I have never….

 

It’s dark and a couple of hours before dawn. As I roll over I notice there’s a cold spot where my feet are.. I shuffle wondering if rain has somehow found It’s way into the tent. While I’m considering why there’s a chill down by my feet, a wave of nausea washes over me. I lie still, trying not to move my left knee, close my eye’s again and try to drop off as quickly as possible. This is going to be painful in the morning..

 

This is my most eagerly awaited weekend since Christmas. The first camp of the year. Over the last few years, I’ve been spoilt. Calm, clear, cold and snowy. Every single one a beauty. This year was shaping up to be similar, but at the last minute the weather bods can’t make up their minds. Heavy rain, snow, gale force winds, sun.. All were possibilities get thrown at me the week before I leave. The night before I set off, It starts to Hail just before I go to bed.

My mate Jim turns up in the morning and we caught up in the kitchen, having a brew with my good lady, swapping Xmas gifts because we haven’t seen each other for months, discussing whether the weather is going to turn. Paul texts in saying the snow is still falling in Sheffield centre, but he also thinks we’re good to go. The last chance to ditch heavy packs and switch to a car camp with a big tent passes and Jim fiddles with his straps while I kiss the kids bye for the next 24 hours. We set off towards the bus stop when I realise I’ve forgotten something vital.. My Fags.

As we turn round I have a foreboding this camp just isn’t going to go as smoothly as the ones in the past.

 

When our bus rolls into Sheffield station, We have less than four minutes to get to the right stop to meet Paul. While I visit the smallest room, Jim asks the info desk where the bus leaves from. We dodge out to the other side of the Station and we can see Paul bobbing gently with impatience while he convinces the driver, that yes, we are here and he can see us just over there. Never again will I trust that a route planner from the bus company will allow enough time for transfers.

Castleton, is as it always is. Small, large, pretty, beautified honey pot that draws all kinds. Though on this cold, wet, snowy Saturday lunchtime there are few sight-seers. Just a couple of locals and a couple who asked directions to the YHA (so – people are still using them). As we walk from the station, working out the kinks in our legs and having a pleasant smoke, I notice that although the tops of the peaks themselves are in the cloud bottoms, most of the hill is visible. I managed to think all this, get my Etrex GPS on and the route to follow loaded. It’s time to leave the town behind.

The entrance to cave dale Is a narrow passage between two houses. You’ll walk past it If you're not looking for it. As you walk into it, it suddenly opens into a small valley, with Peveril castle peering over the edge.

 

The valley is much steeper than I expected. I thought it would be a nice gentle way up the hill. It’s not STEEP but it’s enough so that by the time we near the top, we have to stop and strip down a layer. We have a pasty and I take off my fleece, meaning that Paul and I are now just in our Base layers and waterproof jackets. It may not have seemed so bad, were it not for the fact that the mist now thickens, meaning the whole world becomes uniform white. It was like one of these 1950’s visions of heaven. Let me tell you. Heaven it ain’t. (The view never got better than on the video you can see on the post before this one). As we head up towards Mam Tor, I notice my heel is feeling hot. Predictably, no one had any plasters, so I re-lace the boot and carry on. By the time we’re level with Mam Tor car park, my heel is on fire. I pulled out the pole I’d brought in case Grindsbrook was iced up and lean heavily on it. As we work up onto the opposite side of the road from Mam Tor, heading towards Rushup edge I manage to twist my knee on my other leg which means both legs now hurt. We push on along the top and thankfully my heel begins to ease off on the flatter sections.

As we cross a Stile, Jim’s phone chimes. This means we have a phone signal. We stop for a bar of chocolate, a sneaky tot of rum and a quick call home to reassure Shani that we aren’t dead. Paul confides he’s happy we’d stopped because he’s getting shooting pains in his thighs.

That was it. With me hobbling along we might have been ok, but if Pauls leg gets any worse the combination could mean we end up stranded, or worse - have the indignity of having to be brought down off the hill.. That’s not happening if I can help it.

