Lanzarote: Haría to Teguise

This walk crosses over the Famara massif in the north-eastern corner of the island and connects the charming village of Haría with the historic town of Teguise. We'd travelled between the two in a hire car on our previous holiday here in 2019 and since then I'd been pondering how I could turn that road journey with its spectacular views into a hike. Happily, a little research before we returned to Lanzarote this year revealed that all the work of planning a route had already been done for me: Haria and Teguise are linked by stage two of the long distance walking trail GR-131 so all we had to do was follow that.

Village square in Haría.

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Sierra Nevada: Beas de Granada Ridge Walk

This is the second of the two walks we did when we visited Granada in summer 2019. As with the first one, we got the route details from Trek Sierra Nevada, which is an excellent resource for anyone visiting the national park and its environs. We chose to take a taxi out of the city again so we could start the walk as early as possible: the temperature was forecast to be higher than on the previous walk and, as you can see from the photo above, the exposed ridge offers nothing in the way of shelter.

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Sierra Nevada: Los Cahorros de Monachil

This was the first of two hikes we did when we visited Granada in the summer of 2019. For both walks, we relied upon the excellent website Trek Sierra Nevada. It provides detailed hiking routes that you can search by length, by location or by season, as well as several pages of invaluable supporting information for anyone visiting the region. We didn't hire a car while we were in the city and picked the routes we did because they were accessible by public transport. In the event, we were in Andalucía just after the European heatwave of 2019 so we took taxis out of the city early in the morning to ensure we'd either be finished or near the end of our walks by the time the day was at its hottest in the mid-afternoon.

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Lanzarote: Montaña Guardilama and Montaña Tinasoria

Our second hike in Lanzarote took us to La Geria, the island's primary wine-producing region. The start and end point was the village of Uga, a 40 minute bus journey from Arrecife, and we arrived there under cloudless blue skies to find it was as quiet as Blancha Mancha had been a couple of days earlier. Houses gleamed white under the morning sunshine as we headed to the outskirts of the village and set off up a track through farmland. A farmer was working in one of the fields to the side, the first person we'd seen since leaving the bus, and I gave him a cheery wave as we walked by - he seemed a bit startled but he smiled, waved back and shouted, "Holá!"

Looking back down to Uga.

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Lanzarote: Caldera Blanca

I'm sure I must have walked over a fair amount of volcanic rock in my time on the hills of England and Wales but none of it displayed its origins as obviously as the terrain we hiked in Lanzarote earlier this month. This was our first visit to the Spanish island just off the north west coast of Africa and we were determined to make the most of our week there, alternating hiking days with days exploring the local culture and history.

The choice of Caldera Blanca as our first walk of the holiday was pretty much made for us - almost every website we visited (including the Happy Hiker's excellent pages about Lanzarote) said this volcanic cone was a must-do. We were staying in Arrecife so it was easy enough to set the alarm for an early start and jump on the bus to Mancha Blanca*, a village just a few miles away from this dormant volcano.

Caldera Blanca from Mancha Blanca.

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Stanton Moor and Oaker Hill

We'd originally planned to go to Wales overnight last weekend, lured by the forecast of fine weather, but car trouble put a stop to that. Assured the repairs would be complete by Saturday lunchtime, we scouted around for a short walk locally and settled on Stanton Moor, which we'd never visited before. I plotted a circular route from Rowsley which would take us up and over the moor, with an easy flat return journey along the Derwent Valley - although I couldn't resist tagging on another little hill at the far end before we'd begin the walk back.

Crossing the Wye.

As you travel along the A6 from Bakewell to Rowsley, there's a side road on the right, just after the Grouse and Claret, which gives you access to a free car park. Seemingly managed by the council, it doesn't appear on the OS Map or Google Maps but it's very handy, a decent size and well-worth making a note of if you're planning a walk in the area. We parked here and set off back along the main road, before taking a left turn opposite The Peacock, a handsome old inn that was originally a seventeenth century manor house. Walking past the village school and Caudwell's Mill, we crossed the River Wye and finally found ourselves on a lane surrounded by farmland.

