The Peakland Way: Monday

The final 20 miles...

Monday:      

9:34am

     Charles has re-entered the 'family' business so we have to be back in time to look after his toddler son while his missus does the school run - though he observes that I have 80 miles 'in my legs' and allows me to set the pace.
     I've dumped the camera and replaced it with a mobile phone but seem to have aquired two rather heavy containers of orange juice...

     As we cut through Rowsley he tells of one Round Rotheram 50 miler in the 80's where Brian Harney of Rotherham Harriers had set off at what he described as a 'suicidal' pace. "I only saw him at the start," he says with a chuckle of the ultra where Brian came first and Charles a respectable third. These days he doesn't do this kind of distance he adds and is happy to do the odd ten. 'It's enough for me now...' and jokes that he might not make it to Ashbourne! Now he tells me! I say he has to... and carry me if needs must!

     As a 'road man' Charles doesn't normally do footpaths either. He says this as we negotiate the first field crossing to Congreave and seems amused that I keep stopping to look at the map. From the church in Stanton-in-Peak it's an uphill pull towards the entrance to Stanton Moor where I have to stop to re-lace my shoes as I'm already getting pain from that troublesome toe joint.
     Environmentalists are in occupation here in an effort to prevent the moor and the ancient site of the Nine Ladies stone circle from being lost forever to a newly-planned quarrying operation. Beyond the tower we come to the fence and head off right, down to the road. Charles pulls ahead on the downhill through Birchover - but, hey, what's this? - a massive hairy caterpillar is crossing the road and I stop to give a helping hand (well, helping map case... okay, well, soldered freezer bag then, as I notice the seam is still intact!) Of course there's no sign of my pacer after this act of mercy - but he's waiting ahead. He's got GPS with armband and watch - the face of which is barely legible, but he is just able to read the display and we need to go a bit quicker he says as he works out pace and estimated finish time.

     At the road near Dudwood House (end of original stage 7 - sadly no longer a campsite), Charles complains at the quagmire of mud around the roadside stile. I show how it's done and plow straight through, nearly going headlong in the process.

     I remember the little site here as a fitting end to the day's walk many years before - where the sun shone as me and she cooked a dinner of fried luncheon meat, spaghetti and smash, before backtracking to the pub in Birchover where my girlfriend, having never tried her hand at darts before, centred two successive bulls... but came down to earth somewhat when the third bounced from the board and glanced off of the lampshade! - she decided to quit while ahead...

Journal entry:30/3/78 Day 7: (Best day - sun shone - wore sun hats even! Money shortage not so bad - no charge @ Moorside and was only 15p each at Dudwood)

     Before us the route takes the stoney track to pass between the gritstone outcrops of Robin Hood's Stride and Cratcliffe Tor. I point out the standing stones on the right and farther on, down the road to the next foopath junction, Charles indicates a farm where he rehearsed in the barn with one of the more recent bands he's helped form.

     It's field footpaths that deliver us to Elton and outside Oddo House I'm stumped as to where the line of the path actually is. The right-of-way seems little used here and according to the map keeps close to the farm buildings. Initially there is no evidence on the ground but once past the out-buildings the stiles are evident and we descend to Gratton Dale. I have been fretting about the containers of orange juice and now offer my final ultimatum: either we sup it or tip it!

     Gratton Dale offers little assistance to forward progress presenting either a rocky or muddy passage. One of the lesser visited dales this, but after a mile or two we're soon emerging onto the busy A5012. Charles ups the pace a little here but the minor road up to the High Peak trail has me struggling to keep up. Once on the trail it seems a good idea to take on some calories and I produce two Tesco nut caramel bars - 'every little helps' as they say...

     In around a mile the footpath to Parwich is located to the side of an old quarry. I'm now very much aware of pain in my foot and at the next stile stop to inspect. Charles keeps going and I tell him I'll catch up as the line of the path is prominent. After trying to sort out the foot problem - relacing both shoes and trying to get the lace tension right, my legs seize up and I just cannot seem to get my leg over the stile - (so it's true, it does become more difficult to get your leg over as you get older!) I can get half way and see Charles waiting atop a stile in the distance, but I just cannot get my leg up. I try and try but just cannot do it. Some lateral thinking is called for but I cannot get my head around the situation either and merely fall back laughing. In one final push I manage to haul myself over the wall. Several stiles later I find Charles virtuously patient now wearing the jacket that has, up to now, been tied around his waist. I tell him I'm finished as my legs have gone. He merely laughs. "You'll be all right," he says, and asks, matter of fact: "Which way now?"

     On the rise past Low Moor Farm he asks if we've got anything to eat. I delve into my waist bag to produce two cereal bars. "Got anything to drink?" he asks in a more serious tone. We drink the last of the orange that I tipped into my hip bottle.

     The full grown hay is ready for mowing. We head across field after field of the stuff that snags against the shoes making running more ardous with having to lift the feet higher. The final descent into Parwich near the former Hospital is steep and squelchy with slippery mud and well overgrown, but we emerge onto the road and I make a slight error of judgement in advising the next footpath to the right that cuts between the houses to the church (the correct route is round by the road) and soon we're out of delightful forgotten Parwich and ascending fields again in the direction of Tissington.

     After Bletch Brook, at the top of the field, the bridge over the Tissington Trail is crossed and the village entered via Chapel Lane. Very touristy here. Picture this: two 'old men' running through lots of tourists... but, whey hey... what's this? - an ice cream van. I persuade that it's in our best interests to partake in a couple of 99's (what's the saying: never pass up a toilet, an erection or an ice cream van??) - as the kiosk on the trail could be closed, being Monday an' all. So we become two old men in running attire walking with ice creams... But, round the corner, the kiosk is well and truly open, so now it's tea and fruit cake... well if it's good enough for fell runners...

     The remaining trail seems to take more than the actual 3 miles, before we come upon the cycle hire cabin, car park and road back to the top of The Channel. Charles is first down to the cross as I stop to have a word with an all-black kitty encountered Friday on the way up.

     On the short walk back to the car I clap my new running partner on the back. "Thanks. I really enjoyed that..."

Journal entry:31/3/78 Day 8: (Wet from ODDO FARM lasted all day - Made pub in Parwich - no shop in Tissington to spend last 10p - so got 2 1/2's MILD in pub in Ashbourne - got 1/2 pint free! - MILD 20p a pint!)

 

Note: Credit to the Author of the Guide book describing the route followed:

'The Peakland Way' route, book and origination are the property of The John Merrill Foundation. Any reference to the Peakland Way is made in acknowledgement of The John Merrill Foundation as copyright owners of the guide book, route and orgination.



 

Feb2006©m.l.weller