The Derwent Watershed and back home in a day: Part 2- Lets go for a big long walk!

  This is the second of a 3 part account about a solo wander around the Derwent Watershed and back home to Sheffield in a day. I covered 54 miles in 23.5 hours over the most beautiful and grand hills and moors in Peakland. A prologue is 2 posts before this and all being well the final part will be up next week.

  10:42am, stepping off the 272 bus at the Bamford turnaround. Call in at the garage and pick up a couple of flapjacks and pretzel pieces then silently begin the delightful ascent of Win Hill Pike under the late summer sun. My mind is numb, 4 months waiting and finally it is happening. All I can think about is getting up that hill.

  A slow, sweaty ascent feeling tired and dehydrated lands me on Win Hill Pike's rocky summit. Though my bag is heavy laden with many liters of lucozade, water and food, its contents will keep me going for the next 24 hours and for that I am grateful. The only niggle is my lack of walking poles- somehow I was unable to find mine at home. Fortunately, by the foot of Lose Hill I'd picked up two perfectly sized sticks which did the job admirably- they would be my companions for the entire walk. Nature's finest!

  The first 9.5 miles to Lord's Seat were difficult and set the scene for the walk. On big hill days your mind goes through many stages- the intial numbness followed by a sense of insignificance compared to the day ahead, then you settle into the day and a euphoric feeling ensues. From here untill towards the end you experience highs and lows that can normally be predicted well in advance. The key to success is always predicting, preparing, accepting and dealing with these emotions. It is rarely a physical game.

  What struck me off guard was just how powerful these stages and emotions were on this walk. I've never experienced anything quite like it. Everything was magnified 10x and took me most of the day to understand and prepare for. By Mam Tor I was worried- irritatingly stubbing my toes and unable to settle into a pace, feeling utterly insignificant and dwarfed by the task (and the looming night) ahead. All I could do was head onward, focusing and being utterly bent on success.

  Things picked up on the crossing to Kinder over Brown Knoll. The peat was wet but not too soft making for speedy progress, my pace settled and morale was boosted by some bewildered students giving me the rest of their harribo. I didn't dare tell them I'd enough sugar to give myself diabetes, but the offer and words of encouragement were much appreciated. If you are reading this- thanks!

  Mid afternoon and Kinder came and went without a fuss, my mind happily slipping into that meditative feeling that makes long-distance walking such a joy. 73rd visit to Kinder's summit? No desire to celebrate when your thoughts are a hazy bubble about the route beyond. Still, I'd hardly stopped by then so a good half hour to rest the feet and eat pasta by the downfall was much needed. Then, onwards again into the late afternoon/ early evening. By 16:30 at Ashop Head I passed by a group of walkers descending in the golden light- they would be the last people I'd speak to (or see) for over 12 hours.

Early evening at Bleaklow Head

  Big days out are all about 'tactics'. Planning of diet, timings, pace ect. My plan was to stop little and reach Swains Head by nightfall, getting the deeply emotive (for me) and navigationaly tough ground of Bleaklow well behind me.After that, I'd slow down on the simpler (if still rough) Howden Moors, switch from juice, pasta and flapjack to lucozade, fruit and nuts. Load up on carbs and sugar, then onto mostly sugar and lighter food for speed and concentration. It worked. I became consumed and numbed by the ensuing loneliness, crossing over Mill Hill, the Snake Pass, Higher Shelf Stones and over to Bleaklow Stones. It was a wonderful feeling, akin to gently adjusting to a cold sea as you slowly wade in. I was going well. Nothing else mattered anymore apart from simply walking. Bills, jobs to do, thoughts about friends and life in general, all faded into insignificance. I was utterly content and absorbed by the landscape. Freedom!

So many feelings summed up!

  Bleaklow Stones is a major landmark on the Derwent Watershed walk. Roughly halfway through having crossed Kinder and Bleaklow, you descend very rough moorland to Swains Head and leave Bleaklow for the Eastern Edges. The going is still hard for many miles to come but once the Howden Moors are over life gets easier. All you have between you and success is the Howden Moors. For me it was a turning point too. I'd rested properly for the first time in 3.5 hours and watched in amazement as Bleaklow's shadow drifted over its lower flanks under a setting sun, then set off in a race against darkness trying to reach Swain's Head. It was glorious.

  All my long- held foreboding about 'the night shift' disappeared, I was overcome by an urgency to cover as much ground as possible before it became pitch black, regardless of having 25 miles underfoot. This transformed itself into a bizarre sensation of peace and relaxation, I just a small dot on the vast plains above the infant River Derwent dissolving into the fading light.

