Bakewell - Hartington - Buxton

Bakewell - Hartington

The day didn’t start perfectly as the rail replacement bus, if that’s what it was, drove off from the stop five minutes ahead of schedule, just as I was crossing the road. I waited 15 minutes before getting the regular 192 service to Hazel Grove, where the actual train was departing from, and arrived in plenty of time all the same. At Buxton I changed to the Transpeak bus service to Bakewell after a short mooch around for a coffee. The bus was fairly busy: mostly walkers, and a couple of Canadians who were heading to Matlock for a train south.

It was nearly 11 o’clock now, so the town was busy and the day had grown warm. I quickly hit the backstreets and climbed away from the bustle, feeling more comfortable once I had found myself surrounded by fields. Given the long period of dry weather, it was no surprise to see the fields looking rather brown. For a brief moment I intersected with the route I had walked on my ultra challenge a couple of months ago, remembering how it had been drizzling that morning and how different the outlook was now.

So far the paths had been deserted but, as expected, it grew busier from Alport, along the River Bradford and past Youlgreave. There were lots of people sunbathing on the river meadow, lads in the river with little nets and other kids just splashing around. The designated swimming area was empty of both people and water, just a muddy puddle remaining.

River Bradford at Youlgreave

Past the turn for Middleton, it was quiet again and I stopped for something to eat on a broken wall. After that was a long, gentle climb past Kenslow Wood and on to Long Dale. It is one of my favourite spots and the combination of feeling strong and energetic, together with a beautiful scene of blue sky, red hawthorn berries and yellow gorse flowers, put me in a great mood. There were fewer flowers in Long Dale than expected, vetch and harebells already past their best, and few butterflies, unlike in the past when there used to be clouds of them.

Long Dale

As I turned up Gratton Dale I started to get the feeling that I had miscalculated the distances. It surely wasn’t going to be the 25km I had expected. I would have a re-plan in a bit. For some reason I didn’t do that at Pikehall when I stopped for more food. Instead I just stared up at the chirping house martins swooping above the road. Again I briefly touched on the ultra route when I used a short section of the High Peak Trail. It took me back to the pain of trotting along the old railway line for hours and looking forward to stopping for lunch at Pikehall. I was feeling much less tired than that time and marched off up Aleck Low before heading down towards Biggin.

Over a pint of Stancill Stainless in the Waterloo, served by the usual old girl in a tie (‘Ere y’are, ducky’), I consulted the map, concluded I was a little early (check-in at the hostel was 5pm) and cobbled together a slightly longer route. I celebrated this change of plan with another pint.

Biggin Dale was looking rather lovely, with stumpy trees, scattered boulders and jutting limestone outcrops. I was in an almost euphoric mood (blame the Stainless), loving the walking and chatting to sheep and friendly cows. My route took me up to Reynards Lane and then along the path that leads right to the hostel entrance. Having had a quiet time for the last hour, I was pulled up short by the numbers of people sitting on the picnic benches in the sunshine outside. I had to get used to company again.

Near Hartington

There had been a deal on at the hostel so my one-bed room was only £28 for the night and it turned out to be en-suite too. Result! I had a shower and spent a bit of time fettling with my bag and gear before going downstairs for a drink (Wincle Hen Cloud on cask) out in the garden. My plan for dinner was in the village itself, at the Charles Cotton Hotel which has recently been taken over by a family of Indian origin and now hosts Hartington Spice. I wasn’t sure how the beer was so I stuck to a lager as I tucked into my delicious lamb sagwala (spinach).

The beer selection at the Devonshire Arms over the road is better but I discovered that, although it was only a little after 7pm, they had shut for the night. Rather early, even for a Sunday. So instead I walked back up to the hostel for a drink and to sit in the quiet library reading my book. There was a mixed crowd there and in the other cafe/bar areas, young kids on phones, middled aged people on phones, occasional conversations. It was all very chilled out and, like most people, I headed upstairs for an early night.

Hartington - Buxton

I slept well and woke before my alarm, giving me a chance to start sorting my bag out before going down for breakfast, which was a fairly standard affair for a YHA, decent enough to set you up for the day. I was out of the hostel before 8:30am and walked into the village to pick up a freshly-made sandwich at the excellent Village Stores. The day was cloudier than Sunday and felt a little chilly to start with. I warmed up by climbing, unhurriedly, up towards Carder Low.

Friendly cow

There was a brown lamb lying in the gateway I wanted to use and, as I approached, it tried uselessly to pull its head back out from between the laths, unable to work out, in however long it had been there, that all it needed to do was lower its head into the big gap below the gate. I grabbed the gate, grabbed the back of the lamb’s head and pushed it down until it was finally free, running off immediately up the field and calling for its mother.

'Stuck' lamb

The views above Pilsbury Castle were slightly misty out towards Chrome and Parkhouse Hills but the Dove Valley still looked lovely, another one of my favourite Peak District scenes. I chatted with a southern couple who were camping at Crowdicote and who didn’t seem to know the area, the first people I had seen that day and the last I would see for a while, then hauled myself up above Earl Sterndale to the edge of Hindlow Quarry. The sound of clanking machinery announced the quarry’s presence and would accompany me for the next three quarters of an hour. The quarry itself is a gigantic scar in the ground where they are scooping out more and more limestone.

Pilsbury Castle

Parkhouse and Chrome Hills

Hindlow Quarry

With that, and the A515, behind me, I dropped into Horseshoe Dale, another pretty spot where I perched on a rock for early lunch. A couple of lads on mountain bikes stopped to ask if they could get to Buxton this way. ‘You can by walking,’ I said. They turned around but I checked the map and actually the path was a bridleway here and would have led them to a road and then to the A6, if they had wanted to risk that way. Oh well, too late.

Horseshoe Dale

Again it was clear that it was going to be a shorter day than expected. I must have been misreading the map measurer. Oh well, early train beckons. I have walked the last section from King Sterndale to Buxton a number of times before and it is always a bit of a slog, not helped by the rain falling, albeit lightly. In fact it was that warm, a waterproof coat would have just soaked you from the inside, so I just walked in a fleece. I had a short chat with a woman coming the other way at Cow Dale who told me she was walking my route in the opposite direction, from Buxton to Hartington where she would stay in the hostel. The day after she would walk home to Leek with her daughter.

Drying off somewhat, I wound my way through allotments and backstreets into the busy town centre before taking refuge in the Buxton Brewery taproom to wait for my train (and rail replacement bus) home. It had been a thoroughly satisfying two days with gorgeous scenery and some jolly fine ales, if only I had planned the distances properly.