A climb up the Kinder Downfall.

Hello folks!

  A few weeks ago I a posted a poem about a nosy up that famously impressive trickle of water known as the Kinder Downfall. Finally, here is a little account of the day- complete with some photos of a stunning inversion we witnessed too.

  All photos in this post belong to- and were taken by- Kier Teasdale.

  Don't all the best ideas often originate around a table whilst supping your third or fourth pint of ale? One sunday afternoon a slightly drunken conversation turned to ideas for interesting adventures in The Peak District. Various things were suggested until the idea of 'lets climb up the biggest waterfall in the area, in late November, whilst it will be in spate' was brought up. Ah-ha. Two lads, two slightly crazy grins spreading over their faces and a plan for something 'a little bit different' forming in their minds. It had to be done.

  A week later we found ourselves driving out from a dank, drizzly Hunter's Bar over to Hayfield (stopping for a delicious bacon and egg sandwich from the village shop in Castleton- highly recommended), where fortunately the cloud seemed to be breaking up with nice sunny spells.

  Half an hour later we followed the Kinder Road to the Kinder Reservoir alongside the River Kinder and were headed to the Kinder Downfall high on Kinder Scout. Despite being unsure of which fell we were climbing, both of us couldn't help but be spellbound by the beauty of the Kinder Reservoir under the crisp winter light, with the Downfall ominously tucked away high on the horizon.

  10 minutes after that we began the half-hour 300m climb up the Sandy Hays Ridge onto the plateau. Regardless of the strong winds we found it a pleasure every step of the way- grand, impressive scenery, easy walking and a lovely narrow ridge for the last 100m.

  On the plateau rim at Sandy Hays something spectacular happened. The cloud capping Kinder's plateau began to sink into the valley below, giving a spectacular temperature inversion.

Cloud sinking down into the Kinder Valley from Sandy Hays. We sat for a long while watching it flow like a silent, ethereal river.

Due to a chance mix of wind direction and topography, Sandy Hays remained free of cloud whilst everywhere else in Peakland was either in- or under- the cloud. Some days you just get lucky. Some days you don't forget!

Another photo of the inversion- looking towards Kinder Low. After a good chill in the warm sunshine we made our way to the Downfall, dropping back into the cloud...

 Back into the cloud we went as the Downfall got closer with the water thundering ominously invisible in the mist. After a rough descent into the ravine we finally reached the climb...

The Kinder Downfall in all it's watery, gritty glory. 18m of slippy gritstone, crevasses, scooped out caves and lots of pouring relentless cold water. The route climbs up the right-hand side to the distinct pale block in the middle of the fall. Belay here, then traverse up and left through the main flow to the top left-hand corner. For scale, the pale block in the middle is about 6ft high.

Getting psyched! It was here I told Kier I'd not tied onto a rope since May, belayed for over 4 years and never led a multi-pitch route before. Fortunately confident enough for this not be a problem, Kier happily set off into the endless shower. There was a nice mix of daftness, anticipation and awe whilst gearing up- whilst to top it off the cloud began to thin too.

Kier's view from the top back down to the belay ledge. No photos were taken from the climb as it was just too wet! As soon as chilly hand touched cold rock we were wet, and stayed that way for 45 minutes. Guess that's what happens when you climb up waterfalls. Kier led the first pitch easily to a grand belay right in the middle and I slowly followed, trying to remember how to climb. After a bit off fuss sorting out the stance, Kier led off under the deluge to the top whilst being papped by curious photographers eager to see us get a soaking. Trying to belay whilst absorbing the awesome situation, grand scenery and trying not to slip was tricky...

Happy Kier at the top of the climb. The first pitch was conventional- if wet- climbing on good holds, cracks and ledges. The second pitch was a soaking wet fight, thrutching up a series of deep crevasses and crawling onto ledges whilst feeling like you were drowning and trying not to slide off. Well, well worth it! 

Happy me at the top of the Kinder Downfall!

  During this trip we learnt several lessons: 1: Paramo is simply amazing and will keep you desert-dry as well as breathe 10,000x better than gore-tex. Just wash it in Nikwax tech-wash every week and reproof regularly and it'll last a lifetime, even if you get it battered having fun! 2: Cheap Craghoppers overtrousers, though less than 1/2 the price of gore-tex ones will also keep you dry under a waterfall for 45 minutes. You'll be a bit sweatier though... 3: No matter how good your waterproofs, they can't keep water from coming down your arms or neck. You get used to this.... 4: There are few finer ways to celebrate a climb than drying off in the warm sun above a sea of cloud.

Somewhere on Kinder around the end of November, two slightly damp lads poked their heads up onto the plateau, dried off, grinned like idiots and munched on cheap chocolate. Happy at realising their little plan they slowly headed back down towards Hayfield and then Sheffield. However, two things took priority- the need to soak up yet more perfect sunny views above a dazzling expanse of cloud floating beneath them, and a well earnt pint in the nearest pub... 

Happy Wandering!

PS: Despite having been everywhere from Chrome Hill to Tideswell and Bleaklow over the last 6 weeks, I'm aware that recently there has been a lot of coverage of Kinder Scout. Over the upcoming month that will change- expect bits and bobs about everywhere else in Peakland, including some of the more unusual areas, along with, musings, guides and photos...

The Derwent Watershed and back home: Part 3- Chorizo Sunrise Dreams.

  3am. A human-shaped creature clad in paramo and gore-tex lifts itself off its damp rocky seat and slowly puts one leather-coated foot in front of the other. The creature groans in pain- it has been doing this simple action now for 16 hours and 37 miles (with stops) and still has far to go. Thinking of home, it sets off up the A57, heading for the sunrise.

