A Wild Vista

I’ve just enjoyed a very relaxing weekend up in Derbyshire, staying with friends on the south edge of the Peak District. It never fails to amaze me just how much of the Peak I’ve yet to explore. Having been based in Nottingham for seven years (first at Uni, and then whilst working at the Railway Technical Centre in Derby), the Peak was on my doorstep (albeit a mighty 25-mile step) for long enough to have made countless day and weekend trips to this, Britain’s first national park. And yet there are still huge swathes that I’m pretty much a stranger to.

On Saturday then, we enjoyed a pleasant bimble in the White Peak, starting and finishing in the village of Elton, and taking in many cow-filled pastures (recently reported fatal trampling incidents coming to mind as we negotiated yet another bovine obstacle). I don’t know exactly where we went, as I wasn’t paying any attention to the map. Rather, I was quite happy to “follow the leader”, and save my mental faculties for debating the hot topical issues of our day — that is, whether the butcher’s or Arkwright’s pasties are better (the butcher was victorious incidentally). Highlights of the day included a pleasant nap at Robin Hood’s Stride, and a sporting section that saw us ploughing through acres of waist-high bracken.

Somewhere near Elton. I was too caught up in debating the merits of various pasties to be able to recall exactly where this is.

That was the White Peak then. Sunday was reserved for the Dark Peak (though, to be fair, the Hope Valley is generally regarded as lying on the border between the two “Peaks”). Just a couple of us this time, looking for something slightly more energetic — only slightly though. By the time we left Castleton, having stocked up on pasties again, it was almost one o’clock! The bash up Lose Hill served to remind me that I’m not particularly fit at the moment. I kept up a reasonable pace, and didn’t need to stop, but it was with jelly-like legs that I continued along the ridge towards Mam Tor.

What should have been a relaxing lunch in a little nook out of the wind near Hollin’s Cross, turned out to be no such thing. We were practically mugged by thuggish sheep that had to be repeatedly manhandled away from coveted sandwiches and pasties. I’ve encountered plenty of sheep that are pretty unphased by crowds of hill-folk when there’s lunch in the offing, but this bunch were something else.

Having just about managed to hang onto my turkey sandwich, we continued over a busy Mam Tor, then crossed the head of the valley above Winnats Pass, and eventually made our way back down into Castleton via Cavedale.

I thought I knew this bit of the Peak reasonably well, but I’m sure this was my first trip through Cavedale — a beautiful limestone valley, descending in the shadow of the castle, and ending smack bang in the middle of Castleton by way of a narrow gorge. I’ll have to come back here with the camera again, when I’m feeling a bit more artsy!