Vole Explosion

IS IT TOO EARLY TO CRY YET?

Monday 5^th September 2022

Bleaklow Head to Standedge

I get up to a clear sky at 6.30am, just as the sun is coming up. Unseen Red Grouse are chuckling away in all directions, a Mountain Hare is foraging on a nearby slope, and small parties of Swallows are flying strongly south. After last night’s storm, it’s an idyllic, pure morning that feels like it should be sound-tracked by ‘Morning’ from Grieg’s Peer Gynt. I actually have this on my phone and consider playing it, but decide to save my battery instead.

My tent is still wetter than the front row of a Tom Jones gig when I pack it up and move on. I flush numerous Red Grouse from the path and they fly off giving their ‘Go Back! Go Back!’ alarm calls. From now on I will see them every day of the walk. Abundant on their moorland factory farms, but rare and exotic to my southern eyes.

Dropping down from the moors I cross the B6105 at Torside Reservoir. The village where The League of Gentleman was filmed is near here and I wish I could visit but don’t have time. I may never leave.

At Crowden Campsite, where I had planned to stay last night, I guzzle cold drinks and refill my water bottles – it’s quite hot now. The campsite looks idyllic in the sunshine and the owner is very friendly, so I’ll take this opportunity to give them a plug.

After some hard uphill walking I reach Crowden Great Brook where I stop for a sandwich, a sunbathe, and a quick paddle in the peaty, tea-coloured water. I see a Golden-ringed Dragonfly near here – a strikingly distinctive beast, characteristic of acidic peat uplands. I don’t have these where I live and they’re always a good reminder that I’m in The North. Unfortunately I don’t see another on this trip.

Sometime in the afternoon I cross from Derbyshire to Yorkshire. I’m finding the walking really difficult now. Maybe it’s rose-tinted glasses but I don’t remember it ever being this hard before. I’m fine on the flat and downhill sections but even the slightest uphill gradient is killing me. I constantly have to stop to catch my breath and my legs don’t want to move. No doubt I’m out of shape but I’m also wondering if I’m not eating enough to top up my energy reserves – three cereal bars, a bag of pork scratchings and a flaccid ham sandwich all day today. Simply not good enough. I had intended to complete the PW before I became too old and decrepit, but I’m starting to think that ship may already have sailed.

Finally reach The Old Carriage House in Standedge early evening. This is supposed to be a campsite at a pub serving Turkish food, which I was really looking forward to. The pub is now closed down but the campsite is still open. Before the day is done three different people tell me what a great pub it was, which makes me wonder why it closed down.

I say hello to another camper nearby with a small hiking tent. I don’t know it yet but this is The Dutch Guy. He’ll be returning to the story later. There are a couple of recurring characters in this but I won’t use their real names or show their photos as I don’t have their permission.

After pitching up and showering, another man, who is living on site, is driving to the shop in Marsden a couple of miles away and offers me a lift to get dinner. On the way out a large toad walks across the road and my new chauffeur deliberately runs it over thinking it’s a rat! You just can’t get the staff these days. Once in Marsden he tells me which are the best pubs and which one to avoid. For dinner I have gammon, egg and chips, accompanied by the mildly self-conscious feeling of a middle-aged white man ordering gammon. A man in the pub asks why I’m walking the PW and I don’t really have a good answer, but at least I avoid the old ‘because it’s there’ cliché.

After dinner I catch a bus back and have another early night. At 10.45pm I’m woken up by the most horrendous wind and rain as another storm blows in. The wind has pushed the outer sheet of my tent up, exposing the inner sheet to the rain. Water is entering along the bottom and pooling under my sleeping mat. I mop most of it up and get everything into dry bags, including my sleeping bag. On top of the mat I’m dry but my feet are in a puddle. I wonder if it’s too early in the trip to start crying yet and, not for the first time today, I wonder what would be the minimum number of days I would need to do before quitting to not lose too much face. I can’t sleep due to the sound of the rain, which batters my tent until 1.15am when it abruptly stops and I drift off into a peaceful slumber.

13 miles; 21 km; 10 hours