A long walk in the Peak District- Castleton to Hayfield

I had one of those long weekend walks through the Peak District that made me happy that I made all the right choices in life that led me to be there.  

A mere two hour train ride north of London, sandwiched between the bustling metropolises of Manchester and Sheffield with a load of other populous cities in the midlands within an hour of the boundaries, The Peak District is the first area given National Park status in the UK and the second most visited National Park in the world.   Only Mount Fuji in Japan has more visitors.  Last year, Google had a nice google-doodle to celebrate the anniversary of it becoming  parkland.  

It took me more than a year later after seeing that to get here though.  I'm a bit spoiled for choice when it comes to choosing a walking weekend here.  

We took a train to Sheffield and then switched to a small two-carriage diesel affair.  A 4-mile long tunnel under the hills separates the urban sprawl to the park nicely, and we emerged from the dark in a whole new landscape of hills and farms and valleys.  

We disembarked in the town of Hope and made our way on foot to Castleton the long way- instead of taking the road directly, we walked up the hillside and took a much longer trail past Roman ruins and through sheep fields.  

The fact that it doesn't get dark until very late now is a joyfully good time for walking.  Putting in four miles after a two hour commute was a nice stretch before bedtime.

We got to the hostel and bunked down for the night.  I just want to applaud the YHA for everything they do.  Yes, it's bunk beds, but they have a lot of really beautiful properties, very few of them purpose-built.  The YHA Castleton was an old manor home on beautiful parkland nestled in a valley with hills all around.  What a treat to stay there, even if it's in a bunk in what used to be the stable.  The common areas retained their character and there was a lovely library to explore.  I would come back any time and we would have stayed longer and used it as a base but it was only available the one night.  Also, it's cheap as hell to stay.  Even a private room will set you back much less than a B&B, and you always meet nice people in the common rooms and at breakfast.

We set out early.  Lucky us, the trail up loose hill is right in the back yard.  But first, we would have to get past lambs, lambs and more lambs, which takes me quite some time to walk past.

I think the border Leicester sheep win awards for being the goofiest looking of the lambs.  Their oversized ears make them look like they are trying fly.

Finally, passed the undeniable cuteness, we started the long climb up Loose Hill to tackle what is reputed to be the finest ridge walk in the Peak District.

and here it is:

Ridgeline walks are always my favorite here.  The views, the easy walking after a big climb up.

THE WIND.  Oh, gawd, the wind.  It was windy.  Fiercely so.

Even though we obsessively checked the forecast, we weren't thinking it was going to rain until the next day.  Alas, as soon as we got to the top of Loose Hill, big wind-driven drops began to splat on our hoods.

The views from the top though.  Ahh, the next valley over contained the biggest climb in the Peak District:  Kinderscout, the legendary bog-topped hill that inspired a mass trespass that turned this into a National Park.  

The wind and rain didn't seem to deter too many, and towards Mam Tor, we were sharing the trail with dozens of people and dogs and mountain bikers.

In the valley below was Edale, a town quite popular with walkers, as this is the start of the Pennine Way trail.  This was the first official National Trail in England, an answer to the Appalachian Trail in the states.  It's the stuff of nightmares: everyone who has walked it tells stories of bogs, bogs and more bogs on the 268 miles from Edale to the Scottish Borders, following roughly the Pennine Watershed the entire time.

 After a warming lunch at the Penny Pot, a cozy National Trust cafe near the Edale train station, we stopped at the visitor's centre and headed to the start of the Pennine Way.  Already having hiked 7 miles, I thought we would be well behind the crowd, but dozens of people had set out with us.

And yes.  There is a pub at the start of the trail.

Wainwright, the grandaddy of all ramblers in the UK, famously complained about how miserable this trail was, and he was a tough old nut.  Bogs.  So many bogs.  Rain, let's pray for not a sunny day (too much to ask!) but a less-than-soaking rain.  A drizzle perhaps.  He famously said, "I hope you enjoy your walk on the Pennine Way...the walk will do you good.  You won't come across me anywhere along the Pennine Way.  I've had enough of it."

So perhaps it was the most appropriate way to start the trail with the sound of rain beating against my be-hooded ears.

Away we go!

