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The Warts tell me that as an alternative to the Landmarks race and Sportsman a select few are heading off to Windle edge to make it to the 3 sheeper, Barrow stones and back via Shepherds meeting stones and Lady cross. Not a long outing but it's important to note that the run will start at 5:30pm.
Morning road chaos in the snowy and icy north east of Sheffield, possibly presaged an interesting Warts’ night out from the Broomhead layby. We could but hope! Despite a few absentees from the south and west of Sheffield, ten of us set off on the increasingly snowy track to follow a modified version of one of the Summer Series races. Whilst we would probably come to regret the feeling that track running was a bit boring, we nevertheless made good progress (the best of the whole evening) until we were drawn to the joys of deep dead bracken and swamp for our crossing of Ewden Beck.
It’s not necessarily the water crossing itself that is the challenge but sometimes it’s the entry and exit to and from it that can provide interest. This night was such an occasion. A snowy slimy steep descent did elicit a few less than gentle comments including comparisons with the current gold standard of notorious slopes, namely Priddock Wood, only visited a week ago. After this, it felt easy to wade across the cooling waters of the Beck for the climb out. At some critical angle, slopes go from feet only to hands and feet and this was such an angle, prompting speculation about the need to also have studded gloves, for those who actually wore gloves. The climb was equally slimy and snowy as the descent, though even steeper. I think that Ewden Beck is gaining in notoriety, maybe it’s now the silver standard?
Having survived the Beck, we were entertained by more deep bracken and snow for a visit to the ruined cabin at Park Cote (dated 1883?). As some sort of relief, we were able to run via a gentle climb in plenty of snow, to Fox Stones though no refreshments were allowed! Instead, in true Warting tradition and because of our experience of the Ewden valley, the originally proposed route was changed to avoid another slippery slide into the beck and a wet feet river crossing. (Are we getting neche?). So, instead, we were to fly over the river via the “girders” and fight through the rhododendrons even though the Cap’n had declared some weeks ago that this route was no longer viable. Hey Ho!
Before then, the refreshment stop was declared to be the Earnshaw Ridge or thereabouts so there was a bit of a drawn-out ambling climb through the now usual deep drifting snow, knee high heather, bracken, swamps and rushes. Whiskey, jelly babies and some other confection (?) were on offer to encourage our return. It must have been a long way through the usual undergrowth to hear “Are we there yet?” and “Can we go home?”. It was actually a long way, involving a couple of references to the technology, carefully protected from the conditions by a high technology sports sock but we did return to the Beck area to find the now, infamous girders. There were the brave and the cautious crossers. The brave walked across balancing on a couple of the three or four girders (actually rails), the cautious crawled over. In so doing the latter, it was possible to closely examine the rusting and crumbling of the steel, how long will the girders last?
So, no immersion in the Beck. As always, the rhodos didn’t seem to too difficult until about half way up when the path turned into quite a significant stream and all our efforts to avoid a wet crossing of Ewden were as nought. Still, the neoprenes just about saved the day. A sprint back to the layby helped warm us up for The Old Horns where the wild water swimmers were already warming up. When they left, only the Warts remained to enjoy the illuminating discussions on massive fireworks, speleology and bladder control. Honestly, there was some sort of link,,,,,,,,,probably the beer!
It has been vaguely mentioned that Warts’ outings often turn into adventures and our latest outing was formally declared to be one such. There was enough excitement before we even set foot on rough ground. The Ladybower’s new car parking arrangements, pay as you display, ANPR (automatic number plate recognition) and free parking for “clients” left us confused (easily done). Clarification from the pub staff meant we had to pay £2 for two hours and then it was free when we became clients after the run. The pressure therefore was on us to return within two hours.
Our annual pilgrimage to Priddock Wood started, of course, directly from the car park and down to the river crossing. In the torchlit mirk one Wart (Tim H) was seen leaping impressively across and landing spread-eagled on the vertical face of a large boulder, no wet feet! The rest of us took a more cautious crossing, tip-toeing over slimy moss-covered boulders nicely spaced but awkwardly angled. I made an attempt (see left!) of recording our annual visit to PW by taking a photo of the string of torches climbing through the wood. By the time I’d faffed about getting the phone out of its waterproof case, most Warts had disappeared. However, there is a vague image of at least one Wart and a disembodied torch light but the surrounding undergrowth and rock gives a taste of the climb which feels pretty significant requiring fine judgement of a branch’s strength before heaving on it. The general consensus was that young saplings provided the most sure support but old knarly branches were not reliable, i.e. they snapped off at the least touch. Surely a metaphor of life?! To top off this adventurous start there was a last steep climb and descent of a couple of metres. This gave us a pleasing sense of achievement as we gathered at the glorious summit nicely lit by moon and torches.
115⁰ was the shout for Jarvis Clough cabin and it was somewhere along this line that we started actually running; Pete G reckoned that this was 21 minutes after we had left the car park, no point in rushing into It! The cabin was its normal airy, rustic self and surrounded by squelchy bogs. This was to become the theme of most of the rest of the run. Only Tom W managed to avoid some of them by finding a path towards Crow Chin unlike the rest of us who bog trotted to the edge. Fudge, whiskey and jelly babies were taken near Crow Chin. Wed did aim for a sheepfold near Moscar Fields but time was pressing and I don’t think we found it so instead we enjoyed the delights of a thigh high classic swamp before reaching Cutthroat Bridge.
In sharp contrast, Cutthroat to the Ladybower was the rocky road. I guess we had been so used to the soft tender massaging of our feet by the bogs that these hard and uneven rocks were not easy on the feet. However, we did survive and probably more importantly (?) we did arrive within the two hour parking allowance.
Our adventure continued, in front of the warm welcoming fire in the Strines Inn where we met the Wild Water Warts also crowding around the fire.
Another Warts adventure!
Tom reminded us that there are two North Grains, 100m apart, Upper and Nether with, helpfully, Upper being the upper of the two on the Snake Road. And, for those who really want to know, spacious parking is at the Nether of the two Grains. Here, belated greetings for the New Year were exchanged and we welcomed Cat who is new to Warting and Penny after a year’s long absence due to injury.
I thought the start of the Crookestone race and the start of one of the Warts’ Westend runs through the Banktop Plantation were seriously steep but the rock climb direct from the Nether carpark takes the steepness to another height (unless, of course, you know of a more serious one, any bids?). It was recognised immediately, therefore, that this was going to be a typical Harmerian outing, though in recognition of the coming Saturday’s birthday run and the need to save (?) ourselves for it, tonight’s trip was to be limited to one and a half hours. At this stage, there was some scepticism, based on hard won experience, that we would achieve this.
