A snow-bound Kinder Scout

From the Buxton – Manchester train, just outside Chapel-en-le-Frith.

Sugar Sands, near Craster, Northumberland coast

Northumberland is England’s northernmost county, and an area that I don’t know well at all. Boasting a National Park, and a coastline declared an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, there’s clearly a lot going for Northumberland if you’re into wide open, wild spaces. This photo from Sugar Sands, just south of the tiny coastal village of Craster, hints at the joys that coastal walking here has to offer.

No snow to report in these parts since the last “Photo Friday” missive, but the recent wet and stormy weather has now stripped most trees of their leaves. Low-lying shrubs are still adding some colour though, as could be seen in Grin Low woods this morning, just above Buxton. In Buxton itself, there was a thick mist, revealed as a low-level valley fog from the modest heights of Grin Low — a beautiful day to be out for a stroll…

Grin Low Woods

Signpost to Axe Edge, from the old Cat & Fiddle road

If summer 2010 seemed to flash by in the blink of an eye, then autumn’s arrived and departed even more briskly. Barely are the woodlands past their best with this year’s showy display of fall colours, and an Atlantic depression has swept across the country, hastening the trees’ progress toward their skeletal winter outlines, and blowing in the first lying snow of the winter. This particular snowfall may not last long, but the temperature trend will be down hill from here on in for a good few months now…

First snow of winter on the old Cat & Fiddle road

Getting the map out on a misty Esk Pike, English Lake District.

If you’re looking for lost people, Esk Pike, or more likely the adjacent Esk Hause, is a rich hunting ground. “Hause” is the local Cumbrian term for a mountain pass, col or gap, and so most “hauses” in the Lake District carry paths well used by fellwalkers.

Esk Hause is especially busy, lying as it does on many of the standard routes up Scafell Pike, itself something of a people magnet given its status as the highest ground in England. Unfortunately for the unwary, the topography around Esk Hause is extremely complicated. Tracks from Wasdale, Borrowdale, Langdale and Eskdale meet here, and then there are mountain tracks heading from the Hause towards Glaramara, Esk Pike and Scafell Pike.

The complex topography of Esk Hause

(Above image produced from the Ordnance Survey Get-a-map service. Image reproduced with kind permission of Ordnance Survey and Ordnance Survey of Northern Ireland.)

In fine weather, with a procession of Scafell Pike pilgrims to follow, it all seems very easy. As soon as the mist comes down though, one section of path looks very much like another. And mist is a frequent visitor to Esk Hause, which lies at over 700 metres. As is usual in the British uplands, waymarking is limited to cairns (piles of rock). There are no signs, no splashes of paint on the rocks, indeed, no indications at all as to where a particular path is headed.

Which is why it’s so important to be able to read a map, translating between the contours and symbols and what you’re seeing on the ground. Combined with a compass — much more useful if you’re able to use it to measure and then follow a bearing, or perhaps check the aspect of a slope — you shouldn’t end up in the wrong valley, or worse, lost in a storm in this unforgiving corner of England. A GPS can make all of this somewhat easier, but the ability to read and interpret a map, and apply this to the terrain and situation you find yourself in, is no less important when the map is displayed by electronic wizardry, rather than printed on a dead tree.

During a recent foray along the Mam Tor / Lose Hill ridge, I observed a common natural optical phenomenon — namely the Heiligenschein (German for “holy light”). Like a number of such common effects, it seems to go unnoticed by many, as it can be quite subtle.

Here’s the photo I took of this particular instance of Heiligenschein — the left-hand image is pretty much “as is” out of the camera, whereas I’ve enhanced the right-hand image to show the effect more clearly:

Heiligenschein on dew-soaked grass (right-hand image is contrast enhanced)

Heiligenschein is the bright spot visible around the shadow of a viewer’s head, most often seen when the shadow is projected onto dew-soaked grass. The physical mechanism of Heiligenschein is explained on the excellent Atmospheric Optics web site.

So, next time you’re out early, with the sun low in the sky and dewy grass beneath your feet, don’t forget to check your shadow for the “holy light”.

