A plan to satisfy a Slow Warts’ ambition to visit two caves on opposite sides of Yellow Slacks was shelved, as we gathered at Doctor’s Gate, because of speleological searching fatigue and replaced by Andy’s suggestion of a double crossing of Bleaklow with the first target being Hern Stones. Our sophisticated navigation advice leaving the car park was, “Follow the fence.” Whilst no one was prepared to sit on the fence, the competitive streak in Slow Warts resulted in misinformation about the “poor” going on one side which curiously gave a significant advantage. Such is the eagerness and gamesmanship to lead a pack of retirees posing as athletes.
The Slow Warts’ handbook includes certain principles which cannot be disobeyed at the risk of expulsion from this esteemed (and elite) group. One of these is, “Paths shall not be used” so, we didn’t, and we were rewarded by sightings of short eared owls, up to twenty hares, a leveret, possibly a bird of prey and a plover with its distinctive call, all in this clear bright evening. There was speculation of what could be seen in these conditions from the heights of Bleaklow; Lancashire’s Pendle Hill, Oldham, West Yorkshire’s Stoodley Pike and possible the Yorkshire Dales. Our magnificent world was at our feet. But no more admiration and pondering, we had to move on, to the edge of Bleaklow.
An amorphous lump could just be seen even in the clearest bright evening sunshine on Bleaklow’s northern flank. The seven Slow Warts were approaching the most unlikely named Torside Castle. This feature seems to be as equally ill-defined as its origin, from a natural feature to some sort of ancient encampment. Its uncertain origin and value have resulted in it being officially “scheduled” and then subsequently “unscheduled”. This vagueness also infected the Slow Warts who had spread out widely after leaving Hern Stones with a shout to go to John Track Well (Was this John related to John Field Howden?), which was pragmatically and promptly ignored as we were drawn to the Castle. The diaspora however was able to regroup and rest at the Castle before a long and featureless climb to Shelf Stones. The contrasting splendour of the Shelf Brook valley was inspiring but after more than two hours of indulgence, the call of another indulgence, the pub, was too great to resist so we dashed (?) back to the car park and to the Yorkshire Bridge Inn where, once again, a table was reserved for us and we tried and failed to put the world to rights but what a memorably good outing, we’d had.
Thanks to all and to the rather special weather.
Graham