In order to collect another Nether, we scrambled out of the rock face and headed over the groughs towards Nether Reddale Clough which was descended in the belief at the time that it was the Alport. Remember, after all, it was dark and the extent of torch beams was a couple of meters. At least that was my excuse. For fun and excitement, we descended the “Alport” until we realised that the Alport had shrunk and that this must be Nether Reddale. So, having descended, climbing back out provided some useful training, we all thought. We did make it to the Alport and we did descend it though, on the way down more “saving” was needed as John D tipped head over heels into a stream. He faced downhill with legs in the air and head in the stream. Many hands hauled him out only then for us all to face the icy like slippery crossing of the Alport. Fortunately, hands across the water avoided anymore dunkings. Having crossed it once, another kilometre found us crossing it again though with less drama and yet more hand holding.
With one and a half hours in our grasp, it was a direct crossing of Over Wood Moss area to the car park. If you like groughs which, of course we all do, then, oh what joy, particularly when the occasional gully block gave us some deep immersion therapy, not to be missed. Whilst there was half a plan to visit Upper North Grain cabin, we never did, though we may have crossed the upper reaches of Upper Grain and, for completeness, we finished in the nether reaches of Nether North Grain and the car park in an hour and a half.
So, a successful outing duly preparing us for the Birthday run on Saturday and then topped off with refreshments at the Ladybower.
Is there some sort of Bermuda Triangle like effect near Derwent Edge or did our experience from Strines Inn result from the presence of a nearly full moon? The biggest clue, I suppose, is possibly in the local place names, primarily, Lost Lad, the hidden advice of (go)Back Tor and Howsure (!) Tor and, when in an extended state of confusing lostness, the comfort and sustenance yearning of Cakes of Bread and Salt Cellar. A couple of years ago or so, a Warts’ very snowy outing to celebrate the Cap’n’s birthday, managed, in a white out, to wander along the wrong path near Back Tor. Repeating the celebration tonight, eleven Warts reached Back Tor without incident and then set off for Lost Lad. We are a very sociable group and, particularly on the downhills, there is breath to spare for conversation. We all strode off confidently deep in conversation from Back Tor following the flagstones to Lost Lad, or, so we thought. Whilst the discussions were, of course, utterly fascinating, we had taken our eye off where we were actually going until someone tentatively suggested that we’d seen too many flagstones. Murmuration like, we turned to go back to Back Tor though only two of us reached there. The rest went down Bradfield Gate hoping, I think, to cut the corner to Lost Lad, meanwhile, we two reached it only to see distant torchlights which disappeared as we descended into Sheepfold Clough. We took our time to Beresters Tor and eventually saw the group climbing towards us. In the less than cosy atmosphere of the Tor, the group revealed they had enjoyed a complete circumnavigation of Lost Lad without actually reaching its summit.
More mystery was to follow. Now reunited into one group, we crossed Abbey Brook without too much bother and climbed via the very ruined wall and the fence to Loweshaw Tor. Next target was the blockhouse but, as far as we could tell, big as it is, it had been removed, so, target missed. Instead, we managed to find, by tripping over it, the tiny iron bar on the path near the Strines Inn whose welcoming coal fire helped us recover from the two and a quarter hour exposure to the apparent feels-like temperature of -7⁰C on the tops. There was also plenty of birthday cheer and jollity which kept us in the pub until 10.00 pm, or is it possible we’re getting slower? Never!
Ah, ah, what a wonderful winter Warts’ wander!
Unusually, the route for tonight was posted in advance through an email from the Cap’n to the Warts. There was a reaction from John D who posted an account of a similar outing two years ago from Midhope. Then, there was mention of slimy, slippery slopes encountered in escaping from Ewden Beck/Candlerush and the need for exhausting high knee lifts to cross the moor to Tom’s tree. Despite this and the current weather forecast for fog and a “feels like temperature” of about -5⁰C, eleven Warts did arrive in the full moon at the bend in the Midhope road. Whether it was because of these reports or because there was whiff of rebellion in the air (the full moon?), there was a change to the pre-planned wander. We were promised more running (gasp!) and on tracks (double gasp!). This triggered a mild comment, surely jogging, not running? On this, there was some degree of agreement though Ian W and his Lincoln friend (both young bloods) indicated their wish to elevate themselves to running and duly ran, adding an extra checkpoint at Mickleden Pond to which the rest of us didn’t aspire.
Bob’s alternative did not disappoint, as we ran (yes, at least we thought it was) up the track by Sugden Clough in and out of the moonlight and into the mist. Happily, there was a crackle and sparkle of frost on the damp grassy track to make the running (?) more bearable. It couldn’t last, of course. We reached the blue matting track which proved to be even more slippery than the aforementioned Ewden Beck escape slope so, to maintain some sort of balance and dignity, walking next to it was the answer. We descended in this way until the serious bog where, thoughtfully the blue matting had been reinforced with a se
ries of very slippery logs. Of the many talents Warts have, I don’t think log rolling is amongst them though, given their many eccentricities it wouldn’t surprise me if there was at least one log roller. Anyway, there wasn’t one in this eleven so we continued our walking at the side of the track and we were almost relieved to leave it and go on to the general heathery bog towards Outer Edge trig. It’s a surprisingly long way there, especially at mainly walking pace; when we arrived no whisky nor sweeties were taken such was our dedication to serious running. To ration the enjoyment of slippage, the return from the trig avoided the blue matting and logs and replaced it with some enjoyable deep and knarly groughs until the track and the moonlight emerged from the mist and, then, full speed ahead. Phew!
The post outing analysis at The Horns confirmed that, indeed we did a bit more running but managed to include some of the elements of a traditional Warts’ run. So, another successful Warts’ trip.
As Warts’ start locations go, the one having potentially the windiest, wettest and coldest changing “facilities” is Doctor’s Gate near the summit of the Snake Road. This potential was realised on the early (5.45pm) outing there this Wednesday. There were eleven of us and, all except one, were retirees or part timers, clearly a discerning and distinguished group! An early start allowed for longer enjoyment of, and on, the hills. In view of the approaching Club Champs from Glossop, Andy (RO) selected a route to avoid impingement on any possible courses from there (no reccying!); as it turned out, it probably mattered not a jot.
