TWO CARS, ONE WALK

I can't believe how long it has been since we managed to get out walking. It has been a pretty grim summer for me and this walk, now that PC is back, is the chance for us to catch up and for me to breathe a little. We have a vague plan in mind and meet up at Cutthroat Bridge where, after confusion and discussion, we decide to do the Bamford Edge walk using two cars - one at either end. It's so long since we've walked we both doubt our fitness.

So we pile into my car (I know the way to the parking!) and drive back down the road and turn towards Bamford before taking a left turn and winding upwards on the small road to the pull-in place. Here we have some excellent views of the valley and the hills beyond.

The stile to the start of our walk is immediately on our left and we are soon over it and heading uphill. We have a choice of paths but the 'straight and true'  is the one we choose. We like to get the climbing done early while we still have breath and energy.

The bracken is high but the views are starting to open out. There's a slight haze but we can still see a long way. And we have plenty to talk about.

The heather is in bloom and the hills are swathed in purple. The rugged gritstone of Bamford Edge is ahead of us as we climb a little higher onto the ridge above it. We walk along a little way before descending through the heather and onto Bamford Edge itself. The views from here are spectacular.

Despite it still being the holiday season we have the whole ridge to ourselves and can keep stopping to admire the views, at least, we do when we stop talking for long enough! The purple heather reaches right up to the edge and we soon have views along the reservoirs.

The further we walk the more we can see of Ladybower and of Crook Hill in the distance.

The path dips and starts to fall away from the edge, at the same time becoming narrower and less distinct. There is no proper, official path here, but it is access land and we know where we are heading, more or less. There are a few sheep here too, but they aren't particularly interested in us.

The path takes us to a wall and whilst there is a track beyond it we stop to take stock. It does look vaguely familiar, but not in a good way. We decide to have a quick scout on the path to see if it is the one we want, but we don't have to go more than a few yards to find that all it does is take us across the moor and through thick undergrowth. We back-track and take another narrow path continuing in the direction we had initially been heading. Again, we cross a wall but this time the path is much more promising. Still narrow, and cutting through very high bracken, we follow the line of an unnamed stream that has cut deep into the moor and flows a way below us. We find a crossing point over some stepping stones and head towards what is marked on the map as Pillars. All we can see are two stone built pillars, neither very tall, and a rocky ridge suitable for our lunch stop. We have made much better time than we had expected, although it is starting to drizzle. 

Our course, no walk is complete without buns, and this week, for our first walk back, it is fat choux buns oozing with fresh cream and topped with a swirl of chocolate. They go down extremely well with our coffee after the sandwiches.

After lunch, with the soft rain barely making any difference to us, we continue on our way. The bracken is, if anything, even higher here and the path less distinct. We follow the line of a drystone wall then, at last, it becomes a little clearer. The path keeps to the contour line of the hill, passes by a lone tree, then starts to descend to Jarvis Clough. 

It is a little slippy here, and once we reach the stream we have to make a long stride (with the help of walking poles) to get across. 

Then it is uphill for a short stretch to reach the wide, easy path which will lead us back to the road. It stops raining as we walk along and soon we are at Cutthroat Bridge heading back to the car. All we have to do now is drive back to join car number 1.

The walk has taken far less time than we had anticipated, but it has been an excellent one nonetheless. We are eager to plan for next week too.

SPRING AT LAST- AND BON VOYAGE

It's windy, there are still pockets of snow on the hills, but the sun is out and we intend to make the most of it. We've had a long absence due to Easter and family demands, and this will be our last walk together for quite some time, so we want it to be a good one.

We park in the Hurst Clough car park, the first one at the side of Ladybower, and layer up in preparation for the onslaught from the wind. Mollie is eager, she has obviously missed coming out with us. First, though, PC has to chase a carrier bag down the slope that has been whipped out of her car by the wind. Fortunately it snags on something so she can retrieve it. 

Once we're finally ready - it does seem to take us some time - we go down the grassy slope to the reservoir-side path and head south towards the A57. Everything is turning lush and green as though Spring is hurrying to make up for time lost to the overlong Winter

The sun makes everything very enticing, but we notice that the water is iron grey and extremely choppy.

We walk along the grassy area towards the bridge, angle up to the road then cross over and take the footpath that climbs steeply up towards Crookhill Farm. As we round the first hump in the field we see a flock of ewes and their newborn lambs spread out in front of us. A definite photo opportunity! Keeping Mollie close PC snaps away and we try to avoid disturbing them too much, although there is some half-hearted bleating going on.

Into the next field we come across more sheep, and once we're through the next gate there are even more, with barely enough
grass to keep them all. Then we see the farmer hovering, clearly unhappy that we are there although we are on the footpath and keeping Mollie under very close control. The sheep don't actually seem too concerned about us.

PC struggles with the gate out of the field, she'd obviously not eaten her Weetabix this morning, so we have to swap dog duties for gate duties. Once through, and the gate secured behind us, the farmer waits at the next gate, opening it for us. He's clearly not very happy and replies to our 'Good Mornings' and 'Thank Yous' with a taciturn 'You should have gone the other way'.