This rather short post is unlikely to be of much interest to you, unless you have a desperate urge to see Buxton’s Market Square as it stood at around midday on Friday 15th October.

Rather, I’m trying out moblogging (mobile blogging) for the first time, now that I have a suitable phone.

Now, I have a small confession to make — I’m sat at exactly the same desk in exactly the same place as I usually am when writing a blog post. This is a test, seeing as I’m off up to Snowdonia this evening, and wouldn’t mind having a bash at posting while I’m away over the weekend.

The kit used to make this post is what differs. I’m writing using the physical keyboard on a G1 (often referred to as a ‘Google phone’ or ‘HTC Dream’), and using a WordPress app downloaded free from the Android Market. The photo was taken using the phone’s camera, while writing the post.

For connectivity, I’ve uploaded to my self-hosted WordPress blog via my own wireless network, rather than using 3G. A bit of a cheat maybe, but this shouldn’t change the mechanics of posting (apart perhaps from the lower bandwidth and dropped connections that using 3G is likely to introduce).

In the field (by which I mean, on the hill), things will no doubt be more tricky. I’m expecting the main issues to be finding a good enough 3G signal, and the limited battery life of the phone.

All being well though, you should see a post or two from sunny Wales this weekend

Looked like a pleasant evening, so I went for a bimble up past the Cat & Fiddle Inn before tea. Parking near Dane Head on Axe Edge Moor (under 10 minutes’ drive out of Buxton) there are expansive views from the get go, without having to work for them. Having lost track of how early it’s getting dark these days, I ended up curtailing my planned walk by walking back along the A54 — not much fun in the dark, sans headtorch. Worth it for the prospect out over the Cheshire Plain though, with a 3-day old crescent moon adding a little something special.

A few pics…

Unnamed road near Derbyshire Bridge, looking towards Cat & Fiddle.

New moon setting over Shutlingsloe, from Whetstone Ridge.

Looking towards the Roaches, from Whetstone Ridge.

A little over six months ago, I wrote about one of my favourite short walks in this part of the Peak District. I’ve been back along various bits of the Mam Tor / Lose Hill ridge several times since then. The last time, towards the end of July, was notable for coinciding with “flying ant day”. The crowds descending from Mam Tor that late summer afternoon were preoccupied with keeping the myriad flying insects out of their eyes and ears and hair — easier said than done when every ant nest for miles around has sent forth a squadron for their annual mating ritual.

No such problem today. Gazing vacantly out of the kitchen window over a cuppa (I hadn’t been up long — and an unexplained fire alarm the night before had left me more dazed than usual), it appeared to be foggy down in the lower part of Buxton, but noticeably clearer looking across the Market Square in Higher Buxton. That said just one thing to me — inversion. Well, dense valley fog rather than a higher-level inversion, but likely to be very noticeable from the nearby hills.

So, having grabbed the camera (a Lumix LX3 compact that I’m still fumbling my way around), I headed on over to Mam Nick, and headed up the Tor and along the ridge. Returning back through Castleton for a pasty (I’d skipped breakfast — valley fog inversions tend to be short lived at this time of year), I walked back up through Winnats Pass, my eye once again on Elbow Ridge. I’m not sure how many more times I’m going to be able to walk past this towering fin of limestone while resisting the temptation to climb it…

There are a few pics from the morning’s bimble, below. If you’d prefer to see the full set of 21, check out this Picasa album.

The path up Mam Tor from Mam Nick

Photographer on Mam Tor

A thousand suns

Near the foot of Winnats Pass

Looking down Winnats Pass towards the foot of Elbow Ridge (on the left)

Every now and then, the UK weather forecast will make mention of the “Cheshire Gap”, usually in relation to rain showers that are predicted to track through the gap and spoil the good folk of the West Midlands’ day. So what exactly is this gap of which the meteorologists speak?

Well, when not discussing weather, “Cheshire Plain” is pretty much synonymous. Both terms refer to the specific lie of the land in this part of north west England. For here can be found an expanse of lowland, bordered to the west by the Clwydian Range of North Wales, and to the east by the hills of the Staffordshire and Cheshire Peak District.

Location of the Cheshire Gap.