Whilst the outline of Featherbed Moss could be seen from the car park, any further location clues from such outlines were obscured by the increasingly enveloping mist encountered on climbing directly from the car park and on towards the Upper North Grain hut. As a foretaste of things to come, there was a need, after only about ten minutes, to consult Chris’s “technology” to sort our whether to go upstream or downstream the Grain to find the hut. This was resolved and the hut seemed to be in a sorry state with some of the main roof beams either rotten or broken and the floor a muddy mess. By contrast, last year the nearby Oyster Clough hut was very civilised, with table, chairs, log book, a tin of beans, a candle in a jam jar and a flagged floor, all the creature comforts. However, it is understood that a gale has since blown the roof off and the hut is now in a sorry state, or is it? No time tonight, though, to find out.
An encounter with some measuring equipment further up the Grain, i.e. dip wells, prompted an explanation of the dangers of previous open versions of the wells. The local voles seemed to have a tendency to dive into them and then drown with others following, perhaps, to save them. The rather dismal record, so far, is six drowned voles in one dip well. Well, they now have caps to avoid such events. In our weather induced hysteria, images of voles wearing flat caps to prevent dip well drowning were generated. This delusion helped distract us across soggy open moorland although, through the combined effect of the tunnel vision of a waterproof hood, the torch spot light and the wet misty blackness of the surroundings, it was difficult to see anything other than the immediate mainly boggy ground.
It was, of course, inevitable that we crossed a river, this one swollen by the recent and continuing rainfall. Even the upper reaches of the Alport river can have some surprises. Crossing the rushing, knee high water is usually not a problem but add the slippery-as-ice underwater rocks then, despite warnings, a fall into the cooling water can happen. Needless to say, I provided a bit of entertainment to raise our spirits without resorting to the whisky. We continued north westerly now to The Swamp though it was questionable on this wet evening why it should be distinguished from the rest of the moor which was almost at its swampiest. Because of the lack of any discernible landmarks there was a feeling that we were on a bumpy sort of treadmill. We seemed to be covering the same old ground, swamp, stream, pool, peat, rushes (we weren’t) and even a few rocks all of which had been programmed into the imaginary treadmill.
There were quite a few stops, thankfully, for perusal of maps and “technology” by our navigation team of Bob, Andy, Pete, Chris and others until we met a PW stone sign with two arrows at right angles, near Bleaklow Head. More consultation and, then, much to our surprise, we reached the welcome sight of Wain Stones. Spirits, in flasks, were lifted and sweeties were handed round. Hern Stones followed and with a slight wobble (see the map) the trig of Higher Shelf Stones appeared. Never was a lump of concrete so keenly celebrated!
Three distinct land marks, Crooked Clough, Devil’s Dyke, aka the PW, and the fence brought us to our sumptuous changing room and then to the even more sumptuous Anglers’ Rest where the Cap’n declared that this was probably one of the hardest winter outings.
Who can disagree?!
The start locations for the Warts’ winter season fixture list are mostly spread over the north, north east and north west of the Peak district so that the tussocks, streams, bogs, heather and bracken can be thoroughly enjoyed. The Warts living in the south, therefore, have a longer trek for these delights. So, at least one fixture location in the south is granted by the Cap’n, as compensation. We southerners looked forward to the short trip to The Grouse. However, injury and other activities meant that only one of the Ecclesall contingent turned up. Thankfully, the Totley, Curbar and Hathersage Warts did appear. The Loxley Valley Warts made the long trip to the foreign south to enjoy whatever delights were to be offered.
Such was the apparent tussock trauma of last year’s outing from The Grouse that some parts of Big Moor were to be avoided for a number of years until full rehabilitation of these Warts had been achieved. This night, three (at least) routes were suggested, variously including the White, Froggatt, Baslow and Curbar Edges together with a stone circle and Wellington’s Monument. A choice of a sort of amalgam of the three was made and away we dashed (!) from the pub car park. However, such is the unfamiliarity of the Cap’n with path running that, within the first half mile, he performed a tumble resulting in an outburst of the danger(s) of such practices. Amazingly for a Wednesday Warts’ wander, our feet remained dry for most of the path along Froggratt and Curbar Edges. However, a diversion to a trig point soon cured that problem as we picked our way through a bog worthy of any northern Dark Peak bogs.
As is becoming routine for Warts’ outings, the original plan, to visit the Wellington monument, was shelved as we arrived by more dry paths at Curbar Gap car park. This rethink possibly may have been because it would involve passing the Eagle Stone and some Warts may have been tempted to prove their virility (allegedly) by climbing it. So, for health and safety reasons, the new plan was to descend on the road (!) and then follow a long fairly muddy track in the trees and underneath the edges to the northern end of Froggatt. Here, yet another last-minute change was made to visit the indistinct stone circle which had been missed on the way out.
So, honour was satisfied in that we visited most of the planned places and the southerners had their moment in the sun/dark though I suspect it may take another year before the Cap’n returns! Equilibrium was restored in the pub as the discussions ranged from lactose intolerance, volcanoes, the near extinction of the human race and the capture of methane from burping cattle.
Not being satisfied with successfully organising the FRA relays at the weekend, Tim T. also organised the Urban Nights Race 1 for this Wednesday night. This possibly accounted for the limited turnout of seven, including ultra-runner Sam, at the Warts’ outing from Rowley Bridge. However, seven makes a compact group which agreed on a route to Jaggers Clough, the quarry, a path near Druid’s Stone, Madwoman’s Stones and Crookestone Knoll. The alternative suggestion, starting directly up to Crookestone Knoll was fairly quickly dismissed, I can’t think why!
The rocky track, eventually leading to Hope Cross, was well watered and whilst initial efforts were made to avoid wet feet, they were soon abandoned to concentrate on not tripping over the rocks. The junior division of tonight’s Warts’ outing, Fi and Sam, lead the climb and then the descent up and over to Jaggers Clough. The remaining five followed them into this surprisingly deep clough. By the way, who or what was Jagger and why was the clough so named? If Jagger can be used for a Clough and Ward for a Piece, it is hoped that Tom’s Tree, Bob’s Rock, Moz’s Pimple, Penny’s scree and others will, in time, also be sufficiently established (and venerated) to be included on Dark Peak maps.
It has been a long-standing wish of some members of the club (mainly Warts) to hold the AGM at the quarry located on the way from Jaggers towards Nether Moor. Despite giving some shelter for members from the wind and rain, the quarry would nevertheless be expected to be sufficiently cold, wet, draughty and seat-less to restrict club reports and discussions to a minimum. At least, this fantasising distracted us from our supposed purpose of running, instead, a bit of scrambling allowed us to escape from the quarry and practice high knee lifts through the heather to Nether Moor summit. It is perhaps misleading to describe it as a summit, better would be “a slightly raised piece of ground”. It has certainly given mapmakers a puzzle with the OS defining a spot height of 442m and the Harvey map 444m and, curiously, the cairn, which might have accounted for the difference, is only marked on the lower spot height of the OS map.
