HATHERSAGE MOOR, HIGGER TOR, BURBAGE

Here we are for our first walk back after the summer holidays and it feels good to be out. We meet at the Surprise View car park under an unpromising sky of mist which threatens rain, not that it matters to hardy souls like us. We have loads of news to catch up with and are desperate to escape the accumulated post-holiday chores which have multiplied alarmingly in our absence.

We cope admirably with the parking-ticket machine which had us stumped on our last visit then set off gingerly, nursing a dodgy hip and back back - one each so they're equally shared.

The first stile is approached with caution but we cope with it easily. See, things aren't too bad after all! We almost immediately encounter a small uphill scramble, but experience of this means we know the easy way and we're soon on the open moor covered with a dense carpet of heather and spindly silver birch trees. The path is sandy underfoot due to the constant erosion of the sombre grey gritstone.

We're heading uphill here, but at a gentle gradient which gives us plenty of breath to talk about all that has happened since we last met up.

We pause to take photos of some of a couple of strangely eroded rocks that look like a pair of Komodo Dragons turned to stone, one looking north, the other south.

A short distance along we reach the towering bulk of Mother Cap, a large wind-weathered monolith that is visible from a great distance away. It is a popular site for climbers with a route up it being called, apparently, Conan the Librarian! Why? No idea.

After only a brief pause to admire the view, and to remove a layer of clothing - the sun has emerged - we head north towards the distinctive flat-topped rise of Higger Tor. We take a path that is not on the OS but is well used enough to be clear on the ground. Carl Wark, the iron age (or possibly even bronze age) hill fort is over to our right. Carl Wark isn't the only evidence of settlement here on Hathersage Moor although the fort is the clearest with the rest being buried beneath vegetation.

Our path dips at Winyards Nick with another crossing it, but we continue straight on. Soon we reach the only enclosure on the moor, a large rectangular sheepfold. As always we look for the 'missing wood'.

I'll explain. On a walk here some years ago, in snow and thick fog, we passed the corner of the sheepfold heading in the opposite direction and saw, heading roughly easterly, two cart tracks leading in to a wood of spindly silver birches. After much debate we decided to press on instead of going into the wood and forgot all about it. Until I went on a walk there some time later and - no wood! I asked PC. She remembered the wood too (I hadn't imagined it) so we went back together. Despite us both recalling the wood's exactly location and what it looked like, it quite simply wasn't there. A mirage? or some kind of window to a former time? We're still debating the point, and we look for the wood on every visit. One day we'll return in fog, just to see...

Skirting the enclosure boundary we head towards Higger Tor, which looms larger on our approach. We shun the direct ascent and skirt around to the east where we can climb up without undue effort. At the top we pause for a sip from the secret flask, but to our overwhelming frustration the top won't come off. We both try, even resorting to bashing the flask on a rock, but all we manage to do is form a hairline crack in the metal that oozes the odd drop of nectar. Grr.

Refusing to be daunted we set off on the clear path towards Upper Burbage Bridge. This whole area of the moor is very close to road so is easily accessible which makes for more visitors. There are quite a few small groups out, and we have to remind ourselves that although this area is on our doorsteps, it is actually a holiday location for many people.

We cross Burbage Brook by the bridge rather than the up and down scramble over the water. Our way is quicker, and safer, especially in our fragile states.

At the far side of the Brook we debate whether to take the high route on the top of Burbage Rocks on the edge of Burbage Moor or keep to the lower, easier path that forms, apparently, part of the Sheffield Country Walk. We opt for the easy route today but first drop down towards the Brook to sit on some boulders in the sun to eat lunch. The coffee is welcome, as is secret flask number 2 which is only brought out in times of dire need. It feels very civilised sitting here, sipping our drinks, eating lunch and contemplating the moors, the weather, life and everything. And buns. PC has done us proud. Two cup cakes - one lemon, one coffee - are duly presented for admiration before being ceremoniously cut in half and savoured.

It would be far too easy to sit here all day with life buzzing past inconsequentially, but we have to move so we hoist ourselves stiffly upright and head off.