Whenever we have walked this way before we have been coming from the other direction and 'the other way' is very clearly marked. Coming uphill, however, we saw no indication whatsoever of 'the other way' (a white-arrowed alternative route) and could only follow the obvious (and legal) footpath. Maybe we just missed it, or maybe it wasn't signed very well (or at all), as ideally we would have preferred 'the other way' to avoid the sheep and farm yard. But we certainly didn't do anything wrong, and I half wonder if that displeased the farmer, robbing him of any opportunity or justification to have a go at us!

We returned to our route though the fields across the lane from Crookhill Farm, then out onto the access land beneath Crook Hill and our next encounter. Highland Cattle. As you may know, I have a severe aversion to cattle in any shape or form, but PC promised to put herself between them and us. Fortunately, only one relatively small beastie was near us, scratching on a route marker, and giving us only scant attention. I gave him a wide berth as we set off up the bridleway that took us past Crook Hill.

By now the wind was getting very strong and we know that we'll soon be on the highest part of the path, near Bridge-end Pasture, where we'll be totally exposed. With this in mind we decide to find somewhere to sit for a drink and a natter.

The slopes of Crook Hill provide a sheltered spot with enough boulders to find a comfortable seat. I fetch out the new secret flask (a birthday present from PC) and we christen it - enjoying a nip of the Ramblers Restorative - and help ourselves to some Turkish Delight chocolate thins too. Well, we need to keep our energy levels up!

We stay for quite a long time enjoying the sunshine, the chocolate, the mellowing effects of the Ramblers and catching up on all the news, but we must move on so gather our things and set off again into the teeth of the wind. By the time we're walking up the broad grassy slope to the top of Bridge-end pasture we're finding it hard to keep on our feet, and not because of the alcohol. It's gale force up here and we have to hold on tight to our hats.

Fortunately as soon as we begin to drop a little the wind eases and we're able to pause to enjoy the views again. The gateway as we approach Hagg Side is waterlogged and muddy, the only real evidence of last night's rain, but we manage to shimmy around it by clinging onto a gate post. From here the path is very dry.

At Open Hagg we can look down to the A57, then follow its course as it bends along the valley heading for Manchester. We continue along our path then turn right on the Lockerbrook path.

It's wide, easy walking and we're soon passing Lockerbrook Farm. A little way beyond the farm is a path leading downhill towards Fairholmes, and we decide that this is as good as any. There are sheep and cows in the field but they are at the other side of the small stream, so I feel safe.

We walk to the bottom of the field and up onto a small mound where we drop our rucksacks and sit down next to the wall. It's still windy, but we're out of the worst of it, and we can enjoy the sun.

We're in need of coffee, so we have a cup first before eating our sandwiches. Then we have a mini-orange (healthy) and a chocolate chip & banana cookies (not so healthy) each before having our official buns. One of our favourites today, though we can't get them often enough. Fresh cream strawberry tarts; sweet pastry, creme anglaise, strawberries and cream. Yum! It is almost a shame to have another coffee after them, although the coffee is very good today, too.

Whilst we're eating we are joined by an uninvited guest. No, not an adder this week, but a duck. A female mallard waddles over to us and waits patiently, hopefully, but in vain. Mollie, observant as she is, never even notices the new arrival who eventually waddles away in disgust.

With our late lunch over we go back to the path and through a gate into the woods at Lockerbrook Coppice. The path is very clear, and is probably waymarked from Fairholmes, although you have to look carefully for the signs going downhill. To be fair, it must be quite a pull if you're approaching it from the bottom.

We have a fair few photo opportunities, the reservoir looks very inviting through the trees, but we're travelling downhill quite rapidly and we're soon by the road across from Fairholmes. We cross over to visit the facilities and aren't too surprised to see how many cars are in the car park. It is a lovely day, after all.

Once we've finished at Fairholmes we head back to the road, follow it a little way then veer off to pick up the reservoir-side path. It's quite a long walk back to the cars, but a very pleasant one. PC stops to photograph a clump of miniature daffodils growing at the side of one of the fences, probably planted deliberately as a memorial, and at one point we have to side-step a frog in the middle of the path.

When we reach our cars we have enough time to sit on a bench and enjoy a late-birthday celebration drink along with the last of the Turkish Delight.

It has been an absolutely fantastic day and we have both thoroughly enjoyed it. But we're a bit sad too. PC is off to sail the seven seas (well, maybe not all seven!) and will be away for some time which means our walking, for now, is over. I'll try to keep going out, though it will feel very strange being on my own and until I get used to it I'll feel quite vulnerable too. But I'll continue to post - just to let her know what she's missing!

Bon Voyage, Cate, and have a great time.

ABANDON ALL HOPE

FROM HOPE TO WIN HILL IN HIGH WINDS, SLEET AND RAIN

First of all I must point out that this week's walk was all PC's idea, and she must take full responsibility for it. Even her suggestion when we meet, before 10am, that 'we go to the pub for the day' does not absolve her in any way.

We've had a week off and our last walk, which was windy but mild, had lulled us into a false sense of well-being. Since then we've had snow, rain and gales so on the drive to Hope we aren't surprised to see the peaks liberally covered with the white stuff. And the forecast isn't promising: gales in Scotland, possibly filtering down to us later. Hence PC's suggestion that we sit out the day in the pub. Tempting, but she isn't getting off that easily. So we layer up, consult the map and set off.

