Maybe it was the spectacular red and orange moonrise or maybe it was the relief at getting back to the cars after an energetic and hairy outing from Odin’s Mine but Russell started whistling whilst running down the descent from the western side of Winnats pass. Music making on the move is a rare entertainment indeed and it certainly enhanced the Warts’ outing on this cold night.
The twelve of us had an uncommon and gentle start, on tarmac, up the old and gradually collapsing road to Chapel-en-le-Frith. However, this aberration did not last long as we left to go on the path towards Hollins Cross. Our annual visit to this part of the Peak District is perhaps a betrayal of our club roots in the Dark Peak and we did pay the price. Dark peat is a clean sort of less slippery mud than on this path, which was truly slimy and dirty, it clung to clothes and the shoes clogged up making them almost without any grip. I imagine that, from a distance, the wobbling line of slipping runners may have looked like the return of a group from a boozy party. We were nevertheless cold (very) sober.
It was a relief, therefore, as always, to leave this path and climb the steep grassy bank to the Mam Tor ridge. Despite the temperature, the climb warmed us up but just before the ridge summit, there was a howling wind which chilled us all when we reached it. In our rush to get down and into some shelter from the wind, we may have wandered slightly to the right in our search for the Mam Tor pond. This has now been rechristened Chris’s Pond because of his apparent reluctance to visit it. At first, we didn’t find it as we were getting closer and closer to Edale. In fact, we missed it completely and, in so doing, treated ourselves to more Mam Tor mud, some very knarly trees and a number of water-filled holes hidden under a rather too healthy crop of reeds. A recalculation was needed so we went back south westerly uphill to joyously reach Chris’s Pond. Since Bob has a rock named after him and Tom a tree, it was only right that Chris’s reluctance to visit it, should also be recognised by naming this pond after him. We had a short congratulatory rest there before skirting around the Tor to eventually reach Mam Nick.
It was a bit of an unwelcome shock to become entangled with roads, cars and road crossings before we arrived at the limestone of the White Peak above the northern side of Winnats. Whilst there was a pleasant traverse on a grassy field, there was some trepidation as we peered over the abyss into Winnats. That was enough for three Warts who decided it was not for them and they descended directly to the cars. One Wart descended via the road and then climbed the southern side lighting the way for the following descenders and ascenders of Winnats. (As an aside, two out of the three Hoka Hoka shoe wearers went directly back to the cars “it’s suicidal to go down there in these shoes”, and one made the descent and ascent.) It was steep both down and up with a fair degree of soft and slippery ground laced with a sprinkling of sparkling white rock.
Having gone down and up, we had, of course, to now go down this time on a relatively easy slope which also may have added to Russell’s desire to whistle. Even at the end of the run though, there was a sting in its tail, the path contouring around Treak Cliff cavern reminded us of our muddy start and the descent on to the road through a tangle of low trees and roots and a literal leap in the dark, provided full satisfaction for the night’s outing.
An expedition into the White Peak also meant the George at Castleton would provide refreshments, warmth and excellent craic. And, we were treated there to a discourse by Pete on the sensitivity of the hearing of moles and their treatment and storage of food, all prompted by the large number of quite high mole hills seen above Winnats.
What more could you ask for on a Wednesday night!
Graham