To the north, the Wirral Peninsula gives way to the Irish Sea, and thus a moist north-westerly air stream will often push showers a long way down the Cheshire Plain (through the gap between the bounding hills), concentrating them along this corridor and shepherding them away from adjacent areas.

Although those living towards the south east end of the gap may get more than their fair share of rain, the hills surrounding the plain are afforded much more extensive views than would otherwise be expected of their modest height. The Peak District hills of Shining Tor and Shutlingsloe are particularly well positioned, and provided the atmosphere’s reasonably clear, the North Wales hills are readily visible from their summits, as is the sea around the Wirral. Definitely worth a visit with the binoculars…

Shining Tor rises to the West of the Goyt Valley, and, if starting from the shores of Errwood Reservoir, gives a good 1000 feet of ascent — at 3¾ miles, the circuit should take about an hour at a fast walking pace. The route shown starts from the Errwood car park, and essentially circles around Shooter’s Clough, visiting the top of Shining Tor (559 metres) before returning to the reservoir.

The views from the top are superb on a clear day. Looking out over the Cheshire Plain, you’ll easily pick out the hills of the Clwydian Range in North Wales and the Wrekin in Shropshire (almost 50 miles distant), as well as numerous local landmarks, including Shutlingsloe, and the large Lovell radio telescope at Jodrell Bank.

The route: up Shining Tor from Errwood car park in the Goyt Valley

There’s not much to choose between walking this route clockwise or anti-clockwise. If anything, clockwise has the edge (descending past Errwood Hall), with more opportunity to take in the extensive views while descending from Shining Tor.

The interactive OS map below shows the route.

Note that if you’re subscribed to this blog as a feed, and are reading this post in a “reader” (such as Google Reader or FeedDemon), you’ll need to click through to the WildVista website to see the interactive OS map.

From Clough House car park, it’s a pleasant 4½ mile circuit out to Three Shires Head and back. Taking in secluded river valleys, mature woodland, a couple of miniature waterfalls, open sheep pasture and heather moorland, there are also some gentle hills to stretch the legs nicely — 285m ascent/descent in total. Should take about 1¼ hours if you don’t hang about, but on a nice day there are plenty of excuses to dally, particularly at the packhorse bridge at Three Shires Head.

The route: Clough House car park to Three Shires Head, and back

The route remains within Cheshire throughout, but follows the county boundary with Derbyshire, and then Staffordshire, near Three Shires Head. Technically, you could stand with one foot in Cheshire, one foot in Derbyshire, and one foot a hand in Staffordshire, but you’ll get very wet trying…

The interactive OS map below shows the route. You could walk this circuit in either direction, but if you go clockwise (heading east past Cumberland House), you’ll avoid a steep walk up the road at the start.

Note that if you’re subscribed to this blog as a feed, and are reading this post in a “reader” (such as Google Reader or FeedDemon), you’ll need to click through to the WildVista website to see the interactive OS map.

It won’t be long before the days are noticeably drawing in much faster as the summer gradually merges into autumn. So I’m glad I made the most of one of the finest, balmy summer evenings we’ve had this year (there haven’t been that many), by climbing up onto the western edges of Kinder from Hayfield, a day after the summer solstice.

Looking north, along the western edges of Kinder Scout (9pm, 22nd June 2010)

It’s been several months since I’ve been out for a countryside bimble with a largish group, but that’s now been put right. It was nice to catch up with a few folk that I’ve not seen for ages, whilst exploring nooks and crannies of the Derbyshire Dales — in this case, Tideswell Dale, Miller’s Dale, and Cressbrook Dale, with a diversion to the little village of Foolow to add some variety (and beer).

A bimble through Tideswell Dale, Miller's Dale, and Cressbrook Dale

I chose not to take my camera, so can’t illustrate this post with the small but impressive outcrop of Peter’s Stone (also known as Gibbet Rock — from which the public display of convicted murderer Anthony Linguard’s remains apparently drew crowds from far and wide in 1815); nor the airy view over Cressbrook Dale at elevenses that made the cocoa-pop caramel shortbread taste even better.