Oh well, back to more, high knee lifts up to Kinder Edge. This prompted Sam to ask whether this was typical of Warts’ outings, to be given the simple reply, “Yes” thus generating the comment that more training over this terrain was needed. In true Warts fashion (could Warts ever be fashionable?), we came close to Druid’s Stone, though, we weren’t entirely sure. Never mind, we did find Madwoman’s Stones or were they? There is a group of stones not far away which have also been claimed to be them. So many questions on this outing. Whilst avoiding the climb at the start to Crookestone Knoll, we had no objections to its descent, although there were some more discussions on the best line, aim for a tree and make sure you get the right one.
As is becoming more frequent, there were more questions than answers although the refreshments at the Anglers provided all the answers we needed. It was another good night run.
Cap'n Harmer has declared an alternative from Doctors Gate (just before Snake Top, SK096928), starting at the earlier time of 5.45 (17.45 if you prefer). So be prepared to be out for even longer than usual :)
Could we have been running too quickly from Broomhead to the upper footbridge over Oaken Clough? The sprint along Dukes Road and the Land Rover track had brought us to there after only 45 minutes so it was too early to head back to the cars. This was despite Phil taking the younger Warts on a one mile detour to somewhere near Flint Hill, for a bit of extra training, you understand. The background to this concern about time, resulted from last week’s outing from King’s Tree to Bob’s shed and Margery Hill which meant that most of us arrived home at about 10.30pm. (Note that refreshments were nevertheless taken.) Hence tonight’s frolic was designed to be shorter and, for a bonus, the girders were to be avoided to prevent any serious encounter with bracken which was in full magnificent bloom.
So, no long outing and no bracken. Having reached the Oaken Clough footbridge early, a route was decided upon to go from there to Fox Stones and then back via the shooting cabin, only a short distance, thereby bringing us back to the cars in reasonable time. The logic, as was plain to see, was impressive. We had a good line over the moor to Stainery Clough which was crossed without too much inconvenience, just a few slippery rocks, a small rock fall and a bit of bracken. Crossing more moorland over some old burnt and fresh heather brought us to Ewden Beck. Here we were treated to the sight (in torchlight, of course) and sound of a delightful waterfall fed by yesterday’s downpour. The crossing was a repeat of that of Stainery Clough, only bigger this time with the bracken above our heads. A little bit of open ground to Fox Stones provided some relief together with the whisky and jelly baby refreshments taken there.
It was only about one kilometre to the shooting cabin so it was thought we could make up for some of the time lost crossing the rivers. The logic, again, was sound enough but……….. the blooming bracken began to eat into that valuable time. The whole outing was planned to take 90 minutes and before we reached the second crossing of Ewden Beck, there were only 9 minutes available. We fought bravely through the over-the-head bracken and the clouds of insects interrupted in their slumbers by giants with one bright shiny torch eye charging through their homes. Sliding feet first (if you were able) through trees, clinging on to branches which inconveniently snapped, we were able to have another crossing of the Beck. This time we doubled our enjoyment by reaching an island which, by definition, allowed an extra dip in the cooling Beck. From there, we climbed uphill through the dense bracken which seemed to close behind us as we forced a way through giving any followers no advantage. There was some relief from a short stretch of open ground which deceptively was a deep and unforgiving bog. Such is the determination of the Warts, we nevertheless continued despite this false dawn (I hasten to add that we were not so late!). Encouraged and enticed on by those fortunate enough to have reached the cabin, we set about to cross the stream at the cabin, “there’s a path just opposite”. This last 20m involved probably the tallest bracken on the steepest slope leaving the Cap’n to perform a sort of somersault. The torchlit view of him upside down with legs in the air and framed by the bracken was not something I want to dwell on. We did reach the cabin and then the cars, but late, well over the planned time, and with an overdose of bracken. Ah, the plans of mice and men!
After that extreme bracken experience, a couple of things came to mind. Firstly, the run back on the track was tedious and, after a little while on it, there was a strange feeling of missing the excitement and challenge of the bracken. I’m happy to report that I have now fully recovered from that aberration. Secondly, it was pointed out that this experience would be of benefit for next week’s Hunter wreck night race in that there wouldn’t be the same intensity of bracken. So, the evening’s outing was possibly a form of therapy to prepare us for the race. You never know, it may work. We’ll see next week!
There was the whiff of parliamentary turmoil (Brexit, of course) in the air as we travelled to Birchin Clough on Wednesday evening. At least we could leave behind the machinations and rebellion of our government as eight of us(not including the Cap’n), plus a four-legged fell runner, headed for the hills into a strong westerly wind spiced up witha number of soaking showers. After all, what other weather should we expect on a Wednesday club outing?
Our first target was the ruined shooting cabin in Ashop Clough where we took advantage of the excitingly slippery wooden bridge to cross the fulsome river beneath. Thank goodness we didn’t have to wade it, we thought. A sighting of a fox encouraged us to start our climb towards the northern Kinder edge for a crossing to the Sandy Heys trig. I’m still not sure which combinations of slopes provides the most comfortable or the least uncomfortable way to climb. This one, to the edge was initially steep, then gradual with bog and finally very steep leaving some of us gasping at the edge path where, happily, a get-your-breath halt was called in the shelter (from wind and rain) of a gathering of weather-beaten rocks. It was almost pleasant there but pleasant seemed to be wrong so we continued westerly along the path, leaving it somewhere near Upper Red Brook for the trig.
Thankfully, there are many younger members of the club taking part in these Wednesday outings but the old lags of the club may remember that crossing Kinder was a distinctly slough of despond experience particularly in the misty, gloomy grey conditions prevailing. No more dark peat bogs meant we could be almost cheerful amongst the recently planted greenery (maybe in the last ten years or more?). Another possible phenomenon greeted us at the proudly standing trig. Its exposed foundations where at least as tall as the trig pillar itself. Possible, though not feasible (?) explanations, included either the sinking or shrinking of Kinder or the growth of the trig. In good tradition, the foundations were climbed and youth stood side by side with the pillar. More greenery and happiness took us surprisingly quickly to Kinder Upfall where we could enjoy the benefits of wind only generated Kinder river rain. The combination of the westerly wind and a full flowing Kinder river gave a spectacular show which made the outing all the more worthwhile.
