Cressbrookdale

The day before our walk had been glorious, full of the promise of spring. Unfortunately by the time we met up the weather had become rather drear. Moreover the toilets at Monsal Head were still closed.

Still, plenty to see on this walk.

And plenty of water.

Actually, rather a lot of water.

Gushing through the dry stone wall.

Peter's Stone (or Rock) standing tall over the valley. It's actually a landslip from the hill behind, it must have slowly descended to be able to keep its form.

Looking down at the sodden valley.

Magnificent geology.

A bridge definitely helps!

Looking up the dry valley heading towards Litton.

AN ALTERNATIVE CIRCUIT OF CRESSBROOK AND TANSLEY DALES

It's one of those beautiful spring mornings with sunshine and a clear sky. It's chilly, but great to be out. We are parked at one of our 'good' spots in a small parking bay next to the River Wye down from Monsal Head. Up there it is busy, but down here there's only one other car. There's enough to see already before we even get going. The daffodils are flowering and the views across the river are lovely.

We head, as usual, along the road towards the old mill which is now converted into an apartment complex. Here we veer right and start the steady climb up the road. It certainly starts to make us feel a bit warm, and PC pauses to remove a layer.

At the top of the lane where it hairpins we continue ahead on the rough track. Normally we would continue ahead through the gate, but this time we choose the steeply sloping right hand path up through the woods. It doesn't take us long to wonder if we've done the right thing.

Mollie may be finding the steep steps great fun, but for those of us with less bounce, they're a bit of a trial. PC removes another layer!

However, when we get to the top of the woods we are rewarded for our efforts. The fields are lush and green.

The views across to the cliffs over Ravensdale cottages are superb.

We skirt the wall and find our stile through, then we have a number of fields to cross. From the first we can see to Cressbrook dale, but I'm not in a mood to linger. There had been cows in these fields before and I want to get moving!

Fortunately, it's too early for them to be out yet, so we make it safely across this and the next few fields too before joining the track on the edge of Litton village. We walk along until we find our next path which leads us across more fields to the head of Tansley Dale.

Lunch beckons, but despite the sun it is rather chilly and we could do with some shelter. Ahead of us two ladies vacate what looks to be a perfect spot tucked under an outcrop, so we take their places.

We settle down with our sandwiches, coffee and buns, and a small warmer from the secret flask. That will need topping up soon.

With lunch over we walk down the valley to where it joins Cressbrook Dale, and we see the water. Yes, we've had a fair amount of rain recently but we hadn't quite expected there to be so much water. It's usually bone dry here, and we've only once seen it so inundated, and that was from the far end - and we hadn't been able to get through. We hope it doesn't block our way back.

The spread of water is quite extensive and we keep high up to avoid paddling.

There are ponds that look permanent, even though we know they aren't.

We head through the woods accompanied by the soothing sound of running water. The sunlight on the mossy green stones under the water is particularly stunning.

By the time we reach the narrow wooden footbridge there is quite a torrent, but at least it isn't flooded. But at the other side it is a quagmire. The farmer has clearly kept cattle on here through the bad weather, and they make full use of the footpath to access the water and shelter. Walking is really hard, and a couple of people go past us at a less cautious speed only for the man to slip down a few places in front. He gets up swiftly enough with seemingly little the worse for wear, other than muddy clothes and battered dignity.

We proceed with more caution and reach the safety of a solid track without mishap. From here we only need to walk up to join the lane at the hairpin bends then walk back along the road to the cars. It has been an excellent walk.

ASHFORD IN THE WATER, DEEP DALE, SHELDON

Having missed a week's walking desperation has me turning up at Ashford in the Water's tiny car park ridiculously early. It is foggy and I have a long wait. An uncharged camera and milk boiling over conspires to make PC late. Ah well, by the time she arrives the weather is picking up a little and we can at least see where we're walking to.

