Wednesday 17 September 2014

The Derwent Watershed and back home: Part 3- Chorizo Sunrise Dreams.

  3am. A human-shaped creature clad in paramo and gore-tex lifts itself off its damp rocky seat and slowly puts one leather-coated foot in front of the other. The creature groans in pain- it has been doing this simple action now for 16 hours and 37 miles (with stops) and still has far to go. Thinking of home, it sets off up the A57, heading for the sunrise.

  Onward. Up the A57 to rejoin the Derwent Watershed walk at Moscar and onto Stanage. Cars pass by, their lights disappearing into the night, their drivers probably quite perplexed at seeing someone out walking at this this time. I wonder where they are headed, recalling memories of setting off on holiday at these early hours. Detached. So close, yet we are in two different universes.

  Finally I leave the road and take my first steps onto Stanage Edge. A brief pause to look back on the brooding silhouettes of Back Tor and the Howden Moors, then nodding with respect and gratitude to them giving me a smooth passage. They are now behind me, a big weight lifted off my shoulders as a slow, peaceful crossing of Stanage commenced.

  Stanage Edge was a very transitional experience, almost like coming out of a tunnel. For the first time since Kinder I passed close by to civilization, gazing down at the sleeping villages in the Hope Valley whilst the landscape gradually changed from the higher, wilder moors to the north to the friendly and gentle edges to the south. Thoughts changed from seemingly perpetual walking to thinking about the finish. Stumbling wearily along, a surge of energy came suudenly with the realisation that the walk was going to be done in 24 hours. Homeward bound!

Shortly after first light at Stanage South
  During all this there was an acute awareness of the distinct smell of chorizo around High Neb. Even more noticeable than the chicken noodle soup on Derwent Edge, I became utterly convinced I could smell it. The weird hallucination got so strong I even paused to listen for signs of people bivvying nearby- it'd be cool to drop in, give them a fright then have a chill, chat and bite to eat before heading on. Yet I only ever heard the sound of sheep and the wind- both unlikely to be indulging in any spicy sausage delights. Disappointed and quite craving chorizo and a cold glass of coke, I headed along the edge to Stanage South,

  And then it happened. I glimpsed it. That first dawning light of a new day shimming serenely over the misty skies of Sheffield. I lay down to rest at Stanage South and smiled. After the longest night of my life I could finally relax. Home was now only 13 miles away, the end tantalisingly close. Put on a fresh pair of socks (good old Smartwool socks- 41 miles and no blisters!), guzzle lucozade, wolf down some cereal bars and gaze out over the ethereal veils of mist over Ringinglow Bog. Soak up the moment then get up and get going. I had a sunrise to watch from Higgar Tor.

  There are sunrises and there are those leave you utterly spellbound by their beauty. The one from Higgar Tor was one of the latter. After weirding out an array of serious-looking photographers with strange stories and overly exited chat (sorry if I was a pain, but I'd not spoke to anyone for 15 hours), I graciously removed myself and headed to the summit. Gradually that life-giving nuclear furnace rose above Burbage Moor and bathed the hills in a serene golden light with cotton-wool mist sinking below. Warmth. Energy. Light. All flooded though me as a new day lit up all around, The colours seemed almost surreal in their intensity and beauty. A grin spred from ear to ear, my eyes awoke. It was one of the most beautiful sights I've ever seen.

Sunrise  
  A powerful change occurred with the sunrise as a sense of euphoria consumed me. The pain and aches diminished, the tiredness faded, my mind awoke. I felt amazing,almost giddy. Suddenly I could bound around, down to Carl Wark and along to Over Owler Tor where I had the magic of seeing my first ever broken spectre. Thoughts drifted to staying out all day and going even further. I could do anything now. I was unstoppable. Those 90 minutes made every second of hardship pale into insignificance- I felt amply rewarded. It was sublime.