Whilst this show had been thrilling, it was now distinctly dark and misty, so torches were now needed for a long crossing of Kinder from the river directly to Fairbrook Naze. Whether we had been conditioned by the earlier talk of parliamentary rebellion or that it was a generally misty murky wet and windy night but it was suggested that the outing had all the characteristics of a Warts’ epic so a declaration was made that it actually was a Warts’ outing despite it not being on the official Warts’ calendar. We may live to regret this decision!
Fairbrook Naze was in and out of the mist until we descended the steep section towards Ashop Clough. After following a fastish trod, the very slippery descent into the clough followed a by a challenging crossing of the river left us in no doubt that our earlier declaration was absolutely correct, particularly with the rather nasty climb back up to the forest track and then to the cars. Even after refreshments at the Ladybower we remained steadfast in our Warts’ declaration. What would the Cap’n say?
There were ten togged up Warts ready to go from Strines. A fine array of waterproofs was on display though there were a couple of brave be-shorted athletes thereby putting any track suited Warts to shame. The general and dismal impression of black and shiny clothing was fortunately illuminated by Eoin’s new but old model fluorescent green shoes not to mention Moz’s routine fluorescent top. There was plenty of rain not only during the run but over the previous three or four days so streams were in full flowing form. Having crossed the moor, we faced the traverse of the upper reaches of Abbey Brook which appeared more formidable than normal with the general surrounding mirk and the foaming brown cascades. A steep slippery descent brought us to the Brook where youth (Fi) and age (the Cap’n) combined to provide helping hands for the rest of us to wade across. A scramble to Beresters Tor brought welcome rest and refreshment. Of course, our epic journey so far was recorded in the log there.
A repeat of the slippery descent, the refreshing stream crossing and the scramble inspired us to reach Low Tor for the now traditional dash to the block house and then on back to the pub and its very welcome roaring fire (in June!) which was also shared by the water Warts wild swimmers. The post run discussion included next Wednesday’s Crookestone Crashout and whether a return to the original route of the Knoll, trig, Knoll would entice any youngsters out to break the old all-time record (Malcolm Patterson, about 29 minutes). This is not to say that veterans should not also attempt the record (again about 29 minutes) currently held by the then V40 cap’n. Cock-a-Hoop driven reminiscences of the glorious (we thought) feats and times of ancient fell runners caused the younger ones to start leaving the pub, presumably because they couldn’t comprehend such magnificent performances but surely not out of boredom? Nevertheless, we did all agree that wet as it was, it had been good to be out and by the way, there was a two hare and one-person count, thus confirming a good outing.
Having just about recovered from the trauma of last week’s trip to Priddock Wood and beyond, the Warts anticipated a less demanding and shorter run to complete the recovery. So, this Wednesday the shout was for a stroll over the undulating terrain from Broomhead. To bring us gradually down from last week’s high, there was a need have some small excitement through the rhododendrons and over the girders. Exaggeration of raging torrents and delicate balancing was not spared for those who had not experienced these delights. Indeed, the Cap’n insisted on demonstrating the girder crawl in the middle of the road, to prepare us all for this crossing of Ewden Beck. This safety demonstration was wasted on some brave Warts who, with youthful exuberance, walked across in some style, though one claimed the secret was to have big feet which spanned the gap between girders. All Warts were accounted for on the other side so tonight’s “newbies” will be able to enjoy exaggerating the dangers of this crossing to the next generation of Warts.
From the river there was a bit of bracken to interest the twelve or so Warts but otherwise it was a reasonably fast (for Warts) trip to Pike Low under the gibbous moon. There had been a plan to, at least, attempt to visit the wreck via Tom’s Tree. However, in the interests of having a less demanding run, a short cut was proposed and accepted, to Oaken Clough, thence to the Dukes Road, finishing via the cairn and on to Broomhead. A 180⁰ bearing was set and the steady pace brought us from Pike Low to Candlerush comfortably and surprisingly quickly enough (it was downhill), though the climb out of it, hard as it was, would have rated as only one out of ten on the Priddock Wood standard. By this time, our vegetation quota was gradually increasing particularly the heather content. Relief was possibly at hand as a deep tree lined clough eventually appeared on our left. Aha, Oaken of course, we’ll follow this up to the bridge and the shooting butts. After traipsing through more heather and no path, it was clear that they had been removed, for renovation perhaps? This self-delusion was short lived as Chris’s high technology GPS device (carefully protected by a low technology old, still white sock) seemed to put us somewhere in the upper reaches of Stainery Clough some way west of the shooting butts and Oaken Clough. Two or three schools of thinking emerged, though thinking may be another possible exaggeration, summarised by the bearings suggested, 110⁰, 140⁰ and 160⁰. Unsurprisingly, the Warts split into groups along these bearings, the Cap’n in one on his own, Tim and Fi in another and the rest of us in the last, 160⁰, group. These first two groups were not to be seen until we reached the cars!
Both the time and the vegetation quota were building up as we dragged ourselves over yet more and more heather eventually across the upper (very) reaches of Oaken Clough at last and, as Clive pointed out, close to the Hunter wreck. His downloaded GPS track and map give a wonderful view of our meanderings which brought us unknowingly at the time to Bruston Croft Ridge. Prolonged exposure to deep heather brings out the greyhound in us as we reached bowling green smooth Dukes Road. The 2km dash on it to the cairn would have made Warts’ admirers (are there any?) very proud. All changed after leaving the cairn as we resorted to stumbling around in yet more heather interspersed with some hidden rocks for added enjoyment. The smooth grassy area leading to the track to the cars was missed so we were fortunate to be able to clean our shoes in a patch of watery rushes. The other groups had met en-route and were busy preparing themselves for a visit to the Plough in Bradfield which we hoped would still be open when we arrived. We weren’t too surprised to realise that our little adventure had taken two and three quarter hours. John D and Bob who were both nursing their injuries, had chosen alternative mainly heather free and shorter outings and were happily settled at the pub by the time the rest of us arrived at about ten o’clock!
Though not exactly a short outing, it was memorable and, accidentally, we nearly got to the other wreck!
After last week’s weather modified venue, the Warts returned to the Ladybower and to the now compulsory (?) annual visit to Priddock Wood. Suspicions that this would be the shout for the outing, kept the numbers to a reasonable level to enjoy the immediate immersive experience of Ladybower Brook in full flow. This, of course, was just a foretaste of what was to follow. Desperate shouts of “Where’s the path?” and “Below!” created the right sort of atmosphere for a classic PW outing. The challengingly steep climb has everything, mossy slime, deep bilberry, tree roots, rotten tree branches which break off at maximum criticality, large rocks, loose stones and, for at least one Wart, a bottom clenching overhang. Some made better progress than others with the Cap’n unusually resorting to gloves, even gardening gloves, to enhance his grip crawling up the perpetual climb. The view of head torches forever above us whilst making laborious and what seemed like futile progress reminded me of the Greek myth of Sisyphus repeatedly and eternally rolling a boulder uphill only for it to roll back down near the top. In reality, our “eternity” only lasted about 15 minutes as we reached the bracken covered and relatively level Bamford Moor.
