The Eastern Edges Walk Part 1- Hot Coffee and Seaweed.

 Back in the late summer I walked the full length of The Peak District's Eastern Edges. Setting off after work I walked alone for 19 hours and 45 miles through the night and following day. The idea was simple. Several months earlier I'd looked at a map and that continuous line of hills, moors and edges stretching from the Woodhead Pass to Ambergate stood out clearly. It seemed such a wonderfully obvious route across the landscape to walk, almost guaranteed to give an interesting day out. With a busy summer ahead I put it to the back of my mind until there was a free weekend to do it.  
 
  Fast forward to 6th September. I finished work at Foothills and kindly got a lift off my boss to the Woodhead Pass at 7pm. A brief thanks and goodbye then off I went, over the road and into the late evening sun.

The Woodhead Pass at the start of the walk. A long way from
here to Ambergate...

  A strong sense of numbness quickly overcame me on the initial ascent over Round Hill and onto the Howden Moors. The noise of the traffic soon receded as the tranquility of the moors took over. You always get this numbing sensation at the start of long walks as the mind is overwhelmed with what lays ahead. I smiled and plodded onward, thinking of nothing but getting onto the watershed from where the walk would properly begin.

  After half an hour I gained the boggy watershed as Bleaklow and the Eastern Edges came into view. A perfect spot for a brief pause. An aura of peace pervaded these vast hills glowing silently in the fading light. Thoughts flickered briefly to Ambergate 43 miles distant. So far. Another day. Pushing it to the back of the mind, another more pressing thought quickly took over- covering as much ground as possible before nightfall.


Late evening light over Bleaklow

  Onward I raced along the never ending boggy vastness of the Howden Moors, past the Hoar Stones, Outer Edge, Margery Hill to Howden Edge. Any initial tiredness or hunger was ignored. There was no time to think or settle into a nice pace like other long walks. Getting caught in the dark on these moors would slow progress down considerably and be bad for morale. Just go fast, read the landscape and keep walking.

  Nightfall soon arrived arrived on Howden Edge at 9:30 in time for a quick pause on the summit of this, the highest hill on the Eastern Edges. A brief munch on some haribo and a gaze into the dark Upper Derwent Valley. Then off again over the rough pathless moorland of Featherbed Moss over to Cartledge Top. Not bothering with the map or compass, the silhouette of Cartledge Top was identified and aimed for. In my haste, concentration was lost, the land didn't match up to how it should and I found myself stumbling into Crook Clough. After sweaty slog out of the clough and realigning myself with the outline of Back Tor, Cartledge Top was eventually reached in quite an irritated mood.

  Feeling comfortable in the hills is all about understanding the landscape, not fighting against it. If you work with the land and weather, you find yourself more in tune with it and life is easier and a more enriching experience. In getting to Cartledge Top I'd been sharply reminded of this. All along that dull trudge along the flagged path to Back Tor it was my only thought. I vowed not to cock up again.

  Now coffee just isn't my thing, but upon reaching Back Tor at 22:45 and surprising three lads out bivvying, it was rude to say no to their offer. After the intensity of crossing the Howden Moors, having 30 minutes chat about hills, plans (they thought I was daft) and bivvying over a brew was a heartwarming and unexpected surprise. In some situations you learn to like stuff you'd normally never touch. Lads-if you are reading this- thanks for the brew on that windy night on Back Tor- it was really appreciated!

  Buoyed by the coffee and conversation, I left the lads to their bivvy and set off alone, back into the night. The next 9 miles to Stanage South were walked non-stop. My heart was set on seeing sunrise from Birchin Edge and I needed to get a move on. Walking through the night is an incredibly isolating experience and you feel very detached from the world. I found myself in a little bubble, utterly absorbed in just plodding along over Derwent and Stanage Edge, so removed from the shimmering lights of Sheffield and the Hope Valley. Thoughts occasionally turned to my friends and what they'd be doing right now- probably out drinking, partying or chilling around a fire- yet quickly faded away. Unlike on previous long-distance night walks* there was a strange lack of loneliness, instead just a deep sense of purpose and contentment.

2am. Sheltering from the rain at Stanage South and trying
to stay awake. 

  By Stanage South at 2:00 two things happened. It began to rain, and I began to feel sleepy. Sit for a bit and eat haribo, yawn, then get going along Burbage Edge to the Fox House Inn. 3am in the rain is not the usual time to go walking. There is an odd sense that you shouldn't be out at that time. The boy-racer by Burbage Bridge blaring his horn at me made that all very apparent. The isolation hit hard.

  4am. I arrived at the welcome refuge of the bus shelter by the Fox House Inn after having been awake for 22 hours. By now my body was on sleep mode and just wanted bed. Staying awake for two days is easy. You have just got to get through the night until your circadian rhythms kick in and keep you awake until the next sunset. It is getting through the hours from midnight to sunrise which is hard. Those 30 mins sat in that lonely rainy bus stop with my eyes constantly drooping were a fight against sleep, forcing myself to stay awake at all costs and not curl up on the bench. Breathe deeply, keep the eyes open and just stay awake.  

5:01am, White Edge Moor.  Not much to see aside from
the odd glimpse of the moon and lots of rain.

  After 30 minutes a bleary eyed creature dragged itself out into the rain, along deserted roads and onto White Edge. Something strange happened here and I became convinced the heather around the trigpoint on White Edge smelt of seaweed. It smelt exactly like the stuff, yet I was 80 miles inland. Enjoying this weird sensation, 5 minutes was spent probably looking very peculiar, crawling in the heather at 5:30am smelling the seaweed...

  Much to my joy, is was gradually becoming daylight as the overnight rain slowly eased. The miles over to Curbar Gap and Birchin Edge went by an a very peaceful and euphoric mood. It felt like coming out of a long, dark and intense tunnel that stretched from the Woodhead Pass and had now deposited me out in the sun many miles to the south. Having made it through the night, it was a pleasure just to relax, slow down a bit and soak up that early morning light.

6:30am, looking back north over to White Edge from
Birchin Edge. Breakfast with a view!

  Finally, after 26 miles and just over 11 hours of walking I reached Birchin Edge at 6:21am just in time see the sunrise over Leash Fen. Everything was a slightly damp hazy blur of bright purple, green and grey. A fresh pair of socks. A comfy seat on the gritstone edge. A breakfast of peanuts, haribo and bananas. Having walked non-stop through the night, now I was utterly content. Nothing more was needed. It was a perfect moment.

  I had half an hour of blissed-out chill, rest and food before standing up and getting back on with the long journey south. Most of the next 19 miles to Ambergate was unknown to me. Whatever happened, it was going to be an interesting day ahead...

 *My first experience of this was on what became known as the Chorizo Sunrise walk (see post from September 2014) .