A circuit of Kinder from Hayfield

Yesterday the weather prospects look good, so I set out to experience a national park that I am not very familiar with: the Peak District.

Located  close to the centre of England, the Peak District is within easy reach of a number of conurbations - for me, a short drive down the motorway from Leeds.  It has a varied landscape caused by variation in the type of the underlying rock. The Dark Peak has a gritstone geology that features bleak moorland plateaux and lengthy edges of exposed gritstone. In the more southerly White Peak the dominant rock type is limestone, a permeable rock, which has produced a contrasting landscape with dry river valleys, caves and a 'Dales' feel.

I planned to walk a circular route that would take me up onto  Kinder Scout, a moorland plateau in the Dark Peak, and the highest point in the Peak District.

Snake Path sign, Hayfield

I parked in Hayfield, and left the village along the Snake path, which leads up onto the Kinder plateau. The path eventually leads to the Snake Inn,  which is located in the Woodlands valley, north of Kinder.

Looking down on Hayfield from the moors

 As I looked back down the path Hayfield lay beneath me in a wooded valley, surrounded by heather-covered uplands.

Sign on the Snake Path

I left enclosed farmland behind as the Snake Path took me up onto open moorland, where I came across this sign, dating from 1905, that warned against trespass. Kinder Scout has long been symbolic in the fight for the right for people to access open land.  In 1932 it was the site of a mass trespass, with walkers confronting game keepers about the right to be there. This action was a key part of the fight that led to a Government Act that enshrined in law free access to open land in England and Wales.

Kinder Resevoir

I followed the Snake Path up William Clough to the Kinder Plateau, passing Kinder Resevoir on the way.

Sculpted gritstone boulders, Kinder plateau

At the top of William Clough, the Snake Path crossed the  Pennine Way, which I joined to go Southwards across the Kinder Plateau. I passed some large, sculpted, gritstone boulders. What had given them such flowing shapes - were they to high and exposed to be shaped by water flow? Could it have been the action of the wind?

Trig point, Kinder plateau

I left the pennine way to visit a trig point on an unnamed high spot. Getting there involved crossing open moorland and peat hags. The trig point stood on a rough concrete pedestal. Presumably when the trig point was built the concrete pedestal was actually a foundation laid within the peat. It appears that since construction the peat has been eroded away, leaving the foundation standing proud from the remaining sandy subsoil. Was this erosion caused by the action of thousands of feet, or by the elements?

A dry Kinder Downfall

I rejoined the Pennine Way and continued southwards to Kinder Downfall. Lying in the centre of a bowl of dark gritsone cliffs, this is where the Kinder river descends from the plateau over a series of gritstone ledges.  It was only a mid-summer trickle, but would be more dramatic when the river is in spate, or perhaps frozen.

Pennine way heading looking to Kinder Downfall

I continued southwards along the Pennine way, which follows the western edge of the Kinder plateau for several kilometres. This was a well trodden path with a solid rock base; quite a different experience to negotiating numerous peat hags on the open moorland.

Eroded landscape of Kinder Low

I reached another trig point, on the (named) summit Kinder Low. This time I was sure that the peat had been stripped back to the underlying sand by thousands of feet. Although this was a summit, it didn't feel like it because the ground curved away from the high point so gently, giving the allusion that I was standing on a plain. Where was the feeling of exposure and height, of excitement and achievement? At this point naming the area the Peak District (and, indeed, calling Kinder Scout area the 'high peak'), seemed like false advertising.

Kinderlow End

I descended via the spur of Kinderlow End towards Hayfield (shown above), feeling slightly underwhelmed by the Dark Peak experience. Would I be back? I'm not sure. Perhaps the area is more exciting under less favourable conditions; a bit of fog, perhaps a bit of snow. Or maybe gritstone, which makes the Dark Peak such a good location for rock climbing, produces a landscape that is to bleak for exciting, varied, walks?