There, the fast running (yes, running, though fast may be a bit of an exaggeration) allowed some relaxation to the point of almost contemplation and expansive thinking. This is dangerous. Clive was thinking of an injury he had received some time ago in this vicinity when he fell, running over the remains of a wall. Whilst he had an elegant encounter with the ground, the generally agreed advice was, of course, not to think when fell running, so we didn’t, as we passed over the vertigo inducing Bamford Edge. As the mist laid its foggy hand on the edge, we headed in two groups for the stone circle on Bole Hill. At the end of the ruined wall “hand rail” which was found, a simple easterly bearing should guide is to the stone circle. However, it also took a bit of technology and the head torches of the other group who were already there, for our group to find the circle where refreshments were taken before the next check point of High Neb.
This time, Chris’s lone head torch light was already on Stanage Edge either to guide or to lure us there. Our collection of types of terrain encountered so far was added to with the moor crossing to High Neb. The tussocks were in fine condition and were enhanced by the running water between them. More bracken and a rocky scramble just about completed the full set of Dark Peak terrain. Our knowledge of place names was improved by being reminded that there are two named rocky outcrops north of High Neb, i.e. Crow Chin and Crows Chin Rocks which are about a mile apart. Descending from between them there was a plan to reach the stone circle near Hordron Edge. When the Warts have an inkling that the finish is not too far away, there seems to be a tendency to disperse and this night was no different, resulting in only one reaching 100m from the stone circle. A rush across Cutthroat Bridge and down the partially paved track took us quickly to the pub. Fortunately, one Dark Peaker, Tom W (good to see him), had kept it open for us by promising the landlord there would be about a dozen customers arriving soon. Farmer’s Blonde was on, the discussions were lively and two members were disappearing to Istanbul and Alicante to spread the Warts’ message overseas. Don’t worry though, they expect to be back for next Wednesday’s outing.
As always, Priddock Wood never disappoints, we had a wonderful adventure!
The snow had arrived on the tops and, not unexpectantly, the Snake Road had been officially closed with barriers at the Ladybower traffic lights. The planned outing from the Hagg farm layby was therefore changed to the Ladybower car park where about a dozen frozen Warts gathered. The immediate discussion there was on the number of layers of underwear, a fine introduction for new member Sam to overhear. Nevertheless, or perhaps because of this, he stayed on and joined the run.
And, there was more running than expected, possibly because of the Capn’s absence due to a heel injury. Bob had taken over route duties with the first climb being from the back of the pub up the track towards Ladybower Tor. Since the last time I used this zig zag track, it has grown both wider and, in places, narrower and deeper. Thoughts of why this had happened were quickly dispersed by the general snowy steepness of the climb and by the junior Warts ahead actually running uphill. Generously, they did wait at the path crossroads (crosspaths?) at Whinstone Lee Tor before dashing off again on the lower edge path and then down to the shelter barn. Some Warts then decided that the next climb to Pike Low was a hill too far, announcing an alternative up the Mill Brook valley towards the pack horse bridge. The rest of us went to the summit following the snow cleared line made through the heather by the juniors. A very brief stop was made there, taking no whiskey but some sweeties including, possibly for the first time, some Rolos, and then a steep and slippery descent by the wall encouraged us to plough through the heather to get some slightly improved grip. A conversation on the enforced change to the route of this year’s Edale Skyline (around rather than over Mam Tor summit) diverted us somewhat from the grinding climb to Salt Cellar through snowy tussocks, heather and boulders. A call for lights out gave us a grand view of the stars in the moonless sky and an appreciation of the unsurprising benefit of head torches! Then, back to running, over relatively hard packed snow back to the pub via the rather tricky descent down the zig zags.
Maintaining the initial theme of the outing, discussions in the pub drifted around to underwear again, old and holed thermal vests, cycling tops, inner and outer gloves and mittens and so on……… It’s possible that these mind expanding conversations were driven by the cold (it was, after all, a feels like temperature of about -9⁰C) and the availability of Farmer’s Blonde at the Ladybower. Nevertheless, and, in a moment of absolute clarity, it was declared to be an excellent night out.
Definition: grand or heroic. It certainly felt like that for the Warts’ longer outing in the snow, ice and westerly wind over Kinder and Brown Knoll territory. The mountain weather forecast had promised about 0⁰C and a “feels like” temperature of -7⁰C, so we had been warned. Even before we set out from Edale, the car journey there was ominous in that the heavy sleet brought out the now, routine comment, “Well, it is Wednesday night after all, what else would you expect”. There was, perhaps, a slight regret that we hadn’t taken the train like Penny and Moz. Nevertheless, Eoin and I persevered to Edale where, almost disappointingly, the sleet stopped and the skies cleared. Did we all really deserve this almost good weather?
First gathering point was Grindslow Knoll where we were in full cooling snow and wind conditions, almost welcome after the warming climb from Edale. Unusually, we continued on a path as we followed the Capn’s route initially towards the head of Crowden which was circumnavigated rather than directly crossed, as was the original plan. And the path was made of slabs! To compensate, there was a thorough foot soaking across the rather full head of Crowden Brook. After here, some mild grumblings and likening of feet to blocks of ice and “Why didn’t I wear my neoprenes” were heard. I felt it was my smug duty to report my feet were almost warm in my neoprenes. That wasn’t received too well, I hasten to add. Having suffered a dose of the slabs, we were entertained by some significant bogs which Chris referred to as Kinder custard, albeit of the lumpy variety, on our way around the Woolpacks, Pym Chair and Noe Stool. We felt that slabs may have some attraction after all. Nevertheless, we ploughed on towards the headtorch lights of Fi, Sarah and Eoin who were in front taking a direct line to Kinderlow trig. We were now thankfully away from hazardous paths on relatively pleasant grassy pastures though our abhorrence of paths had drawn us northwards away from them, and not westwards. A cry of “Let’s check the technology” was made, with the proviso that the battery may have frozen. Whilst this was checked, the pointy thing guided us westward towards a significant path on the edge of somewhere and, to add to our enjoyment, the mist rolled in. Such was the spread-out nature of the group, that someone did find the trig about 200m south of where we met the path. Ah, success, rewarded by a few jelly babies and pastilles.