The shadow of  Bleaklow over Ridgewalk Moor

  Quickly a routine established itself: scan the pattern of erosion and make out the 'path' winding its way through the bogs, pick a way through it, strain the eyes trying not to fall into any holes or deep bogs, talk loudly about remembering to focus, walk onward to the next little section, repeat. This routine would become my world for the next 3 hours over Margery Hill and High Stones to Back Tor, a beautifully simple world distilled to a few basic thoughts. This is exactly what long- distance walking is all about and it was great.

  Outer Edge was reached by an exhausted and weary mess at 22:00ish. It was pitch black now and I was tired, Stop, change batteries, eat some food, have a drink then push on into the dark. Perhaps not enough time to stop and admire these grandest of Peakland's moors, what with being reduced to just a little bubble of light and focus on not falling into a bog. Maybe that was the point- that this wasn't an exercise in being lost in the beauty of it all and chilling out watching the world go by. This was different, instead being about understanding and working with the landscape to move though it, constantly on the go. A different form of appreciation maybe.

  Regarding understanding the landscape, the crossing from High Stones to Cartledge Top over Middle Moss is a prime example and one which became a highlight of the trip. After continuing in my little routine to High Stones, the only genuine pathless bit of the walk began. There was no need to use a compass though- I much prefer to use a technique called 'dead reckoning' which is much quicker when the mist isn't down. The idea behind it is to identify a landmark roughly in a straight line between you and your destination- or just your destination if lucky enough. You then head towards it, aligning yourself with other features along the way- such as streams or hillsides- to keep your bearing. If done properly you can be pretty accurate, save time and learn the landscape better too. This worked for me, sort of.

  I identified and aimed at the silhouette of Cartledge Top and set off, but became far too engrossed in not falling into a peat bog and missed the path beyond. Knowing I had no reception, no-one knew where I was and that the road was a good hour's plod made watching my feet a priority. Realising I'd gone far too much south, by identifying Back Tor and aiming slightly south, plodding through more heather the path was soon met. Brilliant!

  I was frazzled. The intensity of the last two hours walking by trying not to get lost or fall into a bog and having walked over 30 miles now was beginning to be noticeable. A stop was needed. Yet I like to rest at important landmarks on big walks and Back Tor was only 40 minutes away. Those were long, utterly draining minutes, each step becoming more and more of an effort, every minute just wishing the sun would come up, every patch of heather a comfy bed that wasn't to be. This was when the walk began to bite.

  Relief flooded a drained mess on Back Tor at 12:45 on sunday morning, who lay down and devoured fruit and nut mix down with feverish intent. Feet hurt, eyes hurt, belly was hungry. 15 minutes later the feet, eyes and belly were less hurt and hungry. Deep down though all I could think about was how much I was looking forward to sunrise. I craved it. Still, sunrise wouldn't come any sooner so get up, deal with the aches and get going. I'd thought about where I wished to watch it from and decided that Stanage South would be ideal. Motivation. It worked. Onward!

3am, Cuttthroat Bridge. Wasted. More
walking needed then. Much more
walking needed!

  Now came the unexpected crux of the entire walk. Derwent Edge, usually very easy going- even on the watershed walk- but I struggled. On big days out you always experience a tough bit where all you want to do is sit down and the walk to end- you have to push on through until things inevitably get easier. Yet the intensity of it was nothing like I'd been through before. A still distant sunrise, the urge and then refusal to curl up on a soft piece of heather and snooze, the legs and feet just hurting and hurting, my mind increasingly worn out. The pace slowed down lots with the occasional stop and I became totally convinced I could smell chicken noodle soup. Bizarre eh. Get up and keep going. The minutes dragged and dragged. Yet I kept going. I had to. Keep reminding yourself why your doing this and why your going to succeed. Onward. Those painful two hours on Derwent Edge were the hardest two hours walking I've ever done.

  Somehow, eventually, thankfully, at 3am Cuttroat Bridge and the A57 was reached. I was blissfully relieved and happy. Sit down to guzzle lucozade, eat food, rest and relax, Those 5 hours from Bleaklow Stones had been some of the most intense, absorbing and simply amazing wandering I'd ever experienced. It had been difficult, it had been painful, but it had been incredible and unforgettable all the same. The hard bit was over. Only Stanage, the Burbage Valley and the Porter Valley lay ahead- easy ground. First light would be in 90 minutes. A change of socks would be then too. And I still had another pack of harribo and bottle of lucozade as well.

  The long walk back home was within reach. .