Clouds on Bleaklow – Peak District

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I set off from the tiny car park at the bottom of Doctors Gate. Storm Hector was battering Scotland and had its tail curled around Bleaklow shoving great volumes of warm damp air across the moor.  In these parts ‘Gate’ means ‘Way’, coming from the Norse people who inhabited these lands, their Wapentac, administrative districts connected by ‘Gates’ that often followed the old Roman ways and before that Neolithic man, who used the lay of the land, commuting between settlements and hunting grounds. It is rare to be the first in this land. Time and the land mark this animal’s progress.

In my mind I see a vicar, Doctor Talbot, travelling along this ancient path on horseback. Why would you travel from Glossop to the Snake Pass up a steep Clough and across windswept moorland? What was there to visit?

Tracking a stream northeast, skipping across sphagnum moss, a patchwork of yellow, lime green, grass green, dark green, trying to make sure that I step on the dark green and hoping for it to be solid. I follow a shallow grough, shallow enough to step down into, the water has not yet cut its way to bedrock, the floor of the clough is soft tussocks of grass. Where the grough climbs out of the landscape I find a strange device sticking out of the ground. Aerials and solar cells festoon its tiny structure. A board tells me it is part of a project by a University to log the levels of peat erosion on the moors that surround the Peak District. Moors for the future, the EU funded body that is restoring the moors had planted billions of sphagnum across the moors in a bid to soak up water, a tiny plant that could save a city and restore peat growth.

This monitoring station sends data about theUNADJUSTEDNONRAW_thumb_88e0 teeming clouds via the clouds in the ether.
How many drops of CO2 does this make to calculate how much CO2 we generate?
Data centres are now a major contributor to CO2 emissions and who knows, climate change, global warming.

I think back to Doctor Talbot walking along his gate to see a patient in some remote farm on the flanks of Kinder Scout. See him battling the wind and rain. Breathing out his CO2 that is immediately dispersed by the wind and rain to be captured by the moorland grass. Perhaps he was heading to the tiny chapel at Gillott Hey.

I was walking on the eastern watershed; this water would eventually work its way via the rivers Derwent and Trent into the Humber and then out past Spurn Point into the North Sea. Hundreds of millions of years ago the water had flowed the other way and brought silt and sand from what is now the Rhine and deposited it at my feet for it to become gritstone. Later as trees and vegetation rotted and piled up layer upon layer, the gritstone disappeared below hundreds of feet of peat. A millimetre at a time for hundreds of millions of years.

I navigate between groughs, some with water; down narrow spits of land that curve down towards the Cloughs that run north-south in these parts. My aim is to keep my feet dry and not waste energy climbing out of the groughs. I’m heading east so the wind swirls from behind curving around my body as I move, a cylinder of water, carbon, data moving eastwards towards the water’s destination.

For a time I sit and watch the Cottongrass UNADJUSTEDNONRAW_thumb_88e9heads swaying in the wind. Large tufts of white candyfloss indicating wind direction. I’m amazed that they don’t fly off but they tenaciously cling to the slender stalks. Sometimes the air is filled with salt from the Irish Sea, but not today. Today it is laden with moisture, the sky filled with Mares Tails stretching for miles above my head.

I’m not far from Hern Clough and Alport Dale. It makes me think of Hannah Mitchell. Is this the way she came when she escaped the tortures of her troubled mother in Alport Valley and walked across the moors to a new life? Did she tread the stones of Doctors Gate, of Doctor Talbot, of the Roman Legionnaire, of the Norse warrior? Am I going not where I want, but where others take me?

Microsoft subsea data centre

https://news.microsoft.com/features/under-the-sea-microsoft-tests-a-datacenter-thats-quick-to-deploy-could-provide-internet-connectivity-for-years/

Data Centre Power

https://www.cisco.com/c/en/us/solutions/collateral/data-center-virtualization/unified-computing/white_paper_c11-680202.pdf

Moors for the Future

https://paulbesley.blog/2017/04/27/moors-for-the-future-peak-district/

Hannah Mitchell

https://paulbesley.blog/2015/12/04/alport-hamlet/

 

Pecsaetan – Ancient Peak District tribe

Some thing for the weekend. How about stepping into a time in the Dark Peak, when the Peak District was not a district at all, it was the northern edge of territory for the Pesaetan tribe way back in the Anglo-Saxon era.