I make the decision that we will come down at Chapel Gate, instead of continuing round over brown knoll and down Grindsbrook. We make great time across the top and we’re heading down the valley sides in no time. As we start down, the snow breaks a little and we see the brown of the peat underneath. It’s weird how much you can miss colour.

Darkness falls just as we reach the valley floor and we pick up the road at Barber Booth.

I’m sad that we have cut it short, but I know it’s the right choice, especially given my knee, which had worsened while going down into the valley, now seems to have a metal bar in the joint. Now all there is to do is to cover the last mile or so, pitch the tent and get to the pub!

 

Arriving at Fieldhead campsite I mention that it is much busier on the hills and on the site than in the last few years. While I wonder why this is, we’re struck with another mini catastrophe. Paul has forgotten his sleep mat..

I give him a pair of waterproof trousers and a sit mat he can put under him with the rest of his stuff he’ s going to use to try and help keep him off the floor. Thus braced, we set off for the pub.

 

Now, I’m sure you’ve noticed, but the result of cutting short the route means that we are in Edale much earlier than we’d expected to be.

The pub was busy, the beer was flowing and the food was hot. Pretty soon we had lost pretty much all judgement, to the point that we started to play drinking games.

I have a video I took of us. I won’t be sharing it, but lets just say, it’s not pretty.

When the Nags throws everyone out we headed back to the tents. in our stupor, it’s decided that a mug of tea is be a capital idea. Finally Jim lets the side down – he hasn’t brought a mug! I brew in the pot and use the lid as a cup, with Jim using the pan side – which isn’t easy to do without burning your lips. this turns out to be just what we wanted, so we make another before we retire for the evening.

 

And this is where we started. I’ve got a damp patch near my feet (which turns out to be condensation), my knee is agony to move and though I’m plastered, I’m starting to sober up. Definitely not the best part of a night.

But the worst part?

 

Paul has to get home to meet his parents, so the slow recovery, followed by a train out of Edale around lunch is replaced with a lurching, headache of a re-pack dashing for a train well before I’m ready too.. Even now, while writing this, the memory is fresh enough to make me feel wretched again.

 

 

And so for the moral of the story?.. Remember to pack your mug…. you might burn your lips otherwise .

The slog.

This year's walk was a simple premise: walk into Edale and camp for the night.

Of course I made it more complicated. We would walk from ladybower and leave the car at home. This meant I had to work out the bus's, train's and tram's we'd use. Secondly it meant we'd have to carry anything we wanted in with us. not a big task in the summer with a day pack, but in the middle of winter and with an over night camp, the stuff you need soon piles up...

Jim met up with me at mine. We bused to Meadowhell, picked up a tram, met Paul in Sheffield center and then a final bus to The Ladybower Inn (as we left sheffield mist and low cloud started appearing - not a sight good for the soul). We wanted sun and views, but you have to play with the cards you get dealt).
By the time we arrived there, Jim and I had already been lugging our packs for 3 or so hours and Paul had woken with a very sore back ..

Paul had done a reccie on the route a week or so before. In the day, on his own with little weight he'd done it in a bit over 3 hours. We'd also been on a walk in Rotherham a few weeks before with a full pack, just to see how we'd get on.
There were no problems, other than my tired old boots rubbing. This would be sorted by just wearing thicker socks on the day. Simple.

Setting off from the bus stop the sky started to clear and the sun came out. This was more like it, few people and the views were getting started.

We walked over the ladybower bridge, spending most of my time pretending to push Jim in the icy water as he peered over the edge.

We follwed the road down to the dam itself. It's really quite pretty, look:

After crossing the dam, we picked up a gentle, but muddy path. I started thinking that leaving my gators at home was a mistake but soon the path dried out as it was became steeper and steeper and as always, I started going red in the face as the others picked their way ahead of me.

