I love...

Sometimes it's the little things

After several years of languishing in the crime-blighted and socially deprived wasteland of Leeds 9 I am now blessed to wake each morning in my own little rural idyll, well away from all that. Here I watch Buzzards hovering over pasture instead of listening to burglars screwing my doors. Evenings see me watching bats and Swifts from my patio. Or hay-baling on the farm up the hill from my garden. Squirrels wreck the neigbours' arrays of bird food, which bring in more garden birds than I've seen since I was a child; Bull Finches, Robins, Thrushes and other birds I haven't yet identified or managed to capture on camera. I used to have to escape home to see beauty and feel safe. Now I wake to the muffled sound of bullocks munching on the pasture just across the lane. Instead of groggy and reluctant to get out of bed each morning I'm alert and calm, drinking an al fresco morning brew as the sun breaks through the trees.

Feeling safe at home is not a big deal. But then again, it is. And it's a reminder that sometimes it's the little things that are great. Like these, all enjoyed over the past week without even leaving home.

 

And these, seen elsewhere. My favourites are the 'raggedy crow' who's adopted my friend and 'BT' the floppy cat who's adopted my dad. Maybe something fluffy and cute will adopt me.

 

Grindsbrook Clough, Fairbrook Naze and a guilt trip

Saturday June 27

Kinder Scout is my favourite hill in the peak, so back again - this time to explore the western side and northern edges. The plan is to ascend Grindsbrook, cross to the Downfall, then over to Fairbrook Naze, traverse Blackden Edge and return via Golden Clough. It's going to be an energy-sapping one today, with a hazy sun that makes the atmosphere sticky and airless. A weary looking couple come by near the bottom of the gentle walk-in. The guy, looking back to the hill, says 'I wouldn't bother mate' and we laugh when I say I've got 10 miles planned. It's one of those days when you enjoy the crack with strangers and I have a lot of it because the whole route up is peppered with walkers. I drink at least a litre of water on the way up and most of it seems to sweat straight back out so my ultra lightweight shirt and trousers are soaked by the time I take a coffee break at the top and enjoy the views.

I'm sometimes amazed at how ill-prepared some folk are in these hills. I've seen a family, wearing trainers and sandals, perilously scrambling down earlier - the overweight woman complaining in an American twang 'I'm kind of scared of heights and I need shoes with better grip' as her Birkenstocks slip on the arid scree. No shit missus. I feel like pointing her to the Edale Mountain Rescue website for stories of similar stupidities that lead to people like her regularly being stretchered off or airlifted with compound fractures and worse.

At the top a young student couple ask me the way to Kinder Downfall. They have no map and although they say they have a compass, it's never produced. Unless the guy means his iPhone's built in version, which is apparently low on battery anyway. They look at my map and I urge them to write down the compass bearings they'll need. They don't. I suggest they walk with me, or just keep me in sight, but they don't take me up on the offer. I'm tired. I want to chill with a fag and my drink and I'm not paying close enough attention to the landscape when I inadvertantly send them off up the wrong path. Later when I realise my error, I feel a bit guilty. The poor buggers have wandered off toward Edale Head but at least it's an easy route down to the village from there. They'll be safe enough. And as I head across toward the Downfall I realise they would have struggled to find it in this landscape anyway.
 

It's teatime when I reach Kinder Downfall and drink in the view with Kinder Reservoir sparkling far away in the evening sun.

My 2 litres of water are all gone now and there's another 6 miles to go. Now it's going to be all about the rocks. Big rocks. Weird shapes and wide vistas.

Time to strike out across open moorland again to take in the beauty of Fairbrook Naze, explore Seal Edge and eventually Blackden Edge.

There are no walkers around these parts. It's off the beaten track now and most people are probably back at one of Edale's typical walkers' pubs anyway. It's quiet, apart from some peculiarly haunting bird calls.

It may be a tired old cliche but, to me, the rocks are alive in some way. Endlessly battered into shape by wind, rain and the freeze/thaw of millions of winters. I sometimes fancy that I can sense the people who once lived up here among them. In the days when it was all dense forest. That vibe is part of the magic of Kinder. Everything about it gives me a feeling of groundedness and connection with all that is bigger than my own petty everyday concerns. They were always here and, unlike me, they always will be.

