Walker Barn to Macclesfield. On the way, Tegg's Nose Country Park was skirted (the sun might have made the place and its paths and trails more busy than I fancied), primarily using a byway leading onto Back Eddisbury Road, before that allowed me to reach Buxton Road.
Home was near at hand by then, so steady and patience progress got me the rest of the way. Given that it had been a day with nearly as much variety as there was sunshine, it would have been rude to complain. The September illusion of endless summer had pounced yet again; it was best to sate oneself through participation in the charade.
Travel Arrangements
Bus service 60 from Macclesfield to Whaley Bridge
