A Perfect Day on the Isle of Skye

  Hillwandering isn't all about epic 50mile+ walks and multi-day bivvies on Scafell Pike. Sometimes the very best days can involve little more than a short walk and a big chill somewhere beautiful.

  Blaven on the Isle of Skye for example. For an airy little perch with unforgettable views of sea, island and mountain, you'll struggle to find anywhere better. An added bonus is that you can camp on the isolated little beach of Camasunary, dip your toes in the sea whilst cooking breakfast and 2 hours and 3000ft later be chilling on one of the finest mountains in the UK.

  Back in May 2017 I finally made my first visit to Scotland. After quickly doing the Cullin Ridge Traverse in 1 1/2 days with two mates I decided to nosy alone down Glen Sligachan to the beach at Camasunary and have an idle two nights and a day in the mountains. The pace was mellow, there was no rushing, no big mileages, nothing more than sitting by the sea and a perfect day pottering about on Blaven above a vast sea of clouds.

  So here goes- a selection of photos from one of the most unforgettable days I've ever had- and it involved no more than 5 miles of walking!

  The Isle of Rum seen from my tent, with the Rum Cullin poking out above the cloud. Mornings like this are beautifully simple. Wake up by pottering along the beach and finding a stream to collect water from, then cook breakfast whilst listening to the waves lapping on the shore. The sun gradually gets warmer above a hazy blue sky and the mountains beckon. Anticipation builds. A good day lies ahead.

  The beautiful beach of Camasunary with the old bothy whilst the clouds floating below Gars-Bheinn suggest a possible inversion higher up. Despite a heavy pack and tired legs, that is all that is needed to lure me upward for the next 900m. 

  Looking back down on Camasunary from around 400m on Blaven. On days like this there is no rush, so I took it easy to take in the views. Anyways, after doing the Cullin Ridge two days previously I was a bit broken and slow- with plentiful soft grass, everywhere I looked there was a perfect couch to rest weary legs on.

  The Cullin Ridge poking above the cloud from Blaven's South Ridge. Excitement built up as the inversion began to reveal itself. The upper 300m of ascent feels like nothing with nice easy scrambling and views like this.

  A Broken Spectre on Blaven's South Ridge. A great little surprise! Noticing that there was some cloud floating in this gully and the sun directly behind, I made my way to the edge until my shadow was cast onto the cloud. Always cool to see!

  Sgurr Nan Gillean from Blaven. The cloud was notably thicker to the north over Glen Sligachan, with the cliffs of Blaven rising out of the ethereal wool.

  Sun, sea, cloud and islands. Looking back down on Camasunary where I camped with the Isle of Rhum on the horizon. 11am, the mountain to myself and no sound apart from the breeze- on a bank holiday. Some days you just get lucky!

  The Cullin Ridge in all its glory from Blaven's summit. One of the finest sights anywhere. After two hours amble, chill and scramble I reached the top of the mountain at 11am to be greeted by this view. What else to do but spend 4 hours sat about in the warm sunshine soaking it up. When you have food, water, sunshine and views like this there is no need to move. All human needs are met!

  A raven perched above the clouds. Watched him for a good half hour- wasn't bothered about humans and seemed quite content gazing northward and pottering about.

    First trip to Scotland, the Cullin Ridge Traverse done and now a day like this- happy as a pig in shit!

  View over Glen Sligachan to Sgurr Nan Gillean. During the lazy afternoon sat on the summit the cloud gradually began to disperse and thin out. Really cool to see it lingering over the mountains whilst a gap mirroring that of Glen Sligachan began to form.

     View north over the Red Cullin.

  Sgurr Nan Gillean from the way back down Blaven. After 4 perfect hours sat in the sun it was time to drag myself back down to Camasunary as the mountains shimmered in the late afternoon heat. Its at this point in the day you become coated in a film of peat, sweat and suncream, the bogs give off a distinct aroma and combine with the haze to give a slightly heady feeling. Keep on plodding, think of the cooling sea breeze and food. Perfect.