Stanedge Pole on the boundary of Northumbria and Mercia
Stanedge Pole on the boundary of Northumbria and Mercia

The boundary is still there today at Stanedge Pole which sits on the boundary of the old Northumbria and Mercia territories, now it separates Yorkshire and Derbyshire and the Sees of Canterbury and York.

The Peaklanders as they were known called Kinder Scout “Cyn dwr scwd” which translates as “The hill of the waterfall”, Kinder Downfall.

Dwr gwent “the white water” became Derwent.

The many “lows” Bleaklow, Shuttlinsloe, Pike Lowe, White Lowe, signify an ancient burial-place. Perhaps there is something to the Longdendale lights after all.

It seems perhaps odd to our modern day minds that these places should be inhabited, maybe that is because for many years mere mortals were banned from setting foot, it was the privilege of the chosen few. Not too different from when it formed part of the ancient Peak Royal Forest then.

This weekend, have a walk in an ancient landscape, there is plenty of information on this blog to wet your appetite and you can find lots more in my book Dark Peak Walks.

Dark Peak Walks Book by Paul Besley, published by Cicerone Press. 40 walks in the Dark Peak with detailed route descriptions, maps, photos and points of interest.
Dark Peak Walks by Paul Besley

A few hours in the Peak District

Pennine Way
The Pennine Way from Snake Summit to Bleaklow Head, Peak District National Park

Alison and I are both busy at present but wanted to make sure we still managed to get out together in to the Peak District National Park. So we decided each week we would make the effort to go for a walk at least once, preferably early morning or late afternoon, then the rest of the day is good for doing what we need to do.

Late afternoon yesterday we took off for Higher Shelfstones near Bleaklow. Alison, who is a metalsmith, had never seen the wreck of the B29 plane and was interested in having a look and I fancied playing with my Jetboil. We walked in from Snake summit and cut across to Hern Stones as I always think approaching the wreck from the north produces the most impact on a first time visitor. Alison thought it like a scene from some Mars adventure, I was struck by how it reminded me of the film, Chronicles of Riddick.

At Higher Shelfstones we looked at all the graffiti. Some of it is so well carved in to the gritstone, it makes me wonder of the artists were stone masons perhaps. The more modern graffiti isn’t a patch on the old stuff.

We had tea by the trig. Alison had made pizza, mine heavily loaded with anchovy, and had sliced and stacked them three deep so it was like a triple decker, it was really nice. I got the Jetboil out then realised I had brought tea bags and milk but no water. So we sat and ate pizza and watched the sun setting over Glossop and Manchester.

 

The Mountain Hare – Peak District

A Grough in the Dark Peak
A grough in the Dark Peak area of the Peak District National Park

Anyone who has walked in the Dark Peak area of the Peak District National Park will know of the Mountain Hare (Lepus Timidus) and how they frequent the high moors and peaty plateaus that range above the valleys.

I followed Lepus Timidus the other day. He led the walk from a position about 25m in front of me, stopping and waiting when the distance between us became too great for normal conversation. We met at the top of a grough on Bleaklow. He startled me as I extricated myself from the fondant slope, fingers clasping onto a tussock of grass. Please hold, I muttered to myself as I hauled my bulk upwards and over to be met with the steady gaze of a Mountain Hare sat on the soft grass of the moor.

As I flailed around, trying with some decorum to get up, his gaze never left me nor did he move. Instead he sat there pondering this strange creature that had suddenly appeared in his world from some place below. Perhaps he thought there may be others, and that his day would be filled with these odd animals with the odd clothes and odd ways of moving over the moor.

I sat up and dusted myself off as well I could, some of the wet peat proving too difficult to remove by hand. The exertion had made my throat dry and as I rummaged around for my bottle I noticed that he, the Mountain Hare, was still there, still watching. I drank water and watched back.

He was a fine animal. Youngish I think judging by his size. His coat was a beautiful mottled grey, almost the colour of gritstone with deeper brown patches around his legs. His eyes were the most wonderful brown, dark pupils surrounded by a circle of solid brown. A grey nose that twitched, as it smelled the air and all finished off with erect almond shaped ears that pointed to the sky.

