4th October: Hathersage – Ravenstor YHA: 29km

A plan is a fine thing but a plan depends on remembering what it was, sticking to it and not going wrong.  I did all these things today.

It went well at first, if a little harum scarum, making it to the bus into town with 2 minutes to spare.  I had wanted the early train out of Manchester as it would be another 90 minutes to the next one and it was bound to be busy (passing through Edale).  In my head I was starting the walk from Hathersage so that was where I got off.  The temperature back home was quite cool but it was a few degrees lower out in the Hope Valley.  Very soon I regretted my decision to leave my gloves behind as my fingers became painfully cold.  All I could do was keep moving and wait for them to warm up.

Froggatt Edge

There were a few people in Grindleford, where I ought really to have disembarked, but the crowds vanished as I made my way through lovely woodland towards Froggatt Edge, enjoying the sunlight cutting through the branches and lighting the falling leaves.  There was a little more cloud up on the Edge, but more than compensated for by the excellent views.  After wandering up the rising path for a while I checked where my turn was.  A while back, as it happened.  On the hoof I improvised a new route down through Curbar to Calver, using a little more tarmac.

Curbar Edge

Beyond Calver I climbed the track towards Longstone Edge, finding a parallel route through fields as I know four-by-fours come along the lane.  When I rejoined the lane higher up, it was actually bikes, scramblers and a noisy, slithering quad bike that interrupted the peace.  Nevertheless, the views south towards Bakewell and the higher ground beyond that was a comfortingly familiar welcome.

Noise from a PA came up from Monsal Head.  I couldn’t make out the words very well.  ‘Let’s have a big cheer for [mumble].’  Afterwards I learnt it was the Monsal Head Hill-climb, a cycling event where they belt up from the river at Upperdale to the hotel above Headstone Viaduct.  It was pleasant walking anyway but it was nice to drop into the quiet of Hay Dale for a sandwich stop.

Hay Dale

At this point, perhaps unwisely, I decided to add a visit to the Eyam Brewery at Tideswell to the itinerary.  I had plenty of time and wasn’t feeling tired, so it seemed to make sense.  After Cressbrook Dale and Tansley Dale, I passed the busy Red Lion in Litton, shunning its temptations, and pushed on to Tideswell.  My reward was a pint of Hope Valley Haze, a lovely brew that reminded me of that morning’s mist.

Cressbrook Dale

Again I had a choice of a more direct route to Ravenstor via Tideswell Dale, or passing over the tops...and maybe calling for a pint at the Angler’s Rest.  The second option won, despite having already walked 22km.  It was only 15:30, even if it did feel later with the autumn sun sitting low. The stone-walled fields, tractors tedding or baling hay, the land dipping into valleys, it all looked beautiful and had a kind of warmth, like a hug.

After a pint at the Angler’s and a stomp up the road to the hostel, I settled in for the night.  There were a few people around, some eating in the restaurant, some sitting in the lounge.  I retired there to read for a while after eating, chatting to a bloke who was also heading to Hartington the next day, before turning in.

5th October: Ravenstor – Hartington: 29km

Another day that was longer than I had expected.  I’m sure I measured it at less but then I did keep changing my mind about which route to take as I walked along.

I wasn’t feeling the previous day’s effort too much and received plenty of sustenance at the YHA breakfast – cooked to order with two of everything.  Outside it was bright, windy and mild (except for the windchill) with forecasts for rain.  I dropped into the quiet valley then up to the quiet Monsal Trail, a rare thing, with just a single runner jogging past.  On the far side of the Trail was the big, early climb out of the valley, which I took slowly, not wanting to burn all my energy.  Higher up it got breezier so I switched to a windshirt, which stayed on for the rest of the day.

Near Priestcliffe, approaching Taddington

The odd hint of rain spattered by but didn’t really amount to much and the views remained pleasant. I wasn’t sure what exact route I had been thinking of but I passed by Taddington church and up past a large well above the village that I have never visited before.  Beyond that was a track to Wheal Lane and through the fields towards Monyash.  Tractors were at work again, raking and baling.  As usual a group of cows were loitering round one stile, so I nudged my way past…to find another group loitering the other side.  The second group included a docile bull, who I skirted round a little, while asking it nicely how it was doing.