At the moment there isn't any rain and although it is cold there's barely a breeze, so we're feeling fairly confident. We walk up Edale Road and turn right onto the small road leading to the cemetery. We cross the bridge spanning the River Noe which is flowing fairly fast, ignore the path running alongside it and take the next right hand path which takes us past the cemetery.

The path goes through a gate then underneath the railway line. From here the wide path takes us gently uphill and past a neatly kept patch of land that looks like a small site for caravans. Sure enough, when we arrive at the top of the path and pass Fairfield Farm we see the sign at the end of the driveway that indicates a Caravan Club CL site (5 caravans only). That's one worth remembering.

At the end of the drive we turn left onto the narrow road leading towards Aston and it's a little more noticeably uphill. By the time we take the left hand turn (signposted Hope Cross) PC is removing a layer. We wonder if this part of the old roman road, but careful study of the map makes it seem unlikely as the road appears to be lower down.

We press on uphill and start to see the wonderful views over towards Mam Tor and Lose Hill with their snow covered tops. We're so glad we aren't up there this week!

At the top of the tarmac lane we turn left onto the rough track which leads up - eventually - to Hope Cross. A fat squirrel crosses our path and scurries away as a ginger cat eyes us suspiciously. Do they know something we don't?

The first section of this path is very stony, and wet. It's a sign that there's been a lot of rain lately as there are rivulets of water running downhill, but it's easy enough to avoid the streams and we continue dry-shod. There are trees to our left, sheltering us from the view of the cement works (thank goodness) but every now and then there is a break which gives us ever-improving views towards the snowy peaks of the Great Ridge.

An abandoned, ruined farm building hunches at the side of the path, then we go through a gate and onto a path which cuts across a rough field. It is slippery, slick and muddy and although the uphill gradient is minor it takes effort not to slide around too much. At this point we are unaware that worse is yet to come!

Above Twitchill Farm and at a crossroads of paths, not very distinct but there is a signpost, we pause to admire the views - and the gathering clouds. PC snaps away with her phone (did I mention that she forgot the camera?) and we agree that it is wonderful to be out enjoying such glorious scenery. After a brief debate we decide to continue straight on rather than climbing steeply uphill towards Win Hill, as we want to enjoy the vista opening up in front of us.

Apart from the slippery ground the walking isn't hard and we find it easy to avoid the numerous puddles on the path. We pass through another gate and we're finally onto open moor. It's a little bit breezy here, but nothing to worry about. It's a steady but easy climb and we've made the right decision as we can now see beyond the Great Ridge to the Kinder Plateau which looks spectacular with drifts of snow emphasising the contours of the land.

We feel a couple of spots of rain so PC decides to put her coat back on, and when I see the rapidly looming grey clouds I follow suit by dragging on my waterproof trousers. Just in time too. Almost as soon as we're dressed we're hit by rain, sleet and hail. And wind. Where did that come from all of a sudden?

We press on uphill expecting the wind to ease, but it doesn't. Nor does the rain and sleet. The higher we go the harder it is to keep our footing as we're constantly being pushed sideways into the hill. For once talking has ceased as we keep our heads bowed and plough on.

As we hit the top of the path we're struggling to stay upright. The wind is so fierce that we are seriously beginning to doubt our sanity (not for the first time) but there's no turning back. The Kinder Plateau is completely obscured by ominously thick clouds and it's impossible to look in the direction of Mam Tor because that is where the driving sleet is coming from, so it doesn't look as though we're in for a respite.

Turning towards Win Hill we set off again; one step forwards, two steps sideways. Enormous puddles cover the width of the broad path and rivers link one puddle to the next. We manage to avoid them, but we have to use sign language to communicate as we can't make ourselves heard over the wind. We've reached the snow line too, with slush on the puddle-free sections of track and white fluffy sheets on the heather.

After a while we realise that the sleet has stopped and bracing ourselves against the wind (which hasn't stopped) we turn around 360 degrees to admire the view. PC spies Ladybower reservoir looking full for a change, and across the valley Crook Hill looks stark and uninviting. To the north-west we can see the roman road heading to Hope Cross. Strangely enough, there are no other walkers on this popular path. I wonder why not?

There's a long wall crossing the path with the option of a stile or gate. Naturally we choose the gate, and at the far side we fall gratefully into the shelter of another wall which runs at the side of the path. At last we're able to stand upright without effort, though our leg muscles are aching with the unaccustomed requirement to fight for balance whilst walking forward. As we rest we reward ourselves; cointreau from PC's secret flask (it's easier to get to than mine). A couple of hefty nips soon makes everything seem warmer and rosier.

Walking is a lot easier now with the benefit of the wall on the windward side, and the cointreau on the inside. However, as soon as we lose the wall we're completely exposed again and the full force of the gale makes itself felt. Win Hill doesn't look terribly promising so we prudently decide not to go right over top but keep to the path which skirts around the southern side. Before we reach it, though, we see two other walkers coming up from the south and heading right for the summit. They manage it so far, then turn and hunker down on the leeward side against the wind.

As we approach the slope of Win Hill it becomes increasingly difficult to stay upright. Every footstep has to be carefully judged but every pause is punished by the hammering gale. Its a case of heads down, watch your feet and don't look back. Just below the trig point I manage to sit on a boulder to wait for PC to catch up. When she reaches me she sits on another boulder a little higher up. After a brief break we have to fight to stand up and regain our balance before setting off again. Tempted to look back at the view I'm almost knocked off my feet, so I carry on, but PC is more successful and manages to take some photos. She's not sure she's been able to keep still enough, though, since the wind was rocking her so much.