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Bee Low and Sparrowpit

Since we moved to Dove Holes last month we've had typically changeable April weather, albeit a few degrees colder perhaps than we were used to living down in Manchester. As I write, the snowflakes that were swirling past the window fifteen minutes ago have given way to the same bright sunshine that arrived unheralded yesterday afternoon and prompted me to head out for an impromptu wander along the footpaths by the village.

I headed to the northern end of Dove Holes and joined a bridleway that leads steadily but gently up towards what's left of Bee Low. Once a substantial hill with its own trig point, Bee Low has been gutted by extensive quarrying over the years and I'm guessing it must have been taller than it's current elevation of 1355 feet, even if only slightly. Certainly the trig column that stood at the top has gone the same way as the ancient limestone bedrock that once supported it.

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Edale to Hope via the Great Ridge

I'd intended to spend Monday working on the blog but I found myself suddenly wide awake at 5:00 am, with blue skies gleaming through the gaps in the curtains, and decided there and then that this was a day I couldn't waste inside the house. I knew there was a train to Edale just after 7:00 and it didn't take long to put butties and drinks together and get to Manchester Piccadilly station.

The Great Ridge, as I walked from Edale to Barber Booth.

Considering I've spent so much time in the area over the years, you'd think I'd have done the Great Ridge between the Vale of Edale and the Hope Valley several times but I realised recently that I'd never actually walked the whole thing in one trip. I was feeling more confident in my fitness after doing the High Carneddau, the Glyderau and Snowdon in the past month (not all at once!) so I decided to make the most of the day and bookend the walk with Rushup Edge at the start and Win Hill at the end. I figured I could always miss off Win Hill if I didn't feel up to it or the weather turned nasty and head straight down into Hope from Lose Hill.

There was little breeze down in the valley when I arrived at Edale around 8:00, which made for an unexpectedly warm start to my walk. I began to regret not leaving enough space in my small backpack to take off my soft shell and store it away as I headed towards The Rambler Inn. Just past the pub, I took a left turn along a marked public footpath and headed west across farmland.

I proceeded cautiously into each new field on my way to Barber Booth, keeping an eye out for cattle, but the only inhabitants I met were sheep. And they seemed to be keeping a careful eye on me in their turn.

The southern and western sides of the Kinder Plateau were basking in the morning sun above these pastures and for a while I was half-tempted to abandon my original plans and spend the day roaming up there.

On the other side of the Vale of Edale, however, Rushup Edge looked no less inviting and I could see my route up to it etched into the hillside. I hadn't walked that part of the ridge before so self-discipline won out in the end and I carried on as planned.

Kinder Scout.

Rushup Edge.

Crossing the railway line: ahead is the pass between Mam Tor (l) and Rushup Edge (r).

On the Chapel Gate path.

After crossing a stone bridge over the railway line I found myself in Barber Booth. It's a funny thing - I rarely have recourse to the GPS when I am up on the moors or in the hills and navigate mostly without problem but set me down in a village or town with several choices over which road to take and I'll invariably pick the wrong one. As I did here - and with an embarrassingly small set of options to choose from. Having ruefully checked my position on the GPS, I re-set my course and headed uphill past Rowland Farm.

From the lane, I took a right turn onto a byway, the Chapel Gate path that leads on a gentle gradient up to Rushup Edge. Looking behind me as I climbed, the Vale of Edale spread out below, every inch an English pastoral scene.

Looking back down from the Chapel Gate path

Eventually, the path began to level out as I reached the skyline and I followed this track due south. There was, thankfully, a bit of a breeze up here on the limb that reaches out from the plateau towards Mam Tor. I was on a level with that plateau now pretty much and the going was relatively easy underfoot. All the same, I was careful to keep an eye on the loose rocks that littered the ground, having previously injured my knee during an enthusiastic jog along an ostensibly "easy" path.

Looking over to Kinder as I neared the top of Rushup Edge.