Large well above Taddington

Harvest near Monyash

Docile bull

Lunch was going to come from the Old Smithy in Monyash where, despite it being a Monday not a weekend, there was a large cluster of motorbikes.  Perhaps the difference from a weekend was that these were all ridden by grey-haired old blokes settling down to fry-ups.  I got a sandwich, ate a snack, and pushed off.  There were a number of options here and I chose to go a longer way up the Limestone Trail towards Youlgreave.  When I stopped at the Moor Lane car park for my sandwich (a very good ham salad) I looked again at the map and decided my longer route was actually too long, so I switched again and headed towards Middleton, mostly on tarmac.  To avoid some tarmac I turned onto Whitfield Lane, forgetting that it too was tarmac most of the way.  My left foot started complaining about all this pounding and the wind was blowing stronger, directly into my face, so it was a relief to shelter in the plantation on Green Lane for another snack and to take the weight off.

Not long past there I saw the cars passing on the A515, which reinvigorated me somewhat.  At the road I contemplated the Jug and Glass but I haven’t been in for years and wasn’t sure what to expect.  I pushed on to Hartington Meadows and then to Heathcote.  This gave me another choice. It wasn’t yet 4pm and check-in was 5pm.  Ah well, the Waterloo Inn at Biggin it is.  There were a few people in and old Janice behind the bar, smart as ever in shirt and tie, greeted me warmly, which I appreciated.  The beer went down very well and used up the time to check-in perfectly.

Approaching Hartington

It was Pie Night at the Devonshire Arms in Hartington, so I had made sure to book a table to guarantee a seat.  Before that I had time for a shower and then a gin and tonic to toast my birthday. The pie down the road was very good (steak and ale) and the whole thing wasn’t overwhelmingly large.  All that was left was a stagger up the hill and an hour or so relaxing in the lounge of the hostel.

6th October: Hartington – Buxton: 20km

I was deep asleep when the alarm went off, although I had had 9 hours in bed.  The effort must have been taking its toll.  I ordered a smaller breakfast, only one of everything (except bacon) and chatted to the bloke I had seen at Ravenstor. The forecast was for rain and the sky outside looked rather overcast.  Having picked up a sandwich at the shop (a rather less inspiring one than yesterday’s freshly-made one) I climbed out of the village above the River Dove.  The cloud was low, just about touching Carder Low’s 380m summit, but the wind had put a sock in it and it is always lovely scenery walking along there.

Dove Dale

Heading towards Crowdecote there was another congregation of cattle.  Behind them was the farmer, fastening the gate up with twine.  I pushed past the cows and said hello to the farmer, getting a terse response in return.  At Glutton Bridge I turned up an unnamed dale, heading north.  It was a lovely, quiet valley.  A buzzard launched off from one side and, as it started circling, a crow sallied out from the trees to harass it.  At this point I made my customary mistake, forgetting anything I might have planned, by keeping on to Hartley Grange instead of turning to Dowel Dale.  This gave me 50 minutes of road walking, by the end of which my left foot was stabbing with pain.  It was a relief to turn off past the raceway towards the HSE site.  The weariness was getting to me too and there was the niggle of never quite wearing the right clothing.  I had my gilet on, felt too warm, took it off, then I got cold so I put it back on, then the sun came out again.  Gah.

Near Glutton Bridge

Stonechat

I kept pushing on and reached Grinlow, spotting a slightly shorter route around the caravan site.  The woods on the north side were beautiful in their autumn colours, sturdy grey beech trunks, burnished copper leaf-fall and the slanting sunlight through the canopy.  At the bottom of the hill I made a sore-footed stomp through town to the Buxton Brewery taproom for some very welcome refreshment before catching my train home.