Raising myself to my feet I started to move forward and as soon as I did he moved off too, except not quite in the direction I was going. And that was when he took the lead. I followed him from then on. As we moved across the plateau I realised he never descended in to any of the groughs, but charted a course that took him across the moor, just below any viewing line, so that to all intent and purpose the only living being out there was me, a human, standing out like a telegraph pole in a desert. He moved much better than me, conserving energy, taking the easier route, which made his progress quicker too. This enabled him to stop and watch my cumbersome walk. What must he have thought as he saw this animal lumbering up and down the groughs, making those strange noises like a beast in its death throws. If he thought any of this he never spoke of it, he was, in his manners, the perfect Mountain Hare.

We walked for a half hour or more, just us, and the grass swaying in the breeze. Sometime he disappeared and I thought I had lost him, which left me feeling a little sad. Then there he would be, in front, or to one side, a little further ahead, looking back and waiting patiently. He never complained, never asked for anything, the best walking companion a person could have.

At some point he decided enough was enough, a noise or a smell, something, made him decide to move on, no longer to keep this odd animal for company. He left without word, no looking back, in a few seconds he was gone.

I stood there for a few minutes, my eyes scanning the moor for any sight of him, but there was nothing. I felt cheated in a way, then I realised he had chosen me as a companion, had let me into his world.

I turned east and headed for home.

 

The Salt Cellar on Derwent Edge

The Salt Cellar on Derwent Edge, Peak District National Park
The Salt Cellar on Derwent Edge, Peak District National Park

The Dark Peak area of the Peak District National Park is full of gritstone rock formations that have being hewn and sanded over millions of years by the wind and rain. One of the most iconic is the Salt Cellar on Derwent Edge in the Upper Derwent Valley.

It sits, or more accurately, balances on the very edge of the long gritstone escarpment that runs up the eastern side of the valley and presides over a spectacular view of the moors of Howden and Bleaklow and the reservoirs of Howden, Derwent and Ladybower.

It is easy to spot from below, but surprisingly easy to miss when walking along the newly laid path that traverses the edge. You pass the Wheelstones on the right and go up the slight rise of White Tor then a matter of 500m further on you come to the gritstone outcrop on the left that hides the Salt Cellar. A faint path leads through the heather directly to it, or you can walk a little further on until reaching a dry stone wall coming up from the valley floor on your left, which you then follow back to the Salt Cellar.

The Salt Cellar balances precariously on a thin post of gritstone, looking almost like a wine glass with its wide base, stem and bowl. I have never known anyone climb it, probably from fear of knocking it over.

On a recent visit I sat looking around at the rocks, when a little old couple appeared, the man holding a toy penguin, as you would. They were a little furtive in their actions so I feigned indifference whilst all the while keeping my eye on them. The man scrabbled around the rocks and reaching into a cleft pulled out a world war two ammunition box.They were Geocachers, if that’s the word. And the penguin was his offering.

We sat and talked awhile, they both telling me that they had been walking these hills for more than 60 years, and me a mere 40. Not a bad way to spend a life.

Parkin Clough to Win Hill

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Parkin Clough, Dark Peak, Peak District National Park
One of the toughest ascents in the Peak District can be found just by Ladybower Reservoir in the Dark Peak area of the Peak District National Park.

Parkin Clough leads up to Win Hill, a total ascent of some 300m in little over one Kilometer. The path, such that it is, is the old boundary wall running up the side of the stream which tumbles down the hillside. Parkin Clough is a narrow V shaped gorge cut by the stream, with steep sides, you would not want to slip down. It is very slippery under foot in wet weather as you are walking along what remains of the wall, with some high stepping required in places to get the thighs and calfs burning.

The climb up Parkin Clough is something of a test piece for fitness, the test being to make it to the top in the shortest time, the quickest I have heard of is 12 minutes unladen and a little over 15 minutes with full hill kit. The test for lesser mortals is to make it to the top without stopping.  Ascending to the summit begins at the foot of Parkin Clough by the Peak and Northern Footpath Society signpost and ends when the hand touches the thoughtfully placed triangulation pillar on the top of Win Hill. The views across to the Upper Derwent Valley and along the skyline to Kinder Scout and Bleaklow make the effort worthwhile.

