Day Twenty One

Monday 8 February 2010 - Hathersage to Edale.

It seemed like such a good idea at the time. As I lay in bed the previous evening, I mused on the fact that I had six hours today to walk from Hathersage to Edale, there to catch the first of three trains back to London. And since it was only nine miles it meant that, even allowing for the climb over Hollin's Cross from Castleton to Edale, I had plenty of time to spare. And Stanage Edge was just a mile or so away.

The map confirmed that I could easily take in about a mile and a half of the edge without mucking up my pre-planned route entirely. The day was grey - no surprises there. When I went down for my breakfast, the lady cleaning the pub bar told me that there was a bit of snowy, sleety stuff in the air. By the time I set off there was no more than an icy drizzle.

From the pub, a lane snaked up the hill to the North East of Hathersage, until I left it for a steep climb on a field path towards Stanage Edge. Stanage is "the largest and most impressive of the gritstone edges. Visible from miles away down in the Hope Valley, it stretches for a length of approximately 3.5 miles from its northern tip at Stanage End to the southern point near the Cowper Stone. At about its mid-point the edge is crossed by Long Causeway, the old Roman road from Navio (Brough) to Doncaster. It is a famous location for rock-climbing and a popular spot for walkers." (Peak District Information)

The snow started in earnest when I was walking up the final path to the edge itself. It wasn't the soft, glistening sort of snow - it was sharp and icy, carried horizontally by the increasing wind. This was going to be a nuisance, but would it be dangerous? A year ago, less one day, I had broken my ankle on slippery mud. It might look self-indulgent to mark the anniversary by slipping off Stanage Edge. But like many sea cliff paths, the track was well back from the often sheer drop. It was rocky, and needed care, but no worse for being 1300 feet up. And the views? Well, they were very similar to those from High Tor two days ago. I could just about make out the snow-drifted, rocky wasteland below the edge but, apart from that, zilch. However, with spectacular rock formations appearing from and disappearing into the gloom, it was spectacular nonetheless.

I gather that this used to be a private grouse moor (the land to my right was a typical moorland, sloping gently away from the edge). Since it was opened to climbers and walkers, it has suffered from erosion, so that the bare rock I was walking on would have had a soil cover, now gone. The puddles between the rocks were frozen solid, as were drifts from previous, much bigger, snowfalls. The best bit about the weather was that the strong wind was blowing away any of the low cloud which might have obscured the edge itself.

About a mile on, I met the old Roman road (see above). After following the edge for a while, the old road cuts down through the rocks at a gentle angle. I followed it, glad to have experienced this iconic place, even in near-zero visibility. This detour had sucked up most of my spare time, so it was important to press on towards Edale.

First up was Bamford, which I reached along a byway which became steeper and steeper until I almost fell into the village itself. A quick saunter down the main street took me to a footpath to the mill, and my last crossing of the River Derwent, my faithful companion for the last five days. The Derwent Valley Heritage Way, which I had been mostly following, ends a few hundred yards upriver at Ladybower Reservoir, into and out of which the river flows. As if to reprimand me for deserting it, the river played one last trick. Looking at the map, I had envisaged a simple footbridge, but not a bit of it. From a concrete platform there is firstly a short stretch bridged by three parallel, slithery planks of wood. These connect to a series of stepping stones, more planks , and only then a narrow footbridge. An interesting beginning and end for the dog walkers of Bamford.

A soggy field path crossed the flood plain, then I climbed the valley side to cross into the Hope Valley. More footpaths and a stretch of unbusy road took me to the village of Hope, of which I saw very little. To make further progress, I had to cut South almost as soon as I entered the village street, but not before I had bought and eaten my lunch, in the village shop and the church porch, respectively.

The weather had by now returned to placid greyness. After crossing the River Noe, I turned West on a well-marked and well-walked path across fields to Castleton. The former Blue Circle (now Lafarge) cement works is a constant presence in this valley. It's obtrusive but not really offensive. A dull grey colour, like its product, the works is connected to the outside world by a railway line which joins the Manchester-Sheffield line.

I saw as little of Castleton as I had of Hope. On previous (Summer) visits, the village centre had been bustling with walkers. I didn't go into the centre today, but I bet it wasn't very bustling. I turned North for my final climb of the day, up to Hollin's Cross. Between the two arms of the Hope Valley runs the Great Ridge, one the most popular places in the Peak District. Whether they start with Black Tor in the East, or Mam Tor (the highest spot) in the West, most walkers probably then walk along the ridge to the nodal point, Hollin's Cross, the crossroads for paths and bridleways in a saddle of the ridge.

I expected to be alone there, but as I reached it by climbing up from Castleton, a couple were approaching along the ridge from the West. The man told me that they had been staying in Castleton, and that their trip was a bit of enjoyable training for a charity challenge ascent of a Munro in the summer. I wished him the best of luck with that. As the couple headed down by the route I had taken up, I carried on North West towards Edale.

A board had informed me that I was walking (not for the first time) a coffin route. The dear departed from (then churchless) Edale were lugged up and down this hill to Castleton. The highest point on the route (Hollin's Cross) is slightly higher than the 1300 feet I had reached at Stanage Edge, so I was glad not to have the corner of a coffin to carry.

The path down was at first stony and then soggy, and finally quite muddy. A few miserable-looking sheep and cows surveyed the devastation they had caused with their hooves. A short stretch of road took me to Edale station.