Grin Plantation

 

Buttermere September 2026

20th September: Whiteside – Grasmoor: 17km

It was bright and breezy by Crummock Water but the high fells were shrouded in cloud.  I trusted the forecast and put my boots on.  There was only one other car at Cinderdale Common, though there had been quite a lot of cars parked in the laybys on my way over Whinlatter and past Lorton. As I approached the start of the climb up Whiteside, looking steep and intimidating, I could see a group with a couple of lively dogs ahead of me.  I would gain on them but never catch them, and then they vanished somewhere on the summit.

My approach to long climbs these days is to go, necessarily, slowly, so I plodded carefully upwards. The wind increased as I climbed and at times was strong enough to push me backwards as I tried to step up the rocky path.  There was a brief respite, from both the gradient and the wind, at Whin Ben, before the slog continued.  It got even steeper, almost moving into scrambling territory.  Gasgale Gill looked magnificent but the cloud stubbornly lingered around the tops.

Gasgale Gill

I was pleased to reach the summit of Whiteside, if only because the wind actually eased off there. More so, I felt that I had kept within myself and not gone too hard.  Whiteside was just below the cloud level so the views were mostly downwards.  It felt wonderful to be up in the high fells and I felt the familiar chest-puffing, heart-filling joy of being there.

First thing was to find a sheltered spot to eat.  As I did a couple of chatting Geordie lads passed, then re-passed, having done an out-and-back to the summit.  I followed on over the ridge, choosing the rocky spine where I could.  Hopegill Head soon arrived, in clag so I didn’t hang around.  The descent down Sand Hill was steep and scree-covered as always.  The wind was picking up again and blasted worringly across Coledale Hause.

I could see almost no one around, just the Geordie lads by the beck having something to eat.  I pushed a little higher to nestle in a shaded hollow below Crag Hill.  The lads passed and stopped for a chat.  They had kept failing to follow their own route, first by going up Coledale instead of over Grisedale Pike, then carrying on instead of going up Sail.  They were both quite jolly about it.

Coledale Hause

From there I crossed the rapidly-flowing beck and started the climb up Grasmoor.  The forecast had said the cloud would lift, but the cloud hadn’t had that memo and was still lingering.  The path was close to the edge above the crags over Gasgale Gill but I could see little that way.  The wind blew with renewed vigour, keeping me moving.  Although I had seen shadowy figures moving around in the murk the summit was empty and, for 30 seconds or so, the cloud just lifted enough for me to have a glimpse down to Rannerdale below as well.

Brief view from Grasmoor

With the clag down again I turned tail to start my descent and there were the lads again.  They had meant to use the same path as me but had been too busy chatting.  Again.  I wished them well and happily trotted on towards Whiteless Pike, which came quickly and with little effort.  The ridge to Whiteless Breast, which I had worried over because of the wind, proved no problem and I was soon on the knee-crunching descent towards Buttermere.  Glancing back I saw the cloud had now lifted from the tops.  Typical.  Rays of sunshine cut through the cloud and one shone a beam onto the village. ‘A spotlight pointing to the pub,’ I said to some people as I turned onto Rannerdale Knotts.

A glimpse of Buttermere from Whiteless Pike

Sunlight on Crummock Water

Looking back to Grasmoor and Whiteless Pike

It was windy again here but not so serious at that low altitude.  The descent over the nose was rather unpleasant, being steep and eroded.  On the plus side it was brief and I was just left with a quick visit to the pretty Rannerdale, lit up by the crashing beck and bright red rowan berries, before a short walk to the car.

Crummock Water

In Buttermere I met up with my brother, sister and brother-in-law, who were all staying at the Bridge Hotel, for drinks, a meal and a good chat, all in remembrance of our parents’ shared birthday, which would have been that day.  We especially remembered our mother, who we had only recently lost.