We discuss which path to take, either the one on the top of the rocks, or the lower track. We go for the low track as it is track is so easy to walk and as such is far more popular than the paths on the other side of the Brook. Even today, midweek, we see more people than we usually do, and at weekends it will be like the M1. To our left the rocky ridge of Burbage Rocks stands starkly sculptured in the sun.We pause frequently to admire the views up and down Burbage Basin and across to Carl Wark.

When we reach the road we cross over and into the Longshaw Estate which gives us easy access back to the car park. We go over Burbage Brook by a footbridge then follow the stream side path to the footpath leading to Surprise View car park. When we arrive there we are surprised to see an ice cream van. Tempting, but no. Smugly satisfied that we can resist temptation we plan our next walk then head home with the sun still shining. An excellent first outing.

EYAM MOOR

Traditionally we don't do very well on our walks around or over Eyam Moor. This morning looked like giving us some of our usual poor weather; grey skies and a few spots of rain with the possibility of later downpours. Sad really given that we'd been experiencing some (un)seasonably dry and hot weather which had already meant hosepipe bans were being put into force in the NW.

I reached our meeting spot on the end of the track on Sir William Hill Road early, PC texted to say she'd be late - a change for both of us. By the time PC arrived the clouds had thinned and the sun was making a break for freedom so we abandoned our waterproofs (well, stuffed them in our rucksacks) in favour of suncream, sunhats and sunglasses. This may be a first for Eyam Moor.

We clambered over the stile with agility borne of much practise and followed the wall on our left. The ground for the first few steps is surprisingly undulating, not apparent until you meet it during a deluge. On one occasion we were almost stopped from reaching our cars because the whole area had turned into a lake. Fortunately it was during our 'dog days' and my dog was big enough to be sent forward to test the depth. She made it, so we waded through. PC's diminutive dog, though, had to be carried or she would have had to snorkel!

Today, after the prolonged dry spell the undulations are barely noticed and we stride ahead enjoying the ever expanding views in front of us. There's hardly anyone else out today and apart from far distant figures we have the moor to ourselves.

Since we started so high we soon have to start our descent although the path is neither too steep nor too rugged and we can keep our eyes on the wonderful clear views as much as our feet. The terrain levels a little as we approach a stone stile built into a wall which we climb with caution. It feels very high and exposed. At the other side we pause to admire the view down to Bretton Clough and across to Abney Low. The drop down to Bretton Clough looks a lot more dramatic than it is, but makes for a suitable photo opportunity.

The path curves alongside a high wall and we pull on our jumpers against the chill wind that blows across the valley, although we need our sunglasses too. The path drops towards Stoke Ford with the added inconvenience of another stile. By the time we reach the point where we had once sat for lunch we are removing our jumpers again. When we'd been here before we'd sat, bemused, as a couple scoured the hillside for a path for a considerably length of time before eventually deciding to approach us for help. It turned out they were about 2 miles away from where they thought and had only a vague idea how to read their map. We set them right, and continued with our buns, but we wonder if they ever reached their destination.

We descend to Stoke Ford, once the main packhorse route from Eyam to Bradwell but now used primarily by walkers and with a bridge to prevent anyone getting their feet wet. Today the water isn't too high and although tempted to stop for a paddle we continue though the woods that skirt Highlow Brook. The woods give way to open ground carpeted with bracken and thistles which are proving a magnet for hundreds of brown spotted, orange butterflies. After much patience PC manages to persuade a pair to pose for a photograph.

Also, at a lower level and easily missed amongst the thick grass,

orchids.

Another photograph is called for.

This is easy, if undulating, walking. We cross one of the many small streams that feed Highlow Brook, hop over a wooden stile then look for somewhere to stop for lunch as we're making extremely good time. We sit down on the springy turf at the foot of Eyam Moor where we can enjoy a pleasant view across the moors. A ewe is instantly curious and hopeful, but we persuade her (nicely) to go away although she doesn't go too far, just in case.

Lunch is unmemorable, but the buns are good as befits our last walk for a while. We were going to have cup cakes but they hadn't materialised (unco-operative opening hours of the cup cake shop) but PC has brought along photographs and vivid descriptions of the treats beyond our reach. This is serious food porn at its most extreme. Instead, we content ourselves with New York Vanilla Cheesecake, and yes, it is exceptionally good New York Vanilla Cheesecake. Absolutely delicious. Our muted sighs of approval have the ewe showing an interest again, but she's disappointed. Some things are too good to share.