Another view across the Vale of Edale.

Cotton grass on the moor.

To my right lay Brown Knoll, a wide and gently domed moorland hilltop whose featureless expanse made picking out the actual summit from a distance an impossible task. Swathes of cotton grass shone in the morning sunlight - one of my favourite moorland sights at this time of year. 

Before long a flagged stone path became visible, snaking its way upwards. On the two occasions I've visited the trig at Brown Knoll, it's been surrounded by a veritable sea of black peat - this recently laid path bodes well for the restoration of the moorland ecosystem on its notoriously eroded and damaged summit. I know that this kind of thing is seen by some as an intrusion on the wildness of the landscape but to my mind the devastation caused by eroded peat is far worse. Black Hill, in the far northern reaches of the Peak District, is testament to the regenerative value a laid path can bring, as indeed are large parts of the plateau on Kinder Scout.

Some of the best views along Rushup Edge were above me.

Not long after I passed this point I met a cross-path and turned left here to follow the line of the ridge eastwards. Rushup Edge, at its furthest point from Mam Tor, is broad and - dare I say it? - not especially interesting to walk. There were some views to the south west, down into the Blackbrook Valley with the heights of Axe Edge Moor beyond, but for now the Kinder Plateau and Great Ridge were hidden.

Eventually, after what seemed like an age of undemanding walking with a wall on one side and grass on the other, a small mound came into sight ahead: this tumulus is Lord's Seat, the highest point of Rushup Edge, and a prehistoric bowl barrow. It's a scheduled ancient monument, particularly valuable as it was never excavated and thus presumably still contains the funerary remains of whoever it was built to commemorate. Sensibly, it's currently fenced off all around to protect it from damage.

Lord's Seat with Win Hill Pike just to its right in the distance.

As I'd been walking along the ridge Mam Tor and the Great Ridge began to come into view. It was around 10:00 and to my surprise the only thing visible on the normally busy summit of Mam Tor was the trig column. Was I going to have the place to myself? I'd passed a couple of people when I first attained the ridge but otherwise I'd seen no-one and I found myself quite excited at the luxury of having the whole top to myself.

The Vale of Edale from Rushup Edge.

Winnat's Pass from Rushup Edge.

Mam Tor ahead, looking surprisingly empty.

As soon as I reached the end of Rushup Edge, however, and began descending the steep and treacherously crumbly path, a group of people appeared at the bottom of the steps up to Mam Tor, with  several others heading to the same point from various directions.

Rushup Edge from Mam Tor.

The path up to the summit of Mam Tor is flagged with stone steps for the most part so it's not especially challenging to climb. I still stopped to get my breath back halfway, though, and noted that Rushup Edge looked far more dramatic from this angle than it had when I was actually walking along it.

When I finally got up there myself, there were quite a few people milling around or sitting down to admire the views so I didn't stay long by the trig, taking a few snaps of the tremendous vistas around me before setting off on along the Great Ridge.

Hope Valley from Mam Tor.

The Great Ridge.

A couple of sheep, sharing a joke.

Back Tor.

The path from Mam Tor sweeps down the ridge to a low point at Hollins Cross before heading up again to Back Tor, the striking crag that looks down on the Vale of Edale. I made pretty good time as I headed along the path here towards the rocky climb at the side of the crag. As I walked up the stone slabs to the viewpoint at the top of Back Tor I remembered the first time I'd done this ascent, many years ago as a real novice when it felt like I was climbing a mountain. Mind you, the way I was huffing and puffing as I neared the top, you might think this was my first time climbing a hill.

Though my belly was rumbling, it was still too early to break for lunch so I pressed on along the ridge to Lose Hill. There was a pronounced valley between that final summit on the Great Ridge and my final target of the day, Win Hill, so I decided that Lose Hill would be a good place to rest and boost my energy levels.

