Sunday, 2 December 2018

Mad Weekend 2018

"Not since the hunt for Peat and Heather many years before had such a collision of circumstances produced such a haphazard adventure."



"Suddenly, in the middle of a desolate bog, they were confronted with the Mad Woman's Stones. Mike pressed on with an urgent need that could be met in only one way and David, with worry in his heart, had no choice but to follow..."


https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=2ahUKEwjxhpK9kfLeAhVFOBoKHZSFBKYQjRx6BAgBEAU&url=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FInsane_Woman_(La_Monomane_de_l%2527envie)&psig=AOvVaw3OBDEt9rSkGpb70r8N14yw&ust=1543324347996301




Got your interest? Not bad huh?



Several days before...

(Doh, don't you hate that!!)


Plans for the trip, as far as Mike knew, were going well.

The kit was assembled, the rations procured and plans were made.

The weather forecast promised mist, cold and a slight chance of snow on the tops.

Hmmm... The warm sleeping bags then... And the ski jacket.

The 'base camp' tent had a broken zip so the trusted Vango Banshee, the survivor of many an expedition, was once more pressed into service.

Off early from work, the car was loaded and it, and it's two eager occupants lurched into the rush hour melee.



We had left late. Would we make Cooper's campsite before the 10:30 deadline?

A mere 4 hours later through thinning traffic and thicking fog, by sheer chance and without the aid of 90% of a road's usual amount of cats eyes, we beat the deadline, clocking in at 10:26.

Putting up ol' Trusty in the dark did not pose a problem, so we thought, as we were well versed in its intricacies. (The morning would show what a shambolic mess we had really made of it.)

We consumed dinner, the hot contents of a couple of food flasks, and headed for the Nags Head only to find we'd missed last orders!

Aah. those warm sleeping bags...

Actually, they were a little too baggy. Every time I moved all the nice warm air was replaced by not so nice cold.

Morning, and the start of our trials.

That tipi had central heating - a portable wood burning stove.
Eee, luxury...

The first indication that my planned menu was not to David's taste was at breakfast when he inexplicably discarded the finely crafted hot muesli and dried milk ensemble with Lady Grey tea accompaniment and headed for Cooper's café for a more substantial 'Full English'.


I was obliged to do likewise, after I'd eaten both finely crafted breakfasts obviously, to keep David him company.

Appetites sated, we were off.


As we organised our kit, our neighbours, a family of four, were wishing happy birthday to Dad. They turned out to be a very jolly bunch (Mum, Dad and two small girls).


The proposed assault on the Kinder massive began by a circuitous route over the shoulder of The Nab before a more direct approach than planned on the South Face of Ringing Roger.


Several other groups were seen, many of them seemed to be slightly confused groups of Duke of Edinburgh adventurers.


As we hauled ourselves over the gritstone outcrops of The Roger we chanced upon a few early morning ramblers, one of which was a park ranger. When I asked if they had many lost walkers this year he remarked 'A few, they're usually the ones with the newspaper cuttings!'


Letting our surroundings sink in after the manic drive North, we enjoyed a relaxing and misty traverse along the edge of Kinder Scout with mystical (every pun intended) views over the Hope valley in all its Autumn glory.


We were counting streams to gauge our progress but quickly lost count as our conversations got deeper, taking in such wide ranging meaningful subjects as teaching, mathematics and bits of wire.


Re-establishing our position by taking bearings from Lose Hill and Hollins Cross we continued our way until that we rounded a promontory and judged we'd had enough easy route finding and headed West into the interior.


We spied two happy wanderers taking slightly odd and random jaunts while waving their arms around.



Many map and compass moments later, we found ourselves heading North and before long our objective came in sight:

MAD WOMAN'S STONES!


(Pause for dramatic effect)


It's at that point an urgent need made its presence felt. We picked a sheltered spot to have lunch and I staggered off downwind to tend the need.


When checking to make sure he was out of sight, so as to avoid any trauma and subsequent counselling, I noticed David was talking to the two odd arm wavers we saw earlier.