21st September: Buttermere circuit: 6.7km; Mellbreak: 11km

Giving the others a lie-in made for a lazy start.  The forecast was for rain, again (I had only been caught in a very brief shower the previous day), but it felt mild out.  I took all my waterproofs anyway when I went to meet the gang.  We had a leisurely stroll around the lake, picking out the fells we could see beneath the blanket of cloud.  My brother-in-law wasn’t sure if I was making it all up when I said one hill was called High Snock Rigg.  I pointed upwards, ‘That’s Great Flange.’  At the end of the circuit we had lunch at the Syke Farm cafe and then they were all on their way.  It was a shame not to have spent more time in the fells with them but they had other demands on their time.

Buttermere

Haystacks

Buttermere church

As it was still reasonably early, I had plenty of opportunity for another walk, so I set off for Mellbreak.  No rain had arrived and I was just down to a tee shirt by this point.  The village was busy with people waiting for the bus or heading to the lake.  As soon as I turned off for Scale Force, the crowds vanished.  The path became boggier as I ascended towards the waterfall, making for awkward going until I could turn off towards the fell.  The wind made its unwelcome appearance, as did the low cloud which now shrouded the previously clear Mellbreak.  Damn it.  I carried on all the same, plodding up the very steep grassy slopes to the unremarkable summit.  There were no views so I turned about and came straight back down.  My knees twinged but I was soon down, and soon in the Fish Buttermere Coach House for a pint of Tirril.  I’m sorry to say I don’t really like their beers, despite their being local and ubiquitous.  As I emerged from the pub I saw the top of Mellbreak was clear again.  Damn it.

After tidying up at the YHA (no posh hotel for me) I returned to the Bridge for tea before retiring to the chatty lounge of the hostel.  On the way back a tawny owl was calling from the trees, Mars twinkled over the church and a bright moon rose over High Crag.

22nd September: Loweswater Fells: 9km

Again the forecast wasn’t great (hmm) but I was only staying low, so I hoped I would be ok.  It actually felt bright and mild again, although the tops were in clag, so a gilet over my tee shirt was all that was required.  I was the first person to park in my chosen layby, despite a number of the others having quite a few cars in them.  When I passed a bloke on Mosser Road at around 10 he said I was the first walker he had seen that day.

Shortly after I turned up towards Fellbarrow, heading into the cloud.  This might test my navigation, I thought.  It was an easy-enough climb up to the trig point, passing a couple with dogs on their way down.  To the north I could just about make out Cockermouth but not much else.  However as I made my way across the fell the cloud miraculously started to lift.  By the time I was at Smithy Fell I could see where I was.

Away from the summit of Fellbarrow

I was making good time so I wandered around a little before climbing Low Fell, passing another couple on their way in the other direction.  ‘Brilliant views,’ the woman said.  Having been there a number of times before, I knew what she meant and was delighted that the cloud had obliged me by clearing.  I sat for a while on the cairn to the south of the fell to take it all in.  It was glorious, sunlight blazing off Crummock Water, cloud swirling around the high tops, orange-brown fellsides climbing into the dark murk, bright green fields and all the farms and tarns lying in the valley below.

View from Loweswater Fell

The wind was making it chilly so I set off on the steep descent to the beck before the steep ascent of Darling Fell.  It actually looked like there was a bypass path around the fell these days, but I’ve always gone over the top.  The far side took me down through bracken to Mosser Road again where it felt increasingly warm.  As I drove to the Kirkstile Inn for lunch, the car read 19℃ and Grasmoor was almost clear.

Looking over Loweswater

Last time I had been in Cumbria it felt like I could have pushed myself a bit more.  I was pleased to have done that on the first day (1325m of ascent is the most I’ve done for a while) and was delighted with having had a fabulous few days.  It reminded me why, for a long time, I had considered Buttermere my favourite valley in the Lakes.

Cross Fell and Uldale Fells Aug 2026

There was a gap in the newly-returned rainy season, so I headed up north, first to Cross Fell and then "back o'Skiddaw".

Not sure how tough the walk was going to be, I planned a 15km route starting from Kirkland (parking with an honesty box at the church).

Leaving Kirkland

The path climbed steadily until a steep, engineered path across the face of Wildboar Scar.

Above Wildboar Scar

It levelled off with boggy sections higher up.