I paused by the topograph at the top of Lose Hill, from where you get excellent views across to Derwent Edge, before looking for somewhere unobtrusive to sit. Just below the summit, I found a grassy bank that was conveniently shaped like a chair so I parked my behind here and set about the faff of extracting sandwiches and flask from my over-stuffed bag.

Lady Booth Brook and Edale Youth Hostel.

Derwent Edge.

"Put your tongue away, I saw his butty first!"

I was so engrossed that at first I didn't pay much attention to the sheep and lamb that were munching grass contentedly not far from me - the instant there was a rustle of cling film, however, I found myself unnervingly transfixed in the sheep's beady stare. I rustled the wrapping again and the sheep took a few steps forward - and this time my mundane feast had caught the attention of the lamb as well. I clapped my hands and they moved back, only to wander round and stand just behind my left shoulder from where they continued to carefully watch my movements. Another butty came out and they began to approach again - I stared, they stared; I ate, they stared; they moved forward, I clapped my hands again. I did it as loudly as I could and they set about eating the grass again this time but I had an uncomfortable feeling they were thinking about cheese sandwiches all the time they grazed.

Heading down Lose Hill.

Leaving the importunate sheep behind (though, in good old spy movie fashion, I made sure I checked several times that I wasn't being tailed), I made my way down Lose Hill. In the south west, dark clouds were massing on the horizon and Mam Tor at the far end of the ridge looked dark now in the absence of sunlight. Occasional showers had been forecast but this looked like a deluge in the making. I plodded on and resolved to decide on whether  to climb Win Hill when I was down in the valley.

The last part of the path down from Lose Hill was enclosed by trees and the eventual arrival of the rain was presaged by the wind suddenly picking up strength, branches and leaves dancing wildly above my head. It all seemed rather ominous and I began to feel sure there would be at least half a dozen claps of thunder and a thorough soaking ahead. In the end, it was a case of the mountain roaring and bringing forth a mouse, and I continued down and across the valley in the least effective rain shower you could hope to encounter.

Looking back along the Great Ridge, a change in the weather was on its way in from the west.

Trees afforded some shelter on the lower slopes but the rain was pretty feeble anyway.

Heading to Win Hill.

Throughout the day I'd been making good time, so I decided Win Hill was a still worth a climb before I went home. I sensibly checked my GPS at each junction of the various lanes between the two hills this time and before long found myself back on access land. 

The way ahead was forked - to the left, a bridleway promised a relatively flat walk in the direction of the Woodlands Valley; to the left, a narrow, uphill trod that led through head-height bracken was, of course, my route.

The sun was out again now and there was no air, save the moisture-laden currents of evaporating rainwater from the leaves that surrounded me. It wasn't the pleasantest of ascents and it felt a bit like I was lugging a backpack through a giant sauna. Wet bracken slapped my arms and the lower leaves soaked my trousers far more than the feeble drizzle had earlier. I tried, uneven though the ground was, to stick as close to the middle of the path as possible. Periodically I stopped and checked my bare arms for ticks, an army of which I suspected had been waiting patiently but ravenously in the foliage for me all day.

The bracken was at head height as I climbed Win Hill.

Lose Hill from the ascent of Win Hill.

Winhill Pike.

Gradually the path widened and flattened out, and a line of trees came into view ahead; this was the plantation on the far side of Win Hill's tapering northern end and I thanked my lucky stars I was finally out in fresh air again. 

The ascent of Win Hill had provided me with a fine view of Lose Hill across the valley - there is a prevailing myth that the hills gained their names because of a battle fought between the two summits in days of yore. It seems that there is no historical basis for this tempting story and that Win Hill is a modern contraction of Wythinehull (Withy or Willow Hill) while there are a number of suggested derivations for the name of Lose Hill (none of which concern losing a battle). 

Win Hill Pike, the striking outcrop of rock that sits on top of the hill like a crumpled hat, still lay pretty far away in the distance but there was a breeze again now that meant the walk to it wasn't especially arduous. A broad track runs the length of Win Hill and the gradient once you reach this level is barely noticeable. Small patches of heather blossom were just beginning to appear, a hint of the glorious purple carpet that will spread across the hillside in a few weeks. To the north, Ladybower Reservoir had appeared now - in part, at least - and the Ashopton Viaduct that carries the Snake Road over the flooded valley.

