Bakewell, Monsal Trail, Ashford in the Water

Cotswold the Outdoor shop had the Craghoppers in stock; they also had a rather nice RAB jacket with hoodie that accidentally joined my shopping basket. That done we were off to the Station Road car park to our walk along the Monsal Trail.

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.

Ashbourne, The Tissington Trail and Cows

Reluctantly accepting that my current Berghaus walking boots had turned into a sieve, we set off to Ashbourne where Google reported two likely outdoor footware stores; Yoemans and Elite Outdoors. Neither stocked Berghaus, which I'd found quite comfortable for many years, so it was either a wet right foot or a different make. After a bit of tooing and froing I ended up with two sets; one set by HiTek which would do for my every day [and I do mean everyday] wear, and another set which were obviously far more walkey in there build and appearance. It wasn't intended but I bought one from each shop.

I'd also managed to park right outside a lovely looking coffee shop just a few doors back from Yoemans on the A515, opposite the Barclays Bank. I'd give you the name but I didn't take it, and according to Google StreetView it used to be a "Bargain Booze" store... nice. Anyway, I approached the nice girls behind the counter, with my Costa Coffee mug in hand and after a few good mornings asked for a "cappuccino to go". Oddly this flustered her a bit, but she produced a cardboard cup and set it by the side of the expensive coffee machine, which roughly had the footprint of a small car, on the bench behind. As she was pottering with a china cup under the machine I nicely piped up "Please can I have it in my mug" pointing to this large plaster tankard that I'd brought in and placed on the counter as we chatted. This clearly confused matters further and elicited a "oh, you want it in that". I smiled and thought to myself, "no dear, I just brought this along for a morning walk, I'm going shopping with it later to buy it a pair of shoes". It was nice coffee though.

Back in the car, I flicked through P & P Tindsall's "Short Circular Walks in the Peak National Park", which was now looking nicely grubby and thumbed. Now while I'm an ordered chap, some say that my orderliness is an OCD / Autism [I've some nice friends don't I...] it did strike me as odd that I'd so far managed to do walks numbered 1, 2 and then next convenient was No 3... yes, it was just convenient and not contrived... to be clear, elsewhere in the book walk 1 is near walk 12, and walk 19 is near walk 28... :D

Walk 3 is from Thorpe Car Park up the Tissington Trail and back across country. After parking in the designated car park, we set off up the well maintained Tissington Trail for about an hour, old meeting one family with a tiny little dog, which Tikka was so scared by she hid behind my legs. The owners also ignored my cheery "good afternoon" and give me a funny look. Maybe it was Tikka's strange manner, maybe it was because I was a vision in red with my RAB jacket, Berghaus day pack, cap, walking stick and shiny new boots; and they were dressed in trainers jeans and a jacket... "ah", I thought, "but in half an hour they'd be at home, and I'd be trudging across a muddy field and it would be raining". Oh yes I could see that the clouds ahead were broadcasting that wet stuff aplenty.

Passing through Tissington Station, I could see that I was rather late for the last service...

As we trudged on we passed a number of sorry looking derelict buildings...

And a good number of wonderfully maintained a pretty buildings... This one was directly opposite the above derelict one... 

At this point the guide directed us off the road and across fields, yes, this was better; I am no fan walks along well maintained tracks and roads, I want to be off across fields and stiles... We met a few fields of sheep along the way, Tikka paid little interest in them, although they decidedly noticed her. In the next picture there were 5 sheep in an adjacent barn, 6ft away... and she was rather uncertain what to do...

I'd not seen any hay or straw bales in my walk so far, so this field was a pleasant change; I almost felt like hopping over the wall to try my hand at some arty shots, but time was pushing on and I didn't wan to be walking in the dark.

We were now about two thirds along the guided walk and were both enjoying the open fields, squeeze stiles and over the wall stiles. The path was reasonably well defined in the grass, which gave me some comfort as the directions were a little ambiguous at times; or at least I've never been one to follow directions too well - perhaps 'my friends' are right after all... 