We stay a while, drinking coffee, talking, enjoying the blazing sunshine, making the most of our last walk. Summer holidays loom and we'll be going our separate ways until September (but I've been promised cup cakes for our first walk back. YAY!)

Soon we have to admit that we can sit around no longer so hoist ourselves to our feet, walk downhill and cross a stream via a small wooden bridge, a courtesy that had not been here when the stream was a torrent and we'd had to cross with a small dog and an audience! We walk through the edge of Highlow Wood and for once the path isn't a quagmire. .In open fields again PC decides to snap a pair of photogenic sheep who decide she's taking too long over the whole thing and put on bored expressions for her

We pass the beautifully kept Tor Farm and what must be the most picturesque 5 star chicken hut in England. A lot of houses don't look as good. Then we reach the road, turn sharp right and start the long, slow slog uphill. We're steadily overheating now and have frequent pauses to drink. At Leam we leave the road and return to the moor following the easily discernible path upwards. There are loads of bilberry bushes here with a few ripe berries on them, but after a sampling they are deemed to still be too sour.

Ahead stands a pair of gateposts in the remains of a semi-derelict wall, very atmospheric but no longer any use other than as a way marker. Through the gateposts it's time to pause and admire the views again, this time over to Higger Tor and Carl Wark.It isn't far now, and soon the cars are in sight. Through the last gate, and we're back. It has been probably our best walk ever across Eyam Moor, and a perfect end to our 'season'. Now we're can look back on what we've done this year, and look forward to our new season in September.

MONSAL TRAIL TO BAKEWELL AND BACK

It's a little bit overcast today, but so much better for walking than the unaccustomed heat we've been experiencing over the last few days. We park on the road heading towards Little Longstone just short of Monsal Head. It's going to be a steady walk along the old railway line that has been turned into the Monsal Trail, but it will be a long one.

We walk down the road and go through the gate into a field. The Trail is broken at this point because of a blocked tunnel, so this is a slight diversion from what would have been the original route. The field is clear, undulating and, more importantly, devoid of livestock. There is the rich perfume of roses on the air and we spy a tall rose, possibly Nevada, clambering high into a tree that stands in a back garden.

At the next field gate my footsteps slow. Beyond the gate are cows, lots of them. I really hate cows. PC asks if we can go on another route, but there isn't one. So I tell her to keep talking and walking as I brave the herd. The cows must know that I don't like them, they keep staring at us, but I keep going buoyed up by PC telling me it's all OK. (No, it isn't - stay calm, breathe, keep walking,) The last few steps are taken at a run as a cow tries to block the gate and PC bravely shoos it away. Safety at last. Alas, there's no camera again today but PC gets her phone out to take a momentous photo of the perils we have just passed. From here it's all plain sailing - or walking.

The trail is so easy to walk that we don't really have to think, which is good as it leaves us plenty of time to talk - an essential on a day like today. Of course, we pass quite a lot of other walkers, some in groups, but most noticeable are the abundant wayside flowers: polemonium (Jacob's Ladder), geranium pratense (Meadow Cranesbill), scabious and meadowsweet.

We turn up the bridleway towards Bakewell, the only detour we'll make off the Trail and one that takes us higher up and gives us better views. It's only a short steep pull between fields of, yes, more cows. At least these are fenced in. There are plenty of calves too looking impossibly cute with their oversized knees and big eyes. They're mums don't look too sweet though.

The path peaks, then we're downhill. We go through a gate which swings opens upwards. There must be some strange law of physics to explain this but PC doesn't come up with one and it's soon forgotten as we head down to Bakewell.

This part of the path is rough and steep but soon we're on paved ground. We take the footpath that skirts the side of the river and as we watch we see a dipper, it's white chest flashing, then PC spots a water vole washing itself on a mound in the middle of the river. It's quite unbothered by us and carries on with its daily ablutions without a care in the world. We watch it for a while before moving on, only to see another, very briefly, swimming at the edge of the river before darting for cover.

We walk around the bend in the river and find a bench to sit on for lunch, which is uninspiring, and buns - fresh cream eclairs - which make up for everything else. To the coffee we add a little from the secret flask which is a guaranteed mood enhancer. As we sit we see the wildlife of the river: dippers, coots with their adolescent young; a duck with a very young brood and grey wagtails with a youngster bigger than the parents.