  Onward. Up the A57 to rejoin the Derwent Watershed walk at Moscar and onto Stanage. Cars pass by, their lights disappearing into the night, their drivers probably quite perplexed at seeing someone out walking at this this time. I wonder where they are headed, recalling memories of setting off on holiday at these early hours. Detached. So close, yet we are in two different universes.

  Finally I leave the road and take my first steps onto Stanage Edge. A brief pause to look back on the brooding silhouettes of Back Tor and the Howden Moors, then nodding with respect and gratitude to them giving me a smooth passage. They are now behind me, a big weight lifted off my shoulders as a slow, peaceful crossing of Stanage commenced.

  Stanage Edge was a very transitional experience, almost like coming out of a tunnel. For the first time since Kinder I passed close by to civilization, gazing down at the sleeping villages in the Hope Valley whilst the landscape gradually changed from the higher, wilder moors to the north to the friendly and gentle edges to the south. Thoughts changed from seemingly perpetual walking to thinking about the finish. Stumbling wearily along, a surge of energy came suudenly with the realisation that the walk was going to be done in 24 hours. Homeward bound!

Shortly after first light at Stanage South

  During all this there was an acute awareness of the distinct smell of chorizo around High Neb. Even more noticeable than the chicken noodle soup on Derwent Edge, I became utterly convinced I could smell it. The weird hallucination got so strong I even paused to listen for signs of people bivvying nearby- it'd be cool to drop in, give them a fright then have a chill, chat and bite to eat before heading on. Yet I only ever heard the sound of sheep and the wind- both unlikely to be indulging in any spicy sausage delights. Disappointed and quite craving chorizo and a cold glass of coke, I headed along the edge to Stanage South,

  And then it happened. I glimpsed it. That first dawning light of a new day shimming serenely over the misty skies of Sheffield. I lay down to rest at Stanage South and smiled. After the longest night of my life I could finally relax. Home was now only 13 miles away, the end tantalisingly close. Put on a fresh pair of socks (good old Smartwool socks- 41 miles and no blisters!), guzzle lucozade, wolf down some cereal bars and gaze out over the ethereal veils of mist over Ringinglow Bog. Soak up the moment then get up and get going. I had a sunrise to watch from Higgar Tor.

  There are sunrises and there are those leave you utterly spellbound by their beauty. The one from Higgar Tor was one of the latter. After weirding out an array of serious-looking photographers with strange stories and overly exited chat (sorry if I was a pain, but I'd not spoke to anyone for 15 hours), I graciously removed myself and headed to the summit. Gradually that life-giving nuclear furnace rose above Burbage Moor and bathed the hills in a serene golden light with cotton-wool mist sinking below. Warmth. Energy. Light. All flooded though me as a new day lit up all around, The colours seemed almost surreal in their intensity and beauty. A grin spred from ear to ear, my eyes awoke. It was one of the most beautiful sights I've ever seen.

Sunrise  

  A powerful change occurred with the sunrise as a sense of euphoria consumed me. The pain and aches diminished, the tiredness faded, my mind awoke. I felt amazing,almost giddy. Suddenly I could bound around, down to Carl Wark and along to Over Owler Tor where I had the magic of seeing my first ever broken spectre. Thoughts drifted to staying out all day and going even further. I could do anything now. I was unstoppable. Those 90 minutes made every second of hardship pale into insignificance- I felt amply rewarded. It was sublime.

  Sanity returned soon enough as I headed through Longshawe to the Fox House Inn and over the Houndkirk Road to Ringinglow. Common to all big walks, you'll experience a wave of positivety when the finish suddenly becomes within reach- this nearly always sharply fades soon after when you realise there's still a good couple of hours to go before that momentous final mile or so. As was the case for this walk, that expected low feeling was acutely intense. The hurt came back, my pace slowed down and a strong, almost desperate urge to get home kicked in. I found myself too tired to distract my mind away from the pain in my legs and feet. Back hunched, face screwed up, legs dragging along slowly counting every step, fighting the need to sit down. I probably wouldn't have gotten back up off the Houndkirk Road if I had. It was a bedraggled creature crossing it at 8am that morning.

  Eventually Ringinglow came into view just before 9am and once again, everything changed. At long last I was on the homestretch. Sit down for one last time, guzzle yet more lucozade, wolf down yet more harribo and cereal bars, then get up and don't sit down until home. Simple. With a satisfied smile I descended into Porter Clough and down into my home valley.

  A strange creature walked down the Porter Valley on the morning of sunday 24th August. Bleary-eyed, dirty and probably quite pungent, this creature had been on the go now for 22 hours and 50 miles. It had walked down this valley at the end of many epic long days before in it's life, each one gradually bigger and more epic than the last. This time would be the final time it would experience that feeling. This was as far as it could ever push it. 

  The creature walked slowly down, past Forge Dam and through Bingham and Endcliffe Parks to Hunter's Bar. It appeared to be an a trance, in a state of utmost euphoria, grinning insanely from ear to ear out of sheer joy for what it had done and was soon going to finish. It hadn't been easy, it had been hard, but it had been incredible and unforgettable. Every second it now savored, every footstep one more than it had ever taken before in its life. People passed by it and moved on quickly- possibly because of the smell.

10:12am, Hunter's Bar. Happy days!

  Finally, at long, long last I arrived at Hunter's Bar. Looking like a bit of a nutcase whooping with joy and relief, then bewildering a bewildered man by getting him to take my photo, I gleefully took those last few steps home. Suddenly it was all gone, it was over. Just very deep satisfaction as I closed my door and lay down on my bed.

  23 hours 30 mins and 54 miles, 4 months of dreaming and far, far too much harribo and lucozade over the finest hills anywhere. The most interesting walk I've ever been fortunate enough to experience was finally over.