It's downhill now, but quite worrying as the steeply sloping steps are covered in snow, slush and running water. I make it to the bottom first and wait for PC to catch up (she's been taking pictures), then we continue down towards Winhill Plantation. All of a sudden the wind stops. Completely. Under no illusions we know that we have dropped down sufficiently to be protected by the lay of the land, but it is very strange to suddenly be able to hear, talk and stand upright without effort.

We pause to consider our options. Namely, we're hungry and need somewhere to sit for lunch. Fortunately, just in the edge of the plantation are a couple of fallen trees, so we cross the snow and heather towards them. It's a perfect spot; sheltered with seating provided.

Sandwiches are dispatched with alarming speed, followed by a warming cup of coffee. PC suggested leaving the buns until later, but we're too hungry, so out they come. These are a first. Pear tarts - buttercrust pastry with half a pear and a frangipani sponge. They taste wonderful and are extremely satisfying.

As we finish off our buns, and our second coffee, a bedraggled group trudge up the path towards Win Hill. Most of them seem to be well equipped but a couple are without rucksacks or waterproofs. They'll be in for a serious shock when they climb out of this sheltered buffer zone.

Even though we're out of the wind here it is getting chilly, so we don't need much encouragement to pack up and move on. We return to the path through the snow and continue downhill where, instead of going through the gate and down Parkin Clough, we turn right across the moor.

No sooner are we out of the cover of trees the rain starts again, and looking at the grey expanse of cloud it seems that it will be set in for a long time. There's more wind here too, so we're treated to the double-whammy of stinging rain being blown into our faces. Lovely - not. We risk looking back towards Ladybower, but there's too much rain to see clearly and all we can make out are a few murky shapes.

Heads down we walk on. The path is grassy and level, but soggy and very exposed. Parts are flooded and we have to detour through the heather. Soon we come to a signpost where we have to turn right and cross through a broken section of drystone wall as we take the path signposted 'Aston'. The first part is narrow but it widens as it goes sharply downhill between high banks.

As we reach the bottom and prepare to climb over the stile in the wall (very long legs required) the weather takes a sudden and dramatic turn for the worse. Snow and sleet on a driving gale hits us squarely and forcefully. Visibility diminishes to a few feet and all we can do is turn our backs to it like a couple of miserable pack-horses and hope it will pass.

The wind dies a little and the sleet eases so we make the effort to cross the (high) stile. I get over, but as PC climbs over her phone rings and, distracted, she bangs her shin. Turns out her husband is worried about the weather conditions. We're not worried, we're actually past caring. The back of my neck is damp and one boot is starting to squelch. PC thinks her boots are OK but she's looking very soggy.

Half way across the next field is a cistern to collect water, and it is overflowing to such an extent that a wide river is running downhill from it. It follows - naturally - the exact line of the footpath. And it runs - obviously - right underneath the stile we have to cross. Then it continues - of course - all the way through the next fields exactly where we need to walk.

By the time we have to paddle (yes, paddle) to the last stile into Aston we are at the point where we can't actually get any wetter. It's still raining, we are well and truly soaked, and we are beyond caring. At least we're out of the wind!

As we squelch soggily through Aston we aren't surprised that there's no one about. There's a minor flood across the road (yes, we paddle through it) and a waterfall pouring down a bank from a field drain. The road winds around (and up and down much to PC's disgust) until we're back at the drive to Fairfield Farm. It's just a case of retracing our steps - somewhat wetter than on the way out - and as we eventually cross over the River Noe we notice how much fiercer the water is flowing. PC remarks that it could turn into flood conditions like in 2007 - I hope she's wrong.

By the time we reach the cars the cold and the wet has actually got through to us. I can't feel my fingers and struggle to get my car keys out of my pocket. PC heads for the loos to get changed. We both agree that we are totally mad - but in a good way (naturally).

Next week will be our last walk before the festive season, and we're keeping fingers crossed that the weather isn't quite as bad as it has been today. We've been out before in high winds (stanage edge) and torrential rain (ladybower) but we don't think we've ever had the combination we've encountered today. But it hasn't stopped us, and we've actually enjoyed it. Perhaps we're certifiable after all.

VISITING HOPE CROSS AND THE HIDDEN RIDGE AND FURROWS

This is a walk we've promised to return to for some time, and at last we're ready for it. Yes, the day is terribly gloomy with patchy fog and threats of rain, but we're treating it as atmospheric rather than murky.

We've parked at the side of the road near the Yorkshire Bridge Inn, and are careful of the traffic speeding past. I'm the later of the two, as usual, and PC is almost ready. As I'm hurriedly pulling on my boots she comes to join me at the back of my car, carrier bag in hand. I expect her to bring something out of it but no, she merely stands there a little forlorn, holding the bag. The reason: she's forgotten her rucksack! How can anyone forget a rucksack? Well, if anyone can, it's PC. At least she remembered the coffee. So we load her stuff into my now bulging rucksack (making sure the buns don't get squashed), and she offers to carry it at some point. I suggest she takes it when we come to the uphill bits!