The official trail skirts around Kinderscout before switchbacking up the western side of it.  The top of Kinderscout has been the stuff of nightmares for many people.  A big, flat bog on the top, with no obvious landmarks.  It's easy to sink up to your armpits and lose your sense of direction in the mist up there.

I would normally be all up for an adventure, but the wind was really whipping.  Staying on the good trail became the best idea.

Soon, the rain got bad enough for me to have to put the camera away in a dry bag.

I took it out from time to time to capture a quick shot, but it stayed safe for the rest of the day.

The most astounding this was Jacob's Ladder- a well-paved steep set of switchbacks very early on in the trail.  Here was the line of people going down as we were going up:

 It was some pretty epic people watching.  We saw dozens of people not wearing rain gear.  Jeans, flimsy tennis shoes, sodden sweatpants.  People carrying or bribing small crying children to just take a few more steps.  One large-bottomed woman was more or less being carried down Jacob's ladder by her entire family.  Yeah, they didn't forecast rain.  Honestly, my heart (and wallet) goes out to the Mountain Rescue people here.  They probably get more than their fair share of stupidity rescues.

We followed the trail to the top of Kinderscout and took shelter in a blissfully protected Tor near the top.

With nothing but our eyes and noses peering out of our hoods and our hands starting to go numb, we fumbled with the maps.  Instead of taking a long walk on top of Kinderscout to Kinder Downfall (the highest waterfall in the UK) we decided to get off the ridge and our of the wind and head down to our pub.  It seemed like we were quitting, but it was still a 4 mile walk to warmth, and we began our long trek into the next valley.

Once we left the top of Kinderscout, we didn't see another person for the rest of the day on trail.  It was getting crowded up there.

I had found a cozy roadside pub in the hamlet of Little Hayfield.  With Kinderscout on one side and more hills on the other, I figured it would make a nice basecamp for a couple days.  Plus, if it rained, we didn't have to go out in it to get to our next destination.  It was really stark and beautiful to slog across the moors with the occasional red grouse being scared out of its hidey-hole in the heather.

It was fantastic to get in, shed the sodden clothes (because even waterproofs won't keep you dry when you are out there for hours)  warm up with a hot bath and then sit by the fireplace with a whisky.  Despite the weather, we did over 16 miles of walking, most of it exposed to the wind.  Sleeping well is about the only thing I can do at the end of the day.

Jurassic Coast Day 4: Abbotsbury to Weymouth

We awoke to a sunny, nearly hot morning.  Nothing small and stuffed had murdered us in our sleep.  Time to hit the trail for a final stretch- walking along the coast to the town of Weymouth, where a train would haul two dirty tired hikers back to the Big Smoke. 

The best part about this walk was to watch springtime happen before us.  The weather went from cool and cloudy to warmer and sunnier each day until we got a amazingly beautiful one.  We saw herds of heavily-pregnant ewes start to turn into fields of ewes with tiny freshly borne lambs.  The swallows were returning from Africa, and skylarks were chattering away in almost every field we walked through, and the little bits of forest and wooden hillsides were tinged with green.  This time of year is pure magic, and my favorite time to walk.  

 Instead of heading straight for the trail, we headed up the big hill to St Catherine's Chapel, the larger-than-all seafaring chapel that announced to sailors that they were near Abbotsbury.

Ah, first, we had a bit of a distraction.

 Trail side tyre swings are never left alone.

It's not an easy climb up through a terraced cow pasture, but the views from the top are worth it.

 The downs, the town, the sea.  Really spectacular, helped by the fact the sky was cloud-free.

 The coast path winds its way around the privately-owned Swanery, through farm fields and hills before settling down to sea level along an enormous body of still saltwater called the Fleet Lagoon.  It is a place to bring binoculars- this long, still body of water is of great importance to birds of all kinds.  I had to keep reminding myself of the non-refundable train that left Weymouth at 6.  There was just so much going on.  Without even trying, I saw dozens of waterfowl and songbirds.  The unique protected lagoon coupled with farmland and pastureland and a nearby beach meant this was birdy heaven.

Corn Bunting

Yellowhammer

Terns

Greenfinch

Oystercatchers

Long-tailed tit

Little Egret

Goosander

 It was pretty amazing.  In the space of an afternoon, I saw more birds appear in front of me than I had all winter.  Understandably, the lagoon was fiercely protected, with a few scientist having access to the water and that was it.