Curses! Of all the bogs on all the moors in all the world...!


Sheepishly, I made my way back to the group, hiding my trowel in the small of my back, and tried to be sociable. It seemed they were out for a little navigation practice.

I watched them meander away in the direction of my carefully prepare bombsite and cursed some more, before heading in the opposite direction, up-wind, to find another spot. Serves them right.

In a slightly relieved atmosphere, lunch was consumed. Again David found the menu somewhat lacking... I'd brought along some various nutritional fruit & nut bars and some bananas.

I got the impression David was looking forward to a more elaborate, fully catered affair, with several courses and maybe a small cheeseboard.


Snow!
By this time the Sun was beginning to dip and so a more direct route home via the trig point seemed more prudent.

The weather had been warmer than forecast and the only snow we saw were some wee small patches left over from some weeks before.

More snow!
The 'direct route' was a lot more entertaining. Encounters with Kinder's famous groughs and hags stimulating the use of suitably earthy vocabulary.


At the trig we chatted with a D of E instructor and his own band of confused looking youths before another beeline and more peaty goodness towards the notch on the horizon that marked our exit from the Kinder plateau.




We followed a stream until it disappeared down a hole.



"Don't make me go down the hole!"
We continue to marvel at the light and its effect on the landscape.










Sorry, couldn't make up my mind...





We descended back to Edale and the comforts of the Nags Head, where a celebratory pint or two and an early dinner was enjoyed.

One to make Jackie jealous...
Eee...

Time for a shower. The only blip on the day was we only had one 20p coin, so David kindly volunteered for a strip wash while I had the shower. He hoped that no children should wander in....

It was a very nice shower.

We were joined by Roger, or was it George? for a shower. (You'd think I'd remember a name after sharing a shower with someone...) He'd walked over Mam Tor that day.


Back t' pub where we see the biggest Bergen I've ever seen. It turns out the owner is training for entrance to the marines and the pack weighs an unnatural 30kg. He runs with it as well!

After failing to get a boardgame from the bar, we retire to another room for a long Winter evening beside a real fire for some deep discussions and more beer.

We shared a table with a group of teachers (they get everywhere!) discussing walking holidays.

That night, after a late custardy pudding, to avoid any more draughts I employed my old three season and the new 'warm' sleeping bag, one inside the other and I sweltered! Oh well...




Sunday, more disappointing muesli and tea before succumbing to another Full English.

On top of that, Ol' Trusty had leaked...

I think I'll get a T shirt made with this one...
After packing away the tent we embarked a last quick saunter to the other side of the Hope valley, aiming for Hollins Cross before the journey home.


As we climbed we noticed the cloud was even lower than yesterday, obscuring the tops.

Undaunted, with the naïve optimism of a pair of puppies, we climb into the mist encountering quite a few other misguided individuals, including at the top the owner of the giant rucksack and his mate.

They said they wild camped in a wood (frowned upon in the NP, apparently) and had an open fire (definitely not allowed). I realised afterwards that he had already begun to develop the squaddie mentality. I think he'll do well.


The views at the top at were as expected, visibility about 30ft.


On the way down we followed a bridleway and were past by many foolhardy two wheeled lemmings hurtling through the mud downwards towards oblivion. Quite entertaining.

View towards Broadlee Bank Tor

Just past Edale station we popped into The Rambler for a last pint. S'funny, but all the times I've been to Edale, I don't remember visiting this pub...



Average beer, really nice pictures (by Raymond Campbell, I later found out). Newly decorated: I could still smell the paint!.

We also visited The Moorland Centre (Lots of interesting books for sale) and had a quick look at Fieldhead Campsite, for future reference, where I spied a little female goldcrest amongst the black caps and larks.


And so the end. Thank you Edale.

Back on the road, another 4 hour crawl and home.

Sigh.

Some interesting reading:

The raw, sensuous pleasure of bog moss
Scout's honour


P.S.
Later that same Sunday the MRT were out rescuing peeps. I read about it here.

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