  Early evening and the beach at Camasunary beckons. There is not a stress in the world. Simply choose a nice bit of grass by the beach to pitch the tent, collect water, cook tea and sit late in the evening light gazing out to the Isle of Rhum and listening to the sea. Life is easy. Life is good!

  Late evening at Camasunary on a little potter around the beach, with Blaven on the right. By late May it is light until 23:00 so you can be as relaxed as you wish. It was pure bliss to poke around, soak everything up, try no to think of the 4am start and 8 mile plod to Sligachan in the morning and revel in one of the best (and easiest) days out ever.

  So there we go. Head somewhere beautiful, take it easy, get lucky with the weather and you can experience some of the best days ever in the hills. 50+ mile walks and epic days are great, but wandering in the hills is about much more. It is just as nice to to be in a place and enjoy a slower, more relaxed experience!

  Much more coming soon!

'Satellite Dreams and Nightmares' (poem)

Wandering through midnight realms
Resonance fails, satellite dreams
Ethereal beings destined to be known
Drifting through, all alone

Awakening shudder
Reality fades
Sinking deeper
Reawake!

Suffocating pressure, fear and despair
A flickering of the eyes- and 'It' is there
Locked in this immobile mortal tomb
Between two dimensions, of disorientating doom

Feedback loop cycles
No Escape
The Nightmare Vortex
Survive

Blurred visions realigned
A freeing of the body, a release of the mind
Insanity's crescendo dissolves, the world becomes bright
Caressed by sobering waves, arise into a cradle of light

I've had lyrics for this floating about for ages, and after a month of trying to write it it all  finally came together. It is about sleep paralysis (which I hope none of you reading this ever have to experience). 

Snowdon as seen from Kinder Scout

Hello.

  Ever wondered just how far you can see from the Peak District on a clear day? Well, on most fine days can easily see Lincoln Cathedral from Fulwood Lane at Ringinglow (40 miles) or Pen-y-Gent from Bleaklow (around 50 miles). But what if conditions were really good? And I mean, really, really good. Well, on days of exceptionally clear visibility it is possible to make out the mountains of Snowdonia from Kinder Scout, a distance of over 90 miles.

  Now, on most days views west are limited to the Clwydian Hills 60 miles distant on the welsh border due to haze or moisture in the air. To see Snowdonia your best chances are early mornings in the autumn or winter under high-pressure inversion conditions with a thin layer of cloud trapped over the Cheshire Plain. Summer time can be unreliable due to heat haze obscuring even the nearby Winter Hill, although I have seen Carnedd Llewelyn once in July after a period of heavy rain cleared the air. Get the required conditions and go as high as possible- Kinder Low (633m) or Higher Shelf Stones (621m) and possibly Shining Tor are recommended for their height and uninterrupted views of the Cheshire Plain. With a bit of luck, you could be in for a treat.

  Anyway, back on Halloween last year I found myself sat on Kinder Low with Snowdonia very clearly rising above and beyond the Cheshire Plain. Having climbed Kinder over 150 times, it is only twice I've ever seen it, and on only this occasion as clear as the photos below will show. Snowdon was even in view from Lord's Seat- a distance of 96 miles and the furthest I believe it is possible to see from The Peak District.

  Looking at Snowdonia in visibility like this, it really makes you realise that somewhere that seems so distant from Peakland really is not that far at all...

  And here is a slightly zoomed-in version from the same spot on Kinder Low...

    The same view again, but with the Berwyn Mountains visible in the far left of the photo.

  Sometimes when out and about you just get lucky. I've only ever seen this view twice in 14 years of wandering. Keep getting out and wandering- you may find a very rare and nice surprise!

'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!

The Night of the Thousand Spinning Hamsters (The Peak District County Tops walk.)

This piece was originally written for a well known outdoor gear company's website back in 2016. Time has passed, it is no longer on there and I've decided to re-write it. The title explains everything... 