The climb appears in Walk 9 of Dark Peak Walks

Moorland Walking

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Looking from Westend Trig to Barrow Stones

Yesterday was a Ranger Patrol day. The first duty was to marshall road traffic whilst the Remembrance Day service was being conducted at the Derwent Village War Memorial. It always stirs something when I hear the bugle reaching out across the valley to the sunken village below Derwent Reservoir.

After with a trainee Ranger we walked up to Hagg Guide Post for a spot of lunch, whilst we looked out over the Woodlands Valley up into Blackden Clough. No matter what perspective you look from, Kinder Scout always has something to offer. We sat and traced the old routes, from Hope Cross some say a Roman Road, the shooting track up to Jubilee Lodge, the best shooting lodge in the area and always locked. The aqueduct path following the course of the water stolen from the River Ashop and poured into Derwent Reservoir just by the dam. We could see the line of Jaggers Clough where, sitting above and a little up in to the Vale of Edale sits a small cairn that used to be named on the 1850 maps as the site of an altar.

Below us lay the Snake Road, and between us a landscape not often explored. The track going down passing by Hagg Farm and across to Haggwater Bridge on the River Ashop. Another track leading down to Rowlee Farm, one of the oldest and passing Bellhagg Barn on the way, with the Alphabet Stone opposite, a favourite for navigation assessments. Hagg is an old word meaning clearing, where the farms were situated in forest clearings.

We left our lunch spot and ascended to Bellhagg Tor, on our way walking by a bronze age barrow, letting sleeping ancients lie. Then on to Pasture Tor, moorland taking over now, opening up, below us and ahead Alport Dale gradually coming into view, the scene of the worst of tragedies when young lives were lost and still today the scene of many a find of a lost walker as they take the wrong turn off the Pennine Way coming down from Bleaklow Head. An easy thing to do when conversation or visibility take the mind away from the path.

As we walked along the Dale edge the wind picked up a little, but amazingly still quite warm for November. We meet a large group from Lockerbrook and I regale them with tales of the Love Feast at Alport Hamlet and one of the Dark Peaks great daughters Hannah Mitchell who escaped cruelty from that Hamlet and her mother to rise in prominence in Manchester and become a light in the Suffragette movement. On we go, the ground becoming wetter after the recent snow and rain. We can just see the West End triangulation pillar gleaming in the sporadic beams of sunlight.

At Ditch Clough we turn into the moor and begin our descent. The shooting cabin has now returned and I show my companion. We sit inside and feel the warmth and I tell him of bringing a young couple and baby in there to warm up, one harsh winter ago. Ill dressed for the terrain and the weather, the baby struggling in the conditions, the father holding it inside his coat, looking frightened. Then out and past the grouse butts and through the gate into the forest. I noticed the wall, with crenellations and marvel at the neatness, even after all these years, the wall being at least one hundred years old.

They laid a new track up Ditch Clough, to get the landy’s up there with their expensive cargoes of shooters. It makes for a nice descent down in to Westend coming out on the track nearby the remains of Westend Farm, now long gone.

A good days moorland walking. One to remember.

Dark Peak

 

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Alport Moor looking over to Grinah Stones

I had a day out on the high moors of the Dark Peak last Friday. The more I visit this area, the more time I want to spend here.  In large measure it is the desolation, the quietness. No paths on a map mean very few people, long windswept views and time.

Just after the trig I sat on a spot height and just looked at the landscape. Following its contours with my eyes, seeing the shapes, curves, how sensual the wind and rain have made this moor with its rises and falls, like the shape of a woman laying on her side.

Following the curves with my eyes colours started to split, it wasn’t just brown, there were greens and orange, flame reds, yellows the black oily ooze on the surface of the peat, iridescent with blues and purples. The moor is dotted now with the vivid green, almost fluorescent, shock of Sphagnum Mosses, planted to hold the water there and regenerate the peat. It really is a shocking contrast in the midst of all the earth colours. Soon white cotton grass will bud near the mosses, splashes of white, like an impressionist painting.  A double rainbow arched over Grinah stones against a deep powder blue sky, that changed with each new front of the storm, the sky shifting from blue to white to gray and then deep black.