It's 9:15 by the time I've descended Golden Clough and reached the Rambler Inn, with 11.5 miles showing on the GPS. I feel strangely fresh and the pint of iced coke I down in the beer garden has got to be the finest liquid to pass my lips this year.

Track recorded by GPS - 11.5 miles, starting from Edale.

Some miles are harder than others

Saturday June 20 - Black Hill and various moors

Black Hill is always wet but it’s got nothing on Wessenden Head Moor. The route up from the A635 is easy but the going gets tough as soon as I turn right at Soldier’s Lump and head north west.

The footpath that exists on the map is generally obliterated on the ground by standing water and sodden peat that feels like walking in thick butter. Think energy-sapping sand dunes, only black and wet. With a constant stiff breeze from the south west.

 

It’s a cheerless moorland trudge. Sometimes they happen. Good job my GPS is waterproof, as I plunge knee deep into black peaty water and submerge it several times as I scramble out. Dry feet are out of the question up here, even in boots and gaiters I’ve waded successfully across streams in before.

I’m pissed off with the terrain and the only relief is the birdsong that constantly fills the air. One sound stands out. I'm loving that sound.

 

Later I’ll spend ages looking at books and bird identification websites trying to decide if it’s a Curlew or a Whimbrel. I want it to be a Whimbrel because they are in severe decline but I think it’s a much more common Curlew.

So hacked off with the last 3 miles, when I come to re-cross the A635 I consider simply turning right and heading straight back to the car instead of doing another 5 miles around Featherbed Moss, Black Moss and Wessenden Moor. But after a drink and a smoke I continue north westand feel relieved that the route is being ‘paved’ now. At last each step doesn’t feel like 3 on the bits they’ve finished.

And the landscape begins to change after I swing east at Black Moss Reservoir. Evening sunshine makes the colours rich and at the crossing of Wessenden Brook before it reaches Wessenden Reservoir it’s as beautiful in its way as the top of Kinder.

Even the gentle climb south east for the last 2 miles now feels like a guelling hike. Stops to enjoy the view back are increasingly frequent.

The bogs have really taken their toll and I’m wiped out. The last half mile feels like it will never end. Finally reaching the car the GPS says 10.1 miles. It felt like 15.

 

3 D's and a breakdown

Saturday June 13

D is for Delamere Forest. It's a lovely venue, packing 5,000 and good stage views wherever you are. The weather was perfect.

D is for Delphic. They rocked. Using a mix of guitar, bass, drums and various electronic boxes and keyboards. Hard, driving and danceable, they played a seamless non-stop half hour that won me over completely. I loved them. People danced...and not just because they were pissed.

D is for Doves. A moody band at the best of times, you're never quite sure what they'll be like. Typically uncommunicative and serious (albeit with the big tunes to justify being as moody and uncommunicative as they like), but not tonight.

They were having more fun than I've seen them having for several years. And the whole set was powerful, soaring and deliciously uplifting. A beautiful set delivered with passion and pizazz. And this time they played The Cedar Room. It was the first encore and gave me wet eyes, just like the time in 2006 at Manchester Apollo. How I missed that tune, last month in Leeds.

The breakdown came later, when my clutch died during the melee to escape the car park. Never mind. Rescue came, gear changing was restored. Then the M62 was closed between junctions 22 and 24, forcing a long moonlit Pennine moorland detour. A bit worrying with a potentially dodgy clutch. But I made it to bed for 3am. And I'd seen Doves at their absolute incandescent best.

 

X's and anniversaries

On Thursday I got to put one of those X's on a ballot paper here
 

Call me old fashioned but every time I get the chance to declare my preference in political representation I think about the people who paid the highest price for my right to do that. This time, with another anniversary of the Normandy landings in the news, I felt a bit sad that the choices being offered to me were so tawdry (topping the list was a party that bans non 'indigenous Brits' from even being a member). I voted Labour as a tactical anti-BNP step, thinking about how National Socialism turned into Nazism.  I love being able to vote. And I love these men for guaranteeing my right to do it.