We set off in the morning chill but are soon warmed up by walking. First we cross the oh-so-familiar path across the dam wall and turn right at the far side. The first part of the walk is by the side of the reservoir, level(ish) and easy, so we can chatter away without running out of breath. The trees are still managing to hold onto some of their golden autumn colour but the low cloud means we aren't getting much of a view across the water.

As we round the point at The Springs we get a clear sight of the creamy-white arches of the bridge which carries the A57 to Manchester, and we can hear the traffic noise too which carries loudly across the water. The tree colour on the hillside opposite looks quite promising, but we need the murk - sorry, atmosphere - to lift before PC can take any worthwhile photos.

We're pretty much alone on this stretch of the walk. We do pass a lone walker going in the opposite direction but other than that it's just us and the scenery. Every now and then we come up against pockets of bright autumn colour on the valley side, and an almost-break in the clouds lets us look up to Crook Hill and see the top.

Ladybower is narrowing now and just around the bend, out of sight, it returns to being the River Ashop (joined by the River Alport before it reaches Ladybower), a very narrow river to feed such a large, thirsty reservoir. Two cyclists disappear up a track to our left which means we haven't that far to go to reach the track we need.

Soon enough we see a white gate across the wide path (it wasn't there last time, was it?) with a sign saying Path Closed due to landslip. Fortunately, the path we want climbs up to the left so after a few sniggers at 'Council-Speak' on the notice we set off up the path. You will notice that, at this point, PC does not actually offer to carry the rucksack!

Once we're on the track, which is quite muddy in places, it all starts to seem very familiar. A large swathe of conifers has been cut down with just a few, single specimens jutting skyward. The path climbs quite steeply, but the views back are superb - except for the jutting conifers blocking the way. Three quarters of the way up PC pauses to take some pictures, and I press on to see if there's a better view from the top. There is, so PC joins me and then offers to take the rucksack! I refuse - I'd much rather talk about her (he he he).

From here we enter the wood; dark, dank and eerily still. PC says it's like Primeval. Very reassuring - not. The path is very wide, and to our left is a partly collapsed stone retaining wall. We remember that from last time and scramble over the fallen stones to walk on the broad walkway that must have been the proper path in the past. It isn't until we are clambering over the assault course of fallen trees that we realise that, even though we'd walked on here last time, it had been a bad idea. It's not such a good idea now, but with an inelegant amount of reaching, stretching, cursing and grumbling we do eventually reach the far end. We'll remember for next time - we hope.

Here we reach the ruins. There is no name on the map for this tumbled down and moss shrouded collection, nor it is possible to tell from looking at the remains what the purpose of the buildings was. But it is likely that it could have been a farmstead at some time, there are paths to and from here and Hope Cross, at a crossroads of old packhorse routes, isn't far away. The impenetrable conifers would not have grown so it would have been possible to farm here, although it would not have necessarily been a particularly hospitable location.

We leave the sad remnants behind and a little way past them take a sharp left hand path which is wider and smoother than the other boggy tracks. This climbs steadily upwards taking us high above the deserted buildings quite quickly. The trees form an enclosing tunnel around us with the promise of light in the distance drawing us on. It feels very earthy, very old.

As the trees on our right become wider spaced we see the features that so intrigued us on our last visit. Beneath the trees and damp grass are the definite curves and hollows of ridge and furrow ploughing. How old are these ghosts of farming practises? Who knows? Certainly older than the trees whose roots grow over and into the gentle mounds. Maybe they are linked to the empty buildings we've left behind, or possibly they were here already. It's certainly a tough spot for a ploughed field, without the trees as a shelter the wind would rip mercilessly across the land, but this is angled on the kinder side of the hill, so maybe the crop was worth the effort. Again, I've been unable to find any information on this patch of ground and we wonder if it has been overlooked since it is out of the way and easy to miss.

We amble on, pleased with ourselves. We've done most of the climbing now, and we've seen 'our' ridge and furrow field again. We pause to study and old unused gatepost, its partner nowhere near as substantial, then press on towards Hope Cross which is now in sight. A pair of walkers pass us, deep in conversation, and we look back to see if they notice the field. They don't even take their eyes from their feet - they'll notice nothing.

We see a perfectly formed red toadstool (fly agaric) which demands its own photograph then prepare to emerge into the open.

As always at this point, and I do mean always, it has started to rain. I don't think we've ever been to Hope Cross on a perfectly clear day. So since I have to down the rucksack (yes, I'm still carrying it) to get out my waterproof coat I fetch out the Secret Flask too. The Ramblers' Restorative does just what it says on the Flask. A couple of nips each and we're raring to go - after we've clambered over the two stiles.

Someone has left some yellow flowers on top of the cross which look very cheerful in the midst of the drizzle and low cloud. I go around the high wall to study the cross. It is dated 1737 with its four sides signed Shefield (yes, one f), Edale, Glossop and Hope. It is believed that this is a restoration or a replacement of an earlier cross.

The flat topped cross sits next to the ancient roman road which ran from Glossop to Brough and which is still, in places, a path. Here is one of the heavily used stretches and it has been said that, at certain times, roman soldiers can still be seen marching here. Never actually seen them ourselves, so we can't substantiate this!