Then the smell of the moor. The first I detected was of the peat, it was reasonably dry where I sat but the peat gave up its scent, earthy, metallic, primal. An old tree stub poked out of the peat bog grey and stark against the black peat backdrop. As I sat I became aware of another more powerful smell. Sea air, brought in off the west coast by the storm. It was heavy with sea salt and I was immediately transported back five decades to the end of the south pier at Blackpool and the smell of the green salty sea. I faced the wind and breathed deeply savouring the salty taste.

The other mass trespass

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Abbey Brook from Cartledge Bents

The other day I did a spot of checking for one of the walks in my Dark Peak book. It is always a quandary when I have more than one possible route. Which will be of more interest and why. Some routes are better at certain times of year, or have a completely different character. Walk on Bleaklow in summer with the cotton grass, golden plover, common lizards and bilberries and then do the same walk in deep winter, with windswept snow and ice  and only the white mountain hare and a few brave walkers for company and you have two very different experiences.

Abbey Brook is a case in point, not so much for the seasons, although it presents a different face at each turn, but because there are so many walks that can lead to it. That is not by accident either, Abbey Brook was a major route across the area in the past. The area was owned by Welbeck Abbey who used it for sheep and the monastic outpost that was situated in this cleft in the hillside was connected to the Grange at Crookhill a little further down the valley by a path. On the moorland above tracks fed into Abbey Brook from North, East and South, the small valley providing easy access to the west.

One of the most prominent was the Dukes Road, named after the Duke of Norfolk, which led from Bar Dike over on Mortimer Road to Abbey Brook and onwards west or alternatively Bradfield Gate and Derwent Village. One of several ways to head east to west in the age before roads. The route was always public until the Duke decided to close it for his Grouse Shooting.

GHB Ward of the Sheffield Clarion Ramblers was none too impressed and was convinced it was a public right of way and carried out research to prove so. It was decided to make a stand, this was several months after the Mass Trespass on Kinder Scout and things were still tense between walkers and land owners. On Sunday 18th September 1932 several hundred walkers set off from Malin Bridge in Sheffield and headed towards Broomhead Moor and the Dukes Road. They were intent on walking on to Bradfield Gate and returning back to Malin Bridge. All seemed to go well with only the odd Gamekeeper spotted. That was until the reached Cartledge Bents overlooking Abbey Clough, where the Dukes men attempted to stop their progress. A small fracas ensued before the walkers were allowed to proceed unhindered.

The protest did not make the news nor the impact they probably desired and this was very likely due to the outcry that had followed the Kinder Mass Trespass and the imprisonment of the so called ring leaders. Nonetheless, a further blow had been made for walkers.

It must have been a fantastic site to see hundreds of walkers marching down the Dukes Road. Today you get the odd group of Ramblers, some fell runners and the lone single walker.

I have researched the route the mass trespass took from the Tram sheds at Malin Bridge and will walk the route come spring, who knows it may well make it in to the book. It might be nice to have two trespasses.

 

 

Trigpoint Walks 4

Lady's Cross, Salters Brook Packhorse Track

Do you go walking on your own or with friends?  If you go walking on your own, how many people do you take with you?  I ask the question because I sense a feeling of being alone in spending time on the hills with people who aren’t actually there.  Never have a conversation with someone who is not in the room, goes the old maxim.  Well by that standard a good proportion of my walking day would be spent in absolute silence.  Am I mad, do you think?  Or, and this is where I ask you to be courageous, do you, like me rant and rave at people who you probably haven’t seen for a decade or more, with me it can be up to five decades, that’s how long back my resentments can go.  I only ask, that’s all.  You don’t have to fess up, although if this were to become a platform for long held resentments being outed then I am happy to provide the service.  Call it Resentments Inc.

Surprisingly there were very few time wasters on the latest trig walk.  It wasn’t a walk I was particularly looking forward too to be honest. Natural beauty would not be a phrase you could connect with the landscape. It was within the National Park boundary, towards the northern tip of the park.  The setting off point was the cross Pennine route of the Woodhead Road.  A thundering line of heavy goods vehicles transporting wonderful things made by the clever people of Yorkshire to be sold to the not so clever people of Lancashire and Greater Manchester, told you old rivalries run deep.