I had the accidental privilege of mixing among some D-Day veterans, on holiday in Normandy 15 years ago when the 50th anniversary celebrations happened to be in full swing. One of those happy coincidences. I recall one group in particular. They were all pissed and laughing like drains. There was a beautiful glamorous French woman who must have been knocking up 70, serving them drinks outside the bar. She turned out to be a bit of a legend who lived there as a girl and remembers being liberated by the Allies. All of them were acting like flirtateous boozed up teenagers. She was loving it and they were knocking back the beers and laughing uproariously under a gloriously blue sky. I still smile when I think of them.

Pictures taken without permission from the BBC here.

You don't have to be mad to walk here, but ...

Saturday May 30 - Kinder South

A return to Edale to explore the route onto Kinder Scout from Jaggers Clough, which looked so inviting when I passed by in March. On the map I've noticed Madwoman's Stones so I plan a route from the village to make that the halfway point. The weather is stunning when I set off, looking into the distance toward Grindsbrook Clough, where I plan to descend at the end of the day.

It's one of those days when odd things happen. I've filled the Camelbak, knowing it's going to be a proverbial scorcher. A couple of miles toward Jaggers Clough, along low level field footpaths and I'm quickly parched. I take a pull on the Camelback tube and nothing comes out. Must be kinked - it's happened before. So I take off my sack and find the water pouch completely empty. Dismayed, I fish around in the bottom of my sack expecting an unnoticed leak has deposited 2 litres of water in there. But it's dry. The mouth of the tube is sealed as it should be. There's no sign of it having leaked onto my leg, where the tube had been resting. I'm mystified. Fortunately I'm near a youth hostel, where I'm able to re-fill.

Reaching Jaggers Clough I eat lunch and soak up the beauty of it, before setting off up the side of the stream in baking heat.

It feels a very solitary place as I get higher, but something else is bugging me. On at least 3 occasions I hear an unexpected noise. Even though there is nobody near, in this incredibly verdant but deserted place.

 

It's a sound I recognise. The one a Motorola 500 flip-phone makes when you're changing settings, like switching profiles. I know it because I once had one. I'm very curious about it because the only electronic sound out here is my GPS giving a single beep every now and then as I reach waypoints I'd previously set. This is not that sound. It happens at least three times, just behind me to the right. But there's no one there. Later, when I'm viewing the pictures from this section, one of them is strangely distorted. Like when you get interference on a TV screen.

The view back down from the top of Jaggers is breathtaking.

Out onto Crookstone Out Moor and Madwoman's Stones comes into view.

I had expected Madwoman's Stones to be one of those atmospheric places, imbued with ancient stuff. But it just feels very quiet. A lovely place to rest, amid big old rocks, with the rest of my lunch and a view north toward Alport Castles.

Cutting back south, then west it's an easy stroll among the wonderful eroded rock formations of the southern edges of Kinder toward Grindsbrook Clough in still hot evening sunshine.

The Vale of Edale opens up as a beautiful vista and Grindsbrook comes into view.

After another rest, to drink the last of my flask at the top of Grindsbrook, I set off to find the start of the descent path and share the stroll back with Alex, a young trainee paramedic and mountaineer, up from Hertfordshire. A Geology graduate from Durham his map reading is incredibly confident. Amiably swapping stories of hills, we wander down toward Edale. He has a brilliant story of surviving a sub-zero night in a survival bag on a scottish mountain before being found by a mountain rescue team. His story is here.

The dipping sun gives Grindsbrook that lovely richly contrasting colour only the evening can bring.

And 6 hours after I set off it's time to say goodbye to my random companion and complete the brilliant 9 mile circuit, my wanderings recorded faithfully by my GPS.

And cheers to Alex, who keeps his GPS packed away just for emergencies. I enjoyed your company.

Visuals and vibes in Alport Dale

Saturday May 23

Alport Castles is admitedly a cool thing, apparently the largest landslip in the country or something. And the shapes it offers are beguiling.

