'Beyond the Horizon'- The Derwent Watershed from Sheffield (and back)

  Back on the 26th of August I realised a 2.5 year old dream of mine. The idea was simple- to do the classic Peak District route known as The Derwent Watershed but to extend it from Sheffield. Setting off from my home in Nether Edge, I walked alone for 62 miles-up the Porter Valley, over Stanage, Back Tor, the Howden Moors, Bleaklow, Kinder Scout, Mam Tor, Lose Hill, Win Hill Pike, Stanage, Higgar Tor, the Houndkirk Road and back down the Porter Valley, eventually arriving at home 26 hours 5 minutes later. 

  Having got close to the 24 hour mark on the 'Chorizo Sunrise' and 'Peakland County Tops' walks, a big motivation was too see what it felt like to be walking for 24 hours and still going. To add to that sense of detachment from the world and immersion with the land that you get with long walks, I decided to do it totally self supported and not tell anyone where I was going. 

  A long fun summer of swimming, cycling, wandering, trips to Lakeland and Snowdonia and a week dancing by the lake at Boom Festival got me fit and mentally prepared. Return home with a free august bank holiday and no other commitments. The perfect opportunity to get it done had arrived. 

12am, Endcliffe Park at the start of the walk

  An unexpected start. With rain forecast for Saturday I tried and failed to get the Friday off work. Turning up to work half awake on the Friday my boss- Ian Brown at Foothills- kindly tells me to go home and get it done. Extremely grateful (and for the 10 Clif Bars) I dashed home, quickly packed the bag and tried to get the head into gear. Big crazy dreams need an opportunist mindset and commitment- you have to seize the moment to make them happen. Put my trainers on. The backpack ready. Step outside and close the door. 11:44am. It was on.

  Numbness quickly set in. A familiar feeling on long wanders when the task at hand seems so big. Down through sunny Sharrowvale Road, Endcliffe Park and up the Porter Valley to Fulwood Lane. Thoughts are little except to take it easy and reach Rud Hill. Passing by the students, families, hippies and workers a sense of detachment pervades.

13:38: Tea that way! Afternoon on Rud Hill, thoughts turn
to food...

  Rud Hill was reached at 13:30 with a big smile- I was in the hills proper now. Take the trainers off and put the boots on*. Suddenly a great sense of freedom hit me hard. Ahead lay Back Tor where I wanted to be for tea, then 20 miles away a distant Higher Shelf Stones- there by 11pm, then Lose Hill where I hoped to be for sunrise. All I had to do for the next 24 hours was walk.

17:15, time for a rest, food and a view back to Sheffield
from Back Tor.

  The afternoon went by in a blissful daze. Over Stanage and Derwent Edge to Back Tor, the purple hills shimmering in the hazy late summer sun. There was nothing to think about but the freedom of moving over such a peaceful beautiful landscape. 20 miles in at 17:10, stop for 15 minutes at Back Tor for a tea of cous-cous and bananas. Boots off, air the feet, soak up the views back to Sheffield and ready the mind for the long crossing of the Howden Moors and Bleaklow.

Late evening light over Kinder from Outer Edge.

  Morale dropped during the slow, tiring and wet pathless wade through heather and bog over Featherbed Moss as the scale of the walk hit hard and I fucked up falling in a deep watery hole. Shit. Drying my feet as quickly as possible, I plodded on to Howden Edge and sharply reminded myself to read and work with the land. Only idiots (like Bear Grylls) battle against nature. Always work with the land, understand and respect it and you'll have an easier and infinitely more enriching experience.

  After a short pause on Howden Edge to soak

Sunset over Bleaklow from the Howden Moors

up the orangy evening light over vast southern flank of Blealow, I set off north over the vast empty Howden Moors. The light began to fade as I dissolved into the night, for mile after mile picking my way through the endless peat bogs. Passing by Swains Head, sacred Bleaklow Stones, Bleaklow Head and Higher Shelf Stones all thoughts receded into the simple goal of moving over the moors. Scan the ground ahead, read the bog and keep moving. I became a mere insignificant spec on the land as the stars illuminated the sky above. There was no need for a map or compass, I know these moors well. No one knew my whereabouts. Just me and the land. It was the very essence of long-distance walking. I was free.

How many Clif Bars can you eat on one walk before
you start to feel sick? 7.

  By 11pm after 10 miles of bog and moorland the trig point of Higher Shelf Stones appeared out of the night in time for the 4th Clif Bar. Although it was appealing to gaze over Manchester 2000ft below, a torchlight was noticed over on Featherbed Top. Hmm, who else would be daft enough to be out at this time? Over at Doctor's Gate it got closer. Could it be my dream woman offering a cold glass of coke, a cuddle and a bacon sandwich? If only. By the Snake Pass at midnight our headtorches met. It was two blokes out running a section of the Pennine Way. No pretty girl offering food then. Bummer. Still, if you two are reading this- thanks for the jellybeans and chatter- it is always good to bump into like minded folks when out and about!