As we left this narrow steep path we entered a rather knarly looking wood. I wouldn't be surprised it it was used in a future Scooby Doo movie. Just as I was  catching my breath, a couple of ladies came the other way. They warned us about how steep it was on the other side. I still wonder what their faces were like as they looked down the path that we had just come up.
Soon we started to come out of the tree line and we got our first real views of the day. This was swiftly followed by a push to get to the top. Look at the above photo of the reservoir and you'll notice the hill has a nipply bit on the top. So I settled back into my trudge. This part of the walk was really pleasant, a light wind quickly drying off any damp sweaty bits, but not so bad that it was cold. Suddenly, much faster than expected we were on the top.
The view was the best I've ever seen. We weren't that high, but we had views of the best bits of the Peaks. The flat top of Kinder scout, the ridge running off towads Mam Tor, Ladybower below us and the last vestages of Stannage Edge. It really is perfect up there. If you haven't been, book a day off work in the early summer before it get's too hot and go see for yourself. You won't regret it. If you think it's not for you, take a look. I'm sure you'll change your mind.

Going down was fairly straightforward, if steep at times. and brought us out at a farm. We were worried abought rights of way as the path seemed to just be access to the farm, but as we got closer we realised the path just went straight across the yard.. The biggest surprise came when we got there, there was a sign advertising rooms and get this - a swiming pool... slightly unexpected..

 After the farm, we picked up the a road that headed back dow towards the outskirts of Hope and a quick refreshment stop at The Cheshire Cheese.
Suitably refreshed, we set off up the next hill of the day.
This time things were harder. I don't know why, I'd climbed higher going up Scarfell Pike. I'd walked further and in much less time. But this ascent really hurt.
It started to go dark on the way up as planned, giving Jim a chance to pose for dramatic images..

Then it was time to get out the head torches, and by the time I made it to the top it was night proper. The stars were out and the temperature was plummeting. I was too tired to care by this point and the walk was rapidly turning into a test of endurance, with Paul and his bad back somehow still moving too. (if this never happens to you, rest safely in the knowledge that you have never pushed your limits).
We went past Backtor and followed the path down not long after. We were all tired now and stumbling over everything. Suddenly we seemed to be down most of the way and I called a halt for a fag break. Suddenly, the laughter broke out again and the mood lifted. We set off again feeling much better. We got onto the road and came out near the Youth Hostel. There was a group of people coming the other way and as we passed, us with full packs (which now had frost on the top of them), not knowing if there were any spaces at the campsite (at this time of year it's a pretty safe bet though). One of them turned to the another and said "now that's hardcore!"
This became the catchphrase for the rest of the trip. Why? I don't know. sometimes some things just stick..
After this things went quickly and smoothly. We soon covered the last mile or 2 joking along the road, got to the campsite, pitched the tent, went to the pub and went back to the site where I made a brew and the site owner came round, checking in on everyone (and making sure that people remembered to pay him in the morning too).

Early in the morning I heard the weather change. It had started to rain very gently on the tent, I rolled over and went back to sleep. When I woke up later, It had gone dark again. This confused the hell out of me - had I slept through the day? As I thought this, my foot tapped the side of the tent and suddenly the side of the tent slipped off!? It hadn't rained at all.. It had snowing, not raining and not at all gently).
Someone came past and was telling his mate that the roads were blocked and he couldn't get back to Sheffield. While we were discussing what to do the happy sound of a train drifted through the valley.

We decided to strike camp there and then, skipping breakfast in the hope that the next train would still come as well. Strangely, when we'd packed up and got on the road, it didn't seem as bad, but cars were having big problems, even on the flat.
We arrived at the train station and I put on a pot of coffee for us. It was still very pretty, white everywhere and silent, with no cars or crowds.

And that's it really. The train came, Paul went his own way back in sheffield and Jim and I struggled to get back out of Rotherham on buses that had pretty much stopped running..