  Sanity returned soon enough as I headed through Longshawe to the Fox House Inn and over the Houndkirk Road to Ringinglow. Common to all big walks, you'll experience a wave of positivety when the finish suddenly becomes within reach- this nearly always sharply fades soon after when you realise there's still a good couple of hours to go before that momentous final mile or so. As was the case for this walk, that expected low feeling was acutely intense. The hurt came back, my pace slowed down and a strong, almost desperate urge to get home kicked in. I found myself too tired to distract my mind away from the pain in my legs and feet. Back hunched, face screwed up, legs dragging along slowly counting every step, fighting the need to sit down. I probably wouldn't have gotten back up off the Houndkirk Road if I had. It was a bedraggled creature crossing it at 8am that morning.

  Eventually Ringinglow came into view just before 9am and once again, everything changed. At long last I was on the homestretch. Sit down for one last time, guzzle yet more lucozade, wolf down yet more harribo and cereal bars, then get up and don't sit down until home. Simple. With a satisfied smile I descended into Porter Clough and down into my home valley.

  A strange creature walked down the Porter Valley on the morning of sunday 24th August. Bleary-eyed, dirty and probably quite pungent, this creature had been on the go now for 22 hours and 50 miles. It had walked down this valley at the end of many epic long days before in it's life, each one gradually bigger and more epic than the last. This time would be the final time it would experience that feeling. This was as far as it could ever push it. 

  The creature walked slowly down, past Forge Dam and through Bingham and Endcliffe Parks to Hunter's Bar. It appeared to be an a trance, in a state of utmost euphoria, grinning insanely from ear to ear out of sheer joy for what it had done and was soon going to finish. It hadn't been easy, it had been hard, but it had been incredible and unforgettable. Every second it now savored, every footstep one more than it had ever taken before in its life. People passed by it and moved on quickly- possibly because of the smell.

10:12am, Hunter's Bar. Happy days!
  Finally, at long, long last I arrived at Hunter's Bar. Looking like a bit of a nutcase whooping with joy and relief, then bewildering a bewildered man by getting him to take my photo, I gleefully took those last few steps home. Suddenly it was all gone, it was over. Just very deep satisfaction as I closed my door and lay down on my bed.

  23 hours 30 mins and 54 miles, 4 months of dreaming and far, far too much harribo and lucozade over the finest hills anywhere. The most interesting walk I've ever been fortunate enough to experience was finally over.


Epilogue

  Sunday was spent being extremely giddy and ecstatic about the previous 24 hours. I chilled out, eat the best Bilash chicken madras of my life and got laughed at by some special-brew guzzling alcoholics for looking wasted on the way to tesco (I could hardly walk). The next three weeks were spent talking constantly about the walk to anything with ears, regardless of whether they could understand or not. Some chorizo was finally eaten too. Amazingly I only got one blister and after a few days of aching by wednesday all was back to normal. Now, time for a few months of more relaxed wandering and pottering about until the next big adventure reveals itself.

Search and you will find, drift and you will discover!
 

Thursday 4 September 2014

The Derwent Watershed and back home in a day: Part 2- Lets go for a big long walk!

  This is the second of a 3 part account about a solo wander around the Derwent Watershed and back home to Sheffield in a day. I covered 54 miles in 23.5 hours over the most beautiful and grand hills and moors in Peakland. A prologue is 2 posts before this and all being well the final part will be up next week.

  10:42am, stepping off the 272 bus at the Bamford turnaround. Call in at the garage and pick up a couple of flapjacks and pretzel pieces then silently begin the delightful ascent of Win Hill Pike under the late summer sun. My mind is numb, 4 months waiting and finally it is happening. All I can think about is getting up that hill.

  A slow, sweaty ascent feeling tired and dehydrated lands me on Win Hill Pike's rocky summit. Though my bag is heavy laden with many liters of lucozade, water and food, its contents will keep me going for the next 24 hours and for that I am grateful. The only niggle is my lack of walking poles- somehow I was unable to find mine at home. Fortunately, by the foot of Lose Hill I'd picked up two perfectly sized sticks which did the job admirably- they would be my companions for the entire walk. Nature's finest!