However, I was equipped with a GPS Datalogger, whose unblinking geo-locating eye was recording the day’s events, albeit from an unusual perspective. This does beg a question though…

What the hell’s a GPS Datalogger?

A GPS Datalogger is similar to a standard personal GPS receiver (typified by the popular Garmin eTrex devices). Where a Datalogger differs, is that it does away with a screen showing where you are, along with any built-in navigation capabilities such as a “walk this way to next waypoint” arrow, or “x kilometres to go” status messages. Rather, every few seconds, a GPS Datalogger automatically records and saves its position. And that’s about it.

As such, a basic GPS Datalogger isn’t of much immediate use on the hill or down the dale. As a means of recording exactly where you’ve been though, it’s just the job. I should add at this point, that most standard personal GPS receivers also act as dataloggers, enabling you to record tracks of where you’ve been. A bespoke GPS Datalogger just does away with the display and navigation aspects of these devices, resulting in a much more compact gadget. Battery life too, is generally better, given that there’s no screen to power up.

GPS Datalogger (Blumax GPS-4044)

The unit pictured above measures roughly 70mm x 45mm x 20mm, and, in addition to position logging as described above, includes the following features:

• Bluetooth connectivity for uploading position data, or for providing real-time position data to another bluetooth device
• A “point of interest” button, for manually adding waypoints
• Status lights to indicate:
  • GPS tracking status
  • low-power warning
  • low-memory warning
  • bluetooth connection status

In use, one simply has to switch the unit on (ensuring it’s placed in ‘log’ mode), and then forget about it! I’m not going to review this particular GPS Datalogger in detail here — I may do so in a later post, once I’ve put it through its paces a little more — but have already noted the following:

• The unit starts tracking its position within a few seconds of being switched on. This may come as a surprise to anyone used to waiting minutes for their GPS unit to start tracking. Start-up time is greatly reduced by using Assisted-GPS (A-GPS) technology. More about A-GPS another time; for now it’s enough to note that the manufacturer has gone to the effort to support A-GPS.
• The unit seems to be very sensitive when it comes to detecting GPS signals. Much of the walk described above was through heavily wooded areas, and in deep valleys. The unit doesn’t seem to have had any trouble tracking GPS satellites, despite being inside my rucksac lid.
• Build quality is adequate, but no more. This is clearly not a “ruggedised” device. In comparison to a Garmin eTrex, which is carefully designed to deal with inclement conditions (such as being dropped, or exposure to water), this Blumax unit feels very “plasticky”. The “on” switch doesn’t have a very positive action, and feels cheap. I wouldn’t like to guess how long this unit would last if not offered the protection of an Ortlieb map-case or similar.

Using the logged location data

With a position fix recorded every five seconds, a GPS Datalogger can give you a very detailed record of a day’s walk — one that you can peruse at your leisure at a later date once you’ve uploaded the data to your computer. The data upload process is straightforward, and as the data is provided in GPX, format it’s easy to use with all sorts of mapping software.

It’s important to realise that each location record is also associated with a time. This means that, not only can you plot an accurate path of your travels on an electronic map (such as Memory Map, or using an online service such as Google Earth), but you can also review your progress throughout the day in fine detail.

I’ve discussed a number of examples from our walk in the Dales below. The screenshots are all from Google Earth, but remember that the data produced by the unit is in an open format, usable in many different ways and with a wide variety of software.

#1: “Nattering in the car park”

Car park south of Tideswell

First, it’s worth running through how Google Earth is displaying the location data from the GPS Datalogger. As well as the blue “track line”, every location point (one every five seconds) is marked with one of two symbols: an arrow  , or a square .

Google Earth displays an arrow when the following data point is far enough away that a reasonable value for the bearing can be displayed. If the following data point is closer than a threshold distance (a few metres by the looks of it), Google Earth displays the data point as a square instead .

Looking at the plotted track, the different types of markers correspond closely to the speed at which one is walking. A steady pace results in a sequence of arrows, all pointing in the direction of travel. When one slows down, or stops, the symbols change to squares, indicating that the data points are being displayed without bearing data.