We can't sit forever, even though we feel like it, and set off again, firstly coming out at Bakewell's famous bridge before heading uphill towards the Trail. It's easy enough to find (but last time we came here we took a less direct route and spent ages looking for it) and soon we're skirting the old station buildings and walking on the familiar surface. There are still flowers in abundance, plenty of wild roses and toadflax amongst others.

We pass a large group of people at the Hassop roundabout bookshop and ignore the enticements of cream buns and ice creams at the cafe to continue on our way. Three men approaching us ask, without much hope, if we have an inhaler. To their amazement, and relief, I have one in my overstuffed, ready-for-any-eventuality rucksack. The required medication is whipped out and administered, along with a hayfever tablet, and the grateful parties are able to continue on their way without having to resort to an ambulance. So, no more mocking when I say I'm ready for any eventuality! Ok?

After we've saved the day our mood lightens and we're on our way back with almost a bounce in our steps. We have to return via the field of cows, and I'm steeling myself for it, but by some miracle they've disappeared. Phew. It might have taken more than a drop from the secret flask to keep me going this time.

Soon we're back at the cars. We've had a little rain, quite a bit of sun, and more drama than we'd have liked, but it's done us good to get out. I just wish there had been fewer cows.

THE GREAT RIDGE

A brilliantly sunny day at home boded well but driving towards Castleton the clouds gathered, the sun disappeared and the windscreen wipers came on. Mam Tor, our destination, was hidden by the murk.

We meet in Castleton's car park (good loos) and we're both in cropped grousers anticipating good weather. Ah well.

We don't stay in Castleton but drive up the road to park near Winnat's Pass which will be closer to our finishing point. The parking here is free on non-holiday weekdays too.



Togged up against the weather, fleeces and jumpers, we set off in the drizzle. There are plenty of school trips about today, a sure sign that it's coming to the end of the school year and the teachers want the kids out of the way. We pass the old entrance to the Odin Mine on our left looking very Tolkein-ish and we continue along the road which eventually disappears thanks to the gradual disintegration of the Shivering Mountain as Mam Tor is known (though we think it's shivering because of the cold).



We don't follow the line of the old road but veer onto the right hand path which skirts Mam Farm and heads up to Hollins Cross. It's warmed up by now so we take off our top layers and continue our rambling discussion on proms, concerts, fashion, art and all the things that concern two intellectual women like ourselves!



Before we reach Hollins Cross the sun makes an appearance - yippee - but so does a crowd of school kids on a collision course with us on another path. We pause to let them, and their harassed looking teachers, get out of the way before heading up to the cross to enjoy the views. Edale has opened up below us with Grindslow Knott featuring prominently but with wonderful views across the Kinder range.

We decide to sit down for a coffee and a chat. There's no rush as we're making excellent time. Naturally our talk turns to food, all the good things we've been eating (and shouldn't have) and all the things we want (but won't because we're good - honest). Cream buns, chocolate, heavy salads, cakes - there's only one way to describe this. Food Porn.

We pick ourselves up, shake ourselves off and set off towards the peak that is Mam Tor. The ridge path is paved because it is so well walked making it resemble a Roman Road. Last time we were here the path was swarming with ants, this time its swarming with school kids as well as plenty of other walkers enjoying the day.

It's windier and cooler as we near the top of Mam Tor, which is the site of an Iron Age hill fort, and as we approach the top point we notice that in the cobbles some wonderful bronze plaques
have bee set into them each one depicting a different aspect of Iron Age life: a round house, a sword, a plough, a mask, a shield and a torq.

It's hard to imagine life up here a couple of thousand years ago, but it is clearly a brilliantly defensible position and the hand-dug ramparts - still clearly visible in parts - are and amazing feat of human endeavour and engineering. The 360 degree panorama certainly means that no enemies would be able to creep up unannounced and the chieftain would feel as though he was the lord of all he surveyed.