We walk along the side of the path keeping between the high wall and the tree line to protect us from the rain. There are more walkers out on this side of the hill, though not a large number. Soon, though, the rain stops and we discover that we should have walked on the path this far, as we've come up against a no-stile. Basically, there are some fencing rails and a gap where the step should be. PC curses as she climbs over it, damning it as the worst stile in the Peak District, although she'll probably reallocate the title elsewhere in the future.

It's up and down underfoot next to the treeline, but we shun the well trodden path because we're a bit perverse like that. We do see a lot of fungi, though, ranging in colour from sickly cream to deep burgundy, and do benefit from shelter provided by the wall. Some of the sheep give us odd looks, but they're sporting purple splodges on their fleeces so they've no need to stare!

By the time we're in sight of our turn-off back down into the woods we're more than ready for our lunch, and fortunately there are enough tumbled sections of wall to provide somewhere comfortable to sit.

It's nice to get the rucksack off (yes, I'm still carrying the rucksack) and enjoy a cup of coffee. PC's made a good flask of coffee today (even though I've carried it all the way here) and as the first cup is downed the sky looks as though it might manage to clear. After the coffee we eat our sandwiches (yes, carried them too), have a second coffee, then fetch out the buns.

Mr Morrison has provided puff pastry fresh cream mince pies for us today. They're 'new', a welcome precursor to the Christmas season (unlike the infernal jingly songs blasted out in every shop and supermarket at this time of year which are only guaranteed to make goodwill to all men evaporate at super speed). The mince pies go down extremely well, and are washed down by the final dregs of coffee. At least when the rucksack is packed it is much lighter.

From here it's going to be pretty much all downhill. What a pity then that the path (a Footpath, not a Bridleway) has been churned into a slippery mess by mountain bikers. We pass two on our way down, but they don't seem even slightly ashamed that they are on a footpath and shouldn't be there.

The second part of the path through a young conifer plantation isn't nice to walk on; stony, rutted and churned in the centre, slippery at the edges. But when we can look up from where we're walking the views opening up across to Crook Hill are superb. The cloud has lifted and although the sun isn't shining at least it is clear.

We turn right on the broad track which contours the hill so remains fairly level, and since the trees to our left have been cleared we can see the patchwork woodland on the opposite side of the valley. Narrow lines of russet and pointed triangles cut through dark green blocks to make geometric shapes. We could make some interesting mathematical questions using the shapes - how many trees will you need to fill a space the size of...maybe not.

The path is a little soggy in places with one or two puddles, but we haven't walked too far when it suddenly changes and becomes a gouged hollow in the ground. Clearly diggers have been cutting a deep track though why the cut needs to be so severe is a mystery to us. From hereon we are walking below ground level on muddy (sometimes extremely muddy), stony ground. It isn't particularly pleasant as we have to watch where we're putting our feet as opposed to enjoying the view and when it starts to slope down we have to be doubly careful.

At one point, where a stream discharges on the track, we have to do a balancing act on a log to avoid being sucked into the mud. The potential for humour or disaster are great, but both are avoided. Eventually the path nose dives and takes us down to the broad path that skirts the reservoir. Now all we have to do is walk back.

We've made good time, but the clouds are gathering again and the light is fading. As we approach the path to the dam wall there's a biker repairing a puncture. Poor guy, hope he hasn't far to go afterwards or he may be caught out.

We're soon across the dam and back to the cars. I take off the rucksack and hand PC her flask (yes, I've carried it all the way and no, I won't let her forget it), but we don't have time to linger. Next week's walk is already planned so we're into our cars and away before the dusk swallows us up.

BAMFORD EDGE AND BACK AGAIN

There had been some early doubts about today's walk. Yesterday had been bitterly cold with a biting wind that had made us wary of venturing onto any high ground, but this morning all was clear, cool and relatively still, so we set off for Bamford Edge feeling optimistic.

We park up in the lay-by on New Road next to the access stile, pleased that no one else is there as there's only room for three, maybe four, cars.

Setting out we encounter our first (and hopefully last) problem. I bound athletically over the stile (only a slight exaggeration, honest) and wait eagerly at the other side for PC. And wait. And wait. The stile is eye-wateringly high and PC, conscious of keeping her bionic hip where it's meant to be, is struggling. However, with a suitable amount of cussing and contortions she heaves herself up and joins me on the far side. And we're off.

It isn't a very steep track up towards the disused quarry almost due north of the stile, but we're aware of the incline and keep using the bionic hip as an excuse to pause and admire theextensive views rapidly unfolding as we climb. The bionic hip, naturally, is fine. It's the lungs that seem to suffering. We're obviously carrying too much weight - in our rucksacks!

The light falling on distant Stanage Edge is wonderful, sculpting the rock face into sharp relief. Fingers crossed that the camera does it justice.

The quarry is quite overgrown now with a boggy morass in the middle, but there is a rough track up the side . I'm sent up first to try it out. If I fall PC won't follow, but hopefully she'll phone for help. As it is, I clamber up easily, it isn't as bad as it looks, and PC follows with ease. Once up there one side does drop away quite dramatically, but my remark about falling into the ravine is not appreciated, so we rapidly ascend to level ground before stopping again.

From here we admire the full length view of Stanage Edge. It's rare to be able to see all of it in one swoop of the eyes, and this is an excellent spot. PC tries out her magic camera skills, hopefully to be followed by magic computer skills, and I'm glad that I don't have to cope with the photos.