Finally, after passing a military firing range and some large industrial estates, we were back in civilization.  There was a very well-reviewed lagoon-side crab shack that we wanted to try, but they were closing post-lunch just as we walked in.  Which was fine: there were no fewer than three Ferraris in the front lot, all of them parked at "asshole parking space" angles for maximum "LOOK AT ME" exposure.

The Southwest Coast trail crosses the bridge and continues to do an 8-mile loop of the Island of Portland.  The island is connected by a bridge from Weymouth.  Before there was a bridge and if you didn't want to hazard the ferry crossing, you would have to go all the way to Abbotsbury to cross the Fleet, and walk all the way to Portland via the beach.

Portland is famous for its stone- the creamy-white limestone quarried for use of some pretty famous buildings- Buckingham Palace, St. Paul's Cathedral, and the far-off UN building in NYC.  

I won't be visiting this trip.  I looked at the map.  The train station was at least three miles away (!) and we had over an hour to make it there and find something eatable to bring for the journey.  Hustle the bustle, as my grade-school bus driver would yell at the pokey kids not willing to make good time.

So a small gripe:  I got the idea for this 4-day walk on the Southwest Coast Path website.  Not only do they have a great system of planning your trips along the trail, they have suggestions as to where to go for multi-day walks.  I booked the trip based on their recommendations and reasonable mileage between stops, but little did I know:

1.  The mileage they gave on the website was off by about 20% every day.  Meaning, we walked 20% more than what we planned.  We walked 9 hours the first day, and nearly 7 hours the next three days.  Even when we stuck strictly to the trail, we ended up doing 3-4 miles more each day than we though we would.

2.  They didn't include the trail closures adding miles to our trek, and that bumped up the total to 12 extra miles (which is a full days walk for most!).  At least 10 miles were done pounding the pavement on a diverted path alongside busy roads.  That is not enjoyable:  it's exhausting.  

3.  It would have been nice if they kept the website updated with the landslips; I only knew about the first one.  We would have planned ahead and taken a bus further down the trail instead of waiting and paying for a cab.

In the end, we did a whopping 70 miles over 4 days.  Even with that cab ride to shave 7 miles off, it was about 10 more than we thought we would be doing.  Three of the days were exceedingly difficult, with many steep ascends and descends.  I was exhausted and ready for a break, and my new-ish boots have proved to be less cooperative than the last pair and I was tending to several blisters and general sore feet.

Alas, it was a lovely walk.  The coast was stunningly beautiful and wild and remote in spots, and so civilized and charming in between.

From Weymouth, you could see the next bit of coastline:

More cliffs!  Lovely limestone ones.  The next bit of trail stretches between Weymouth and Poole along the Dorset coast.  I think I can do it in 3 days.

Weymouth was the biggest town he had been through on our walk, and it sprawled out quite a bit.  Being a beautiful bank holiday day, we were quite sad that the only ice cream flavor to be had was "natural", meaning not even flavored.  A seaside town that runs out of ice cream is a poor excuse for a seaside town, the calender be damned!

I had read about a pie shop that did excellent homemade pies near the train station so I jetted off to place an order before we had a long 3 hour train ride back to London.  I put an order in, mindful of the fact that the disclaimer on the menu said it might take up to 20 minutes to get our order since everything is homemade and from scratch.   I even checked with the server- we had about 35 minutes before the train left- and she assured me it would all be good.

Except a halfhour later, there were still no pies, and a few other patrons had left because they had been waiting so long.  Ah, the joys of bank holiday skeleton crews.  I begged the server for pies, and asked to refund my card because we had to go (with no time to find a backup sandwich) and she scrambled back from the kitchen with a paper bag in hand.  I grabbed it, breathless and thanked her before dashing across the square to the train with just a minute to spare.

I probably should have checked to make sure she had remembered to add cutlery of sorts.

Because she didn't.

The pies were easy enough as they were the delightful kind you could eat like a cornish pasty, but the mash potato and broccoli presented an issue.

I asked the train conductor if there was a cafe car and was told we picked one up in Bournemouth, about a  half hour down the track.

We got to Bournemouth, rushed the cafe car and was told nope, no cutlery- they only serve pre-packaged sandwichs.

So I improvised.  I tore up corners of the takeaway container, and used them like pita bread.

We had hiked 17 miles in the heat, I was starving.    Not my proudest moment.