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