Then we skirt the top edge of the quarry and walk along a track following a slightly higher elevation than Bamford Edge itself. Here we're quite exposed and the wind is beginning to make itself felt. We walk along the well-worn track between boulders and the burnt-back heather. We wonder if this has been a controlled burning - it is extensive - or an accident. It's easy to see how moorland fires could quickly spread out of control up here on these barren, windy expanses.

We decide it's time to stop for a drink so we find a big boulder to sit behind out of the wind. Out comes the secret flask and the coffee flask. A couple of measures of Ramblers Restorative does just what is says on the bottle and PC, since she isn't driving, holds her cup out for a top up. Once the Ramblers has taken effect we enjoy a coffee and sit a while enjoying the view and feeling mellow. The buns are brought out for display - they're for lunch - but they prove an incentive to get moving and find somewhere to stop to eat.

A short distance further on we follow a path down onto Bamford Edge.

Whenever we come here we have to stop and stare. The views are spectacular. OK, so the cement works manages to rear it's ugly head - couldn't it be disguised, it really is a major eyesore - but ignoring that we can see a wonderful panorama taking in Abney, Castleton, Mam Tor, Win Hill, the distant Kinder range, and as we proceed along Bamford Edge's wonderfully rocky ridge the views of Ladybower and Derwent Edge open out. We can see the Derwent Dam, the Wheel Stones and Crook Hill, all places we've enjoyed walking, and will revisit again as soon as we can.

We have to keep stopping to enjoy the views. It is a must on this walk and it has to be one of the best places in the Peak District to get an impression of space. Perhaps we should keep it secret, though. It doesn't get as many visitors as it deserves, and it is all the better for that.

The ridge path descends and crosses a tumbled dry stone wall and heads across wilder Bamford Moor, until relatively recently the sole preserve of grouse shooters. The wind is blowing keenly now so we head up onto the moor a little way so we're less exposed. We find a comfortable nook and settle down for lunch. As we eat we see a lone walker trudging along the track towards Bamford Edge. He waves, we wave back, he continues on his way. That is the only encounter we have we another soul all day. It's wonderful up here.

At last the buns emerge. Lemon Muffin Cheesecakes: muffin pieces, creamy tangy cheesecake, white chocolate flakes, biscuity base. Perfect. Thank you Mr Morrison, you've done us proud.

Suitably replenished we set off back, the first part of our return journey retreading the path we've just been on. In the time it's taken us to eat (and drink, and chat) the wind has gathered strength. There is always the chance of strong gusts on this exposed edge, but now those gusts are powerful. We keep well away from the steep drops wherever possible. For some reason the smell of the burnt heather is very strong now although we didn't notice it on the way out. Perhaps the cheesecake has sharpened our senses.

We ignore the path up to higher ground and start the long, steady decline passing an old quarry with an almost-complete millstone abandoned in situ. What a lot of skill wasted, but it is rather a poignant monument. Much better than it being stuck in someone's garden as an ornament.

As we lose height the wind loses its ferocity. Looking back, though, we can see the clouds racing across the clear blue sky. PC quotes a line from a film, I immediately recognise it. Oh, how wonderful to be film buffs! (Actually, it was from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade - not exactly highbrow but a classic in it's own way.)

Crossing the brown, bracken-covered slopes we notice a number of square stakes stuck into the ground, some in lines, others in squares, some seemingly randomly placed. We're curious, but have no idea what they're for. Perhaps on a later walk up here we may reach enlightenment.

It isn't long before we're in sight of the car, with only the stile to negotiate. It's easier this way, fortunately, so there's no opportunity for a humorous photograph. Never mind.

We did well today. Later in the afternoon the wind's strength began to build and by late evening a gale was howling and the rain was beating down. It makes a change for luck to be on our side but we won't complain . We've had brilliant weather. The big question is, how long can our luck hold out?

LADYBOWER, CROOK HILL

Not an auspicious start to the day with high winds and driving rain on the agenda, but by the time we meet at the car park at the side of Ladybower the sky has cleared and we are hopeful. Hopeful, not stupid. We pull on all our waterproof gear, just in case!

The last time we walked this way PC had forgotten her camera. This time, though, she'd remembered it - but the battery wasn't working. Grovelling apologies ensued, but it was the proffered bottle of Old Tom (with chocolate - can't wait to try it) that clinched it. For that particular ale I'd forgive anything. Anyway, she has a mobile phone that takes pictures, so that would have to suffice for today.

We set off up the steep bridleway up Hag Side. Behind us, across the water, is the dramatic Derwent Edge which we had walked a few weeks ago, and the massive Wheelstones are prominent. We climb quickly and can soon see up the valley towards the dam which has water gushing over the top in a white, foaming cascade. We can even hear the pounding torrent from here. The light is perfect and PC takes a photo - just hope that the phone camera is able to do it justice.

This is a steep uphill climb which takes us beneath the trees where we startle some sheep who leap athletically over a fence to avoid us. A heavy shower of rain suddenly bursts down on us but no sooner do we pull up our hoods than it stops. It's going to be one of those days.

We both agree that the uphill slog isn't so bad. certainly not as bad as we remember it. Are our memories playing tricks? Or are we really getting better at this sort of thing?