The North York Moors: Goathland, Falling Foss and Fylingdales

To celebrate mid-summer I visited the North York Moors. The North York Moors are a national park in the north east corner of Yorkshire; primarily a heathery, upland plateau, the park extends to the North Sea coast around Whitby. Much of the park is open access land,  where one has the freedom to wander away from paths and rights of way.

I arrived in the village of Goathland early in the morning, having driven over the mist-covered moors from Leeds, with the intention of following a route over moorland to the East and South of Goathland.

Goathland Station

I started my walk from the station in Goathland. It is part of the North Yorkshire Moors Railway, which is a heritage steam railway that runs north-south through the moors. The station recreates railway stations from decades ago, but it was still early so there were no trains to complete the picture.

Moor above Goathland

My route took me North Eastwards across Goathland Moor. This was my first experience of the heather-covered plateau. The lack of trees and deep greens and browns of the heather gave the moor a bleak, gloomy feel. The morning mist was clearing, however, and there was even a patch of blue sky - things were looking up!

Cross-leaved heather in flower

I found some early-flowering heather in a sheltered spot. The bright purple clusters contrasted with the dark foliage. It will be worth coming back later in the summer, when the majority of the heather is in flower, to see the moor blanketed purple. The heather was a mix of Calluna and Erica species, which occur in such abundance because the moor is managed to provide good habitat for red grouse that need young heather shoots to feed on and older heather to hide in.

Red grouse are regarded as the prince of gamebirds and people pay a lot of money to shoot them, making an important contribution to the local economy. It is an awkward bird to manage though - it suffers from predators, and especially parasites, which can severely affect grouse numbers. Also, birds cannot be reared in captivity then released to augment wild populations. End result: huge expanses of heather moorland that are carefully managed for grouse production across Northern England, Scotland and Wales.

Old-fashioned pylon

I crossed a road and continued east across the moor. The major vertical features on the moor were a line of pylons heading north to Whitby. The pylons were an old, elegant design, with patches of rust emphasising their age.

North York Moors dry stone wall

Moorland was separated from lower level farmland by a dry stone wall. I followed it southwards to a bridleway that led across the farmland.

Young cattle

The farmland was used for grazing. In one field nervous young cows followed me as I passed.

Dog rose

As I crossed the farmland there were dog roses flowering in the hedgerows, along with plenty of honeysuckle. I could smell both species from some distance away!

Falling Foss

The bridleway entered a wooded valley, which led to Falling Foss. Although the stream feeding the falls was small, it went over a long drop, and with the sunlight making the water sparkle it was a dramatic sight. I stopped at the tea room by the falls and the meagre change I had left over from paying the parking fee in Goathland was just enough for tea and cake.

Lone pine tree on the moorland

Much refreshed, I walked Southwards upstream until the woods became thinner, and after a short climb I was back on moorland. A lone tree stood sentry - it is probably an escapee from a nearby Forestry Commission plantation, which I intended to skirt around next.

Felled plantation

It was a mature plantation and some areas had been felled. Dark, featureless plantation does not look good, but the felled land looked worse. The Forestry Commission is more enlightened these days, so hopefully they will replant with some attractive and ecologically interesting native species.

Cotton grass, growing in a hollow

After a couple of miles of walking Southwards across moorland I came across a patch of cotton grass in a dip. The tufts at the top of each stem were windblown.

Louven Howe

Looking across the North York Moors

Continuing South, I reached the high point of the moor - Louven Howe. Great views all around, especially as the weather had continued to improve. The view in one direction was dominated by RAF Fylingdales, whose land I would pass through next...

Fylingdales warning sign

RAF Fylingdales is a ballistic missile warning station - it has a big radar array that rises pyramid-like from the moor, which is visible for miles around. During the Cold War the base was responsible for spotting missiles that would have initiated a '4 minute warning' had the Soviets launched a nuclear attack. Now it is part of the U.S.A missile defence shield. As such they are a bit touchy about security - there are signs up outlining what you can and can't do, which included taking photos of the base from controlled land that I was on. The sign above, however, is apparently a fraud, and after a moments pause I dismissed it and carried on my way.

