Outdoor Discoveries

Heading south and east from Hayfield in three seasons

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

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

A return to the Shropshire Hills: Daisy-chaining tops near Church Stretton

It had been nearly three years since my previous visit to Shropshire, and even an ongoing pandemic failed to keep me away from these rolling hills. All it took was the prospect of a gloriously sunny Saturday for me to return to the area, planning to explore places that I had last walked in November 2010. That previous afternoon amble, curtailed by a later arrival and the waning daylight, had left the perfect excuse for another visit: unfinished business.

On arrival, the village of Church Stretton was quiet in itself. The B4371 that I followed in the direction of Much Wenlock was no busier, though a collection of parked cars accompanied a trail head. Still, the way up to Gaer Head, my first ascent of the day, hardly was crowded. Vistas of sunlit countryside, dappled with cloud shadows, opened out around me as I gained height. While the ascent route took me off the public right of way, this was access land, so it mattered less where you trod.

The whole area around Hope Bowdler Hill was gloriously unpeopled, a not insignificant mercy during a pandemic when there was a wait to get vaccines developed. Views of other tops were there to be savoured as I pottered about the place, for my route was non-linear. That is what visiting various summits does to such a thing. When they are at hand, it seems rude not to do just that, particularly on a morning of glorious sunshine.

Willstone Hill was another of those calling points before height had to be lost on the way towards Caer Caradoc Hill. Such a development always disappoints me when going uphill takes so much effort. That there is another ascent afterwards makes the loss more memorable. Shropshire’s hills may be low in stature, yet there are plenty of steep ascents and descents to be found. Still, the regaining of height allowed to look back on where I had been, providing some consolation for the ups and downs.

It still felt as if the world was elsewhere while I was trampling Caer Caradoc Hill and its satellite summit, Little Caradoc. This was a repeat visitation after nearly ten years. Then, I had not got to Hope Bowdler Hill and its neighbours, let alone The Lawley, which lay ahead of me. Getting that far would need a steep descent to Comley followed by yet another steep ascent along a narrow ridge.

After having the previous hills more or less to myself, albeit with occasional encounters with others, the busyness of The Lawley surprised me. It was attracting groups of hikers, a challenging prospect during a pandemic, and especially so when there is not so much space for everyone. Quite why so many were traipsing around there was something of a mystery to me. Was it that it was far away from a built-up area? Was it the time of day because some stragglers may have started late? These are unanswered questions, so it was fortunate that I got some respite from the passage of others as I walked the whole ridge before turning southwest along its western flank.

Again, The Lawley is access land, like so much around there. The ridge walk had been along a less formal trail, so the initial ascent concentrated the mind, while the descent was not so taxing. The way back was on a right of way that led towards Comley again. After there, I more or less lost most of the others who had been around those parts.

By then, I was well on the return to Church Stretton and started to follow another trail that I had followed years before. The skies again broke overhead to allow the sun to work its usual magic on the surrounding landscape. Any regret at its hiding while I was around The Lawley needed to be put behind me. Some others were going the way too, and someone’s not hearing my reply to them caused them to take umbrage at me for it. Thankfully, that soon passed, and I continued on my way as before.

If I had thought that I had chosen an easier way back to Church Stretton, there was one more surprise awaiting me. It should not have been the case because I had crossed the steep, eroded ground before; the passage of time had done the same kine work to my memory. Before that, I was being surprised at how far I needed to go, often over overgrown ground. The path was not so clear either, which needed some added attention regarding navigation.

Then, there was that descent over what felt like rotting ground. With weary legs, that took a combination of patience and care. Once the challenge was overcome, it then was a matter of crossing a footbridge. Friendlier gradients were my lot thereafter; even the foot of Helmeth Hill did not intrude too much. A watercourse was shadowed and fields crossed to reach a lane from there. Church Stretton was now at hand, so patient progress on those well-used legs was the order of the moment. Fortuitously, there was an opportunity for a refreshment stop before starting on my train journey back home.

Though the hike happened more than four years ago, this account has been one of the easier ones to write. Whether it was about somewhere less frequented, or there was another reason, it proved to be more memorable in a good way. The area may be compact, yet there is a lot here. When you get the sunshine that I was gifted, all one can do is marvel at what is around them, no matter what else is happening in the world.

Travel Arrangements

Return train journey between Macclesfield and Church Stretton. On the way back, there was a change at Stockport. It may have been the same on the outbound journey, but that is not as memorable as how busy the train became south of Crewe. Thankfully, things were quieter on the return leg, which made for a far more relaxing journey.