But although that's what I set out to see I found something else. There's another quality to Alport Dale which is that it feels different from other places I love in the Peak District. There are some places that feel vibrant with energy. It's like they've either absorbed and held all of their history and you can detect it as a faint buzz in the air and your head. Or there's an unusual amount of life around, even if you only see a fraction of it. There's a couple of spots on Kinder Scout where I've felt odd in more sudden and extreme ways. But the higher you get into the River Alport's valley and away from the main attraction the more that feeling grows. It's a feeling I love. I get so ridiculously tuned to it that stupid things happen. Like stepping into a grassy space amid some huge boulders and being struck by an extra dimension to the ambience. Momentarily entertaining the notion that 'people' once treated this as an important spot and left their own buzz behind. And then noticing the bleaching dry bones and wool of a late sheep and blithely thinking something that translates to 'oh, it's just the residue of its death pang still in the air' and approaching the steep side of the valley glad that my extra buzz has been evidentially validated.

 

So, Alport Castles is good, but it gets better...

There's a cacophony of birdsong all around, out onto Westend Moor where I've picked a trig point to turn left at and down into the valley itself. I can't see the birds for the most part. It's more like the whole moor is alive and noisy with it.

 

The plan is to cross the valley and join a footpath somewhere to the west but it's hot and I still feel full from a windswept lunch on the Castles and I can't be arsed with the climb back out again.

Instead I stretch out in the valley bottom, drink coffee, smoke cigarettes and feel the vibe.

Four distant figures on the valley side coming in from the direction of Bleaklow are the only people I see.

It's a fantastic place. Even the sheep have character. I called this one 'the sentinel'...

And this lamb leaves mum to come legging it halfway down the hill baa'ing at me insistently before suddenly coming to a dead halt...as if it thought I was someone else for a moment there...and turns away disinterestedly. I have to shout to even get it to look around again.

Wandering back toward the start I lie again and absorb the early evening quietening as the air cools. There are Kestrels occasionally hanging in the distance over a tree plantation. A Heron flaps slowly up the valley.

The butterflies have gone now.

But the Castles look even better in the evening sun...

Doves at Leeds Academy

Friday May 8

Any camera with a detachable lens is classed as 'professional' by the O2 Academy suits, so again mine was confiscated. So just for the sake of bloody mindedness I'm posting my phone pics and looking for a fixed lens camera that shoots video and gives semi-pro results. I don't love corporate rules in rock. I love Doves. I'll be seeing them at Delamere this summer too.

 

10 things to love about an Easter weekend in Llanidloes

1. Red Kites - this one sighted on the afternoon of Saturday April 11...

2. A Quaker burial ground - scene of oddish experiences each time we visit it...

 

 

 

3. Mental sheep - the moment you appear they either leg it, or mob you...(very different from Peak District sheep, who glance up diffidently then pointedly turn away)

 

 

 

4. Rolling landscapes - that seem extra green...

 

 

 

5. Dense commercial woodland - it smells great in there

 

 

 

6. Random cool things - like moorland wind farms

 

 

 

7. Either invisible or unnavigable rights of way - clearly not many people go walking round here...

 

 

 

8. Random amusing stuff - well, it looked like a miniature skull to us...

 

 

 

9. Buzzards overhead at breakfast - you don't get that where I live

 

 

 

 

10. Cheap and lovely accommodation - this was £50 per night...

Could that be the smell of Spring?

Saturday March 14 - Vale of Edale

A feeling of Spring in the air. Forecasts of high winds on the tops kept us in the valley all day for a calm 7 mile stroll.

I love the sense of life emerging again at this time of year and the contrast of still-bare trees with a balmier feeling in the air than since October last.

Walking down the valley, Lose Hill beckons on the right. One of my favourite hill shapes in the area, you can see it for miles if you're heading toward Ladybower from Sheffield.

They call the walk from Mam Tor to Lose Hill 'The Great Ridge'. That one's on the cards again for a forthcoming weekend. Last time I was on Mam Tor the wind blew me off my feet 3 times. Today would have been similar, since wind speeds were up to 70mph up there.

 

Jaggers Clough looks like a must for one day soon too. That's a route onto Kinder I've not tried before.

Today though, it was great just to wander the lower levels. And at the end I was struck by the fact that Edale is one of those places that genuinely does 'nestle' in a valley.