Great and Little Dun Fells, which I had chosen not to climb

The rise onto the plateau was gentle.

Impressive cairns, or curricks

The shelter is very impressive and was welcome in the strong breeze (not quite the Helm Wind). I hung around the deserted plateau for a while while butterflies and bees buzzed around. The views were limited, partly by topology, partly by haze (the Lakeland fells were just silhouettes).

Cross Fell summit

Descending north, I met the first people of the day, in fact I passed perhaps a dozen other people on this side of the hill.

North edge of the summit plateau

The descent was occasionally steep, occasionally boggy.

On the descent

And before I knew it I was back in Kirkland, feeling I should have planned a longer route.

A last look to the fell as I arrive back at the village

I spent the night at Gill Head Farm campsite (with a meal at the Troutbeck Inn). The skies were clear overnight so both the grass and my tent were soaked with dew in the morning. I stuffed the wet tent in the car and drove round to Lowthwaite, near Over Water. Most of the parking places were taken but I got a decent spot (other cars arriving after me parked less considerately). I set off just ahead of a group, and didn't see them again.

Longlands Fells

Again there were hazy views, and the wind was much stronger. It was lovely walking country though.

Heading over to Brae Fell

I was ticking hills, vaguely thinking of completing a third round of the Wainwrights (I'm halfway there), so headed as far as Knott before coming back to Meal Fell.

Steep descent off Meal Fell

There were a few people around, individuals and couples, but it wasn't a busy place.

Trusmadoor with Skiddaw behind

From Great Cockup I took a pathless, direct line downhill. Funnily enough, despite there being no path, my GPS track shows I followed almost the exact same line when I was last there in 2016.

Looking back on my way out

It was an easy walk out after the steep drop and there were lovely views all round.

Binsey

I might have popped over to Binsey but I hadn't brought a packed lunch and I was hungry, so I drove tot the Coledale Inn at Braithwaite instead.

Alsace 2026

In August I spent a week with a friend at the Sipp Mack winery in Hunawihr in Alsace, France. We had hoped to do some walking but it was extremely hot, so we didn't do a great deal. The scenery was lovely though, as were the food and wine.

Just north of Hunawihr is Ribeauvillé, a pretty town of half-timbered houses and giftshops. Above the town are the famous Trois Chateaux de Ribeauvillé, a walk we would do later in the week.

Trois Chateaux de Ribeauvillé

The towns were full of colourful flowers which attracted the insects.

There were a lot of hummingbird hawk-moths around

Ribeauvillé

Ribeauvillé

It was about 2km from Hunawihr to Ribeauvillé, passing through lots of vineyards.

Old vines

Above Hunawihr

In Bergheim

On one day, my friend drove us up to the Grand Ballon, the highest point in the Vosges Mountains at 1424m. You park around 1300m so it's not a hard climb! The cooler air (20 degrees instead of 30) and breeze were most welcome.

The Vosges from the Grand Ballon

Lots of fritillaries (I think), mostly with battered wings

The Grand Ballon was very busy but when we dropped off the summit to the Col du Haag in order to climb the Storkenkopf, it got much quieter.

Cows clanking their bells, Alpine-style, at the Col du Haag

Looking back to the Grand Ballon from the Storkenkopf

For the Three Castles walk, we walked over to Ribeauvillé and then up through the woods, glad of the shade. There were gentle, wide forest rides taking us inexorably upwards. The whole walk was about 13km, completed after an excellent lunch at the Cheval Blanc in Ribeauvillé .

Woodland ride

Hunawihr from the Hinterluetzelbach ridge

Chateau Ribeaupierre

Chateau Girsberg

Another day we walked out of the village straight into the wooded hills behind it and wound our way up more forest rides to the Col de Seelacker. Had we got our timing right we would have continued to the auberge at St Alexis, but it was closed that day, so we cut down to Riquewihr instead to fuel up with superb sea bass and Riesling at l'Ecurie. With the 2km walk back, it was again around 13km for the day.

Fritillary on hemp-agrimony