Brown Knoll next. Straight forwardly south, of course. We ran over a rocky outcrop, thought to be Swine’s back, descended a bit and came to the top of a cliff with an impressive network of paths below. The technology was called up again and together with a bit of map scanning, it was Pete who put us right. We were now at the top of Swine’s Back and the previous set of rocks were, in fact, Edale Rocks. After an exciting descent, more slabs followed though this time their iced surface now made the alternative semi frozen bog much more attractive, especially if you’re wearing neoprenes. We were drawn too far down a path leading to South Head before cutting across the open moor to the Brown Knoll trig. The freezing wind along our subsequent long traverse of the famous BK well-conditioned bogs provided us with sufficient motivation to move relatively quickly, but too far. As the looming outline of Lord’s Seat came ever nearer, more technology and map consultation confirmed we had missed the large cairn near Horesehill Tor by quite some distance. A rapid descent very steeply towards Edale was therefore called for. This is all very well if you have a decent pair of shoes. My pair of well-worn, partially disintegrating Hokas were no match for the combination of slushy steep soggy grass and bilberry. So much for being smug about neoprenes! Come uppance comes to mind.
A gentle wander past a slightly ghostly bunk house and more, remarkably slimey fields brought us back to Edale Station and the Jolly Rambler where it was noticed that our Warts’ group included four previous Pertex winners. Does that signify anything?However, was it an epic outing? Well, maybe it was for Warts but Jasmin Paris puts us all into the shade with her epic victory in the Spine Race!
Two recent races, the Crashout and Moz’s birthday run, and another one, Bob’s night race, about a month ago, meant that we’d spent quite some time roaming around the delights of Kinder in mist, wind and rain. The prospect of another outing to Kinder from Blackden felt that it might be a step too far. However, the weather was relatively clement with a mist free clear sky, a crescent moon and a crisp, frosty ground. If this wasn’t enough to lift our spirits, the route, thanks to the Cap’n, was only marginally on Kinder as we turned almost immediately left after crossing over the river Ashop from the Blackden car park.
Walls were to become a bit of a theme for the outing as we, thirteen of us, contoured round Dean Hill following a wall, before climbing then descending into another “unnamed” clough (what about Innominate or Dean, Clough, perhaps?) with a non-holly tree and, apparently, a waterfall. I somehow missed the latter in the dark. To continue the theme, the first check point was a wall corner incorporating a sheepfold. When we arrived, the wall corner was declared to be the best in the Dark Peak mainly because it required a bit of precision navigation to reach it. Can anyone think of a better wall corner? Leaving this prime example of stone masonry, we ascended towards Kinder, at least, to a kind of finger of it thereby taking us out of our reverie of wall corners and into the harsh reality of breathlessness. On the edge there was a wide diaspora of lights, all supposedly aiming for the same check point of Madwoman’s Stones. Eventually, there was a convergence though there was a claim that there was quicker route though it seemed to take longer. Such is the danger of making claims like this in the vicinity of Madwoman’s Stones. Subsequently, waywardness was absent as a very crispy, crunchy, icy, fast and narrow path was taken to Druid’s Stone where I think a limited amount of sanity was restored. Though, please note, no whiskey had been taken at this stage. Next check point was another wall corner.
This time, at the top of Rowland Cote Moor, though this corner did not have the same accolade as the previous one, it being a bit easier to find. The thought arises of devising a list of wall corners with their categorisation, from best to worst, i.e., the Dark Peak WC index. If there can be a Dark Peak 15 trigs long distance outing, why not a Dark Peak WC Round or, perhaps, Square? From the wall corner, a direct line was taken through a fair bit of vegetation (oh joy) across Ollerbrook Clough on to the rocky Ringing Roger where the usual refreshments were taken. These, of course, included jelly snowmen/babies; maybe, in future, they could be made in DPFR colours to add a bit more entertainment at these feeding stops? I was surprised how quickly we reached the next check point at the Blackden Trig and then there was the usual dash to the finish, hopefully following a ruined wall taking us to a descent down a nose into Blackden Brook. However, this wall eluded us and instead there was enjoyment to be had from scrambling down a small stream into the Brook.
Post outing analysis was at the Anglers. It was not really too serious Kinder terrain and the weather was definitely kinder than recent previous experience so it was generally good to be out on the tops. Again, an excellent outing and we look forward to next week’s early excursion from Edale Station to, yes, you’ve guessed it, Kinder again, perhaps?!
A bit of advance notice for a change:
Andy says that on 16th Jan, which is a Sportsman night, there will be an alternative run from Edale railway station:- an early start at 5:45, allowing anyone going by train to get the 5:14 from Sheffield which calls at all stations to Edale. Otherwise park in the sliproad below the Ramblers or car park. There is a return train around 9:30.or 7:30 if doing a short one.The early start is the 2nd of 3 designed to allow a longer outing, especially as the group are getting older! The first one from Doctors gate in November was good, we were out for over 2:30
Who would have thought it? It is possible to find the most challenging tussocks almost within the Sheffield City boundary, even waist high ones with the added attraction of bogginess in between them and, of course, in the darkness and cold (it was Wednesday night after all). All this no more than half a mile from a road which can count as some sort of civilisation to non-Dark Peakers. Bashing through these tussocks, the level of grumbling rose to a group groan only to fade as the now almost routine navigational discussions, notably “we’re 180⁰out”, lead to a general dispersion of the larger than typical Warts’ group. Suddenly there were runners ahead, behind, to the side and above us, all apparently going to Boot Folly. On the surprisingly steep climb (no tussocks by now) we were encouraged or harangued, I’m not sure which, by the birthday boy as we approached the Folly. Having been sheltered from the wind in the valley we had just climbed out of, it was a bit of a shock to be chilled by the south easterly though, only briefly, as we then entered the eerie rhododendron tunnel near Sugworth Hall. Needless to say, the wind caught up with us approaching the ruined cabin on Ughill Moors and, from thereon, it was to be an almost constant companion for the rest of the night’s outing.