We set off through the village and over the picturesque medieval Sheepwash Bridge which spans the River Wye, pausing long enough to take a photo (I had brought a camera though wasn't quite sure how to work it) and admire the ducks braving the cold water.We cross the main A6 and walk along it for a short distance before turning off onto the road leading to Sheldon, although we are soon taking a footpath to our right which follows the winding river.

By now our initial giddiness at being out has passed and our talk has turned to more serious things. Radley handbags. Women will understand, men undoubtedly won't.

The level path isn't as muddy as we had expected as we pass Little Shacklow Wood on our left and head towards the derelict water powered bobbin mills. Here bobbins were made from the local ash woods to be used in the cotton making industry, such as at nearby Litton and Cressbrook Mills.

Today a group of anglers are parked outside the mills preparing for a day on the river, so we walk on by without pausing and take the broad track that runs behind the buildings, admiring the rusted waterwheels and old stonework.

We have now entered Great Shacklow Wood and are hoping to enjoy the autumn colours as the sun is now breaking through. Before the path begins to climb we come across a large pond playing host to numerous water birds. This pond is the collection point for Magpie Sough, the drainage tunnel from Magpie Mine high up on the hills behind us beyond Sheldon. Although blocked in the 1960s it has since been cleared to run freely again.

From here the path begins to climb, quite steeply in places, and it's time for us to pause to admire the golden trees - and remove a layer or two. Time also to test the contents of the secret flask. Yes, all in order.


The flask obviously helps as we reach the top of the path sooner than anticipated before dropping down to the head of Deep Dale where there is evidence (although we didn't see it) of a settlement and cave shelter. There is also evidence (clearly visible) of cows. Lots of them. But since they aren't to be seen I concentrate instead on the views - excellent behind us over the River Wye towards the Fin Cop settlement on the far hill, and closer to the stark white limestone amongst the green and brown vegetation. The path is dry but rough underfoot as cloven hooves have dug up rocks and pebbles. At times this supposedly dry valley can be a quagmire but despite recent rains it isn't bad today. But it is warm now, so we remove yet another layer. As we press on PC suddenly instructs me to 'Keep Walking'. Naturally, I stop and looking around see a herd of cows on the slope directly above us. Resisting the urge to scream and run I remain calm and, with PC uttering soothing words to me all the time, we press on only a little faster than usual.

Danger passed we spy a large clump of blackthorn with fat juicy sloes still on the branches. It hasn't been a good year for sloes so this is an opportunity not to be missed. We down rucksacks, rummage for something to put the sloes in, and start picking. It's very therapeutic - despite the vicious thorns - and brings out the self-sufficient peasant in us. It doesn't take too long to gather enough to make a bottle of sloe gin each, and PC decides to have a go at making some herself. We'll taste and compare when they're ready - all in the interests of serious study, naturally.

It's turned cooler again but we're buoyed up by the thoughts of the gin - and of the raspberry gin, raspberry vodka, gooseberry gin, and mixed berry vodka all underway at home, plus the gallons of cider and Ramblers' Restorative (the contents of the secret flask) already made. We start making up names for them all, until we see more cows ahead. What is it with this walk and cows?

This time I'm not feeling so brave so I manage, with agility borne of desperation, to climb over a wall and squeeze under a wire fence to avoid them. Seeing my gymnastics PC decides the cows are less of a threat and walks right past them. They don't bat an eyelid but I know that they would have charged us and stampeded if I'd been there.After our adventures we're feeling hungry so find a hollow of ground and settle down for lunch. We have to pull on coats and jumpers as the sun has gone and it has turned chilly. Heavy salads are followed by welcome coffee and the buns. Today's offering: Lemon Muffin Cheesecakes. Mr Morrison has done us proud. They are sooo good. Biscuity base, fluffy cheesecake with lemony centre topped by muffin pieces. Bliss.