Gazing up at the Mikly Way whilst trying to ignore
the smell coming from my feet on Mill Hill

  1pm, 30 miles in and time for midnight feast on Mill Hill. By now my feet were beginning to get sore and legs tired. 20 minutes well spent changing socks and insoles, eating yet more bannanas and Clif Bars, airing the boots and gazing up at the Milky Way. I looked over to Manchester and for the first time thoughts drifted to what my friends would be doing now. They'd be having fun at Shambala, in the pub, getting laid or sleeping- normal things. Sat out here at 1:20am about to cross Kinder Scout I began to feel lonely. Yet Lose Hill for sunrise was still another 9 miles distant. Push those thoughts to the back of the mind and get on with it.

  Wandering alone through the night is an unusual experience. Once it gets to sunrise your circadian rhythms kick in and keep you awake through to the next evening- its the bit between midnight and then which is hard. Every bit of heather becomes a welcome bed, each rock a cosy alcove to curl up in. The trick is to resist it and just keep going at all costs. Always keep going.

Trying to stay awake on Kinder's
summit- my 93rd time here. 2:43am.

  With this semi awake state now kicking in, crossing Kinder Scout became a lot harder than expected, A serious thirst that forced me to find a a trickle of water coming out of a patch of sphagnum bog. It tasted vile but it kept me going (and not ill). Then the River Kinder turned out to be in spate, making a normally easy sandy wander into the plateau a tiring series of river crossings and wades through and over groughs. A strong desire to reach the summit ensured for steady, constant progress over the soggy roof of Peakland in these quiet early hours of the morning

  With a great sense of relief the summit (and the highest point of the Peak District) was reached at 2:40am in time for a celebratory 5 minutes (it was my 93rd time to the summit). Take in the views of Peakland and the shimmering lights of Manchester and Buxton sleeping below, then onward over Brown Knoll and Lord's Seat to Lose Hill for sunrise.

Dawn breaks over Lose Hill from Mam Tor.

  Life suddenly began to get very difficult on the plod up Lord's Seat. To be expected, after 36 miles my feet and legs began to badly ache. More seriously was some pain in my left ankle that flared up every time weight was put on it. For a short while I thought the cartledge was fucked. Yelping in pain with every footstep I forced myself to the 550m summit. Re-lace the boots and take some painkillers. It still hurt but not as much, just a bit swollen from having the boots a bit too tight. Swearing at myself, it was time to get real, shut the fuck up and deal with it. I'd wanted to this to be hard and now I was getting it. With adventures like this you have to be obsessed with the goal to point it becomes all consuming. When the shit hits the fan the determination to succeed is what gets you through. Lose Hill had to be reached by 6am for sunrise at all costs. Shut up, ignore the pain and get to Lose Hill.

  A deep meditative bubble-like state ensued on that late summer morning. Every ounce of energy focused simply on getting up and over each little rise along The Great Ridge- Mam Tor. Barker Bank. Back Tor and finally Lose Hill. Nothing else mattered in my little bubble, just smile and appreciate the dawning light, inching ever closer to Lose Hill. Hobbling along at 5am it became my entire world, nothing else mattered.

Sunrise over Moscar from Lose Hill.

   Arrival on Lose Hill for just after 6am was met with a massive sense of relief. It had been source of obsession for the last 5 hours and at last my bum was happily sat on the summit. Boots off, malt loaf, another Clif bar. 30 minutes to sit alone and watch a beautiful sunrise over Derwent Edge whilst the villages of Hope and Castleton still slept in the fog below. Morale improved- having gotten through the night the hard walking was now over. 39 miles down, 23 more to go. On long walks there gets a point where you are tired and want nothing more than to rest. The trick is simply to force yourself onward, ignore the pain and keep shoving food down the gob until you finish. Beyond a distant Stanage Edge, home still seemed so very far away. This was on a much vaster scale to anything I'd done before. Yet sat there in the early morning sun, all I had to do today was walk back home. It all sounded so easy.

Morning fog in the Hope Valley. Food, rest and a nice view.
Happy as a pig in shit :)

  30 minutes later it was time to go. Win Hill Pike, the 'gate to success' lay ahead. Down to Hope, then non stop up past Twitchill Farm to the rocky summit and down to Yorkshire Bridge for 8:15, 46 miles down. In my fatigued state everything began to smell of strawberry shampoo, raising a chuckle. A short pause at Yorkshire Bridge to gobble down my 6th Clif bar and change into trainers. Some cyclists passed by, the first people since midnight on the Snake Pass.