Epilogue

  Sunday was spent being extremely giddy and ecstatic about the previous 24 hours. I chilled out, eat the best Bilash chicken madras of my life and got laughed at by some special-brew guzzling alcoholics for looking wasted on the way to tesco (I could hardly walk). The next three weeks were spent talking constantly about the walk to anything with ears, regardless of whether they could understand or not. Some chorizo was finally eaten too. Amazingly I only got one blister and after a few days of aching by wednesday all was back to normal. Now, time for a few months of more relaxed wandering and pottering about until the next big adventure reveals itself.

Search and you will find, drift and you will discover!
 

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. .

The Derwent Watershed- and back home in a day: Part 1- Prelude.

  This is a slightly edited piece I wrote the night before setting off on a solo extended wander around the Derwent Watershed, a 54 mile 23.5 hour walk I'd been planning since April. An account of the day itself will follow after this as a separate post..  

  Right now I'm currently preparing to hatch a little plan of mine I've had for 4 months now. In 12 hours time I intend on walking the Derwent Watershed (aka 'The High Peak Marathon') and back home to Sheffield, covering a distance of 54 miles. I will do it alone, self supported and in one day. I will also do it without informing anyone of my exact route. The aim is simple: I want to push long-distance day walking as far as I possibly can.

  Why? Well, ever since first doing the Edale Horseshoe back in 2004, 3-4 times a year I like to take a break from my primary love of pottering about, exploring new places and wandering up hills, and just go for a good long walk of 18+ miles. Like camping, scrambling, cycling ect its another aspect of being on the hills and gives unique perspectives and joys. Over the years and many walks later this eventually led to my friend Dobbo and I setting out from Sheffield, bagging the 4 600m hills of Peakland and returning home in a day. With 21 hours and 48 miles of amazing walking, it was a delightfully simple and hard creation of which we are both pretty proud about.*

  Yet shortly after I felt like the journey wasn't yet fully complete. I wished to push it further and experience it in its most distilled form I possibly could. So I had an idea. Why not do a super-long walk alone, walking through the day, night and into the next day? To make it an even more pure experience, why not keep the exact route a secret so you will be completely self-reliant and totally absorbed by it all? It would be the ultimate walk. I fell in love with the idea and decided it would be a brilliant thing to do. So Since May I've waited for the right moment (sometime at the beginning or end of summer when the nights wouldn't be too long but the temperatures not too hot) to give it a go.

  As you probably know, my idea of 'training' involves going out and having loads and loads of fun. A long awesome summer of swimming, cycling, wandering and tree climbing has ended with me feeling physically and mentally the strongest I'll probably ever be. Lucky eh! Mental preparation has been greatly aided by the sleepless night on the bivvy trip, assuring I can cope with the sleep deprivation I'll be experiencing tomorrow night. Helping my friend Vicky this year on the Edale Skyline and Eddie solo 100 climbs in a day allowed me to watch, learn and refine tactics too. Helping your mates and having loads of fun. Best 'training' possible!

  Thanks to Strange But True, Crimewatch and The Blair Witch Project the only bit I'm nervous about is walking through the night. It will be a lonely experience whilst trying not to freak out crossing the Howden Moors- but hey, these things are not meant to be easy!

  As I write, all preparations are complete. A sealed letter with my route and instructions to a housemate to ring for help if I'm not back by sunday evening has been left (as a safety precaution). I've eaten enough pasta until it has been coming out of my ears. The route has been visualised and rough timings estimated. I'll be setting off around mid-morning as opposed to super early as is normal for longish walks in order to harness the uplifting and morale-boosting qualities of sunrise which should occur during the final 10 miles of the walk when I'm starting to get weary. It will be amazing to see! Oh yeah, to get in the mood I've been regularly listening to the albums 'Grand National' by John Butler Trio and obviously the entire Into The Wild soundtrack. One more sleep then it begins.

Bring it on. Cannot wait!

*This walk is just so good- a perfect mix of challenge, flow and interest- that I strongly urge readers (especially those based in Sheffield) to give it a go. Contact me for more information if interested. I'll probably buy you a pint at the Porter Cottage afterwards too.

Mam Tor and Back Tor: Scrambling Mini- Guide.

Disclaimer!
Mam Tor and Back Tor are both active landslips and climbing on them outside of winter is generally not encouraged by the climbing and walking media, and also the National Trust who own them. Please think long and hard before committing to anything but the grade 1 routes- the objective danger from crumbling holds and falling rocks is very real. I have personally witnessed several landslides and many rockfalls over 6 years spent exploring them.

Introduction.
This is a little guide to the scrambling potential on two of my favorite crags in The Peak District- Mam Tor and Back Tor. I have written this simply because I am very passionate about scrambling on them, and that it may be of interest to the occasional person. It is for those of you who have walked past and wondered 'hmm, is there any way up that'? If it leads to an unusual and interesting experience, or saves you from making foolish decisions, then I'll be happy.

Bits and Bobs

Location: For those not local to Peakland, Mam Tor and Back Tor lie on The Great Ridge between the Hope and Edale Valleys. Both are within easy reach from Castleton, Hope or Edale by car or public transport. The 272 bus goes hourly from Sheffield to Hope and Castleton, whilst Edale is served by regular trains from Sheffield and Manchester.

Atmosphere: Both crags have a very intense and foreboding atmosphere to them. In contrast, they also lie in one of the most popular parts of Peakland. Expect to be at the mercy of public viewing if you go on a weekend or bank holiday. I have had everything from photos taken, to people concerned about my state of mind, to a curious yet happy couple delighted at following me up Mam Tor's gully. Move quickly or go during the week!

Climbing: This is not conventional scrambling and very much an acquired taste. Grass for handholds, smearing on shale and palming off loose pebbles is the name of the game here. None of the routes here tackle the vertical tiers of rock and you'll be surprised at just how much is on offer once you look beyond the myth and reputation. Scrambling grades are given, but they are rough estimates only. Take it easy!

