While it had been raining all morning, in fact all last night and all morning so far, it had saved the most aggressively torrential part until we'd set off from the car; I felt like it was challenging me to turn back. I won't deny I thought about it; several times in fact. I was dry inside my jacket, Tikka was happy trotting out in front, with the occasional shake to rid herself of water - so I wasn't going to stop.
Along the Monsal Trail there were some lovely views to the right; stunning in this weather, so likely quite awesome during dryer spells. Regrettably I wasn't going to hook out the Canon, not even the Samsung S3 mini in an attempt to snatch a picture; they'd have drowned, so you'll just have to take my word for it... sorry.
The other reason for my distraction was an increasing ache in the sole of my left foot; this felt like blister territory. The boots I'd bought were size 12, because the 11's were too tight on my right foot, and now clearly a little more loose on my left foot than I'd allowed for. I'd be walking at a fair old pace along the Monsal Trail on the hard surface, so I decided to slow down a bit and change the way I rolled my foot to give it some rest.
Clearly having a problem counting to three, or was it four, I overshot the guided route off the trail and rather than try and find a hack to rejoin the route, I turned around and headed up the long drive to Churchdale Lodge and Hall, which had the lush green and manicured verges like all phenomenally expensive manor house all seem to enjoy. At the top of the drive the guide book instructions were to cross over a stile next to a metal gate; well we found the stile, and the gate, but these came with some unwanted guests...
Particularly after yesterday's little event, I wasn't going in there! And it would appear to be against Tikka's preference too, lying flat on the ground behind me and looking decidedly concerned. Over the following few moment yet more appeared at the gate and seemed mighty interested in us.
A big posh 4x4 appeared from up the drive and stopped by the side of us; "Hi I said smiling at him", "Hi, are you lost", "Nope, I'm following this public trail which leads right trough that field... so we're going to find an alternative route". Posh man smiled at me and replied "Well I'm not telling you what to do, but if it was me I'd just push them out the way, mind you I don't have cows and they're not mine", " never thought they were; and after yesterday's incident elsewhere I'm not going in there", tempting, but I didn't add 'I'd have guessed they belonged to the bigger house adjacent rather than your cottage', cough. He looked at me and said "umm, mind you my grandfather was killed that way, and he'd been with cattle his whole life." I smiled at him and he wished me a cheery day and drove off. Funny chap.
Looking at the map I came up with a cunning plan; rather than just turn around and head back towards the car, I'd take a few mile detour along the A6062 and rejoin the guided route on the other side of the manor land. Back down at the start of the drive I could see that only one side of the main road had a footpath, and that was mostly overgrown with low hanging branches from the adjacent land; this was going to be a easier route that the cows, but one that still would need good observation.
Tikka was a good girl and walked along smartly just ahead and to one side of me; even when large lorries thundered around into sight in the distance and trundled towards us she didn't flinch and just kept going - although once or twice I stopped and turned us both to face the other way to avoid being drenched from by the passing goliath.
We passed the joining of the guided route and followed the A6062 towards Ashford by the Water where it joined the A6. Now by this time the sole of my left foot was feeling rather warm and decidedly prickly and I decided to briefly visit this "pretty little village" as P & P Tidsall's guide book described it. Regrettably it seemed that the three pubs on the High Street were closed; it was only around 4pm, so hardly prime time. Under other circumstances the corner shop offering drinks and snakes would have been reasonably appealing, but they would likely not have appreciated my intended actions.
Finding an available stone bus shelter with timber bench seat we popped inside and having disrobed my day pack and secured Tikka, I went examining my left foot. Untie boots, boots off and tenderly touch the sore spot, the socks felt dry; no leaks. Gingerly pulling off the sock I discovered a rather inflamed area on the sole of the foot just behind the toes and only the beginnings of what had the potential to become a blister.
Pulling out a spare pair of socks from the day pack I pulled these on over my original socks and retied my shoes. Walking was difficult before, but should surely be improved a little now, of course other options were a taxi, I'd seen several trundle past, or a bus - I'd not seen one yet but I was in a bus stop and it was nearly going home time for normal people.
It was clearly the day of temptation; as I adorned the day pack and picked up my walking pole and stepped out of the bus shelter a shiny green single decker bus appeared and was stopping in front of me; I looked up to see that bus driver looking at me to check if I was going to join him. Before I really thought about it consciously I'd smiled politely at the chap and signalled that I wasn't going aboard; he acknowledged and was off and away. I watched him go as it dawned on my that while I'd no idea which was he was going Bakewell was local and he could have been going that well. At the junction he on the A6 he turned towards Bakewell.
I'd taken a few steps and yes, I think there was an improvement. With renewed enthusiasm and reference to the guide I could see that we were now to trek along the River Wey; this too should surely be an easier walk on my sore foot.
As I joined the paddocks from the A6 I could see two other dog walkers ahead of me along a well scribed path. With a spring in my step we were making good headway again and crossed the stile into an adjacent field which was signed to advise us to stick to the track. Below us was the burbling River Wey and above us wonderful grass banks; and cows. I stopped, Tikka stopped and pulled tight on the lead and vanished behind my legs.
Admittedly they were a little in the distance and up the hill and all facing the other way, but I could see that next stile was further than we'd manage if they decided to come say hello. Walking pole at the ready we put on our best Rowan Atkinson silly speed walk across the field, never straying from the track and willed the next stile to come part way to meet us. As we reached the stile I stole a look up the hill towards the cows; thankfully they'd not witnessed our silly walk and were happily munching away.
The next few fields were delightfully devoid of cattle and we were able to relax and enjoy the beautiful views.
It was then that I noticed our route ahead was being watched over by a different sentry.
The three Lamas came running to see us and once again Tikka turned into a leg wrap. Now Lamas are exactly small, but they are smaller than the cows we'd recently encountered, and in all likelihood these guys were coming to see what food we had. I pressed on towards them indicating in a multi-species way that I was coming through and that they'd be well advised to move out of my way. They obliged but then they were at my back and I could here them running at us again... turning around I repeated the repel and they skittled away from us, just in time for us to hope over the stile to safety.
As we rejoined the route along the River Wey our next encounter Tikka was clearly more interested in.
They obliged her by flocking to the lower side of the field as we passed.
We passed by a couple of lovely packhorse bridges before sighting the car up the hill.
After drying Tikka off we made a brief stop at Cotswold Outdoor shop [yes again!] for some comfy insoles in the hopes that with a good nights rest these would mitigate it flaring up tomorrow.
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