After a brief absence, the Cap’n returned to the Serious Slow Warts to lead us from Fairholmes on a classic Harmerian outing in early July. We’d already endured a jungle-hot and -humid, climate for a few weeks in the Dark Peak and this had resulted in extraordinary vegetation growth and also, a preponderance of insects, including the tics. However, only one of us took the precaution of wearing leggings, were we living on the edge perhaps?
To reduce our exposure to excessive vegetational growth (that was the plan anyway), we went past the dam on the broad track to reach “Unnamed” Clough (our designation), but possibly actually Walkers Clough. The climb on the path was steep, all part of the plan, and cossetted by tall bracken but opening out into general moorland by the time we reached Bamford House (built 18th century and abandoned late 19th or early 20th century). An ancient holloway lead uphill from the House before we stepped bravely into the heather for a hard (yes, hard) descent through the heather jungle to the main path up Abbey Brook. Our burst of speed (?) up the path was quickly curtailed on the brackened way to Cogman’s Cabin.
In our quest for living dangerously, the overhanging landslip above the cabin tempted us, it also had clear ground, not lawn standard, but better than the surrounding bracken. It was surprising how far the associated crevasse extended, providing us with relatively easy going. We’re becoming crevasse obsessed, what with the one that Andy so memorably dived into some time ago.
However, all good things come to an end and, eventually, we were plunged into more deep heather.
This time, we waded a long way, following a fence by Poynton Bog and then over a dangerous reedy bog with hidden depths. The pleasure of an apparently bottomless pool cannot be over emphasised. I disappeared from view in the reeds and water, thrashing around attempting to use the backstroke to extricate myself. So much for the theory of saving lives in the bog. More flailing around and grasping at reedy straws, allowed me to emerge, monster like, from the swamp though with an odorous lingering aroma which, being sufficiently distant from the other Warts, spared them having to share it. All this was in area where Tom had set a check point for one of the Cakes of Bread races. Also then, I think everybody survived.
We were now down to three, Andy, Moz and me, spread across the moor, the others were merely distant silhouettes heading over the horizon. We did join a track but legs were somewhat drained of spring like steps, so we plodded on to the final descent dodging slalom-like the fearsome hawthorn saplings. Sadly, fifty years ago, I remember when this field was clear of any such obstacles and was a fine, free-running and fun experience, not so now! A rather weary tramp back to the cars finished the two and a half hour and 5.4-mile-long outing.
A fine welcome was given to us at the YBI after our Harmerian outing and adventure. By the way, England won against DR Congo 2 1, but I think we’re all glad to have been out on the hills enjoying their vagaries. Thanks to all.
Graham