Conditions: These vary hugely between how wet and dry the crags are, rapidly transforming the nature of even the easy scrambles- when bone dry or soaking wet they are crumbling loose nightmares. Get them in a happy medium and both Mam Tor and Back Tor can be surprisingly solid. If the grass holds well and you can kick steps in the shale, its about as secure as you'll get it.

Why?!: This is simply to satisfy the curious and show what exists. Unless stated, I have done all routes at least once and most on many occasions, as well a a descent and Back Tor's gully. The joys here are of delighting in the quirky if slightly rebellious nature of it all, of pulling hard on seemingly loose bits of grass and of moves you wont have done anywhere else. Relish doing something a little bit different and out of the ordinary, being in awe-inspiring situations and experience a grand atmosphere unlike anywhere else in Peakland.
The Left-Hand Arete on Mam Tor is a safe and little known, but superb scramble that I feel needs championing. The gully on Back Tor- which despite its unconventional nature- is a mid-grade classic.

Mam Tor.
Despite its fearsome and well deserved reputation as a lethal pile of crud, the imposing SE Face of Mam Tor offers several summer scrambles. Generally sticking to the sides of the crag, they avoid the steep and loose main wall between the Blue John Rib and The Third Scoop, yet still give dramatic scrambling. Height varies from 40m- 80m.

Mam Tor Topo. Click to enlarge.

A: Mam Tor Left Hand- 1/2. Pretty much just a steep grassy walk with a smattering of loose rock and shale. A short rock band in the middle is the only major difficulty. Trending further right onto steep bands of shale/ rock/ grass ups the grade and fear factor considerably.

B: Mam Tor Left Hand Arete- 1. From the entrance to the main gully, take the obvious left-hand arete, gaining it by a rising shale slope. Safe in most conditions and suitable for novice scramblers. The finest grade 1 scramble in Peakland- delightful yet easy scrambling with great exposure and grand situations. Do it!

C: Mam Tor Gully- 1/2. The classic winter route of the crag gives a fun easy scramble in impressive surroundings. Follow the narrow chute into a wide amphitheatre on blocky easy-angled shale. From here, easier ground lies to the left side, whilst enjoyable steep moves on shale and grass are to be found in the middle. Be very careful of rockfall during dry spells or after heavy rain.

D: Spiral Route- 2/3. A rambling route onto the main face. Head up the Blue John Rib until the first tower, traverse it into the main gully and head up as close to the rib as possible. Take the obvious ledge system under crumbling overhanging rock back around the Blue John Rib. With great exposure and difficult climbing, follow the distinctive hanging scoop to the top.

E: Right Hand Gully 2- 2. The middle of three gullies divided by steep spurs which define the right-hand side of the crag. A steep, loose and scary choss climb. Follow the gully bed, taking in the short rock steps or branching out onto crumbling tiered shale. The exit is quite committing up a steep ramp of grass. I have climbed the lower and upper sections, but not the narrow chute through the rock band at half height. 

F: Right Hand Gully 3- 2. Mam Tor's finest short mid- grade scramble. Easy romping up the gully bed leads to a short impassable rock band. Head right and ascend steep shale/ grass before traversing back into the gully. Two spectacular ledges here demand a little chill time and provide a grand perch. From these, climb the shale slab (best on the left up a minor rib) and steep grass ramp above. From the top shale slab, it is possible to traverse into Right- Hand Gully 2, finishing up the top of that. 

***: The Third Scoop: 3? No idea if this has ever been done in summer. Surely some brave (or reckless) person has. I've been trying it for over 2 years, always bottling it at the top of the rib before you become committed. The top of the rib is easily accessible via steep shale to the left and provides one of the most awe-inspiring and grand chill spots in all of Peakland. Visit it at least once. Just don't go any further up!  

Back Tor.

Mam Tor's smaller cousin is a picturesque little plug of tiered grass and rock, around 40m in height. The scrambling here is much more secure than on Mam Tor, although this does mean there are few easy routes. Short, exposed and scary is the game here, with moves on mixed grass/ rock feeling much more conventional than the slippery shale of Mam Tor. 

  The West Face offers many possibilities and variations- a few distinct lines I've done are shown here. The classic winter route of 'Back Tor Gully' lies out of sight on the photo, around the corner on the N Face.

A: Left-hand route- 2/3. Takes the obvious left-hand side of the face as steeply as possible, following a shallow scoop. The main difficulties are in the main rock band, requiring hard 'mixed' scrambling on grass/ rock and good route finding abilities. A steep band of grass leads to two rock bands which can be climbed at various points giving a very airy finish. Escapable in places. A brilliant route, intricate, steep and difficult with great exposure. One of the best hard scrambles in Peakland.

B: Central Scoop- 2. This distinct scoop has since land-slipped and now slowly re-growing with grass. After finding a way through the gorse low down, simply follow the scoop upwards. Passing through the rock band gives the main difficulties involving moves on loose grass/ mud and solid rock. Worthwhile.

C: Right-Hand Face- 1/2. A nice introduction scramble and practice ground. Wander up the right- hand side of the face, taking whichever route through the rock-band suits. 

D: Easy Descent Gully. Nothing more than a steep grassy walk, but better than the horrible eroded path.

*Back Tor Gully- 2. One of Peakland's classic winter climbs makes for a brilliant mid- grade summer scramble. Climb onto the loosely attached 'diamond' of grass and then into the gully. A short grassy ramp leads to the second crux- a steep section through a narrowing requiring bridging and mixed moves on grass and solid rock. Above this more bridging on rock/ grass and crumbling shale into the upper amphitheater gives a technical and scary finish. One of the best scrambles anywhere- for such a small route it will remain long in the memory. 