Feeling extremely full, but cold, we press on through a close-cropped field of sheep to the gate which leads onto the unmade Wheal Lane. There are cows (again!) in the field to the side of us, but they're behind a stone wall so pose no threat. At the top of the track we emerge onto Flagg Lane, a minor road which runs between Moneyash and Buxton. Here we debate what to do next. We can follow the road then turn left into Sheldon, or we can cut off the corner and go through fields. The road is the least appealing option, but the potential for a bovine ambush in the fields cannot be ruled out. Finally we decide to go the field route, with PC volunteering to be the cattle wrangler if necessary. I, of course, will be sprinting in the opposite direction!

There are cows in the first field, far enough away not to be a problem, but we cross at high speed anyway and squeeze through a tight crush-stile. We're both pleased to be able to get through so easily - shows how slim we are. The next few fields are fine and we're becoming blase, despite the increasingly dodgy stiles we have to negotiate. Then, with only two fields to go we see them. Cows. Hundreds of them. All across our route.

After some dithering we set off across the first field. These cows are only young, curious and a little afraid. I'm over the stile in record time but the next field is more problematic. It's full of friesians, all in the bottom half, next to the road and our escape route. Across the field is an electric fence. If it is switched on we'll not be able to get through anyway, and the thought of walking all the way back is even more daunting (at the moment) than the prospect of walking though cows.

We approach the fence cautiously. It doesn't appear to be connected. PC risks electrocution by tapping it with her stick. No, she's still alive so we limbo underneath the wire (honestly) and face the cows. Some of them are looking at us and others wander onto our path.

Decisive action is required which involves walking at speed with PC between me and the beasts, head down and trying not to see them. As we approach the gate the cows are milling around but I've spotted a gap and am sprinting for the stile before PC even knows I've gone. onto Johnson Lane taking out the camera before PC is over the stile. Photographic evidence is essential.

With the cows now behind us we walk up the lane into Sheldon as the sun shines on us again. A good omen.

There are a number of cars parked on what appears to be the village green,a group of walkers, and we wonder what the villagers think of having their space commandeered in such a thoughtless manner.Then we see them. More cows, this time being herded up the main street. I don't believe it! I take refuge behind a bench as PC stands suicidally in the middle of the road to take a picture

Once the cows have passed we walk though Sheldon, a pretty unspoilt village. It still seems to be a predominantly farming community although there are some lovely cottages and it was once home to miners working at the nearby Magpie Mine. There is an interesting looking pub, the Cock and Pullet, which has been marked down for a future visit.

As we walk we discuss the possibilities of alcoholic jams and marmalades, debating which liqueur will go best with which fruit. Experiments are in order.

The road drops down and we round the bend before taking the path off to the left which runs along a grassy, sloping field with the woods ahead of us. With the afternoon sun shining the leaves on the trees in Little Shacklow Wood seem to be glowing. This is early autumn in all its glory. We skirt the edge of the wood and as we do the vista opens up ahead of us so that we can see a huge distance.

We leave the wood and start to descend steeply across open ground towards the River Wye. It's hard on the knees but soon we're at the bottom and able to retrace our steps to Ashford. With the sun shining we pause for more photos at the bridge, then it's a quick walk back to the car park and the end to another very satisfying day - apart, of course, for the cows.

MONSAL HEAD TO LITTON

Fantastic! Not only were we emerging from the enforced Easter idleness but the sun is out and the sky a clear, cloudless blue.

Parking at Monsal Head on the Little Longstone road is normally a straight forward operation, but today a long line of cars mean we are forced to park amidst a mass trespass (or organised walk to the uninitiated). Fingers crossed they wouldn't be walking our way - and a generous but misplaced invitation to join them (politely but emphatically refused) revealed their route to be different to ours. Phew.

A brief blip at the top of Monsal Head reveals that one camera was missing and the 'first time out' camera has flat batteries. This means relying on a mobile phone for photos and hoping the technological details will not be our downfall.