Journeying through rock-strewn moorlands on crossings from Staffordshire into Derbyshire

The notion of trekking from Leek to Buxton on foot had long lingered in my mind. Quite how my mind returned to it for the idea to get used more than four years ago is a bit of a mystery to me now. All that I can suggest is that there was a bit of returning home by means of a hike going on that year, and this might have been part of that trend. In June 2021, I embarked on a Leek to Macclesfield hike that shadowed some of the places encountered on this pair of treks; there have been a few of those over the years.

A Long-outstanding Journey

Given that I was ascending and descending a lot during a day trip to the Shropshire Hills near Church Stretton In Shropshire the previous day, one might have thought that an arduous jaunt, spanning over seven hours, would not have been in order. However, that is not how my mind was working in 2020; the need to get out of the house for a while was a strong impulse then.

Once propelled to Leek by my intentions, I then set off on a circuitous route that rounded Tittesworth Reservoir. That passed Brough Park to reach the lane leading to Abbey Green, where I joined with part of the Staffordshire Moorlands Walks. There was a lot of quiet at this time as I traipsed towards North Hillswood and then shadowed the reservoir all the way to Meerbrook, first off-road and then on tarmac with many cars parked, and some people around them.

Passing Meerbrook took me away from any congregations of humanity that there might have been and onward towards Frith Bottom and Middle Hulme. All this kept me away from the reservoir itself, which was likely busy because of the August Bank Holiday weekend, at a time when overseas travel remained heavily restricted.

Following Whitty lane took me to Upper Hulme, where I again encountered more people out and about. By this time, I was on the Churnet Way and nearing Ramshaw Rocks, partly the lure for my strolling. While there had been much sunshine in Stoke-on-Trent, nearly causing me to miss a bus connection, this had declined steadily over the course of the day to leave things largely cloudy by this point. Nevertheless, I stuck with my plan.

The rocks attract their share of climbers too, though The Roaches may be the bigger draw. There certainly were plenty of cars parked along the lane beneath them whenever I stole a look earlier in my hike. The dull weather nullified any photographic point in making anything other than shots of them for record as I was passing. Proximity needed to be enough for me, until I found the kind of sunshine that accompanied walks along The Roaches from which I could see them from a distance.

Beyond Ramshaw Rocks, my surroundings grew quieter again, and I was going to have a lot of this on the rest of the way to Buxton. Leaving the Churnet Way, I continued towards Black Brook Nature Reserve. In places, more rocky outcrops were to accompany me, yet there is another more abiding memory: the land was waterlogged, later affecting my choice of route. Before that, I passed Gib Torr Farm, Adder’s Green and Ann Roach Farm (careful navigation was needed around the last two) to reach Flash Bottom and tarmac.

All the soggy plodding convinced me to stick with the road, not only as far as the village of Flash but also onto Flash Bar Stores, to whose webcam I have linked elsewhere on this portal. Though going by the A53 is not my normal routing, it also was a concession to my wearying limbs. The village itself was a quiet agrarian place, so I was content to pass on my way. Later views of Axe Edge were to give visual occupation.

It is just as well that I noted the landmarks dotting the final approach to Buxton, such is the number of options available to any rambler. Figuring out where one went otherwise would be toil. Quiet lane walking took me to Dove Head before a gravel track got me to Brand Side. Somewhere in the middle of all this, I took some refreshments that I had with me, maybe it was beyond the latter. The ups and downs on tiring legs may have convinced me to do just that before getting as far as Stanley Moor. On the way from there to Grinlow Tower, someone may have asked me how about finding out where to go, and I had to admit there was an app that I was using. These were lightweight times, even if I always had a paper map with me.

With a longer wait for the next train, I opted for bus travel instead. Even after all the distance that had been travelled, I was there in ample time for the next one. The skies may have been grey much of the time, yet this was a satisfying outing. A return would be needed to see more of the countryside in sunshine, and that was to happen. Given the fears of the time, social distancing was a given most of the time, and there was a lot of restorative tranquillity too.

A Sun-Kissed Reprise

The dearth of sunshine on my previous excursion from Leek to Buxton provided ample motivation for a partial encore. Catching a bus from Macclesfield meant that I did not continue into Leek town centre. Doing so would have delayed the start, given the bus takes a roundabout route around the town. Thus, I began at Bridge End and used part of the Churnet Way to get to Abbey Green, the first of numerous hiking route variations.

The morning was sunny, and the forecast was for more of the same for the rest of the day. All of this was already apparent as I rounded Abbey Wood and shadowed Tittesworth Reservoir, reprising where I travelled the previous time around. That reprisal continued as far as Frith Bottom, the next major route variation commenced after that.