  The first 9.5 miles to Lord's Seat were difficult and set the scene for the walk. On big hill days your mind goes through many stages- the intial numbness followed by a sense of insignificance compared to the day ahead, then you settle into the day and a euphoric feeling ensues. From here untill towards the end you experience highs and lows that can normally be predicted well in advance. The key to success is always predicting, preparing, accepting and dealing with these emotions. It is rarely a physical game.

  What struck me off guard was just how powerful these stages and emotions were on this walk. I've never experienced anything quite like it. Everything was magnified 10x and took me most of the day to understand and prepare for. By Mam Tor I was worried- irritatingly stubbing my toes and unable to settle into a pace, feeling utterly insignificant and dwarfed by the task (and the looming night) ahead. All I could do was head onward, focusing and being utterly bent on success.

  Things picked up on the crossing to Kinder over Brown Knoll. The peat was wet but not too soft making for speedy progress, my pace settled and morale was boosted by some bewildered students giving me the rest of their harribo. I didn't dare tell them I'd enough sugar to give myself diabetes, but the offer and words of encouragement were much appreciated. If you are reading this- thanks!

  Mid afternoon and Kinder came and went without a fuss, my mind happily slipping into that meditative feeling that makes long-distance walking such a joy. 73rd visit to Kinder's summit? No desire to celebrate when your thoughts are a hazy bubble about the route beyond. Still, I'd hardly stopped by then so a good half hour to rest the feet and eat pasta by the downfall was much needed. Then, onwards again into the late afternoon/ early evening. By 16:30 at Ashop Head I passed by a group of walkers descending in the golden light- they would be the last people I'd speak to (or see) for over 12 hours.

Early evening at Bleaklow Head
  Big days out are all about 'tactics'. Planning of diet, timings, pace ect. My plan was to stop little and reach Swains Head by nightfall, getting the deeply emotive (for me) and navigationaly tough ground of Bleaklow well behind me.After that, I'd slow down on the simpler (if still rough) Howden Moors, switch from juice, pasta and flapjack to lucozade, fruit and nuts. Load up on carbs and sugar, then onto mostly sugar and lighter food for speed and concentration. It worked. I became consumed and numbed by the ensuing loneliness, crossing over Mill Hill, the Snake Pass, Higher Shelf Stones and over to Bleaklow Stones. It was a wonderful feeling, akin to gently adjusting to a cold sea as you slowly wade in. I was going well. Nothing else mattered anymore apart from simply walking. Bills, jobs to do, thoughts about friends and life in general, all faded into insignificance. I was utterly content and absorbed by the landscape. Freedom!

So many feelings summed up!
  Bleaklow Stones is a major landmark on the Derwent Watershed walk. Roughly halfway through having crossed Kinder and Bleaklow, you descend very rough moorland to Swains Head and leave Bleaklow for the Eastern Edges. The going is still hard for many miles to come but once the Howden Moors are over life gets easier. All you have between you and success is the Howden Moors. For me it was a turning point too. I'd rested properly for the first time in 3.5 hours and watched in amazement as Bleaklow's shadow drifted over its lower flanks under a setting sun, then set off in a race against darkness trying to reach Swain's Head. It was glorious.

  All my long- held foreboding about 'the night shift' disappeared, I was overcome by an urgency to cover as much ground as possible before it became pitch black, regardless of having 25 miles underfoot. This transformed itself into a bizarre sensation of peace and relaxation, I just a small dot on the vast plains above the infant River Derwent dissolving into the fading light.

The shadow of  Bleaklow over Ridgewalk Moor
  Quickly a routine established itself: scan the pattern of erosion and make out the 'path' winding its way through the bogs, pick a way through it, strain the eyes trying not to fall into any holes or deep bogs, talk loudly about remembering to focus, walk onward to the next little section, repeat. This routine would become my world for the next 3 hours over Margery Hill and High Stones to Back Tor, a beautifully simple world distilled to a few basic thoughts. This is exactly what long- distance walking is all about and it was great.

