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!