Hopping over the squeeze and gated stile we saw the next stile up the grassy hill and the road beyond. Noticing the cows in the distance in the fields either side we made our way up the grass path; I was quite getting the hang of this walking stick now and I could tell that it was easing the ache under my left knee cap.

With 30ft of the top gate I noticed that the adjacent field of cows weren't all that separate after all and the gates to both of them were open and the cows were coming to see us. Except they weren't just any cows, they were young bullocks, not as big as the black ones we passed by during the morning walk, but still the size of a small car. I stopped, they stopped. No point turning back, they'd get to me before I got to the gate at the bottom of the field. no point running towards the top gate, I could see that they were now guarding that quite well. Suddenly they were moving again, towards us... I was close-ish to the left hand stone wall, which I noticed to my dismay also had taller barbed wire fence just the other side. I could feel my chest tightening and my heart racing... I'd heard stories of cows, dogs and people... and some of them turning out to be quite nasty with a few people reaching a rather sudden end...

I acted, grabbing Tikka's leash I launched us both towards the stone wall. I cleared it and was now heading towards the grass field the other side... I made a soft, if not exactly elegant landing, on my side, as I did so my oomph was accompanied by tearing sound. Feeling nothing I flicked my tattered left trouser leg free and stood up. Tikka positioning herself once more at my side. The cows were now in the adjacent field, although I knew the gate was open further up and I could see them making their way back.

The commotion had obviously caused quite a stir to the cattle and turning around I realised that I may have jumped from the frying pan into the fire... a herd of more bullocks had made their way up the hill and were now blocking my planned escape route. The old way out now was up to the original gate at the top of the field.

For those of you who wish to see this event, I've extracted some images for you below...

Makes me shudder to remember this

Which is nicely supported by peak in heart rate...

But back to the story... now surrounded by young bullocks on one side and against a wall on the other I was still only 30ft or so from the top gate. Caught in a pincer movement I waved my walking stick around and shouted aggressively - this shocked them and they all took a few steps back. Recognising that this would likely have some success for only a limited period I took a few steps towards the gate and turned and shouted again and lunged at them with the walking stick, they stopped their advance and took a few steps back... repeating this I hurried towards the gate. This wasn't the time with fumbling with a gate; I'd wanted it open smoothly but more importantly quickly, really quickly. But it didn't, I fumbled and I new that the herd were only a few feet behind. I got it, it opened and we were through; I pulled the gate shut and jumped a few feet away just as they reached the gate and pushed up against it. Naturally I took a picture...

I'm not ashamed to say that other than taking the picture I took several moments to pull myself together. Tikka was laying flat on the verge and not looking exactly at peace with recent events either.

Examining my walking trousers I could see that they'd not be joining my other clothes in the washing machine on my return home... they'd likely not leave Derbyshire. RIP trousers.

Checking my pockets I confirmed the presence of car keys [I wasn't going to have to face that embarrassment again - at least today! [need a magnetic box!]], wallet, camera, dog and map. Whatever I may have lost I'd manage without; time to read the guide for the rest of the journey.

At the next stile Tikka and I both looked in with trepidation; the guide instructed straight across four fields and five stiles. Mercifully all we saw were fields of sheep. Stoking up our confidence we strode out acorss the fields, passing a lovely little church and really well kept graveyard before reaching a quite lane just outside of Thorpe and on the home stretch to the car.

Fields with cows were never on the list of great trips, now they're decidedly to be avoided at all costs... here's hoping that I'll catch sight of them sooner and have the opportunity to back track! 

Alsop en le Dale

After a strangely fitful nights sleep [awake at 2am, 4am and 5am] I didn't really fancy driving anywhere first thing. I was also not looking forward to a cold right boot which even despite the purchase of waterproof socks yesterday, would still be squidgy and uninviting.