Forsaking the paths leading around by Middle Hulme and Upper Hulme, I instead went around by Windygates while heading for the saddle between Hen Cloud and The Roaches. Others were encountered on that saddle, and a line of parked cars extended under The Roaches, as is the case on many weekends, this one being no different. Nevertheless, that was left after me as I continued around by Well Farm, Ferny Knowl and Naychurch to take a shorter route to Ramshaw Rocks.

This time around, my encounter with Ramshaw Rocks was sun blessed. Thus, I could come away with some pleasing photos, as I had hoped. It helped that the area was notably less peopled than on my previous visit, with most ramblers and climbers staying around Hen Cloud and The Roaches instead.

From Ramshaw Rocks, it was a matter of plodding through quiet moorland as far as Black Brook Nature Reserve, negotiating any waterlogged patches that I encountered as I went. This time, I had sunshine to enliven the views; splashing through moorland under grey skies is less alluring. The mention of underfoot conditions may not sell the route, yet it was not all like that, and there was plenty of restorative solitude anyway.

Beyond Black Brook Nature Reserve, my route diverged significantly from that followed by the earlier trek. From Gib Torr Farm, it became a trot along lanes as far as Morridge Top Farm on the A53. From there, the route is less clear at this stage. There is a memory of asking to get through a gate and having it flung open for me that suggests a right of way shadowing farm buildings. Not pushing the gate back because of disease deference left me with a pang of regret, which is why it remains in my mind. The mix of lively cattle, an open gate and a farming upbringing is what drove that emotion. Still, she did call her dogs back from following me, so it might have been the lapse that I then thought it to be.

Stitching it together from the map now, where there are numerous options, it looks likely that I crossed a field from the A53 to Pethills Farm. From there, a lane would have conveyed me to Lower Petthills Farm, beyond which I was again following rights of way. Smallshaw Farm then would have been where the gate incident happened before I continued to Thick Withins. After that, I would find my way onto the Manifold Trail in a way that matches faded memories.

If the Manifold Trail got me the rest of the way to Buxton, that would make describing it a far easier, but I soon left it to cross a road to pick up yet another right of way. This one offered glimpses of Chrome Hill to the east, complementing earlier views of Croker Hill and Shutlingsloe, adding to a day of varied vistas.

By then, I was navigating a thick network of paths and tracks that would carry me into limestone country and drier ground. The sequence of landmarks included Tenterhill and Brand End as I negotiated the ups and downs of complex terrain. Later on that glorious evening, I would pass Thirkelow Rocks on my way back to more familiar ground.

Crossing a lane led me onto the lands of the Heath and Safety Laboratory, where there are access warnings placed at more hazardous locations; these experiments are not human-friendly. My route took me around by Diamond Hill and Countess Cliff, while I noted the foam in a watercourse with a certain dislike. In the near distance, Grinlow Tower lay ahead of me, with a collection of silage-making machinery parked somewhere between the landmark and where I was.

Meanwhile, advancing cloud cover, and the lowering of the sun in the sky, meant that the sunlit show was coming to an end for me. Equally, the vigour of my legs was ebbing. Thus, it took one last heave to get past the hill hosting Grinlow Tower before everything downhill for much of the remaining distance into the centre of Buxton. Since the day had brought ample satisfaction, there could be no sense of deprivation at its ending.

Travel Arrangements

The first hike took place on a Sunday, so the outbound journey involved travelling by train from Macclesfield to Stoke-on-Trent, followed by a walk to Hanley bus station and a journey on bus service 16 to Leek. The last portion was nearly forfeited by a late arrival caused by dallying in Hanley Park, but for a scurry across the busway that did not impress a bus driver (“That was dangerous, that was”, he said before giving me a ticket for the journey). The return from Buxton to Macclesfield was by bus as far as Stockport and by train for the rest of the way.

Details of transport for reprise are somewhat lost to me now, but I have almost no doubt that the return journey from Buxton would have been by train, though going by bus to Stockport remains another possibility for making it a hybrid of bus and rail. An outbound journey on bus service 109 from Macclesfield to Leek is more likely too because this was on a Saturday.

Revisiting ruggedness on the way from Hayfield to Edale

A previous posting on here mentioned the elongated break that I took from work during the summer of 2020. It also collated three longer hikes that took me through hills that line the boundary between Cheshire and Derbyshire. Perhaps wisely, for the sake of not overdoing the length of the piece, I omitted a hike that me over Kinder Scout that came the day after walking from Disley to Macclesfield. Yet, there is a slight link in that the bus conveying me from Macclesfield to Hayfield also passed through Whaley Bridge, possibly sowing the seeds for later hikes from there back to Macclesfield.