Hope you enjoyed this little guide! More writing coming up next thursday. I may put a few photos up of these crags between then and now. Take care and happy hillwandering!

Two men go for a big walk up four big hills- Part Two.

The second of a four part story about a very long walk up the four highest hills in Peakland in day, from Hunter's Bar and back. So then, onward we go dear readers...

1:10am. Pulling on our heavy rucksacks, clipping the hip-belts, a closing of the door, a turning of the key. The first step onto the pavement. Finally, we were off.

Down past Hunter's Bar, around Endcliffe Park and towards the outskirts. Conversation was little- the weight of the day ahead was heavy on the mind and we were barely awake. Passing by taxis pub and party bound felt seriously strange- most weekends that is me in that taxi, yet here I was doing the opposite. Very quickly a strong feeling of complete detachment from society set in as we walked the rainy streets- cooking, socialising, shopping, sleeping- none of these normal things were relevant now, the only thing in our lives now was walking. And at this moment- walking to Ringinglow. This feeling would persist for the duration of the walk, a beautiful sensation which once tasted becomes a big lure of long-distance walking. It is like meditation, a blissful feeling of freedom and lack of worry as your world is reduced to you, a destination and getting there- nothing else in life matters.

Passing round Endcliffe Park we elected to stick to roads as much as possible to Forge Dam instead of going through the parks- I spent far too much time watching Crimewatch as a kid to do that. Numbness set in, the scale of what we were doing was a just too big to take in. Instead, our minds collectively became focused solely on getting to Fulwood Lane. So on through the drizzle we went until the lane was reached in a sleepy daze. We were out of the city at last- phew! Hardly any emotion flickered on the mind- a brief 'bye bye' to Sheffield and then onward towards Ringinglow Bog.

The crossing to Redmires was memorable, if for the wrong reasons. The drizzle turned into a heavy downpour on Fulwood Lane dampening the spirits- thoughts (and heads) turned back on Sheffield to friends all cosy and dry in the pub. It quickly it stopped, but only for my headtorch to stop working soon after. Bugger. We were barely awake, could hardly see, the track didn't really exist and all we wanted to do was walk to Bleaklow. And that folks, is how two lads end up aimlessly stumbling across Ringinglow Bog at 2:30am on a damp saturday night.

My dying headtorch- useless except for posing for photos like this...

Miraculously we made it to Redmires without getting lost or falling alseep in a bog. Morale lifted as Stanage was crossed non stop to Crow Chin (bar pausing for a photo at Stanage Pole), eerily silent at 3:30am- somehow we made swift progress despite only Dobbo having a headtorch of any use. From Crow Chin to the track on Hordron Edge we had a short section of pathless boggy moorland to cross, made more interesting in that neither of us had been on it. I was in my element- roughly estimating the angle to head off Stanage, noting vegetation and steepness of the slope, the track on Hordron Edge was reached smoothly and without a map or compass. Super happy!

The first stop of the day by the A57

The whole section from the A57 to Lockerbrook was amazing. Views of Win Hill Pike with Ladybower streaked with moonlight, that first rest of the day after 11.75 miles by a deserted A57, seeing first hints of dawn- they were fantastic. We walked in silence by Ladybower in that pre-sunrise light to the sound of waking birds, enjoying a real feeling of calm and peace. We'd just walked through the night to get here, and were now stuck into the walk proper- the next 27 miles and four hills would be the real meat of the day. The moment was perfect. Those 20 minutes by Ladybower under that first dawning light, collecting my thoughts in an aura of tranquility and calm- it is a memory that will remain with me forever.

After a knackering slog up to Lockerbrook, discussions on slowing the pace and resting more were had. We'd somehow raced non-stop to Ladybower, and though pleasantly surprised and in a good position time wise for the day ahead, we needed to slow it down a bit. So we did. Ish.

Different experiences were had on the long boggy walk over Rowlee Pasture, Westend Moor and Westend Knoll to Grains-in-the-Water. Dobbo got quite affected by the lack of sleep and found it quite hard to stay awake and push on- but nothing known to nature can stop Dobbo, so on he went. I experienced something different. Waves of euphoria washed over me- pushing on over the moors and watching sunrise over Back Tor with no-one around, all whilst headed for my favorite place in the world- this was what I wanted, this was exactly what I wanted the walk to be! Those 10 minutes over Rowlee Pasture I so felt alive, awake and energized. I was experiencing perfection.

Dawn.

'Breakfast' at Birchin Hat 

After a much-needed breakfast stop at Birchin Hat consisting of flapjack, pasta and harribo, we pushed on towards Bleaklow and Higher Shelf Stones now visible floating on the horizon. Our minds focused on getting to the summit of Bleaklow- the next major stage in the walk- and we could feel it drawing us in. Both of us uplifted by the first sight of two of the fells we were out to climb. Two mates, two different states of mind, weaving our way over the vast bogs of Westend Moor, arriving at Grains-in-the-Water as a pair of tired and relieved messes.

Bleaklow bound- more moor!

Relieved? Damn right! At last, after 7 hours of walking the first of the four fells was within reach. The going had been tough from Birchin Hat over those wild, enchanting southern moors guarding Bleaklow and we were starting to feel tired. This was soon explained by the realisation that we'd walked the first 20 miles in 7 hours. Ah. Thats why. Right then- 30 mins rest and feeding was called for to celebrate this unexpected achievement. More cold pasta, harribo and water gladly went down the hatch as we sprawled on the grass. Grains-in-the-Water looked magnificent- foreboding and desolate under a snow-laden grey ceiling close enough to touch. I was happy to be cold and shivering in exchange for the privilege of being in such a place.