  At this stage in long walks there is no point stopping much as getting going again takes so long. Stand up, put on the backpack and stagger up the road under Bamford Edge. After 10 minutes the pain inevitably fades and limbs warm up. so on you go. By the Stanage Causeway the 50 mile milestone was reached and the route of the Derwent Watershed has been done. The end was within reach. Intense euphoria kicked in. Another bright summer day was awakening into full swing, for the first time since yesterday afternoon I passed and chatted to walkers and climbers out for the day. The sun was shining, the skylarks were singing and once again I felt strong. Skipping, walking and running over Stanage Edge, Higgar Tor and Carl Wark to the Fox House Inn in the morning light grinning from ear to ear was incredible. After 50 miles it felt easy. It was pure, pure bliss.

  Sleep deprivation does weird things to you. Olfactory hallucinations are one. A big craving for coke is another. And so at 10:30am a very smelly creature staggered into the Fox House Inn convinced it smelt of shampoo not beer and ordered a pint of coke, then sat outside groaning in pain.

  A smartly dressed family gave it a concerned look. It responded by rolling about in its chair blabbering on about the last 22 hours until the smell got so much they retreated to safety indoors. After almost puking up it's 7th Clif Bar of the walk our haggard creature slowly stood up and began moving, away towards the Houndkirk Road...

  Hobble, hobble, stagger, stagger stagger down the Houndkirk Road. It began to rain. Every footstep felt like I was treading on fiery needles. I didn't care by now. The 54 mile mark passed and every step was one further than ever taken. Home was only 8

The 24 hour mark breached!!!

miles away. Go for broke, just keep moving and try not to scare anymore families out for a stroll.

  And then it happened. I looked at my watch. 11:43:58, 11:43:59, 11:44:00. YES!!! 55 miles of walking down and I'd now been walking constantly for 24 hours. The 'horizon' had been breached!!! Whooping with a strange mix of tears and laughter, an intense wave of delirious euphoria spread through me. Haggard but happy. It was a pretty cool sensation.

  Thoughts turned to home. It was still 2 hours off and the pace had slowed down. More harribo and

My reaction to going beyond the 24 hour mark. Haggard but
very happy.

water. It was all I could keep down, anything else made me retch. Staggering down the Porter Valley past Forge Dam and Endcliffe Park in the drizzle the delirium and euphoria intensified. My head felt like it was going to explode. The legs and feet were in agony. There was no choice but to keep going now and get this walk finished. Thoughts flickered back to the last 26.5 hours- it seemed so long ago it hurt to even think about it. The end was so very close. Finally, the roundabout at Hunters Bar came into sight and the 60 mile mark was passed. Yet another intense wave of semi-delirious joy rippled through me, I began to cry and laugh in equal measure. It was like nothing I've ever experienced.

  For a brief second on Sharrowvale Road doubt spread if I would make it back. I genuinely felt on

60 miles and 25.5 hours of walking. Awake for 31 hours at this
point. Feeling very funky staggering through Endcliffe Park.

the verge of collapse. No. Focus. Get yourself home. Along I went, once again past the students, workers, hippies and families. Over a day had passed since we'd last met. It felt like an eternity ago.

  Finally, the last 5 minutes down through Nether Edge and with relief, to home. Turn the key. Open the door and walk inside. Crawl upstairs. Take the boots off. Once again consumed with agony, exhaustion and overwhelming euphoria I finally lay down on my bed.  62 miles and 26 hours 5 minutes. awake for 32 hours, 2.5 years of dreaming, 6 months preparing and, at long, long last this crazy dream had been realised. It had been hard, it had been painful and it had pushed me to my absolute mental and physical limit. Yet it had been amazing, eventful and fun. To have nothing to think about for 26 hours aside from walking was to experience a sense of freedom so rare in today's modern world. It had been the most interesting, blissful and incredible walk I've ever been lucky enough to do.

  Epilogue:

A dream realised! 

  Saturday afternoon and Sunday was spent in bed unable to move dosed up on painkillers (the pain was too much sleep without them). The delivery service offered by The Bilash on Sharrowvale Road was very welcomed. A celebratory pint in the Sheaf View on Sunday and wild swim on Monday helped begin the long gradual process to become human again. After a month spent recovering plans were once again underway for the next big adventure. Massive thanks to my boss Ian Brown at Foothills for the support and kind words of encouragement, to the lovely people encountered on the walk and also to my friends Raquel, Becka and Edd for texts urging me onward - they were very much appreciated! No Clif Bars were eaten for many weeks after the walk...
 
*A note on gear. I wore trainers (Anatom Sky Trail) for the Porter Valley and from Yorkshire Bridge back home. Boots (Zamberlan Vioz) were worn on the main moorland section of the route and carried on my backpack for the rest. Also carried were 4 pairs of socks, 2 pairs of insoles (changed after 30 miles), waterproofs, 2 ibuprofen, 2 co-codamol, 1 modafonil (for emergency, not used), blister packs and copious amounts of food and water, 10 Clif Bars and 2 energy gels. A map and compass were taken but not needed. And always take Harribo Tangfastics. There comes a point where they are all you can and want to eat!