But Tikka would still need her morning walk and knew I'd be fine for at least a couple of hours walking at which point I may have to resolve to deal with the issue more positively.

Having picked up some maps of local walks from the Rivendale site shop I thought I give one ago. We set off across the fields towards Alsop en le Dale and Church farm. Despite the mizzly weather and low cloud the view were wonderful; I still can't get over just how green the fields are in this part of the world... why aren't ours this green?

This was taken at the crest of the hill and view the valley towards Alsop en le Dale. It's hardly that many metres above sea level, but you would't believe how strong the wind was here; it was incredible, I could barely stand up to some of the gusts.

A pretty little hamlet

View from the Tissington Trail

A nice new bench where Tikka and I decided to stop for a pre brunch snack.

While we were on the Tissington Trail, these cows walked along in the field beside us and at the gate came to take a closer look; the gate was padlocked shut and clearly not in that regular use... we didn't hang around long... 

You know I'm not convinced these waterproof socks are working... my right foot feels wet; it's certainly cold; glad we've only done a short walk this morning... I fear that yet another outdoor shop will benefit from the sale of yet another pair of walking boots... that'll be three pairs in two years! Still, I do walk everywhere in them... in truth they're hardly off my feet in the day time. Humph...

High Peak Railway, Lens issues and being locked out!!

After a pleasantly slow start out with Tikka and her trusty ball, we needed a plan for the day. It was raining, not exactly heavily, but enough to make a days walk less than appealing; particularly as reports suggested it may worsen. This was also the point at which I noticed that my right Berghaus boot was leaking... I'd decidedly soggy wet for that squelched each time I took a step - that'll be two set of boots with holes in the right sole this short break!

Disappointed and frustrated with my lens issue from yesterday, and the disinterest of the seller in the problem, I decided that since I'd never managed to take a decent shot with it, and it was useless in my kit, I'd visit London Camera Exchange [LCE] in Derby to send it away to be fixed. We'd then drive up to Matlock and travel on the steam train that runs the short distance to Rowsley.

At LCE they had a Canon 24-105 on the shelf and so I tested it and compared it to mine... ping... sharp images with the image stabiliser on and slightly fuzzy with it off... and mine... slightly fuzzy with it off and downright awful with it on... It was then that I had an accident... The chap offered me a non unreasonable sum for my current lens and a slight discount on the new one... and taking into account the likely cost of repair of my current one [I'd heard via numerous forums that Canon would be most unlikely to carry out the repair for free; despite it not being fit for purpose from day one], I parted with some cash and walked out with a the shiny new lens that actually worked this time... oops...

While back in civilisation for a few days I thought I'd also deal with my leaky boot problem too... rather than spend out another load on yet another pair of boots, I thought I'd try the waterproof sock avenue. Blacks obliged, and along with a couple of technical long an short sleeved T-shirts we were on our way to Matlock.

I felt oddly excited about going on a steam train [or at least in one of the carriages]. I've never been into trains [other than my Hornby as a kid], but I was clearly happy so I didn't really analyse it too much.

Parking in the Sainsbury's car park we scampered over the pedestrian bridge just as the train pulled in. Even though I'm sure I'm doing quite well with my calorie intake this holiday I still somehow gravitated towards the Buffet Carriage... The nice lady served me a hot chocolate and some digestive biscuits and we took at seat. Within moment we were off up the track, Tikka standing on my lap looking out through the already steamed up windows [they were like it before we arrived!]

Passing through Derby Dale we arrived at Rowsley in about 20-30 mins and hopped off for a few moments walk.