Some wide very runnable tracks took us past Moscar to the start of Strines Edge where we declared Cakes of Bread to be the whisky stop. It’s a long way on Strines Edge before the left turn towards, but not to, the edge. Here we had the pleasure of meeting the Sportsman roadies who had been temporarily chucked out of their regular slot there and had been forced to take to the hills instead. We, thankfully, were now on proper moorland fully exposed to the very bracing wind; it was double Buffalo and double thermal vest weather for me and I was still cold. Such is the independent spirit of the club, an alternative stop was called by a breakaway group, at a sheltered grough nearly at Cakes of Bread. Our lot stuck to the original plan for whiskies, jelly babies and raspberry ripples, and a rendering of Happy Birthday to the Cap’n. The race to the Strines pub was now on and it was illuminating to see so many points of light spread out across the Strines Moor. In all of these random routes, surely the optimum one must have been found. However, not for me. On the final track up from Strines Dike, I always look out for the 15cm steel bar sticking up in the path but having thought we had passed it, promptly fell over it with a pretty spectacular dive. I survived!
The warmth of two fires at the Strines Inn and the presence of the roadies was good enough to take off the chill of the previous couple of hours. In this convivial atmosphere, the outing was declared to be “interesting”.
It was the first of two early Warts starts planned for the 2018/2019 winter season, this one from Doctor’s Gate near the Snake summit. Even at 5.30pm, torches were needed on this rainy and windy corner of the Dark Peak and over trousers were also in evidence. Nevertheless, ten Warts, including one new member, Mike, set off slightly later than planned because of a last-minute car sharing problem and because of a forgotten, and now, retrieved pair of studs. Caution was thrown to the significant wind after a few minutes of running up Doctor’s Gate. Efforts to keep our feet dry were quickly abandoned as we went up the paving stones which were channelling all the rain water neatly down the hillside. By the time we arrived at the Pennine Way path, shoes were very wet but clean.
Misgivings were expressed by all as we strode, well, jogged into the thickening mist along the hard surface of the PW highway. Fortunately, we soon left the PW and descended into the soft rough of Crooked Clough, the first of two deep and dark ravine traverses. It has to be admitted that hand holding was exercised by some Warts to avoid the possibility of being swept down by the swollen stream in the bottom of the Clough. No names were taken so no expulsions from the Warts have been made, so far.
There was a pre-published plan for tonight’s longer outing, of about 8 check points (subject to review of the weather and body conditions) so, leaving the Clough, an approximately north bearing was taken for Higher Shelf Stones (CP 1). Yes, we did arrive there, after a scrambling climb out of the Clough though this was a mere training session for what was to come. In daylight, it’s obvious where Shelf Stones are, but in the mist and the dark, it’s a bit different and it was a relief to us all that, suddenly, there was the trig point. This was not a whisky stop so there was no hanging around particularly as there was scant shelter from the wind, although I think that, at the most, two rather than ten of us could shelter behind a trig cairn. A soft, relatively even, wide and downhill grough gave ample opportunity for running (!), though it wasn’t quite taking us in the direction of the Pike (CP2) above Yellowslacks (CP3) so some adjustment was needed to take us to the edge of the second ravine of the night. Here, it came to mind that explorers like Livingstone and others would have heard the roar of waterfalls long before they actually saw them. So it was here, as we peered down into the abyss not able to see any water, only misty darkness. Sliding down towards the still not visible, roaring (well, maybe noisy) cascade, we bravely watched the even braver sacrificial Warts in front to see if any of them were to disappear. We’d know then avoid that route. Arriving at the bottom, the stream was not a disappointment and, above it, was a fine waterfall invigorated by the recent rain. The rehearsal in Crooked Clough was useful for us to use hand holding again to cross the stream. It was definitely a hands and knees experience to climb out of the clough, with the added excitement of seeing headtorch lights apparently vertically above us. What! We have to go up there, up Dog Rock (CP4)?
We did and we survived to take stock and, yes, there were still ten of us. Our night’s target was Torside Castle (CP5), a mere 700m from where we emerged from Yellowslacks. If anyone was expecting a Peveril like castle structure, they might have been disappointed if, indeed, we had got there. On a solo recce, Pete G reached within 50m of it so, for those who hadn’t visited, they could let their imaginations run freely and build a castle in the misty air. To make up for the disappointment, we stopped for whisky, Liquorice Allsorts and Jelly Babies at John Track Well. Also there, a review of body, soul and weather guided us to omit a trip to some rocks (CP7), The Swamp (CP8) and North Grain Cabin (CP9). Instead, we went along the PW to Far Moss (CP6,) as planned, but on to Bleaklow Head, Hern Clough and then direct to the car park over the moor (not much PW) via the rather convenient fence which could be followed to the car park.
Post run analysis of the splendid outing was at the welcoming Angler’s Rest.
Andy has called an alternative for 7th November from Doctor Gate (last stop before Snake Top). It will start at 5.30, as a bit of an experiment, with perhaps a slightly longer run of 2 and a half to 3 hours.
After our recent experience at other hostelries the post drink beer will be taken at the Anglers Rest in Bamford.
A need to move his furniture had landed the Cap’n with an injured knee which prevented him from appearing at the Warts’ outing from Rowlee Bridge on the last Wednesday before the clocks changed from summertime. So, the route was planned by Bob who suggested one with more path running than was typical of the Cap’n’s routes. Indeed, there was even some road and path running from the bridge on our way to the Jubilee cabin. After a regroup, a long contour took us, initially on track, paths and then on tussocky ground, to the Blackden valley which provided some shelter from the increasingly strong and buffeting north westerly. We were back on a path but what a path! Dignifying it with that name could lead to accusations of misrepresentation. Nevertheless, it was a way, of sorts. The route up the stream was runnable but only in short stretches, otherwise, there was rock, bog, bracken, running (which was more than we did) water and scrambling up the steepening “path”, climaxing in a near vertical climb through heather and loose scree to the very wild and windy edge path. Bob’s plan was to continue on the edge path and then leave it at a patch of peat to reach the Blackden trig. However, after the regroup at the head of Blackden, there was a drift to the Three Minute crossing and two groups emerged, one on the edge path and the other over the tops and, specifically, not on a path. The wind was strong on the edge and tested our ability to run in a balanced way. It was like being drunk without the benefit of alcohol. Whichever direction we moved in caused some sort of control effort, into the wind almost stalled us and, with the wind behind, we moved too fast for any safe passage and with sideways on wind, we developed a leaning gait which any corps de ballet would be proud of. The trig and the pavement around it did not give much shelter although, to be fair, it gave us the very limited opportunity to run unhindered by any underfoot hazards. And then……it was a rush down the traditional Crookstone Knoll Race descent, mainly on a path until the final bracken covered slope. Isn’t it annoying to have both feet caught together by the bracken resulting in a need to leap upwards to escape the stuff and then to find you’re hurtling out of control into yet more bracken.
Having survived all that, it was the general view that, despite the path running, this outing was worthy of being classed as Warty!
© Dark Peak Fell Runners 2020
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