However, the Kinder Scout escapade had a few distinctions of its own. Firstly, this was the first hike since the onset of the pandemic that did not end with my walking or cycling back home. Another point was that it no longer felt feasible to use a 50 litre rucksack for day hikes. My attempts to make things less blatant than this attracted some amused comments from a passer-by, so I went and got a smaller Lowe Alpine item from The Climber Shop. Apart from a weekend ascent of Helvellyn and subsequent wandering near Callander and Stirling, and the trip to Paris in May of this year, the smaller Low Alpine pack has become my mainstay on countryside incursions.

By the time that I got on the receiving end of those remarks regarding how I was equipping myself, I already had got as far as the trail going along White Brow to the north of Kinder Reservoir. Recollections of the way there have needed to be rekindled from my memory banks, but the image of my leaving Hayfield village under grey skies and following a largely quiet section of the Pennine Bridleway has returned to me. The lack of activity around the campsite that I passed after leaving that trail is another fragment that helps top rebuild my route in my mind. Because of the lack of sun, photos were made infrequently, possibly because of how familiar the area is to me.

After Bowden Bridge, recall is again vague. However, just going along Kinder Road seems unlikely. Thus, the course more likely passed Hill Houses, The Cote, Booth and Farlands. There is another image from under grey skies that takes me around by Tunstead House and not far from Tunstead Clough Farm before reaching the others. That feels stronger than mere confabulation as I write these words, so I am going with that.

It would mean a crossing of the River Kinder beneath the reservoir dam that resonates with me because of the onward route to the flank of White Brow. From there, things become more memorable again, and there are photos to help too. This may have been familiar ground to me, but the novelty was not lost, either. After crossing Nab Brow, there was the matter of powering my way up through William Clough. My light load may have helped with this, making someone else comment on how well I was going.

Beyond William Clough, I met up with the Pennine Way. That was going to convey me to the top of Kinder Scout and around by its western edge. After the initial short pull up steeper inclines, it struck me that most of the ascent was on gentler gradients. That initial steepness was over quickly, much to my surprise; William Clough felt much more rugged in comparison. There were others about at this stage, yet the place felt none too crowded, and skies broke overhead to allow the sun to do its uplifting work on a tapestry of hardy grasses and wind-sculpted rocks.

Near Kinder Downfall, there was the option of following the old course of the Pennine Way towards Grindsbrook Clough, perhaps avoiding many of the people that I was to pass later in the day. The horror stories from bygone crossings and my lightweight state meant that I stayed within view of Kinder Reservoir instead.

As I grew closer to Edale Cross, it struck me that this was not going to feel like a quiet Monday around there. If I had designs, on following the Pennine Way down to Edale, they were scotched in favour of what I hoped to be quieter informal paths. As with many things with 2020, old experiences became poor predictors of then contemporary behaviour. Thus, I had to share the place with more people than I felt was ideal. It was a matter of making the best of it, and relishing any quieter stretches as I passed Edale Head, Pym Chair and Crowden Tower, some of these being part of nature’s gallery of rocky outcrops. Each formation seemed to tell a tale of millennia, weathered yet unyielding.

In some ways, the descent into Grindsbrook Clough was a wise choice; it thinned out the encounters with others to near nothing. The steepness of the initial stretches only would have helped to ensure that. This was light scrambling, with plenty of occasions for getting hands on intimacy with the gritstone slabs. Even with an abundance of cool, unyielding stone, keeping three points of contact hereabouts is a frequent necessity. It staggers me to think that the Pennine Way once went this way; there is plenty to remind one of nature’s raw beauty and the respect it commands.

Patient resolve was rewarded when the gradients eased. The skies were again packing with cloud cover, which would have foiled any ambition to improve on photos made in August 2001, if there even was one at that moment. Having a pleasant path to follow on the way to more bucolic surroundings was enough for me that afternoon.

Edale felt tranquil with less around it than I found on the edges of Kinder Scout; it prompts the question as to where they came from, but a rural car park or two might explain that. A quirk in the train timetable meant that I spent longer around the place than I was expecting. This proved to be a refuelling opportunity using some refreshments purchased from a kiosk near the train station.

While the day may have been cloudy much of the time, there was uplifting sunshine in the middle of the hike. This also was when I met more people, a discomfort in times of pandemic. Nevertheless, there were moments of treasured, sublime solitude too. These were steps, not just through a majestic and treasured landscape, but part of a journey through an ongoing global upheaval. Despite all the surrounding drama, there remains that ineffable something that calls us all to wander. Few things, it seems, can stop that.

Travel Arrangements

Bus service 60 from Macclesfield to Hayfield. Rail journey from Edale to Macclesfield with a change at Manchester Piccadilly