So, looking at the image above, we can see the end of the track entering the Tideswell car park as a sequence of (mostly) arrows from the north, and then turning into a bunch of overlapping squares in the car park while everyone stops for a good natter (circled in red). By clicking on one of these squares at the end of the track in Google Earth, each square is expanded out into a starbust of individual points. Clicking on an individual square displays detailed information about that particular data point:

That's a lot of nattering...

Another interesting feature visible in the first image, is that the start of the track (heading south out of the car park), is inaccurate. Even though the unit starts tracking very quickly once it’s switched on, it still takes 30 seconds or so for the location readings to settle down.

#2: “Oops, Wrong Way”

Oops... wandering off at the front

The highlighted area in the above image shows what happens when the walk leader doesn’t keep close enough control of the reprobates at the front of the group — who in this case have blithely wandered off in the wrong direction before being called back. Oops.

It doesn’t take too much imagination to think of circumstances under which this ability to review a route in such precise detail could be quite useful — revisiting one’s progress and performance during a challenge event, for example?

#3: “Which Way Now?”

Up to the right, or straight on?

In the above image, there’s an obvious cluster of overlapping position markers (circled). This corresponds to some indecision with regard to the route ahead. Notice also that, as the track heads north out of the frame, the markers are mainly squares rather than bearing arrows. This is a consequence of slowing down while walking uphill!

#4: “Mmmm, Cocoa Pop caramel shortbread…”

Time for elevenses

The cluster of square markers in this image correspond to elevenses (greatly improved by a Cocoa Pop caramel shortbread “digestif”, and a member of the group expounding on the merits of various supermarket checkout operatives). By clicking on a marker either side of this cluster, we can determine that “elevenses” started at 11:40, and finished at 11:59. Twenty-to-twelveses then. I’ll be writing a letter to the walk leader…

#5: “Stile shenanigans”

Two of the many stiles...

Because the GPS Datalogger religiously records a new data point every five seconds, irrespective of one’s movements, it’s easy to see where “bunching” occurs in the group. The usual concertina effect of a group of ramblers negotiating a stile is clear in the image above.

Whatsmore, with a little detective work, I can surmise that for the first stile (bottom of the image), I was probably at the front of the group. The track there shows no slowing down before the stile, but plenty of dithering on the far side — presumably because I wasn’t sure which way to go. At the following stile, I’m probably nearer the back of the group, evidenced by more hanging about before the stile than after it.

#6: “Lunch and a pint”

Meanderings in Foolow

This image clearly shows the group’s progress through Foolow — lunching on the village green before backtracking to the pub. This is also a good indication of the accuracy of the unit. I reckon that most of the time, the recorded locations are within 3 metres of the actual location when plotted on a map. Of course, this is a very basic assessment, and takes no account whatever of possible inaccuracies in Google Earth’s registration of aerial photography. I can say with certainty however, that, whatever my GPS Datalogger indicates, I didn’t wade across the southern edge of the duckpond whilst looking for a suitable spot for lunch!

Again, timestamps are available for each data point. Thus I can see that we arrived in Foolow at 13:03, sat by the duckpond eating lunch until 13:29, and finally left the village (via the pub) at 14:09!

As a rule, and with only occasional wavering, readings are accurate enough to confirm which side of a road one walked down. Take this example:

Dithering near the A623

Here, the track accurately captures a momentary dither at the middle of this junction, before we chose which side of the road to walk down. Notice also that the location markers are slightly further apart when crossing the main A623 road (between Baslow and Chapel). Reason? A big truck was coming.

#6: “Peter’s Stone, and an entomological/mycological diversion”

Bimbling over Peter's Stone

Our route up Peter’s Stone, and subsequent meanderings on the top, are clearly shown (highlighted in red), as is some dithering shortly after descending the Stone (circled in blue), occasioned by the discovery of Six-Spot Burnet Moths, and some rancid fungus.

Download the data!

The location data can be downloaded from the unit in a standard GPX format, which is compatible with a wide variety of mapping applications. If you want to examine the detail more closely, perhaps using your own mapping software, or even walk this particular route yourself, you can grab the GPX data here (900KB).