I set of along the old original cross Pennine route, the packhorse track of Salters Brook.  It was used to transport goods to and from the east coast to the west and vice versa.  Near where I joined the route are the remains of an old public house and lodgings for the Jaggers and drovers, you can still enter the cellar, but be careful.  On a high point of the route heading east is another old cross.  Lady’s Cross still has part of the column intact, it must have been a welcome sight after the pull up from either valley each side of the summit.

SE 1562 0031 South Nab 461m
SE 1562 0031 South Nab 461m

Back across the Woodhead to my first trig South Nab, sounds like a whaling station in the Antarctic.  A sign told me I could not use the bridle way due to severe flooding, no surprise really, and no problem.  My route lay north east of the trig, with Emley Moor transmitter as the aiming point.  Lots of windmills on the hills to the east, which to my mind look quite nice.  There is a great debate going on at the moment re wind turbines.  The fors and agins both have valid arguments and I for one would not want to see great plantations of the things, what’s wrong with out at sea anyway.  But the odd cluster I do not mind and if it helps make us cleaner then all to the good.

I headed across moorland, past grouse butts and dropped down to the Trans Pennine Trail.  On my way down I could be heard, if you had been there, arguing with someone I haven’t seen for more than a decade.  They probably have forgotten all about me, but I am made of much sterner stuff.  It’s not that they did anything to me, it’s that I didn’t win, or they didn’t do what I thought they should have done.

SE 1319 0331 Snailsden 476m
SE 1319 0331 Snailsden 476m

Skirting round a couple of reservoirs I made my way to Snailsden trig. The track winds round the hillside of out of sight of the trig, so I took the opportunity to do a little pacing exercise.  When I reached my estimated number I climbed up the hill to find nothing.  Not a sausage, never mind a trig.  I can’t have been that far out I thought as I scanned the land in front of me.  Turning round the other way, there it was less than a few metres away.  What a pillock.  Just remember to turn round next time.

Had my lunch here with fine views across the Peak District and on up to the Dales and North Yks Moors.  I’m trying out some new lunch time tactics.  Soup in a soup Thermos, with small sandwiches to dunk.. Today it was Mulligatawny and cheese with Branston.  Very nice it was too.  Monty and Ollie munched away on some twig sticks they seem to enjoy and then sat staring me out, willing me to give over the sandwich or anything else I had going.  Not a chance.

Whilst doing all this I plotted the route to my final trig.  Stay high I decided, lets not lose height just to gain it again.  Remember last week all that ascent and descent and the cost on energy levels.  At the end I had almost nothing left, in conditions that were pretty atrocious.  Lesson learnt there.

I decided to use a shooting track to get me up on to the saddle over looking Longdendale.  This did mean a descent at first, but avoided bog trotting and working my way through thick heather whilst ascending the other side of the valley I was looking down on from Snailsden, that was the direct route, but not necessarily the quickest.  This proved the correct plan, and although the line was longer it was easier going and saved hugely on time and energy levels.

SE 1244 0172 Dead Edge End 500m
SE 1244 0172 Dead Edge End 500m

The route to Dead Edge End, where do they get these names from, followed a fence marking the line of several parish come county boundaries.  Naturally I tried to remain on the Yorkshire side for as long as possible and only had to hop across to Derbyshire once I reached the trig. There were wonderful views from the trig, Kinder, Bleaklow, Black Hill, some great walking country and with plenty of Trigs some great walks to come.

Back to base now following the last leg of the triangle, heading for South Nab.  I passed over the Woodhead tunnel and saw that there was smoke coming out of the air vents. Apparently this is condensation evaporating and not ghost steam trains, personally I prefer the latter.

I enjoyed this walk, even though the landscape was not picture book.  After the previous walk, I took more care about route and timing and energy levels and that made a huge difference to the enjoyment.  Have you noticed I left all those people in my head behind some while ago, well before Snailsden trig.  That’s the beauty of walking in to a landscape, the land itself becomes my companion.