We were now both feeling strong, we were doing well so far, and Bleaklow's summit was just a short hop away.

It was time to get a fell climbed at last.

Two men go for a big walk up four big hills. Part One.

This is the first of a two part story about a long walk in the hills. Initially intended to be just one post, I've split it to break it up as it is quite lengthy. The next part will be up sometime before sunday all being well.

At 1:10am on Saturday 22nd of March 2014, my good mate Dobbo and I walked out of my front door, crossed Hunters Bar and set off to climb the 4 600m high hills of Peakland. 20 hours 45 mins later we would arrive back home (well, at the Lescar just round the corner) having walked 48 miles and ascended around 8000ft.

Firstly though- why do such a thing?
Simple. Because the furthest we'd ever walked in a day was someone else's idea.
Two years previously we did the famous Derwent Watershed walk, a dream of ours since we began wandering the hills as young teenagers. At 42 miles it was the toughest day out we'd ever had, and by the end I was at the end of my mental and physical limit. A painful, shattered and happy mess staggered back to the car that night. Dobbo was seemingly invincible. Yet despite vowing never to do anything like it again, a few weeks later we were left with an empty, hollow feeling inside. Somehow it just didn't feel that special, our biggest achievement was something hundreds of people have done.

So a few weeks looking at maps mooting various ideas followed, but nothing we came up with inspired or had the flow required. And then it hit us- why not climb the 3 highest hills in Peakland (the 2000ft high ones) in a day? It seemed such an obvious, simple and beautiful idea- we had to do it. Here we had a walk that would be at least 47 miles in length, plenty of ascent, a good chunk over rough trackless ground- and most importantly- it was our idea.

Now, for long distance walking (18 miles+) there are a few rules. Firstly- it should never be about the distance. Ego and fitness is a crap reason to spend 8 hours plodding up a hill- you might as well just plod round the city for that instead. Initially we considered trying to make the route 52 miles (simply because it's a double marathon) and told a lot of friends about our plans. Yet after more careful looking at the map, we realised that doing this would mean unnecessary deviations and extensions, thus spoiling that all important flow. So, sticking to the most logical line and adding Grindslow Knoll into the equation we had a route. 48 miles and the 4 600m high hills of Peakland in a day and back from my front door. It would still be further than the DW- our idea was wonderfully simple and we loved it.

Secondly- the route should have a good flow to it. This is important. By this, I mean it should take a logical line to give smooth steady progress with no switchbacks, detours ect. Refer back to the first rule and you'll see how the two relate and determined our eventual route. Slow, logical, smooth progress = a happy mind = a happy day out.

Thirdly-a healthy amount of ascent and walking over rough ground is essential. This is fellwalking, not a walk through town and it should be strenuous! 20 miles on good paths with easy gradients can make great walking (the Eastern Edges walk for example), but its not the stuff epic hard days are made out of. Fortunately a good half of the walk was over rough bog and moorland either without paths or on useless boggy trods at best, with a few sharp ascents along the way. With some nice easy sections at just the right place and a bit of new ground to cover as well, the route seemed perfect.

With everything in place (sort of), it we began to get obsessed by it. But along the way...

...Training? Not for me. Now, whilst I honestly admire the determination of folk who can get up and go to the gym or go jogging around parks every sunrise and sunset and eat a stringently healthy diet- it just isn't my cup of tea. I like my food and drink and doing things I find fun. 'Training' isn't one of them. Fair enough, I'm quite restless and active and have been wandering the hills quite a lot over the last 11 years but still, 48 miles is still a tad daunting distance to walk. My idea of training consisted of messing about on hills and going dancing lots. In all honesty though, I was quite worried about my feet hurting and how tired I'd be right until we did it. But I wanted it badly. Very badly. That was what mattered.

And so, sometime around May 2012 the build up began. Yet it took nearly two years to get round to it. Let me explain. The whole mental/ fitness weight of it certainly slowed us down, and during that time Dobbo and I both found ourselves with various commitments, free time clashing with one another. On and on it went. Constant proud announcement to friends, yet still no walk. To all of you who put up with it, I apologise. It constantly burnt in the mind- we must, we have to, we need it done. Then around a month ago circumstances in my personal life changed and suddenly I needed to stop procrastinating so much and get things done. This walk had become one of those endless procrastinations that had never got done. Now was the time to do it. Even if I wasn't strong enough, mentally it felt right. At last, things fell into place. Dobbo could commit and was psyched. A date was set. At last- it was on.

The two weeks up to it were fun, the whole build up being very exiting- remember your were a kid and how exiting that week before going on holiday felt? It felt a bit like that, constantly rabbiting on to anyone who would listen. My bosses at Foothills- the shop where I work- were great, allowing me to leave early on the friday, giving me free walking poles and insoles and took an interest in it. You couldn't get better people to work for. Measuring each little stage of the walk. Cleaning gear. Planning the diet (sugar and carbs). Carb loading three days before (1kg of pasta- yum!). Trying to sort the head out as we were expecting an epic. Hoping the weather wouldn't be a crap as forecast. Going to bed at half 7 and getting 4.5 hours kip. Waking up at midnight. An hour later, at long, long last.

It was finally on.

Grindslow Knoll. A guide to the hills of Peakland. Part 1 of 197 (hopefully).

Grindslow Knoll- 601m/ 1972ft.

Prominence: 21m. Grid Ref: SK1006.

Rocky Mound above the Devil's Ravine.

Peakland's 4th highest hill- Grindslow Knoll.

Overview.

As you curve round into the Edale Valley and pass between the shadowy Great Ridge and the sunlit moorland wall of Kinder, a sharp peak appears in view, unlike any other hill in Peakland. Shooting into the sky off a steep broad moorland base Grindslow Knoll immediately captures the attention. No other hill manages to combine its shapely beauty, imposing bulk and great height so perfectly. Here lies a hill which must be ascended.