Living within spitting distance of the hills has opened up all sorts of photographic opportunities. For one, I’m now much better placed to take full advantage of the golden hour, that brief period at the beginning and end of each day when the light can take on an almost magical character, temporarily transforming the landscape with subtle gradations of tone and colour that are denied to most daytime vistitors.

Now, I’m really not a morning person (and this isn’t the first time I’ve admitted so on this blog), so the evening golden hour was my target today. I can see enough of the western sky and surrounding landscape from my kitchen window to get a rough feel for what photographic opportunities might prevail, and so it was that I left Buxton at a quarter-to-seven this evening, for the 20-minute drive over to Hayfield.

By the time I’d parked at the Bowden Bridge car park and stomped my way over to Kinder Reservoir, it was clear that I needed to up the pace a bit if I was to get up onto Kinder Scout in time for that precious golden light. In the end, I was probably a little late (and knackered — I stopped probably 100 vertical feet short of the Kinder plateau), but was treated to an interesting sunset over Manchester.

So, some pics…

Kinder Reservoir.

South Head from near Sandy Heys on Kinder Scout.

First quarter was at 19:19 according to my ephemeris (40 minutes before I took this photo).

It's all systems go again in UK airspace, now Eyjafjallajökull's emissions have been deemed benign.

Beetham Tower's easy to pick out in a distant Greater Manchester.

...and so the golden hour draws to a close.

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• Ramblers will recreate history with Kinder ‘mass march’ (grough.co.uk)

I’d had my eye on this one for a while. Looking for a decent local walk (by which I mean something that starts and finishes at my front door in Higher Buxton), the obvious contender for something that would while away a complete morning or afternoon was a bimble southwards over Grin Low (paying a quick visit to Solomon’s Temple) and out to Chrome Hill and Parkhouse Hill.

Now, in spite of its name, the Peak District isn’t especially peaky. There’s much more in the way of sombre expanses of blanket-bog moorland (think Black Hill and Bleaklow) in the Dark Peak, and rolling pastures dissected by miles of dry-stone walls and deep-cut limestone valleys in the White Peak. Which is all very nice, but I do like a well-defined hill. Thus the ancient reef knolls of Chrome and Parkhouse Hill come to the rescue, rearing up quite unexpectedly at the upper end of Dovedale and bringing a little of the Lakes or Snowdonia in miniature to the area.

I’ll let the pictures tell the story (at the end of this post) but am also experimenting with the Ordnance Survey’s “OpenSpace” embedded mapping. The interactive map below shows the route in blue. If you’re reading this through an RSS Reader (e.g. Google Reader), then the embedded map won’t be visible, so you’ll need to read this post directly on the Wild Vista website instead.

But first, a few pertinent observations from this 12-mile, 4-hour circuit (in sequential order, assuming an anticlockwise circuit):

• The view North over Buxton from Solomon’s Temple is great. In fact, it’s good in every direction — even the limestone quarries to the south hold some interest. You’ll be coming back past/through that lot…
• Do this walk during the week, and you’re likely to encounter some loud explosions from said quarries. Livens things up a bit don’t you think? Actually, you may get the same at weekends too — I’m just guessing that blasting operations are probably concentrated during the usual working week.
• Whatever the latest OS maps might say, Stanley Moor Reservoir is disused. Because there’s a bloody great hole in it. Further research indicates that it was built on the junction between gritstone and limestone, and has always leaked badly, so they’ve just given up on it now and knocked a large wedge out of the middle of the eastern embankment.
• Just south of the (not) reservoir, you’ll pass through land owned by the UK Health and Safety Laboratory. Signs warn of sudden loud noises (that’s in addition to quarry blasting operations). Ahh, the peace and quiet of the Derbyshire countryside. Passing various buildings and compounds, it’s fun to try and work out just exactly what they’ve been testing the health and safety of. That sure did look like a burnt-out tube train…
• Bucolic splendour is restored as you head further south, and cross the Peak National Park boundary (which keeps away from Buxton hereabouts due to the quarries and HSL site). Be careful not to let the horses out of their paddock as you pass through Thirkelow Farm!
• Between Booth Farm and Stoop Farm, Chrome Hill hoves into view, and will probably stop you in your tracks momentarily. Most un-Peak District-like. Fortunately, it’s much smaller than it looks.
• A concessionary path (not marked on the latest 1:25 000 OS Explorer Map) passes Tor Rock, then descends sharply to the foot of the northwest ridge of Chrome Hill, taking you to the edge of the Access Land.
• The ridge itself is a delight — take a direct line all the way up, and you’ll even get some little sections of very mild scrambling. And, as a bonus, cross a natural arch that’s bored all the way through the ridgeline. Take that Utah!
• If you thought Chrome Hill was steep, wait till you see Parkhouse Hill. Shorter but sharper — I took a route up the south side of the west ridge, and was just barely hanging on by my eyebrows at one point. Cracking section of ridge near the top though.
• Glutton Grange marks the far point of the walk, with a return back through Dowel Dale being particularly scenic.
• Passing round Greensides Farm, then skimming the edge of Hillhead Quarry (watch out for that blasting), and it’s down into Harpur Hill, and a quick jaunt back into Buxton beneath Grin Low. Lovely!