We enjoy the views along the Great Ridge to Hollins Cross, Back Tor, Lose Hill and beyond to the triangular mound of Win Hill. Beyond Stanage Edge stretches for miles. Sweeping around we see the ever-intrusive blot of the cement works - surely the ugliest eyesore in the Peak District - then Peveril Castle and Winnats Pass before skimming the flattened landscape heading towards Sparrowpit and Chapel en le Frith before finding Rushup Edge and the undulations of the Kinder Range. What a view!

We go downhill to avoid the wind and find somewhere for lunch, at last settling on Mam Tor's flanks. We break out the food which is mundane, until we reach the buns. This is hard-core food porn so feel free to avert your eyes. Shortcake pastry cases filled with a creamy custard and topped with fresh strawberries. They smell and taste of summer and are eaten in reverential - if slightly guilty - silence. We wait a while before drinking the coffee as we want to savour the lingering taste of summer for as long as possible.

All is bliss until I'm either stung or bitten on the palm of my hand by some vengeful insect which leaves me we a black bruise reminiscent of Jack Sparrow's black spot in Pirates of the Caribbean. I shan't be taking any boat trips for a while.

We head downhill, cross the road and skirt the inappropriately named Windy Knoll before heading down Winnat's Pass. Looking back, Mam Tor seems impossibly high.

The first part of Winnat's Pass is a bit of a trial as we have to share the road with cars, but once over the cattle grip we can go off road where we scramble down the rocks, pause to sniff the wild thyme and look at the flora. From here its a wide grassy slope with the magnificent rock formations towering above us on either side. The rocks contain fossils from the time all this was beneath an ancient sea. It's hard to imagine it. Somewhere above us is the so-called Lovers' Leap, but it's hard to tell which one you have to jump off, they all look pretty lethal.

By the time we reach the Speedwell Cavern car park there are loads of cars and people about, and all we have to do is hop across the fields to our cars. Despite the grim early start the day has turned out well and we've even ended up with a bit of a suntan to show for it.

LADYBOWER - IN SEARCH OF BLUEBELLS

It's hard to believe that it has been three weeks since our last walk with holidays and other events interrupting our summer, but at last we've arrived at Ladybower for our planned stroll amongst the bluebells. Except that the bluebells are all but finished for this year.

Still, we set off in hope on this gloriously sunny day. There haven't been too many of these so far this year - the ones we have enjoyed have tended to arrive by stealth, then sidle away quickly - but today is set to be a good one. Sun cream and sunglasses weather.

This is an easy circuit around the northern arm of Ladybower. It's a saunter rather than a walk, an amble with no need for the map.

Although we don't park at Fairholmes we do make use of the facilities as we set off (well maintained loos) dodging the multitude of ducks congregating in the hope of crumbs. We follow the road that runs at the base of the dam and continues along the eastern side of the reservoir. On the map Derwent village is still marked and where there was once a thriving community all that remains are a few houses that would have been on higher ground.

There are quite a few walkers about, and some cyclists, but we barely notice them as we have a lot to talk about. Plenty has happened over the last three weeks; holidays, exams, successes, failures so we're occupied quite happily.

We're making very good progress despite our ambling pace so we find ourselves a comfortable spot at the side of the water and an apple. (Note: healthy snack!)
We watch a duck with her four gorgeous fluffy ducklings. The mother spends some time chasing off a persistent male before returning to her unconcerned brood.

The sun is warm and it's very tempting to sit here all day but we decide that we'll 'lunch' on the other side of the reservoir so we hoist our rucksacks back on and set off again.

The sun is fierce now and all shade is welcome. It's a good job we had the suncream handy. When we reach the bridge we have a brief pause as we try (with only limited success) to obtain a mobile phone signal, then we watch the swallows skimming the surface of the water for insects.

On the western side of the reservoir we walk along the broad, sheep-grazed grass which is littered with goose feathers, but soon we're into the welcome shade of the woods. We discuss the various merits of spanish toast, bruschetta, ginger and rhubarb cake and honey cake - a sure sign that we're in need of food.

Luckily we don't have far to go before a bench presents itself in a patch of dappled shade. We've eaten here before (in the pouring rain) but today there are no complaints about the weather. Even the seat has been renewed. They must have known we were coming. Our lunch is simple but followed by strawberry and cream scones - so good they have to have their photos taken before they're demolished. Coffee follows - we're a civilised pair - whilst we enjoy the views across the water. There are lots of people lounging on the banks now.