The Holme Moss Mast.

March 2016. The long distance walking game was at its peak. Okay. I'd not gotten into cycling, swimming or climbing properly back then. Eat, sleep, think about the next daft walk, repeat... In the last four years I'd done 5 40+ mile walks (mostly alone) and my first 50 miler in 2014. The 51 mile Peak District County Tops walk was next on the agenda. Only nine people had done it. 10th? That was going to be me- and alone with no assistance too.

7pm, Crowden Campsite shop. It was raining heavily. Tried to explain to the warden that I didn't need accommodation, just some bog roll in case of any midnight evacuations. He looked genuinely concerned as I headed northwards into the clag over Black Chew Head and Black Hill. 

Despite the rain, the alien lights of the Holme Moss Mast made for simple navigation for the first couple of hours. The hills were deserted and it was just me. Happy days. Big fancy lights do not help with one thing though- tussocks. One minute you are blissed-out wandering alone at night, the next you're a soaking wet grumpy mess staggering through a knee deep nightmare. White Low folks. Don't fuck it up getting to the Woodhead Pass like I did. Fun was not had! 

Midnight on the Woodhead Pass is an unusual place for a midnight snack. Especially when obviously alone with a dimmed headtorch. All the boxes on the 'How to get yourself Kidnapped' list were ticked. Ten minutes and a flapjack later I'd still not been kidnapped, so off I shuffled south onto the vast Howden Moors before my luck ran out. 

Did I mention my headtorch was dimmed? 

It soon became apparent that the batteries were dying and of course my spares were at home. Very clever. By some sheer good fortune the clag cleared to a starry moonlit sky with the silhouettes of the hills clearly identifiable. Half of South Yorkshire was woken by my sigh of relief that night. 

Somewhere on the Howden Moors. 

Moonlit wandering, intense navigation, sleep deprivation kicking in, miles of bog and hill to cross before dawn. A very focused trance-like state was entered. Then as Outer Edge was passed, one of my favorite psytrance tracks ever (A Higher Pathway by Nebula Meltdown) began playing on loop in my head. Over and over again. Very trancy. 

And then the hamsters appeared. 

By Howden Edge my eyes, strained from several hours of dim light and trying to keep me on the correct bit of bog, had given in. One by one they materialised. Small brown hamsters spinning clockwise in their own little green hamster balls. Definitely real. They were cute and appeared quite content too. One became two became very quickly several thousand. Soon the hills were alive with small dizzy rodents. 

My own silent disco, sober (but very real) hallucinations, milky moonlit hills? Some of my friends into ecstatic dance would have loved this. Maybe. It was a bit soggy up there. I was as happy as a pig in shit, grinning and tripping my way across ladybower and over to the A57. Modern sober psychedelia? I'm converted. 

5:30am. Daybreak. Breaking of the hamsters. Un-breaking of my strained eyes. Sobering up. There was a solid 6 miles to Kinder which was easily done non stop. I needed breakfast. Sunrise over Stanage was beautiful, so was the birdsong and distant views. The long, long tunnel had been exited. I nestled down by Crowden Clough for breakfast at 7:30am after 28 miles of walking. Fresh socks, food and a 20 minute rest. Relief.

Sober me after 28 miles of walking
and 25 hours awake. A long day ahead...

It was a new day, the sun was shining and there was another 23 miles of walking still to do. The night had been unusual to say the least (and a lot of fun). All I knew was that- as fatigue took it's toll- the day was going to be interesting... 

The rest of the walk went by almost too smoothly. In fact, this was the most enjoyable of all the 5 walks I've done of 50-62 miles in length. Although it isn't uncommon to experience audio/ visual hallucinations on big days (due to lack of sleep and strain), this was the first time I'd really experienced it. So cool! Seven years and much more experience later, I warmly anticipate this aspect as much as watching the world go by and seeing sunrise and sunset when heading out on another big adventure. 