Chrome Hill and Hollins Hill from Stoop Farm.

Chrome Hill from Stoop Farm.

Chrome Hill and Tor Rock.

Descending to the northwest ridge of Chrome Hill.

Parkhouse Hill from the foot of Chrome Hill.

Chrome Hill from the top of Parkhouse Hill.

Dowel Dale.

Parkhouse Hill and Chrome Hill.

Chrome Hill from Dowel Dale.

It’s been a bit quiet on this blog lately, due in no small part to me now finding myself living in Buxton, rather than Cambridge. I say “finding myself” — as if I woke a few days ago and was taken aback by the sudden shift in scenery — but of course this move was planned. With the hard work of moving complete, but with much remaining to be done to get things shipshape here, I finally gave in to temptation yesterday, and headed for the hills. Just a 3-hour amble, but very enjoyable. A few pics…

Mam Tor and the Upper Hope Valley from near Hollins Cross.

Back Tor from Backtor Nook.

Mam Tor and the Vale of Edale from Back Tor.

Lone tree near Back Tor.

Looking south-west along the ridge from Lose Hill.

Mam Tor from near Odin Mine.

This is the first time I’ve lived with what I’d consider “my sort” of walking country on the doorstep. Mam Nick is about 20 minutes’ drive away, and the hugely popular track along the ridge to Lose Hill was most enjoyable. Quiet too. I rarely get out walking mid-week, and there were distinctly fewer pedestrians and aviators about than I’m used to in these parts. Mostly dog walkers, and a couple of distinctly lackadaisical paraglider pilots (though back at the car, a hang-glider pilot was clearly enjoying the view over the Mam Tor landslip).

I returned from Lose Hill via Brockett Booth plantation — crossed via a short-lived but impressive balcony path reminiscent of some of the contouring paths I’ve come across in the forests of the Alps — then down the Hollowford Road to Castleton, and back up to Mam Nick via the old A625 road, now substantially buckled and broken my Mam Tor’s active landslip.

It’s looking as though the weather might be half-decent again on Sunday, so, provided I’ve made enough progress unpacking and sorting the flat out, I’m looking forward to getting out and exploring a little more of my new surroundings!

OK, so it wasn’t entirely necessary to walk into town today (there are buses “up to every 10 minutes” after all — for which read “no buses for three quarters of an hour, followed by four in quick succession”), but it was such a beautiful day that it would have been rude not to travel “à pied”.

Clear blue skies and moderate temperatures compared to those we’ve had of late — possibly even pushing double figures — augured well for a riverside stroll along the Cam. I suppose I slightly underestimated exactly how far it was; including a mile-and-a-bit from my house out to the river, and a bit of faffing in town to get to the bank, over 10½ miles there and back.

River Cam near Milton (from Flickr user hchalkley, CC by-nc-nd 2.0)

The Cam’s running high at the moment. Indeed, passing under Victoria Avenue, shortly after the Fort St. George, the river was a good foot in depth over the footpath. Not that that deterred the locals and a couple of posties on their rounds. I just hope their panniers are waterproof…

Not as high as yesterday though. The river’s clearly dropping rapidly following the recent heavy rains, evidenced by the caretaker at one of the University boathouses at work with a hosepipe, sluicing away the silt deposited by the river, high up the slipways.

