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!

And now, here are some photos…

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.

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!

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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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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Leaving The Maypole in Cambridge last night, a brief blizzard made for a wonderfully Christmasy scene over Magdalene Bridge. However, I was cameraless, and determined to have a bimble round the village today (Milton, just north of Cambridge) in order to capture some snowy scenes before a thaw sets in.

Enjoy!

The Rowans, Milton - view from bedroom window.

Thatched cottage on Fen Lane, Milton.

Looking towards Cambridge on The Fen Line, Milton.

Icy catkins in Milton Country Park.

Level crossing on Fen Lane, Milton.

Cambridge-bound train whipping up the snow.

Cycle route #11 along Fen Lane, Milton.

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!