Lord Phil [apparently]

On the return trip the lady at the buffet counter explained that the ticket allows two trips and why not travel again. It was wet and miserable outside and it was dry and jolly in here, so it seemed a nice idea. Except I'd only put two hours on the car ticket... however the lady had a plan... hop off at Matlock and then drive to Rowsley where the car park is free, then travel the second trip from Rowsley to Matlock and back. Crazy I thought... I'm not that into steam trains... and as one American tourist put it while talking to his wife as they walked past [seeing this strange man with grubby boots and trousers and a rather wet collie dog] "This is hardly the Hogwarts train is it"; bless I thought, delusional as ever. Never the less but that's exactly what I did; after a short car trip to Rowsley car park I had another hour or so of comfy warmness on a wet drizzly day chugging along in an old carriage pulled by a steam train. I was happy.

On the drive back to Rivendale I thought that, after Tikka and I had gone on a little walk, we'd pop into the site pub for a drink. We arrived to a lovely hot wood burning stove and I relaxed with a small glass of white wine [any amount of beer/lager just give me a minging headache next day these day, and it really was too early to start on a whisky]. In an hour or so we'd both dried off enough and headed back to the car outside; we were on the caravan site and it was only a few moments drive to the caravan.

Even on the short journey from the pub to the car we were both saturated again. Tikka hopped into the boot and I towelled her off and shut the two boot lids of the Honda CRV... and froze. Have you ever had that moment when you realise that your keys aren't in your pocket but are in fact in the boot, which is shut and locked [nice one Honda]. The analysis of the problem was quite short. Dog in car, windows shut, doors locked, keys for car and caravan next to Tikka, me outside at 1910 in the dark and it's raining. Solution, boot in a window [the rear heater wasn't working well so I was not too concerned at this - I'd end up buying a new one!], or phone for the AA. I'd spent enough today and didn't really fancy having my Sunday buggered up with waiting for a new window being fitted; being an old tank it may take a day or so to find one, if at all... perhaps a boot through an alternate window may lessen this part of this problem...

On the basis that Tikka had cuddled down and was in no immediate risk I phoned the AA. Within a few moments that nice lady confirmed that someone would be out to see me by around 8pm - I couldn't draw her on whether he would have a sneaky plan, or would boot a windows in.

At a few moments past 8pm, as updated by a text a little while before, a yellow AA van appeared and a cheery chap hopped out. Already briefed of the situation he had a quick look around and much to my joy confirmed that he'd have her open in a few moments... and he did... with the use of a plastic wedge, a blow up back and a nifty thin tube with a wire and knot at the end the passenger door was open. Brilliant. All I have to do now is decide where I can store a home made version of the same in case this idiot does it again. Quietly I decided that a magnetic box fixed to some underside component like I had on my first car would be the easier way to go... now where to find such a trinket... 

Tikka hoped out a in her usual nervous style allowed the chap to fuss her; although she was less inclined to take a dog biscuit from him [something else in his took kit!] but eventually got the idea.

Castleton, Mam Tor, Hollins Cross, Back Tor, Lose Hill

I'd agreed to meet Steve, the guide from Peak Walking Adventures, in the Castleton Visitors Centre car park at 0930 on Friday morning for our second of two planned walks. This meant a 40min drive from the caravan at Rivendale Caravan Park and so I'd packed my rucksack the night before and take the car to the car park beyond the barriers; the reported remaining gap was 1.75m, and as far as I could ascertain the width of the R reg Honda CRV was 1.72m not including wing mirrors; despite reasoning that the wheel base width would be narrower still, and I'd be able to gain a few centimetres by brushing the tyres one side against the kerb, I really didn't fancy having a scuff down the side of her.

I awoke early when  the Gods decided to start throwing water and wind around at 0330 and I was kept awake till at least 0500, which is my usual awaking/getting up time. Somehow I managed to get back to sleep and only woke again at around 0730 realising that I'd yet to shower, shave, dress, take Tikka for her morning constitutional and then feed her, not to mention myself, all by no later than 0830; which would give me time to drive to Castleton [by 0910] and still have a small amount of free float for travel hold ups. Yeah right... that was blown then. Somehow I managed to complete my tasks and get there for 0910, but I've no idea how... the queue of drivers behind me on the journey testified that I was hardly speeding... this was about the time I realised that I'd turned into a Sunday driver... of course I explain to myself that I need to look after the old girl...