With a move back up to the Midlands planned, it’s nice to have some time over the next week or so to revisit the countryside on my doorstep. But, before the move, my eyes are on the forecasts and hill conditions up in Badenoch. I’m heading for Newtonmore next weekend, and am pleased to see that nothing like last week’s deluge of the white stuff is forecast at present. Being able to get there is quite important!

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With cold weather returning to the south of the UK again, and with it, crisp clear air, blue skies, and even a little more snow, it was well worth de-icing the car this morning, and driving the 20-odd miles to St Ives — a handsome market town on the River Great Ouse in Cambridgeshire.

St Ives from Hemingford Meadow (by hchalkley on Flickr, CC BY-NC-ND 2.0)

Heading out across Hemingford Meadow, the cold had transformed a marshy splosh across flood meadows into a straightforward march atop an icy mirror. Blades of grass pierced the carapace, giving boots decent purchase on what would otherwise have made for an excellent curling sheet. Continuing on through The Hemingfords, with a pub stop at Houghton (the old watermill here is well worth a visit), we returned to St Ives along the other side of the Ouse, and then repaired to the Old Ferry Boat Inn at Holywell.

A cracking spot at any time, but today with its roaring log fires, convivial patrons, friendly and efficient bar staff, delicious carvery, and sumptuous comfy chairs — well, let’s just say I could still be there now at closing time, well-oiled and in no hurry to move on, were it not for the small matter of having to drive back home and put in an appearance at the office tomorrow.

Now, to that list referenced in the title. You see, The Ferry Boat lays claim to being the oldest such establishment in Britain. As do a handful of other British pubs. Having spent a goodly number of years living in Nottingham, I’m well aware that Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem is also one of that select group of ale houses. So, as of today, I’m bagging “oldest pubs in Britain”. In lieu of anything better, I’ll be taking the list on this page, as definitive. Eight’s a handy number too.

Two down, six to go. And now I have good reason to visit St. Albans, Abergavenny, Loch Lomond, Bardsey, Stow-on-the-Wold and Bolton. All will have a hard job to shift my favourite pub from its prime position though. That’s the Square and Compass, in the tiny village of Worth Matravers, Dorset — and worthy of a post all to itself…

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Yup, it’s Friday again. I’ve a tendency to come out in a rash at the mere thought of battling my way across country on the A14, especially on a dreich evening such as this — so, in spite of the vertically challenged geography of Fenland, I snuck a peak at the BBC weather for “Cambridge” tomorrow. The walking group are heading over to Thetford Forest, the “largest lowland pine forest in Britain” (cue awed Oohs and Ahhs). It looks rather pleasant, and I badly need to get out of the constructed concrete, tarmac, steel and glass cityscape for a bit, even if the alternative is flat and grey and squelchy.

So, to that weather forecast:

Mmmm — grey cloud.

Looks as though the Met Office are plumping for “grey cloud” then.

It could be far worse, of course. I’ve just been spoilt by the recent wonderfully cold, crisp, icy conditions, that are now a distant memory. An awful lot of folk were whinging about the snow and ice too. Granted, if you have to drive, or are unsteady on your pins, it can’t be much fun. But we seem to get so little “proper” winter weather these days, in the south at least. I just relished every minute of negative Celsius. A hundred times better than this mild, damp, overcast rubbish. It’s like living in a Tupperware box.

The invariance in the weather tomorrow calls to mind a game I play occasionally with the BBC weather website. It’s a simple game — choose a city, any city, anywhere in the world, and bring up the 5-day forecast. The aim is to try and find a 5-day forecast for which every aspect of the forecast weather is identical over all five days.

Lima’s generally a good starting point. Having spent a week there myself a few years back, I can confirm (with zero statistical significance), that the weather here really is immensely dull. Check out that Garúa Fog next time you’re there.

Hmmm, doing well with the temperatures in Lima, but then it all falls apart...

I’ve not found a matching set in five years of trying, but I will, dammit.

And yes, I am that sad.