Showing posts with label industrial. Show all posts
Showing posts with label industrial. Show all posts

Wednesday, 14 February 2018

The High Peak Trail

The High Peak Trail runs for around 17 miles, from Dowlow, just outside Buxton, to Cromford in the Derwent Valley. Like many such trails around the country, it follows the course of a defunct train line, in this case the Cromford and High Peak Railway, which connected the Peak Forest Canal in the north west of Derbyshire with the Cromford Canal in the middle of the county. You can see evidence of the line in the Goyt Valley as well as across the moorland above it, and the trail had been on my to-do list since I first visited that area last year.

Having walked on similar trails before, I was aware that long stretches can become somewhat routine, especially when they've been lined with bushes and trees or pass through extended railway cuttings. I decided to save this day out for winter, on the basis that a dusting of snow would lend some visual interest to even the most mundane of surroundings, and I also added on a few diversions from the trail - my feet certainly felt the effect of this by the end but each one was well worth the extra effort and mileage.
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Wednesday, 27 July 2016

Ironbridge and Coalport

This post is not a trip report on hiking as such but a tribute to my late Grandma, who sadly passed away a couple of weeks ago and whose funeral was earlier this week. She was aged 92 when we lost her and she will leave a huge gap in the hearts of her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, not to mention in the hearts of her own friends and in those of the family friends, whose lives she touched.

Grandma in her youth.
I picked Ironbridge because it's somewhere that I'll always associate with my Grandma and because she was very fond of the place. It is in itself a lovely village, with lots of history, and well worth visiting. We'd been there before but in light of Grandma's passing and for the purpose of writing this tribute we re-visited again this weekend and took a ramble around part of the gorge - which is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site - to explore some of the places she would have known as a youngster keen on walking.

My Grandma was born in 1924 and was to remain an only child. Much to her mother's dismay, her father went off to the Registry Office without consultation and registered her forenames as Lilian Barbara. The result for him, according to my Grandma, was not pretty - my great-grandmother strictly forbade use of the name Lilian by anyone, including Grandma herself, and for the next 92 years, she was known as Barbara or Babs.
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