There was as an air of expectation and perhaps trepidation surrounding our planned Warts’ easy trip from the Hagg Hostel car park. Not particularly about the evening’s expedition but about Andy’s forthcoming Margery Hill race on the coming Saturday. Of the eleven of us (including newly retired John W), eight were thought to be starting the race so there were quite a few discussions on route choice, previous epic experiences and the old course which did involve about two miles of fast running, if you could manage, on track and tarmac from Slippery Stones to Westend. Instead, the “new” course has no tarmac and an extra two hills and plenty of ever-growing tussocks, notably towards the race end, just when they are least wanted, though, I suppose, it’s good for us!?
Discussions did quieten down a bit as we climbed towards Hope Cross in enough light to even see in the woods without torches. Not having taken account of the recent gales, I decided to short cut the corner of a dog’s leg in the track only to be faced with many fallen twigs and branches giving no advantage at all, so my “Well, that went well” was greeted with “Valiant effort, though”. By Hope Cross, head torches were now in operation for our civilised descent to the National Trust barn at Edale End. A seemingly heavily disguised stone stile at the ford in Jagger’s Clough took us to a narrow and slippery track through the woods which lead to less woody ground where, very thoughtfully, decking and a bridge had been laid over the seriously swampy ground and stream, this was non-Warting luxury. Such care was also apparent when we reached the barn which was lit, over loaded with information and felt almost warm, maybe it was heated or was it just the effect of the half door? Anyway, it was all very civilised.
After being softened up, we now faced making another valiant effort to climb steeply to the ridge where we were rewarded with more luxury by what seemed like mown grass, most of the way to Hope Cross. Thankfully, there were some sections of deep and non-peaty mud to take us out of, or back into, our comfort zone. Through the very dark wood descent where even in daylight, torches could be justified, we managed to either miss or ignore the path and spent a short time bashing through brashing and scrub to reach the Fisherman’s car park, sadly, no longer accessible to cars.
Hawthorn bushes ought to be used as deterrent to trespassers, thieves, wild animals and the like because even we Warts struggled to fight our way valiantly through a plantation of them. The trouble is, like tussocks, they grow! Old Fogey Warts remember when these trees were only knee high, if that, and the going was easy. But, yet another challenge awaited, this time by the fence close to the roadside. A pile of kitchen furniture and bags of compost or peat had been fly tipped over the fence for us to slither over and through. I genuinely and innocently (honestly) thought the compost/peat was gardening waste but, no, I was informed this was paraphernalia for growing cannabis! Whatever it was, it didn’t enhance our speed up the challenging Telegraph Hill, our main target for the evening but our effort could, at least, be well described as valiant.
Despite the heat of the evening, about 8⁰C, we still valiantly enjoyed the warmth, comfort, conviviality and luxury of the Yorkshire Bridge Inn.
A grand outing!
Graham