Steve explained that we were going to walk up to the top of this large hill on the horizon and then track along the ridge, which was beyond where we could currently see; I must have looked concerned because he cheered me up with 'But don't worry, it's one of the areas most popular walks'. In my mind I reminded myself where my asthma drugs were and how quickly I could get to them...

I leant two new words today within a matter for feet from our start point; "ginnel", meaning a walled alleyway, and "snicket", meaning partially vegetated alleyway or cut through. So after walking though the ginnel we were off on to the dales and heading towards Mam Tor. The weather wasn't much better than at 4am this morning and the cloud were low over the hills and it stayed like this until around half way through our walk; it was mizzly the whole time too. This meant the proper camera stayed in my rucksack and I made good with the Samsung S3 mini instead for most of the day.

Leaving the first few dales we were on to a former road which we'd follow for most of the way up the south side of Mam Tor. It seems that until the late 1970's this was one of the main roads between the valleys and despite many landslides and repairs the death nail to it was the one of 1979, when various sections fell away by 2m [8ft] and more. Understandably it became unviable to carry out such extreme civil engineering each year and it was closed. Looking at some of the torn sections of road now, which at around head height when standing on the lower sections, the numerous thick layers of asphalt look like sedimentary rocks, with the original Roman age cobbles at the base.

At the crest of the road, which now served as a route to the hill top cafe from the north side of the valley, we returned to the dale through a gate and headed to the summit. The path was made out by wide flag stones, which in the mizzly weather meant they were only slightly less slippery than if ice covered. We kept to the grass.

View from Mam Tor towards the south

View back towards Mam Tor from Hollis Cross showing part of the winding former road middle left.

The wind was pretty extreme up there that day; at Lose Hill we both stood on the north edge and fell into the wind and did our Matrix moves; fortunately I think no one saw us. Tikka was fascinated by wide open spaces and continually ran to the north edge of the path and looked out across the valley below; it was rather a cute stance that I'd like to have caught in a picture, but I was too busy trying to stay upright myself.

The walk down from Lose Hill was a bit steep in places and my knees were really beginning to hurt. I was quite pleased to reach the bottom and sit down for a scone and coffee with Steve as we talked about a plan for next week.

Friden and Pennine Bridleway

Rather a later start today... discovered that my canon 24-105 f4 L USM is faulty and was busy collating images to upload to dropbox as part of a fault diagnosis. The short version is that the hand held images are sharper when the stabiliser is off... and at shutter speeds from 1-60 to say 1/100 that really shouldn't be the case, and definitely not at 1/500!

Leaving Rivendale Caravan Park I headed just a few miles south to the Hamlet of Friden, which as far as I could tell comprises some form of industrial works and a few yards further down the road, a single dwelling, although it may be a pair of semi-detached houses... and I thought that I lived in the sticks!

Amazingly Friden has a car park, although really this is for the adjacent park benches and for access to the North Pennine way trail which runs along the back of the car park.

After parking up the Ms Pat Tidsall guide directed me back out onto the road to join a bridleway. This proved rather hard to find and I yo-yo'd back and forth for a bit trying to find it, although I should have had faith, or at least pulled out the Garmin GPS that I was carrying to track my route... the start of the track was rather further down the road than I'd been prepared for...

A few yards along the track I saw this inscribed stone...

"The road up and the road down are one and the same" 

Which is of course a quote from Herculitus, a Greek philosopher [535BC - 475BC]; I'm kidding... I looked it up. How odd that this otherwise lovely stone is embedded at the base of a random rubble stone wall... 

I'd not seen these types of stiles before, cantilevered stone or concrete blocks making steps up and down the side of the random rubble walls. Neither Tikka nor I fancied these, instead we used the adjacent gates each time.

