It is not often that I choose to get up at 5:30 in the morning, but brilliant bird song, clear blue skies, and faithful friend Radio 4 all conspired to wake me without the aid of alarm-clock on Saturday 4th May.
To reach our destination, the Upper Derwent Valley, we drove up north through Sheffield, calling out for alumnus Pete Wilson as we passed the university, in the hope that he might hear us and join us for the day. A very faint hope to be sure, but worth a try!
The group split into two, with Ian, Jane, Yvonne, Mark and Mary in one, and Rob and the rest in the other. Armed with sun cream, sun hat, sunglasses, and shorts, we very much hoped that for once the Peak District would stay dry and forget that its first instinct is always to rain.
My group set off to walk to Bleaklow, and Rob & co. went a long way in a different direction. While Jane spotted 3 potential careers in the space of one hour, the rest of us concluded that the Peaks is Duke of Edinburgh country, with a capital D and E [Er, aren't they always capitals? -Ed]. We saw the familiar signs of the hardened D of E walker: poring over a map with a confused look on face, trying hard not to look lost, and attempting not to keel over under a rucksack twice one's body weight.
Alport Castles provided an excellent opportunity for photos (and a sun-bathe!). The ascent past a shiny white trig-point and up to Bleaklow Stones was spent eating papaya, chocolate, and peanuts (courtesy of Mark, Yvonne, and Ian).
En route, we met a rather worried looking adult who enquired whether we had seen a boy lying down on our travels. We replied that we hadn't, and thought to ourselves that if we had, than it was quite likely that we wouldn't simply have left him there. While we were eating our lunch, the lost wanderer returned, apparently much to the disappointment of his companions. We recognised him as the boy we had seen earlier, who to us had looked quite confident. Is perhaps the lesson to be learnt that if you ever see a lone walker, you ask him if he's lost? Somehow I don't think that will earn you any brownie points! But remember that if you do get lost, then do your very best to look lost as well!
While at the Bleaklow Stones, Ian demonstrated his climbing ability and Mary her climbing inability by assailing a rock curiously named the "Anvil Stone". I did succeed eventually, but only after scraping my leg and making a complete fool of myself.
From there we followed a line of stakes, or attempted to - visibility was not their strong point. If you have ever seen The English Patient, a film somewhat generously endowed with Oscars, you will recall that much of the action is set in a desolate and windswept desert. On a wet and miserable day, the Peak District could hardly be more different, but we saw the sun shine on the Peaks and the landscape, although a rich brown in colour, peculiarly desert-like in appearance. After walking through the film-set of the aforementioned film, we came across the wreckage of a 2nd World War plane. For the more astute among you, this too will cause you to draw parallels with the English Patient. But let us put aside such literary comparisons and return to the present.
We crossed the Pennine Way and a swamp, scarcely recognisable as such in the dry weather. There then followed what can only be described as a trog down Alport Dale, relieved only by the discovery of a cool mountain spring; Cambridge tap-water was readily disposed of. After our weary feet had plodded on for many miles, we drew near once more to Alport Castles and were soon back at the car-park, somewhat tired but satisfied with 27km behind us.
A gloriously sunny day spent wandering through the film set of The English Patient and munching papaya was finished with the ritual eating of fish and chips. And we arrived back in Cambridge as dry as we had been at 5:30 that morning.
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