Dark Peak Warts

Some 25 or so finely tuned Dark Peak athletes plus a guest from Kendal AC set out on this mild night. The run started with a wade through the upper reaches of the reservoir, followed by a long drag up to Wet Stones, the navigation to which was impeccable! From here we set off in an optimistic frame of mind to find the picnic tables and tin shack which is somewhere in a clough somewhere in the moor. To our amazement, we found it without any bother and consumed whisk(e)y and sundry snack items at the tables, it has to be said that the service was poor, however. From here, we set off to find the Stirling bomber wreck. Now bear in mind that this is on a featureless bit of moor and that we approached it from a featureless bit of moor, so, being honest, the chances of finding a bit of pipe sticking up in the dark featureless moor were slim! And so it proved to be. Search abandoned we set off for Margery Hill trig which was found with the usual accuracy. From here the group split, those that actually fancied a run went down Cut Gate, the walkers went over Cranberry Clough and arrived back much later! Oh and happy birthday to Jim who enjoyed the perfect 58th birthday treat!

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A very pleasant run through the snow via the Dukes Road, Fox Stones, Pike Low and the tram-track bridge. Harmony prevailed all night, and the Belgian Blue slipped down nicely in the Nags thereafter. Good to see Mr Harvey (aka “God”) in attendance, and young master Beresford for some of the proceedings. A reet good night all round.

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Broomhead access gate being a step too far for some of us, we assembled at Hugh’s Hut in Stoney Middleton for a run over to Longstone Moor, ably led by Peter Gorvett. An uneventful run apart from the section on the way home when a cow decided to join in. Fortunately a few sharp words sent it on its way. Excellent refreshment in the Moon inn, where we outnumbered the rest of the customers by 3:1.

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A mild night and a good turnout. Moz was to be congratulated for designing a course that even he managed to get lost on, as he (and a number of others) failed to find the pond near Friar’s Ridge which those that did find it, did so as a pure fluke!! The going was officially described as “moist” to good which meant that we were wading knee deep through a good portion of this “race”  The checkpoints for interests sake where:

• the haunted house on the conduit
• the small pond in the middle of nowhere near the lodge
• the bus shelter near High Neb
• the other pond in the middle of nowhere, near the lodge
• the pond in the middle of nowhere on Friar’s ridge
• Rud Hill summit in the middle of nowhere
• a long wallow back to the start/finish

My meanderings are shown below!!

Chris Barber

 

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A game of two thirds this one … (reasonably) fine to Stanage Pole, then an especially grim bog trot and flounder in search of the third pond of the evening which, as the track testifies, I appear to have passed a good 200m to the south. Didn’t stop me getting my feet very wet, and failing to correct the line to Rud Hill (not always easy when you’ve no real idea where you are). Enough tussocks and bog to keep even the most stalwart of warts happy; and nobody paid much heed to Moz’s increasingly desperate talk of lines and good running at the finish. Congratulations to Neil N on another wartin’ victory, and thanks to Moz and John for organising the whole shootin’ match. It’d be interesting to know just how many people actually found that last pond, mind.

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Having declared the tentatively advertised route to Alport Castles “contrived”, and determined that we should tackle Kinder instead, Cap’n Harmer (that most empathetic of warts) spotted Andy M’s lip all a-quiver and promptly reverted to said Alport route. Off we went then, up a bit, along a bit (on an endless pavement of slabs, occasioning some unpleasant flashbacks for recent participants in the Trigger), alighting eventually at the summit of the Tower. Down a bit, up a bit, some whisky (but no ruffles), bog along quite a bit, down a bit, some fence vaulting, and finally back to the cars via some tarmac a bit. Big Bob, the only real man amongst us, chose to finish with a solo ascent of Crookstone Knoll, joining us all a little later in the Ladybower. Contrived seems a fair description in hindsight, but Andy M was happy, and Andy H glad to have obliged.

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Eleven stalwarts lined up for a good old fashioned soaking on Emlin Ridge; certainly the foulest weather of the season thus far and possibly the wettest wart from start to finish that I’ve had the pleasure to enjoy in the past four years. It was evident from the outset that conditions were somewhat awry as young Master Harmer arrived resplendent in full waterproof clobber, tops and bottoms. Having splashed our way around the trig, shooting cabins, plantations and reservoir, we repaired to the Nags Head where the loudest cheer of the evening was reserved for the news that rain had stopped play at the Sportsman … but I wouldn’t want to steal Brother Barber’s thunder on this matter, who should be along shortly to expand in whatever way seems most appropriate to him.