   

The Eastern Edges Walk Part 1- Hot Coffee and Seaweed.

 Back in the late summer I walked the full length of The Peak District's Eastern Edges. Setting off after work I walked alone for 19 hours and 45 miles through the night and following day. The idea was simple. Several months earlier I'd looked at a map and that continuous line of hills, moors and edges stretching from the Woodhead Pass to Ambergate stood out clearly. It seemed such a wonderfully obvious route across the landscape to walk, almost guaranteed to give an interesting day out. With a busy summer ahead I put it to the back of my mind until there was a free weekend to do it.  
 
  Fast forward to 6th September. I finished work at Foothills and kindly got a lift off my boss to the Woodhead Pass at 7pm. A brief thanks and goodbye then off I went, over the road and into the late evening sun.

The Woodhead Pass at the start of the walk. A long way from
here to Ambergate...

  A strong sense of numbness quickly overcame me on the initial ascent over Round Hill and onto the Howden Moors. The noise of the traffic soon receded as the tranquility of the moors took over. You always get this numbing sensation at the start of long walks as the mind is overwhelmed with what lays ahead. I smiled and plodded onward, thinking of nothing but getting onto the watershed from where the walk would properly begin.

  After half an hour I gained the boggy watershed as Bleaklow and the Eastern Edges came into view. A perfect spot for a brief pause. An aura of peace pervaded these vast hills glowing silently in the fading light. Thoughts flickered briefly to Ambergate 43 miles distant. So far. Another day. Pushing it to the back of the mind, another more pressing thought quickly took over- covering as much ground as possible before nightfall.


Late evening light over Bleaklow

  Onward I raced along the never ending boggy vastness of the Howden Moors, past the Hoar Stones, Outer Edge, Margery Hill to Howden Edge. Any initial tiredness or hunger was ignored. There was no time to think or settle into a nice pace like other long walks. Getting caught in the dark on these moors would slow progress down considerably and be bad for morale. Just go fast, read the landscape and keep walking.

  Nightfall soon arrived arrived on Howden Edge at 9:30 in time for a quick pause on the summit of this, the highest hill on the Eastern Edges. A brief munch on some haribo and a gaze into the dark Upper Derwent Valley. Then off again over the rough pathless moorland of Featherbed Moss over to Cartledge Top. Not bothering with the map or compass, the silhouette of Cartledge Top was identified and aimed for. In my haste, concentration was lost, the land didn't match up to how it should and I found myself stumbling into Crook Clough. After sweaty slog out of the clough and realigning myself with the outline of Back Tor, Cartledge Top was eventually reached in quite an irritated mood.

  Feeling comfortable in the hills is all about understanding the landscape, not fighting against it. If you work with the land and weather, you find yourself more in tune with it and life is easier and a more enriching experience. In getting to Cartledge Top I'd been sharply reminded of this. All along that dull trudge along the flagged path to Back Tor it was my only thought. I vowed not to cock up again.

  Now coffee just isn't my thing, but upon reaching Back Tor at 22:45 and surprising three lads out bivvying, it was rude to say no to their offer. After the intensity of crossing the Howden Moors, having 30 minutes chat about hills, plans (they thought I was daft) and bivvying over a brew was a heartwarming and unexpected surprise. In some situations you learn to like stuff you'd normally never touch. Lads-if you are reading this- thanks for the brew on that windy night on Back Tor- it was really appreciated!

  Buoyed by the coffee and conversation, I left the lads to their bivvy and set off alone, back into the night. The next 9 miles to Stanage South were walked non-stop. My heart was set on seeing sunrise from Birchin Edge and I needed to get a move on. Walking through the night is an incredibly isolating experience and you feel very detached from the world. I found myself in a little bubble, utterly absorbed in just plodding along over Derwent and Stanage Edge, so removed from the shimmering lights of Sheffield and the Hope Valley. Thoughts occasionally turned to my friends and what they'd be doing right now- probably out drinking, partying or chilling around a fire- yet quickly faded away. Unlike on previous long-distance night walks* there was a strange lack of loneliness, instead just a deep sense of purpose and contentment.