It was interesting to see that close to the base, where I guess there hasn't been grazing and heather management for grouse, scrub and small trees were starting to cover the moorland. Left long enough without human intervention, presumably the whole moor would go the same way.

Rail bridge, North York Moors Railway

After a couple of miles stomping through heather, I reached the main road over the moor. This was the same road I had used to drive to Goathland in the morning, when it had been shrouded in mist . I had to follow the road for a mile, and it was busy, so I was frequently jumping onto the verge as traffic passed in both directions. Eventually the road brought me to the North York Moors Railway line, which I passed under, and then I followed a bridleway back into Goathland.

Sheep grazing the lawn, Goathland

The biggest disappointment about Goathland? Plenty of sheep, but no goats. Mis-selling was a theme of the village - a few of the shops had signs such as 'Grocer' and 'General Store', which I went into to try and buy a drink, only to find shelves of souvenirs but no groceries.

Chipping Norton in the mist

We met in the centre of Chipping Norton - a market town in North Oxfordshire that, looking east, is said to be the highest point until the Ural mountains in Russia.

We had no plans although we were keen to be outside after spending the week celebrating christmas with food, drink, and lots of television. The conditions, however, were not ideal for walking. Deep snow had covered much of the UK for the previous two weeks but the temperature had crept above freezing point and we were in the middle of a thaw; mist shrouded the landscape, and the ground was a mosaic of mud and slushy snow;  ten days after the shortest day, dusk would arrive early. We headed to the Old Mill Coffee House to plan our route.

Walkers in the mist and snow, Chipping Norton

Fortified with coffee and cake, and with a rough route in mind, we set off eastwards along a bridleway to Salford. Conditions underfoot were poor; a mixture of slush and mud meant one step back for every two steps forward.

Salford Church

Salford

A popular book when we were children was The Vanishing Village, a puzzle story about a village that is cursed and trapped in limbo, periodically appearing swathed in mist. The mist gave Salford an air of timelessness that was reinforced by a row of old petrol pumps; we had stumbled into the vanishing village!

Sheep blending into the snow

We headed southeast from Salford towards Cornwell, where we were greeted by a flock of lambs that appeared like small clouds budding off from the fog.

Snowy fields

We then turned north towards Adlestrop hill. The path took us past an old barrow and a tumulus. The hill itself was still covered in thick snow - combined with the exposed location, it had a bleak feel. At the hill we headed southeast towards the village of Adlestrop.

Adlestrop estate

Adlestop was deserted. We abandoned our plan to stop for lunch because the village shop was closed and there was no pub (let alone the pub we had been imagining for the last hour: comfortable chairs, warmed by a fire and a range of hot pies). We left Adlestrop, passing through a well cared-for estate with ornate lakes, bridges and a cricket pitch.

Walking along the snowy verge

Back on the road, we headed towards Daylesford. The steady flow of four-wheel drives confirmed that we were going in the right direction. Daylesford has an upmarket farm shop that brings in four-wheel drive using customers from miles around. We had high hopes that the farm shop would provide us with lunch (if our wallets could take it).

Daylesford sandwich ingredients, assembled.

The farm shop cafe was beyond our means, but we did get the ingredients for an impressive sandwich - a loaf of rye bread and some fennel salami - followed up by a chocolate brownie.

The Daylesford warning sign - helicopters!

We left the road to cross the Daylesford estate. It was good to get away from the four-wheel drive cars, but we had to watch out for vehicles from above.

Cows ready to be milked

We passed through the Daylesford estate and carried on through Top Farm, where it was milking time. The ladies were waiting patiently to go into the barn and be milked. The path took us back into Cornwell, and we then retraced our steps through Salford and back into Chipping Norton. It was getting dark, and it had been a long day made longer by the mud and snow, so we plodded the final mile into Chipping Norton, collapsed in the car and removed our muddy boots.