Peakland's 4^th highest fell, though technically a narrow ridge rising off a broad spur of Kinder Scout, expresses enough individuality to be a worthy hill in its own right. Indeed, it's prominence above its surroundings is surpassed only by Kinder and Bleaklow, yet the steepness of its slopes and perfect conical summit give it a more mountainous feel than both of them. It many only just miss out on the 2000ft contour, yet Grindslow Knoll a great fell, one which can proudly hold its head high amongst much more famous summits.

It is a crying shame then, that so fine a hill with so many fine features is so under-appreciated by the majority of walkers. So often used as a convenient route to or from Kinder Scout from Edale, few people seem to take the time to stop and take in the summit- indeed, there lies a well worn path which traversed just below the summit. Yes, it rises only 30ft or so above the broad spur attaching it to Kinder- which it is a part off-, but nothing on Kinder is a good as this. Kinder Scout is loved and justifiably famous, Grindslow Knoll is seen simply as a stop gap to or from greater things. Those more discerning of us however will stop and sit for a while, taking in the summit of arguably one of the very finest hills in the Peak District.

Location.

Spread across Kinder's 7 mile long southern escarpment, five broad grassy spurs descend steeply down into the wide green rectangle of the Vale of Edale. Off the bulkiest and highest of these, between Grindsbrook and Crowden Cloughs directly above Edale, rises Grindslow Knoll.

Running NW/ SE from the head of Grindsbrook, the spur rises sharply into the summit ridge before broadening quickly into a large flat boggy plateau. Steep grassy slopes wrinkled by a few shallow cloughs plunge down into the Edale Valley to the S, N and E, with farmland on the lowest slopes.

Topographically the hamlets of Upper Booth and Barber Booth lie on the lower slopes of Grindslow Knoll, as does the village of Edale, where grassy farmland fans out under the open slopes of the fell above. The view of the pointed summit soaring above the church in Edale is a classic. 

Though closely associated with Grindsbrook Clough, it claims only three streams to itself. All three are unnamed and being very steep and grassy, lacking in much interest aside from solitude and unusual views.

Fox Holes Crag

Mostly unseen from the path to Kinder, Grindslow Knoll's most extensive crag remains a peaceful and damp place left well alone walkers and climbers alike. Well worth seeking out is a little spur poking out of the fellside and a fine slender pinncale to the NW. Both easily visited, the scene from both is breathtaking.

 Grindslow Tarns.

Grindslow Tarns.

Though not 'tarns' by geographical definition and relatively small- even by Pennine standards, these two moorland pools rank second in size to the one found at Alport Castles. Most likely formed by peat cutting in times gone by, they are a rare treat in Peakland- true upland bodies of water. Too shallow to provide only a novelty paddle in summer, they nonetheless form a peaceful and pretty foreground for pictures of Grindslow Knoll's summit ridge and Kinder's higher plateau beyond.

Scrambling.

For the discerning scrambler Grindslow Knoll offers some very fine, esoteric scrambling. Short and often grassy, their merits are the solitude and grandeur found in few other places.

The Fox Holes Spur- SE Gully. Mod/ Diff. One of the best easy solos in Peakland. Little known, exposed and great juggy climbing.

Fox Holes Pinnacle- NW Side. Ungradeable. An exposed and committing scramble on damp rock and loose grass.

Fox Holes Crag and Mushroom Stone Gully.

Fox Holes Choss Gully. Grade 3. Tucked further along the crag from The Pinnacle, the easiest of two gullies. 15m long and committing, a very serious 'mixed' scramble involving a mantleshelf onto crumbling grass above an 8m drop.

Mushroom Stone Snow Gullies- I/II. After a good freeze-thaw or prolonged period of windblown snow from the N, a couple of long snow gullies form between Fox Holes Crag and the Mushroom Stone. Easily identified, these streaks form during a good cold spell and make for a fine little climb out of Grindsbrook. Towards the end of a hard winter they are the most reliable place in Peakland to practice basic winter skills.

Broadlee Bank Tor- various lines. Grade 1 (just). Cris-crossing the face can yield a pleasant easy scramble on grass/ shale.

Broadlee Bank Tor (winter)- 1. Unfortunately south facing and at low altitude means good snow conditions must rarely form. In exceptional winters fun grade 1's exist and make a fun stop on the way to Crowden Clough.

Routes of ascent.

From Edale (Nag's Head)- via the peat track

Length: Ascent:

A well used and simple ascent with one of the biggest height gains in Peakland. The walking is quite tedious, though the views are good. The path has historical interest, in days gone by being used by villagers bringing cut peat down to Edale for fuel. Possibly the fastest route to Kinder's summit from Edale. A very fine descent at the end of the day.

Turn L at the Nag's Head and follow the Pennine Way along a small wooded stream. When it opens into fields, leave the PW and head uphill towards the top R corner of the field. Go through a gate onto open land, follow the clear and badly eroded path steeply until the summit is reached.

From Edale (Nag's Head)- via Grindsbrook Clough

The finest hill view in Peakland? From Grindsbrook Ravine.

Length: Ascent:

The most popular route onto Kinder's plateau can be used as a grand way onto Grindslow Knoll, providing a short outing ideal for inclement weather or when time is tight. It is beautiful, rugged and interesting every step of the way.

Head N along the track behind the Nag's Head, following the sign R, down some steps and across a bridge over Grinds Brook. A clear flagged path leads through a field and through some woods into the open clough beyond. Follow the well defined path up Grindsbrook, weaving around boulders and cris-crossing the stream as you go. After a steepening at the top resembling a rocky gully, turn L and take the obvious path along the edge to Grindslow Knoll.