We move on and at last are rewarded with bluebells, enough to make a pleasant blue haze beneath the trees although, admittedly, it isn't as good a show as last year when we arrived to see them earlier. Nevertheless, photographs are taken for proof.

A rattling off to our right alerts us to a squirrel in the wood. After a while we catch sight of him (or her) running up a tree trunk. What a size! A giant amongst squirrels with a long plume of a tail.

Checking the time we realise that we have taken far long than we intended, and are now running late. Typical. Knowing we had time to spare has meant that we've walked slowly and had plenty of stops, but having to up the pace at the end isn't too much of a strain given the overall ease of the walk. Before we finish though there is time for another photo where the light slants magically through the trees. Perfect.

EDALE, GRINDSBROOK CLOUGH, KINDER PLATEAU, GRINDSLOW KNOLL

What a fantastic day. Clear skies, sunshine and temperatures well into the 20s. It couldn't be better for our walk.

We love coming to Edale but our outings here tend to be restricted. Long days are needed because we have a long drive to reach here and can only make it when school timetables and extra-curricular activities allow. Today luck was on our side.

The car park at Edale is spacious, with loads of room first thing in the morning, so why does someone have to park right beside me? I give them one of my special looks, but I don't think they notice. This is a pay and display car park but today there's no ticket machine. It had, apparently, been stolen to be replaced by a poor woman cooped up in a shed peering out glumly at the sunshine. Perhaps she'll be able to get her own back later by doling out parking fines to those who have outstayed their ticket times.

We pay our money and set off, not even having to bother pulling on jumpers or coats - a most unusual occurrence. Walking through Edale village we catch up on a week's worth of news and gossip, and spy some bluebells in the hedge bottom. No doubt the sunshine has brought them out making us wonder if our bluebell foray in a couple of weeks will be over before we start.

At the end of the road we veer to the right and descend into the cool wooded gloom to cross the bridge over Grinds Brook before climbing smartly up to the other side and into a wide open field. This feels like the start of the walk with the large slabs of stone underfoot to point the way - and prevent excessive erosion.
The temperature is creeping up and as we pause to drink from our water bottles we see the deep scar of a path running down from Grindslow Knoll. We can't remember it being so prominent last time we'd walked here.

This first part of the walk is gentle enough, the slight incline sufficient to warm up the muscles without too much effort. We amble through a copse of trees then cross the small bridge straddling the stream that falls down from Golden Clough. There's a path here, straight up to Nether Tor, but we reckon it must be pretty tough on the leg muscles. We allow a couple to pass us, him with the rucksack, her unencumbered, and I note with envy that it doesn't work that way in my household, quite the opposite, Equality certainly has some downsides.

Here the path is relatively smooth as it follows the brook, albeit on a higher level, and with the continuous steady uphill slope that is so much a part of this valley. The brook is beautiful today, the fresh green Spring growth around it, small frothy waterfalls and deep, inviting plunge pools - especially tempting as the temperature continues to rise.

At the first rough, rocky section we take the obvious path to the left which leads to the brook. Mistake. After scrambling, clambering, rock hopping and swapping from side to side numerous times we manage to recall having been on a higher, easier right hand path in the past. We hadn't spotted it - we hadn't even looked for it - so we're forced into doing impressions of Lara Croft instead.

Eventually we reach an easy section again and, looking back, are surprised at how high we've actually climbed with relatively little effort. Here the brook widens as it cuts through a section of shale. Huge slabs of rock are laying in the water looking very welcoming. However, this is where the walking becomes a little harder.

We're climbing obviously now, and there are rocks and boulders to negotiate. We decide to put on sun cream, a sensible precaution, then carry on upwards. We allow a young couple to pass us, they've been following us quite a way, and PC decides to try the route they've taken although discovers that it isn't quite as easy as she thought. Taking consolation we decide that they probably won't find it half so easy when they have another 25 years on their backs!

We keep pausing, not for breath (although that is a bonus), but to enjoy the ever widening views down the valley which we know will be lost soon. The heat haze doesn't help photo quality, but we know it all looks spectacular.