2am. Sheltering from the rain at Stanage South and trying
to stay awake. 

  By Stanage South at 2:00 two things happened. It began to rain, and I began to feel sleepy. Sit for a bit and eat haribo, yawn, then get going along Burbage Edge to the Fox House Inn. 3am in the rain is not the usual time to go walking. There is an odd sense that you shouldn't be out at that time. The boy-racer by Burbage Bridge blaring his horn at me made that all very apparent. The isolation hit hard.

  4am. I arrived at the welcome refuge of the bus shelter by the Fox House Inn after having been awake for 22 hours. By now my body was on sleep mode and just wanted bed. Staying awake for two days is easy. You have just got to get through the night until your circadian rhythms kick in and keep you awake until the next sunset. It is getting through the hours from midnight to sunrise which is hard. Those 30 mins sat in that lonely rainy bus stop with my eyes constantly drooping were a fight against sleep, forcing myself to stay awake at all costs and not curl up on the bench. Breathe deeply, keep the eyes open and just stay awake.  

5:01am, White Edge Moor.  Not much to see aside from
the odd glimpse of the moon and lots of rain.

  After 30 minutes a bleary eyed creature dragged itself out into the rain, along deserted roads and onto White Edge. Something strange happened here and I became convinced the heather around the trigpoint on White Edge smelt of seaweed. It smelt exactly like the stuff, yet I was 80 miles inland. Enjoying this weird sensation, 5 minutes was spent probably looking very peculiar, crawling in the heather at 5:30am smelling the seaweed...

  Much to my joy, is was gradually becoming daylight as the overnight rain slowly eased. The miles over to Curbar Gap and Birchin Edge went by an a very peaceful and euphoric mood. It felt like coming out of a long, dark and intense tunnel that stretched from the Woodhead Pass and had now deposited me out in the sun many miles to the south. Having made it through the night, it was a pleasure just to relax, slow down a bit and soak up that early morning light.

6:30am, looking back north over to White Edge from
Birchin Edge. Breakfast with a view!

  Finally, after 26 miles and just over 11 hours of walking I reached Birchin Edge at 6:21am just in time see the sunrise over Leash Fen. Everything was a slightly damp hazy blur of bright purple, green and grey. A fresh pair of socks. A comfy seat on the gritstone edge. A breakfast of peanuts, haribo and bananas. Having walked non-stop through the night, now I was utterly content. Nothing more was needed. It was a perfect moment.

  I had half an hour of blissed-out chill, rest and food before standing up and getting back on with the long journey south. Most of the next 19 miles to Ambergate was unknown to me. Whatever happened, it was going to be an interesting day ahead...

 *My first experience of this was on what became known as the Chorizo Sunrise walk (see post from September 2014) .
   

Chilling above the clouds- Temprature inversions in the Peak District

Hello folks.

  Temperature inversion are cool. No matter how old you are, there is always a childish delight about standing above the clouds whilst everyone is sat in the drizzle below. On top of that,they just look beautiful. To stand on one of many islands of land poking out above a silver sea of drifting cloud under a bright shining sun and soaking up that silent, ethereal ambiance is a moment never forgotten.

  For those of us living in/ by the Peak District, our beautiful land unfortunately isn't the best place for witnessing inversions. As a rule our hills just aren't high enough to produce views similar to those you see of snow-capped Scottish peaks poking out above the cloud. Yet during the autumn and winter we regularly get fog filled valleys with the high moors rising above, making a fine background to a day pottering about. With a bit of luck and knowledge you can go out and see some beautiful scenes.

 With this theme, here are a selection of photos and musings about days of sunshine and inversions in the Peak District taken over the last 7 years or so.