Too eager to set off we hit the first path we come to and, despite having been this way many times, don't realise it is the path leading down to the River Wye rather than across the viaduct -until we come to the water. A decision is made. We press on, and it's the right decision. We reach a weir, white water frothing down its steps throwing up spray which, in the wonderful sunshine, produces a perfect, personal rainbow.

We cross the footbridge and meander back upriver through a wide meadow sprinkled with spring flowers and head towards the viaduct, its towering black arches dominating the valley. A quick scramble up the valley side and we emerge onto the trail we'd initially intended to be on. This is easy walking on the remains of the old railway line, its track-bed more used to the pounding of feet now rather than the rumble of metal wheels. Trees provide shade from the sun but the April chill still makes itself felt, although that doesn't stop some people walking in strappy vests and shorts. What will they do when it gets really warm?

We stop on a bench for a drink (only cranberry juice) and to carry on catching up. So much seems to have happened over the last three weeks - to family members rather than us, of course, we seem to lead uneventful lives - but the repercussions inevitably affect us. There have been moments of pride, elation, frustration and worrying over plans for the future. The usual family mix.

We follow the path skirting the now-blocked tunnel towards Cressbrook Mill and the delightfully named Water-cum-Jolly Dale. Before reaching either place we veer uphill on a less distinct path we have used before (we think) to avoid a couple of undignified scrambles. This path keeps us high above the River Wye and looking down we can see a solitary swan gliding across the water among coots and other waterbirds. The looming limestone crags behind provide a dramatic backdrop although people walking on the path beneath in bright colours spoil the effect.

Our path dips and rises with the contours of the hill but we are constantly climbing. Soon we reach a vantage point above the aptly named Millers Dale (although there is another Millers Dale, or perhaps continuation of this one, to the west). We admire the view in the, admittedly, cold wind. We've been here before, on a good day and on a bad one where it was impossible to see more than a couple of yards ahead, but we've never been able to see so far or so clearly. We can even see the damned cement works at Hope on the horizon!

Finding a sheltered hollow to sit in keeps us out of the wind, so we break out our leisurely lunch. Today is not a day for hurrying. The views, the weather and the conversation are a perfect mix. Even the buns, calorie free fresh cream scones (no calorie count on the box means they must be calorie free) seems extra special. We spot a pair of buzzards on the opposite side of the valley, one constantly calling to the other with its long, drawn out cry. They circle slowly, lazily, and are soon directly above us. We look up to admire the banding under their wings and marvel at the graceful, effortless ease with which they catch the air currents. Higher they go, circling endlessly. Then to the right another buzzard becomes airborne and one of the pair goes to meet it as its partner carries on upwards. Soon they are only specks in the endless sky.

Still looking skywards we see a few vapour trails, an unfamiliar sight these last few days after the eruption of the Icelandic volcano. Man is obviously reclaiming the skies. A pity the airspace isn't left to the buzzards.

We spend far too long over lunch and despite not wanting to move on, we must.

The path skirts the hillside and descends steeply to the old railway track and Litton Mill. We cross the river, running deep and clear, and walk through the old mill complex, now houses and apartments, before joining the riverside path.

One house has a wild, unkempt garden facing the river and we pause to admire the profusion of pale yellow primroses growing there. A little way on and we stop again to stare at the banks of delicate white, nodding anemones sprinkled liberally over the woodland floor like icing sugar. Totally enchanting.

The river is full of large fish, trout, and an angler waits for us to pass before trying his luck with them.

Walking is easy. The strength of the sun is concentrated in the high-sided valley and it has become really warm. We spot a face in the limestone rock face to our left; two eyes, a nose, a thin-lipped mouth, and wonder how long it has been watching people walk this way whilst they have passed by, oblivious.

Soon we're under the looming crags at Water-cum-Jolly Dale and crossing the bridge over the thundering weir. Then it's a brief climb up to the path and back onto the Monsal Trail.

We're running late and have to push the pace as we reach the final climb out of the valley to Monsal Head. Back at the cars we have only a brief time to reflect on a brilliant day before, reluctantly, heading home.