Soon we hit the part that turns into an unrelenting upward scramble. PC abandons her walking poles as they keep getting in the way; hands are needed here, and we forge on up. It isn't quite as bad as it looks, or as we remember, and every step takes us higher and closer to our goal. As I reach the plateau PC follows behind with the immortal words, "Are we there yet?" Yes, we are, and it's wonderful.
We stop to admire the view then walk on to the aptly named Mushroom Stone before striking away from the path to find somewhere to eat lunch. There are quite a few people up here today, hardly surprising. The weather, the views and the sheer exhilaration are not to be missed. Thank goodness we can come in the week, though. On a good weekend it must be like a motorway service station up here.

We eat our lunch, meagre by any standards, followed by fresh cream doughnuts. It's so warm that the jam in the doughnuts has turned runny, but they're delicious nonetheless as well as providing the necessary calorific intake to give us the energy we need.

We could sit here all day, and it's tempting to lay our backs onto the boulder behind us and drift off, but instead we consult the map to gauge how far it is to Kinder Downfall.
far to even consider today or in the near future as it will mean an early start and late finish. We decide we'll do it when all the girls have left home for university or whatever. That means in another four and a half years or so. We're patient. We can wait.

Despite the desire to linger we press on and the rise up to Grindslow Knoll at 601 m doesn't seem to take much effort - must be because of the doughnuts. Our reward, of course, is the ever expanding panoramic view around a full 360 degrees. The downhill route lays ahead and despite its rock-free grassy slope we're not looking forward to it. It's steep and we know, from experience, it's a killer on the knees. Still, it's the only way to go and we set off, reluctantly leaving the high places behind us.

We're passed by a couple of men, and some more angle down off of other tracks.

We debate how infrequently we see women out on our walks unless they are accompanied by men. Men alone, in pairs or groups are in abundance, but not women. It's sad.

The path turns rough and rubbly, making it slippery underfoot, but we've soon dropped down to the gently sloping field that leads us back to the village. We pause, quite astounded, as on old aircraft flies overhead very low. We watch it go up the valley and out of sight, unable to recognise it, of course. A little earlier we'd have been above it.

We head back to our cars, slower than on the way out. We're tired, but extremely satisfied. It's been a brilliant walk on a perfect day; one to treasure.

LADYBOWER, BELLHAG AND DERWENT

OK, so there were no bluebells, we need to get that cleared up at the beginning. We arrived far to early in the year to see them and will try again in a few weeks.

Given the absence of bluebells we decide to follow Plan B. We park facing the northern arm of Ladybower Reservoir and set off walking up the steep bridleway which runs beside Ridges Coppice and up Hagg Side. We stop a few times, to admire the view of course, which is opening up in spectacular fashion under a clear but cold sky; the reservoir in the foreground, Derwent Ridge behind topped by the distinctive Wheel Stones, Salt Cellar and White Tor. Pity about lack of photos, though. We're suffering from camera absence. Ah well, it gives us an excuse to re-visit this walk again in the near future.

This bridleway is a bit of a slog and our muscles aren't warmed up yet, but the incline soon changes that. We're not lot before we lose the backward view as the woods close in on both sides. Drifts of white oxalis pepper the ground beneath the trees, delicate rather than spectacular, but little else grows here as the conifers swallow all the light.

Once at the top of the bridleway we turn right, without pause for breath, along the path running above Open Hagg. It's easy strolling and again the views are fantastic.

Behind us the path to Crook Hill is dominated by looming grey clouds but scanning around we can follow the long ridge running from Lose Hill to Mam Tor, then the ranges of Edale Moor and Kinder. It's lambing season and we pass dozens of ewes with their lambs, most laying down and trying to remain invisible - snow white on green!

We cross a stile and set off on the hardcore track heading towards Lockerbrook Farm, only to pause at a permissive path on our left. It's tempting. It leads up onto Bellhag and Pasture Tors - places we'd noted on our last visit to the area with every intention of reaching them at some point. It's no good. The walking is proving too easy, the weather is great and we're so glad to be out that we succumb to temptation without any effort to resist. Our plan, if it can be called one, is just to walk up and enjoy the view, then return on the same path and resume where we left off.

Avoiding the high ladder stile in favour of a gate - securing it carefully behind us - we head off through a field full of sheep and lambs. We're careful not to disturb them as we follow the gentle uphill gradient.

