Somehow, we managed to arrive early despite having to slowly admire two lots of tractor drawn trailer loads of round hay bales heading our way. So, at the Midhopestones elbow, we had time enough to consider our health and well-being with attempts at outbidding each other on medications being taken. This discussion also continued in the pub after the outing, not that we’re obsessed.
In our quest to find curiosities in the Dark Peak, Andy set us the task of finding a wall corner with a ruin and a spring, finishing the outing with a visit to Pike Lowe, (not a curiosity). In contrast to most of the outing, we had the doubtful pleasure of running on a concrete track across Range Moor. Remember, these were built for military tank use in the Second World War and have lasted for eighty years without needing repair. Maybe there’s a lesson for the current road makers?
As sure as rain follows sunshine (questionably so after all the sun we’ve had), heather, bilberry, reeds and bracken follow concrete as we dived into this mixture following, where possible, small and overgrown sheep tracks. Our sights were set on walls and their remains for the first check point which was hard won, requiring patient wading through reed and bracken but, what are the Warts about without such a struggle? This continued over Fenny Common and Earnshaw Ridge although there was the odd patch of relatively clear ground for short sprint training.
We descended from the ridge now looking for the Candlerush Spring in an area with few contours, i.e. fairly flat. In true Warts’ tradition, we spent some time wandering about before Birthday Boy Pete resorted to the Technology and found the Spring. It was wet, it was gurgling, it was reedy, it was a spring. Our next adventure was to conquer Pike Lowe, which we’d almost done on our way to the Spring. As is The Slow Warts’ habit, we split up, all of us thinking we had the best line to the top. Tim was first there, sitting grandly on his throne within the cairn. We continued on the descent to go our own ways with the one request from Tim that we go through the rusty orange swamp. Such is our dedication to Warting, that we agreed and duly dyed our feet and shoes a possibly elegant dirty orange.
Arriving back at the cars safely apart from Moz and I who, separately, both experienced an almost speliological dive into a deep hole from where there appeared to be no escape, except downwards. There were no footholds I could find, so frantic grabbing of reeds, heather and bracken eventually got me out though without any dignity, which, I think, was restored at the Plough.
The carpark, the sideroads and the Plough were full but, fortunately, some outside tables were free so we enjoyed a warm continental type evening continuing our wellness discussion and the puzzle sent by Portuguese Chris. Where was Andy in a newspaper cutting of the start of an early Skiddaw race? He was there apparently, though attempts at enlarging the image only revealed an array of dots. Such is life!
A grand outing, thanks to all.
Next Wednesday 5pm Cutthroat Bridge
Graham