 Lunch was had on the sides of ones of the dales, with my back pushed into a rocky outcrop for some protection against the cold blustery wind. The grass around here is just so rich and green!

The latter part of our trail was along the North Pennine Trail and at the only squeeze stile that I noticed on this route I persuaded Tikka to have her picture taken.

Walk: 6.62 miles. 3hrs

Hartington, Derbyshire

Finishing the Chrome Hill and Parkhouse Hill walks around 1330 I was in need of a spot of lunch, a comfy chair and a little warmth. I'd hear that Hartington was a pretty little village and decided to pay it a visit.

The Devonshire Arms gave me a warm welcome, and kept referring to me as "sir"; picture this if you will... muddy walking boots, walking trousers, wax jacket [thank you dad], baseball type cap, oh and Tikka collie dog [who was wearing the latest in sheep/fox smeared neck cuff] hardly a sir... although it was made quite clear that 'sir' was too late for food, but they do have nuts and crisps. Parking myself by the open fire I drained my larger shandy, and a black coffee, and the a bag of dry roasted nuts, Tikka had a bag of plain crisps.

Sufficiently warmed up, with another one of those sharp shows passed by, I noticed it was 1500 and felt I still had plenty of time for a brief wander before I short Hartington walk. The local shop had run out of Hartington walk maps, and from those remaining on the hook it would appear that Bakewell was the least popular... the hook was bursting with them. I took the last Tissington and Dove Dale guides for later in the week and walked across the road to a smaller corner shop who had a better range of guides, selecting one and a few vegetables for an evening meal I popped back to the car to pick the afternoon amble.

I needn't have worried about choice...although I am quite sure that Hartington has more to offer than Ms Pat Tindsall's single walk [number 6] devoted to this area.

Tikka was well up for more walks and we set off following the instructions. Through a few sprung gates and squeeze stiles [never heard of those before this walk] we were presented with a number of fields with sheep and cows. Now Tikka is a sheep dog and does do a spot of herding most morning, but they're our sheep on our farm, these were neither. Although I kept her on a tight-ish leash I needn't have worried... we sailed through the first field. Entering the second field [sheep and cows] the book and sign instructions were quite clear to only walk straight across to the stile in the distance. We'd only travelled a few fee what four youngish sheep appeared and were heading towards us; Tikka didn't back off and kept walking nicely by my side. The sheep pealed offer with inches to spare to the right and I could hear that they'd begun to follow us a foot of so behind, but Tikka hadn't noticed... I just kept walking. Then she did notice and spun on the stop in surprise that it was now she who was being herded. A few encouraging words to Tikka and a constant pace towards the distant stile and the sheep got the message and dropped back.

I've heard various stories about cows and dogs and their walkers, so it was with some trepidation that we had to pass within 10ft of two cows standing sentry towards the top of the field by the stile; while the two of them kept their eyes on us, Tikka was heading towards the stile without need for encouragement.

After the stile, the guide side turn right along the track for a few metres and turn left across a stile marked for "Harris Close", and this is where I worry... there was no stile on the right in a few metres, or on the left. There were however a good number of decidedly skittish sheep who scurried up and down the track away from us as we appeared. Given that the next instruction referred to a steep hill I headed up the gentle slope a few tens of metres and found the signed Harris Close; which was indeed at the base of an alarmingly steep hill.I'd planned to turn around at this point to return to the car before the sun vanished on the horizon, but in the meantime the farmer was using his quad to herd up the cattle [the four sheep from earlier just stood and watched] and I really didn't fancy being caught in a pincer movement... the steep hill it was then.

This took me to the top of a hill near a house apparently called "Sprink". Turning around I was gifted a beautiful view of Hartington which was various bathed in shadow and sun as the clouds passed in front of the sun at my back.

On my way back I noticed that someone has the same great taste in cars as me... Both R reg