With every step the impressive views unfold - although we try to ignore the blot that is the cement works - and again bemoan the lack of camera. We WILL have to come here again. We can see over the trees to the Derwent Edge and beyond to Stanage Edge and Howden Edge.

As we continue onto open moorland we are walking above the A57 Snake Pass which seems to be a thin, insignificant thread below us. There's a distinctly chill wind blowing up here but after passing Bellhag and Pasture Tors (neither of which we can see as their rocky outcrops are below the ridge line) we find a comfortable spot to sit which is sheltered enough for us to enjoy a coffee, and a warming nip from the other flask.

From this vantage point we can spy out another potential walk, a linear one following the course of a Roman road, and we make a note of it for the future.

With the coffee break over we set off again, pretty certain that we won't be back-tracking. When the moorland path becomes paved we strike out north-east across open land. There's no path, just a few narrow sheep tracks and clumps of coarse grasses. As the land dips the wind drops suddenly. There's no-one else in sight and probably no-one in earshot either. Apart from the birds it is wonderfully, eerily silent.

We pause to consult the map and take our bearings - it would be easy to become lost here - but we can spy the far distant turrets of Howden Dam, the narrow cut of Alport Grain in front of us with the groughs draining Rowlee Pasture feeding into it from our left. We are exactly where we want to be, and know precisely where we are heading.

This is brilliant walking. No-one and nothing to disturb us and a feeling of being out in the wild. We hop over the start of Alport Grain, here it is only a few inches wide, and climb up and down the groughs, grateful that they are dry as it hasn't rained for days.

We reach the line of a tumbled wall and settle down for a picnic. We eat our lunch and drink the coffee. A slight panic follows when PC yells something about a bomb, but it's only her desperation for the buns which she thinks I've forgotten. Crisis is averted when the fresh cream eclairs are brought out, but they are hard to eat when you're almost crying with laughter!

We've been sat for long enough for the birds to ignore us, despite the noise we must be making, and there are dozens of different calls. Most we don't recognise although the curlews are very vocal, as is another that PC thinks sounds like a sad Clanger.

At last we have to move on and using excellent navigational skills (with a smidgen of luck) we approach a gate in a fence which surrounds Birchinlee New Piece. We are a little concerned, it looks as though it's a sheer drop beyond the fence, but once through the gate we can see that the route is passable, but with care. We face the option of a serious steep downhill walk (or slither) or abseiling off some rocks. We choose to walk.

Fortunately the fence is extremely sturdy and it provides essential handholds as we make our way down the hillside. Thank goodness it isn't wet, or we'd be skiing. Eventually we can make out a faint track to our left which leads us to a single hawthorn tree beneath a rock face richly sculpted by wind, rain and rock falls.

We have to be careful now. There are plenty of rocks beneath our feet but they are buried beneath a thick carpet of bracken, bilberry and heather. We manage to clamber up onto the narrow ridge that stands proud of this small valley, and we look down warily. The view is brilliant, apart from the revelation that there are cow grazing in the valley bottom. But there's no turning back, I'll face the cows - somehow - when I get to them.

It's difficult to find the best way down. There isn't a path, just a hint of a track, so we take our time testing each step. We have to go up first, then once we've reached the highest point on the ridge we start descending. It isn't easy, until we discover how to sledge down on our bums. Easy with well padded derrieres, you just have to be wary of the prickly bits.

The going gets easier when we reach the woods surrounding Ouzelden Clough, and I'm determined to stick to the woods to avoid the cows, risking injury on felled trees on the far side of the brook rather than walk too close to them. The cows are supremely indifferent to our presence, but I feel better taking no chances even though PC is far braver and walks quite close to them.

Soon we're back on a man-made track and all we have to do is walk back to the cars by the side of the reservoir. The water seems very low and a heron is fishing in the shallows. We're back amongst civilization; cars and walkers, but we're feeling very pleased with ourselves.

It's a fair distance to the car park, but it doesn't take us long. Beyond Fairholmes we dip into the woods just to see how advanced the bluebells are. Not very.

We reflect that this has been an immensely satisfying walk, and no matter how often we come to this area we frequently manage to find somewhere we haven't been before. It's just a pity that we didn't have the camera - hopefully there'll be a few photos in the archive!