  Oct 2015- Lose Hill rising above the early morning fog. As a rule, the best time to see inversions is around sunrise on a cold clear morning during the autumn and winter. Very rarely do you see them well in the higher areas such as the Upper Derwent and Kinder and Bleaklow as the cloud always tend to sink down the valleys very quickly. Instead, the best places to go to are the mid level hills such as Mam Tor and Lose Hill in the Hope Valley, or the Eastern Edges from Stanage South to Baslow Edge which retain it much better. Quite frequently on such mornings the Derwent and Hope valleys fill with a river of cloud like a ghostly glacier, sometimes lingering well into the afternoon. You'll be rewarded well!

  Oct 2015- Early morning fog over the Hope Valley. The classic inversion in the Peak District seen at its best. That cliched image adorning every postcard and calendar of the area- of Lose Hill poking out of a mist covered Hope Valley from Mam Tor- is well worth seeking out. Get a calm, cool autumnal morning and see the sun rise out of the cloud, bathing Mam Tor's cliffs in a golden light. Its the sort of thing that leaves you grinning from ear to ear all the way until sunset.

  Dec 2010- Winter sunshine above the cloud on Mam Tor. One of those winter afternoons you never forget. A few hours doing the easy winter grade 1's and 2's on Mam Tor, gleefully avoiding the crowds in the gully, nicely wrapped off with a chill above the clouds among the skiers and families sledging.

  Nov 2014- Autumn bliss on Kinder Scout's western edges. The perfect reward after a very drunken conversation with my friend Kier that led to a soaking wet (but great fun) climb up the Kinder Downfall a week later. Usually during in inversions the cloud tends to rise and flow over the western edges of Kinder, with the more eastern parts of the plateau better for seeing them (such as around Blackden Clough or Grindsbrook. Yet on this occasion just a small section of the western edge around Sandy Hays remained cloud free, giving spectacular views.

  Feb 2010- a classic inversion over Grindsbrook, Kinder Scout. One of those rare days you dream of experiencing. In my 138 visits to Kinder (with 84 to the summit), only once have I found conditions like this. After a foggy morning the grey ceiling gradually got lighter and lighter until eventually the cloud rolled back and floated on the edges of the plateau. Suddenly a new world was revealed; bright warm sunshine with the plateau's slopes falling away to an expanse of cloud stretching across the entirety of Derbyshire. Only Kinder and Bleaklow poked out of it. I sat about fairly delighted about it, then spent several hours pottering about until sunset taking it all in. Some days you just don't forget.

  October 2008- A river of cloud over the Derwent Valley from Higgar Tor. The Eastern Edges from Stanage South to Baslow Edge are by far the best places in the area for seeing cool scenes like this. Normally the fog tends to sink down the valley leaving the Upper Derwent around Back Tor and Bleaklow clear, whilst it can last all day lower down.

  2nd November 2015- a Broken Spectre from Fulwood Lane. Broken Spectres are pretty awesome but require a bit of luck to see (you need the sun behind you and the cloud directly in front or below). Still, waving at your shadow on a cloud with  nice halo has a childish delight to it... Here I'd spent an hour on Rud Hill watching a bank of fog drift over Sheffield from the SE. I waited and as soon as it reached the head of the Porter Valley, seized the opportunity and ran back down to get this photo.

  2nd November 2015- living the autumn dream on Rud Hill.

  2nd November 2015- Afternoon fog blanketing Sheffield from Rud Hill. Some days you really do just get lucky. I'd spent two hours watching as this fog drifted over Sheffield yet failed to rise over the Pennines above, instead lapping on the edges of the Porter and Sheaf valleys. Two idle hours just sitting there in the warm sun gazing out over the cloud. It was a day taken off work well spent. Sort of sums up a lot about getting out on the hill really- the more you get out, the more cool places you find and the more amazing moments like this you experience.

  Right, that's all for this week. Coming up next Wednesday: a story about a very long sleep-deprived walk down the Eastern Edges involving being convinced White Edge smelt of seaweed and weirding out people on Crich Stand,..

  Happy wandering!