From Edale (Nag's Head)- via Broadlee Bank Tor.

Length: Ascent:

A scenic walk split into four distinct stages.

Broadlee Bank Tor

From the Nag's Head turn L and follow the signs for the Pennine Way. It will take you along a wooded stream and through several fields on a clear- sometimes flagged path. At Broadlee Bank Tor, leave the Pennine Way and head through a gate under the crag by a wall. Follow this feint path L around the hillside to some woods. Take the clear zig-zagging path up a shallow valley and onto the open plateau above. An easy path leads over the plateau towards the base of the summit ridge, which leads easily to the summit,

Via Grindslow Clough

From Barber Booth: Length: Ascent:

From Edale (Nag's Head): Length: Ascent:

An unnamed clough descends steeply into the mid-reaches of Crowden Clough. Pathless walking on steep grass make for a strenuous route. The least pleasant or conveniant way up or down Grindslow Knoll, it's merits are selcusion, a new perspective on Crowden Clough and getting off the beaten track.

Upon entering the open land in Crowden Clough, follow the clear path until a distinct clough joins on the R (E) side. Follow this up very steep rough slopes, initially through bracken, then grass. The easiest way is to follow the R-hand side just above the stream. Where the gradient eases into a shallow basin, head easily NE over more trackless ground to the summit.

The summit and views

Despite being so closely attached to Kinder Scout, Grindslow Knoll is sufficiently high enough to feel independent of the vast bulky moorland mass so close by. Two ridges- the SW and E meet at a small point perched 200m above Grindsbrook below. Eroded peat and grassy banks form the final plinth for a sizable cairn- the highest point is in no doubt. Given its height above the surroundings, dramatic views on all sides, an undeniable feeling space and elevation combined with the neat final peak, this must be regarded as one of the finest summits in all of Peakland.

As a viewpoint it is of great merit- nothing to the south is higher, giving vast wide-ranging ariel views over every inch of Peakland to the south. Beyond the tops of Mam Tor and Lord's Seat lies the Highlow Hills, Bradwell Moor with Longstone Moor, Chelmorton Low and the rolling limestone plateau stretching to the distant Weaver Hills in the south. To the west Shining Tor and the Western Moorlands form a long hilly ridge, with The Roaches, Coombes Moss and Morridge all in view.

South Eastwards the slopes plunge down to the Vale of Edale, with Lose Hill and Win Hill Pike seemingly lowley from this lofty vantange. Beyond, the bumpy crest of the Eastern Edges follows the curve of Derwent Dale past Grindleford to Matlock and beyond, with the distant peak of Masson Hill marking the SE limit to Peakland.

In the arc from W to NE, the southern flank of Kinder forms a grand wall, its bulk and height seen better than from anywhere else, broad plunging grassy slopes 6 miles long make an unforgettable scene. Although Kinder blocks out distant views to the N apart from Howden Edge seen poking above Nether Tor, the view is sufficiently dramatic and interesting to feel two-sided (unlike Lose Hill). Rank this amongst the best, it is one that will never get tiring.

Westwards from Grindslow Knoll.

Most hills in Peakland to the south are in view, though due to distance and the rolling nature binoculars or a degree of familiarity are required to pick them out. Significantly from E-W: Back Tor, Stanage Edge, Over Owler Tor, Harland Edge, Masson Hill, Sir William Hill, Longstone Moor, Minninglow, Wolfscote Hill, Chrome Hill, The Walk, Morridge, Axe Edge, Shining Tor, Chinley Churn.

Links to other hills.

Grindslow Knoll is nearly always ascended either on the way to or from Kinder Scout, from which it is a satellite off. As mentioned previously though, interesting cross-country routes from Hope or Castleton can be done taking in Lose Hill or Mam Tor along the way.

To Kinder Scout- head of Grindsbrook.

A. Length: Ascent: Time:

This ranks high amongst the most spectacular and grand walks in Peakland, crossing the southern rim of Grindsbrook.

From the summit, simply drop down the widely eroded path and follow the edge NW past a large cairn, to the head of Grindsbrook.

To Kinder Scout- Grindsbrook- Crowden Clough Path

B. Length: Descent:

A quieter but less impressive alternative, taking in the center of the spur. Broad moorland walking, better done in reverse from Kinder from where Grindslow Knoll appears as a fine peak.

Descend the summit ridge, turn NW onto a flagged path which leads easily over rough moorland, meeting the Grindsbrook- Crowden Clough path.

A musing.

At the time of writing I have notched up 80 ascents of Grindslow Knoll and 70 of Kinder (and over 100 onto it's plateau). Nearly all of these 80 have been two or from Kinder Scout, heading to or from great adventures on the boogy roof of Peakland. Yet, I have always allowed 20 minutes or more to stop on Grindslow Knoll's summit before the descent, to stand and take everything in.

  So many times after fleeing the city for a day up high, I stand and gaze at the world below my feet, feeling detached from it all. You don't need to be over 4000ft in the middle of the Cairngorms to feel this, just 15 miles away and 500m above Sheffield can do the trick. Reluctance to leave sets in, up here I am free and belong, down there the pull of life- and life is pretty damn fun- tries to drag me back. Two worlds. Two lives. So many times I've resisted the temptation to turn my back and head towards     Kinder's beckoning plateau beyond. There is something unique about this plinth, this little piece of heaven in the sky that lures me back time and time again.

  Sweaty summer days slogging desperately to get up out of the heat, collapsing on the grass a nauseous mess for 5 minutes before happily continuing into summery hazy Pennine heaven. Emotive winter descents in the dark, the lights below scattered into the distance, my crampons scratching the topmost rocks of the cairn. Great things were done on those days- to me anyway. Special places, magical spots. 

Above the clouds at sunset- happy times!