As a coda, Lewis notes – “An article in the Guardian identifies High Bradfield as having gusts of 93 MPH on wednesday night/ thursday morning. No comment is made on the volume of water sloshing about.”

 

Not sure that I can add much to my esteemed colleague’s ramblings above. It was a memorable night and will be committed to the “anals” of warting history.  The highlight was receiving the text from our sometime warting colleague who was blacklegging at some other venue, pointing out that the race had been cancelled due to bad weather (pah!) – a term hitherto never mentioned on a warts night!

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Notwithstanding young Tom W’s pre-run concerns that our esteemed leaders may not be singing to the same hymn sheet on this one, the evening passed with barely a hint of disagreement, and a very fine run was had by all over varied terrain on a crisp clear night. Classic wartin’, even if no-one – excepting your correspondent – actually made it all the way to Black Holes. There was a subsequent claim that I’d simply misheard Cap’n Harmer’s call at Howshaw Tor; be that as it may, it’s always worth the trip to t’other side of Running Moss Dike, boys ‘n girls.

Ten hardy souls ventured forth from Midhope led by Capt Harmer and Sergeant Hakes, no safety officer was on show here but with Westgate and Winterburn we knew we were in safe hands. The first point of call was the cabin, from there the wet boggy track ventured higher in the the teeth of a biting wind. The plan was a direct line to the Margary hill however having drifted close to cutgate a quick trip out to inspect the UXB discovered by Russ a few weeks earlier. More on the shells will appear in next Christmas’s newsletter The group split slightly as one section went straight at MH and the others taking a less direct route by running up Cutgate.
The masses gathered on MH before some discussion by the Capt and Private Westgate on the precise bearing to the Stirling wreck, now I’m not certain how important those 5 degrees were but 10-15 minutes later miraculously we were gathered around the wreck site, A few more photos before we chose to find a bit more shelter to have raspberry whirls from Mr Holmes and our first whisky stop. It was here that the Capt decided to cartwheel down a clough to; first the amusement of the troops then to the concern of the group however he was soon up and off again to Pike Low. Another whisky and with every one signed in and Winterburn led off back to the cars with the Barber hounds in hot pursuit.
Brigadier Sanderson had counted them out and counted them back. To his pleasure all were present and correct so a trip round the corner to the Wagon and Horses for a few pints of Timmy Taylor’s where Hakes open the market stall and started selling the new DP shirts to any one who promised to pay him later.

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In the absence of either a safety officer or habitual wart-in-chief, it’s just possible we never took a head count. Nonetheless there was a surprisingly healthy showing – twenty plus – for a rather longer tour of Big Moor than many of us had anticipated. Possibly by dint of being the only attendee in possession of a 1:25000 scale map, or possibly as result of his impressive showing at the Long Cakes race the other week, Rob Cole strode out in front giving a fine impression of a night-time navigator … Sadly, his tendency to interpret county and constituency boundaries as footpaths soon proved his undoing, and we singularly failed to find either Lady’s Cross or the first Big Moor stone circle. We did, however, acquaint ourselves with some suitably poor ground. Thereafter, navigation improved – in large part due, I suspect, to the profusion of footpaths. Nonetheless, those of us on the two and a half hour extended tour managed to take in three stone circles, a barrow and the reconstituted rock art on Gardoms Edge, whilst the lighter-weight two hour tour settled for just the two stone circles. They did, however, remember to stop for some whisky. Rob and I, by contrast (and no doubt weighed down by the unexpected burden of leadership), forgot entirely to call a whisky halt for the extended tour, so the pint in the Grouse at journey’s end was all the more welcome. The track says it all, really.

And Rob responds: “I feel the need to make a couple of minor clarifications… We did indeed miss Lady’s cross, though only due to Coach Willy’s hard right turn upon reaching the wall, I had intended to carry on our bearing but the coach had other ideas. Also, from my track, it seems we passed within about 10 metres of the first stone circle… twice! Anyway, most importantly, for the record, sadly, my own whisky supply has run dry, however, I did upon at least two occasions make my best efforts to remind Coach Willy of the importance of the sharing the contents of his hip flask with the rest of our intrepid group, unfortunately he did not oblige us!”

OK; perhaps I was attracted to the alternative line to the Hurkling Stone – a much more romantic spot than Lady’s Cross IMHO – and the absence of whisky may have been pointed out on a couple of occasions mid-run … but it was simply my sieve-like brain, rather than innate stinginess, that led to my own supplies of whisky remaining in my bag for the duration; honest.