  Outer Edge was reached by an exhausted and weary mess at 22:00ish. It was pitch black now and I was tired, Stop, change batteries, eat some food, have a drink then push on into the dark. Perhaps not enough time to stop and admire these grandest of Peakland's moors, what with being reduced to just a little bubble of light and focus on not falling into a bog. Maybe that was the point- that this wasn't an exercise in being lost in the beauty of it all and chilling out watching the world go by. This was different, instead being about understanding and working with the landscape to move though it, constantly on the go. A different form of appreciation maybe.

  Regarding understanding the landscape, the crossing from High Stones to Cartledge Top over Middle Moss is a prime example and one which became a highlight of the trip. After continuing in my little routine to High Stones, the only genuine pathless bit of the walk began. There was no need to use a compass though- I much prefer to use a technique called 'dead reckoning' which is much quicker when the mist isn't down. The idea behind it is to identify a landmark roughly in a straight line between you and your destination- or just your destination if lucky enough. You then head towards it, aligning yourself with other features along the way- such as streams or hillsides- to keep your bearing. If done properly you can be pretty accurate, save time and learn the landscape better too. This worked for me, sort of.

  I identified and aimed at the silhouette of Cartledge Top and set off, but became far too engrossed in not falling into a peat bog and missed the path beyond. Knowing I had no reception, no-one knew where I was and that the road was a good hour's plod made watching my feet a priority. Realising I'd gone far too much south, by identifying Back Tor and aiming slightly south, plodding through more heather the path was soon met. Brilliant!

  I was frazzled. The intensity of the last two hours walking by trying not to get lost or fall into a bog and having walked over 30 miles now was beginning to be noticeable. A stop was needed. Yet I like to rest at important landmarks on big walks and Back Tor was only 40 minutes away. Those were long, utterly draining minutes, each step becoming more and more of an effort, every minute just wishing the sun would come up, every patch of heather a comfy bed that wasn't to be. This was when the walk began to bite.

  Relief flooded a drained mess on Back Tor at 12:45 on sunday morning, who lay down and devoured fruit and nut mix down with feverish intent. Feet hurt, eyes hurt, belly was hungry. 15 minutes later the feet, eyes and belly were less hurt and hungry. Deep down though all I could think about was how much I was looking forward to sunrise. I craved it. Still, sunrise wouldn't come any sooner so get up, deal with the aches and get going. I'd thought about where I wished to watch it from and decided that Stanage South would be ideal. Motivation. It worked. Onward!

3am, Cuttthroat Bridge. Wasted. More
walking needed then. Much more
walking needed!
  Now came the unexpected crux of the entire walk. Derwent Edge, usually very easy going- even on the watershed walk- but I struggled. On big days out you always experience a tough bit where all you want to do is sit down and the walk to end- you have to push on through until things inevitably get easier. Yet the intensity of it was nothing like I'd been through before. A still distant sunrise, the urge and then refusal to curl up on a soft piece of heather and snooze, the legs and feet just hurting and hurting, my mind increasingly worn out. The pace slowed down lots with the occasional stop and I became totally convinced I could smell chicken noodle soup. Bizarre eh. Get up and keep going. The minutes dragged and dragged. Yet I kept going. I had to. Keep reminding yourself why your doing this and why your going to succeed. Onward. Those painful two hours on Derwent Edge were the hardest two hours walking I've ever done.

  Somehow, eventually, thankfully, at 3am Cuttroat Bridge and the A57 was reached. I was blissfully relieved and happy. Sit down to guzzle lucozade, eat food, rest and relax, Those 5 hours from Bleaklow Stones had been some of the most intense, absorbing and simply amazing wandering I'd ever experienced. It had been difficult, it had been painful, but it had been incredible and unforgettable all the same. The hard bit was over. Only Stanage, the Burbage Valley and the Porter Valley lay ahead- easy ground. First light would be in 90 minutes. A change of socks would be then too. And I still had another pack of harribo and bottle of lucozade as well.

  The long walk back home was within reach. .



Noctilucent Clouds over Kinder Scout

A few photographs of a Noctilucent Clouds glowing over Kinder Scout in the early hours of Friday June 29th. 2:40am, Grindslow Knoll. I'd...