Within no time we reach the top and as we go through the gate we are suddenly exposed to the howling wind, and another sudden torrent of rain. We turn our backs to the weather but this is more than a quick, passing squall so we retrace our steps back onto the bridleway where we gain some shelter from the rise of the hill and the trees. Sure enough, a few minutes patience is rewarded and the rain stops enabling us to strike out again.

We turn left on the path which is awash with rainwater. The trees to our left provide no shelter as the wind is coming across the moors from the right. It's hard to make ourselves heard, quite an achievement. The views are opening up as we trudge soggily up the gentle grassy incline: Bleaklow, Kinder, Mam Tor are all in our sights as we look around. Closest is the Vale of Edale to our right with Rushup Edge clearly defined. To think, we were only up there last week.

A couple of waterproof-clad walkers approach from the gate in the wall ahead of us. So we're not the only mad people out on the hills today. We pause a moment to exchange pleasantries, and we all remark upon our collective lunacy. At least if we're carted off to the loony bin we won't be alone. They head down the path as we push on up. The rain has abated but the wind is blowing hard.

Through the gate at Bridge-end Pasture (what bridge?) we're faced with an extremely waterlogged field and we become bog-hoppers as we try to avoid getting sucked into the mire. It's pretty much impossible.

At the crest of the field, though, we have a wonderful view of the twin peaks of Crook Hill. Again, the sun is shining and it is a perfect picture, so the lack of camera is cursed again. We drop down quite quickly across fields that don't seem to be the slightest bit boggy and go through a gate next to the high stone wall which takes us into the open access area around Crook Hill.

There's a distinct track leading around the base of the first hill and we follow it easily then veer off on a far less distinct path (Ok, so maybe it wasn't a path at all) up the side of the hill. Our aim is to reach the top but we come across a sheltered nook away from the wind and with glorious views over the valley to Derwent Edge. It's too good a place to pass so we sit down and have a drink from the (not so) secret flask and a coffee to wash it down. The sun is shining, the colours are magical and we aren't being buffeted by the wind.

We plan to hike to the next hill for lunch, but we're past noon now and the picnic police won't get us so we stay where we are and break out the sandwiches. Before the buns are brought out we see the rain clouds hurtling towards us again so we pour the coffee and keep our heads low. When the rain comes it splashes into our coffee cups and threatens to swamp us. We sit it out as the rain sheets across the landscape, then five minutes later the sky is clear and we are rewarded with a rainbow.

Postponing the bun fest we lever ourselves up from our comfortable spot and set off to have a look on the other side of the hill. We can see along the length of Ladybower stretching at the side of the A57, and the long ridge leading up to Win Hill. We drop sharply down then climb up again to reach the top of the higher of the twin hills. It's worth the effort. The 360 degree view makes up for the climb. For now the sky is perfectly clear and we spend ages admiring the views and trying to commit them to memory. We wave to someone on the top of Win Hill, but they don't wave back. Maybe it's not a person, but a trig point.

We trudge down the hill trying to pretend that there aren't cattle prints scored deep into the ground, and soon reach the broad track that goes through Crook Hill Farm yard. Instead we take a slight marked detour through a field, startling some sheep, and arriving at the end of the farm track where we only have to cross over. PC becomes slightly disorientated and tries to set off in the wrong direction. Like horses, she needs steering!

The cattle are in the large byre next to the path, and are making a heck of a racket. Thank goodness they aren't out in the open. However, a long, low, loud rumble of thunder rolls along the A57 valley and we know what will follow. We're in the open and can see the rain racing along the valley. Just enough time for us to pull up our hoods before the rain hits us.

There's something primitive and elemental about being out in this kind of weather. You can't do anything about it, you just have to accept it, the same as man has had to do for thousands of years. It's an enriching feeling, if a bit uncomfortable.

We're pretty certain that the rain has set in for the rest of our walk; visibility is negligible and even the sheep are squelching. Out come extra jumpers (PC) and the rucksack cover (me). Naturally, by the time we reach the bottom of the hill (the oddly named Toadhole Cote), the rain has stopped and the sun is shining again bathing everything in rainwashed light.

We cross the road, pause to admire some very neat hedge laying, then take the path running at the side of the reservoir. Some sheep, looking very clean, wander towards us before veering off, and we disturb a jay which flies overhead for a while before disappearing.

Soon we enter Fearfall Wood and are keeping our eyes open for somewhere suitable to stop. The uneaten buns are calling to us. The last time we were here it was bluebell time when it was considerably drier and sheepless. There are a lot of sheep about today.

We do the ugly up and down between the huge water pipes then we're on a long straight stretch in Lee Wood where we finally find a bench to sit and unpack the buns. Raspberry Rapture it says on the packet - very appropriate we agree as we hungrily devour the delicious raspberry cheesecakes. There's even another cup of coffee left in the flask and we drink it, enjoying the view and feeling very mellow.

It isn't far back to the cars now and soon we're crossing the road and stripping off our soggy gear. The changeable weather hasn't stopped us or hindered us, and we both agree that it's been a great day out.

Sadly this will be our last walk for a while. PC is going into hospital to be transformed into BW (Bionic Woman) complete with new hip. It will take a while for her to be fit enough to venture onto the hills so in the meantime we'll resort to going for drives before progressing to short strolls. Naturally, we'll have to keep occupied by visiting cafes on our trips, but we'll take up the challenge of sampling coffee and buns with stoicism and determination! And we'll keep a record too.