Ladybower Reservoir and Ashopton Viaduct.

A small pool by the side of the track.

Nearing Winhill Pike.

I was nearing the end of my route now and fairly focused on the beer I was going to have at the end my final goal so I wasn't really paying any attention to the skies to the south west, from where the rain had come an hour or so ago -  and from where a new bank of dark grey cloud was menacingly rushing upon me now.

The first few drops of rain started to hit me as I reached the top of the Pike. This was proper wet rain, not the weak excuse for it I'd encountered earlier and it had developed a method of falling sideways too, all the better to drench any hapless walkers that might be wandering around the countryside. There were no trees to shelter under or behind up here, nor were the views as good as they might have been, as the valleys below and the moorland heights above them lay behind a grey gauze of mizzle. I didn't hang around long before packing away my camera and starting on my way down the hillside to Hope.

Some of the rocks that make up the Pike's summit.

Looking west along Winhill Pike to the trig column.

The path I took led down to Twitchill Farm, via perhaps two of the steepest fields I've crossed for a long time. It was slow going and played havoc with my knees so I was in some discomfort by the time I reached the farm. At this point I was doing the reverse of the route I had last taken up Win Hill and in my head, a short access road led practically to the door of a pub - clearly memory is as fallible as the scientists repeatedly tell us, for this "short road" turned out to be an interminable, foot-sore, knee-punishing trek along unsympathetic tarmac.

A splash of colour during the grey and wet conclusion of the walk.

The Great Ridge from the descent to Twitchill Farm.

Once there, I aimed for the first pub I saw - The Old Hall Hotel - and was greeted by an exceptionally warm welcome and a very well-stocked bar. I had a couple of hours before my train (having just missed one by minutes) so it seemed rude not to have a beer or two and a second lunch, the first one on Lose Hill having been so early I'd decided to relegate it to "elevenses". The food and atmosphere were both excellent and I'd heartily recommend this pub if you're in the area - with or without the exertion of a long walk beforehand.

Date: August 2016

Walk length: 21 km

Total ascent: 964 metres

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Hadfield to Marsden via Black Hill

When I walked from Marsden to Hebden Bridge in April 2015 I followed the Pennine Way in a meandering journey north for a large part of the hike, which made me curious about the course of the trail before I had joined it at Haigh Gutter. I was looking to do a similar length walk (around the 15 mile mark) and settled on Hadfield as a handy starting point. The map revealed an alluring mix of moorland and reservoirs, deep-cut cloughs and crowded contour lines between that Derbyshire village and Marsden and I plotted a route that mostly followed the Pennine Way, only deviating slightly at beginning and end.

It was around 7:30 in the morning when I alighted at Hadfield station. The trains to Glossop enter and then reverse out of Hadfield to continue their journey and what was once the continuation of the line from Manchester beyond Hadfield to Sheffield is now the Longdendale Trail. It's just a short walk around the corner from the station to join this managed footpath eastwards, following the route along which trains used to thunder several times a day. 

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North Kinder

Earlier this year I walked from Glossop to Edale, heading up the Doctors Gate Path and joining the Pennine Way at Snake Pass to make my crossing of the Kinder Plateau. It was to lead me across ground I'd walked many times before on the southern side of Kinder but when I first reached the plateau from Mill Hill and looked eastwards down onto Black Ashop Moor, I realised that in all the times I had climbed this iconic peak I'd never explored its vast northern edge.

A few days after I finished that walk, I sat down to plot myself a route. Not being a driver, I try to keep the Dark Peak reserved for solo walks, as the public transport links from Manchester are pretty decent and I can access the area relatively quickly and easily. My plan was to join the north ridge at its most westerly point, where it juts out quite distinctly above Mill Hill, and head east, following it round until I was above Edale. At the time I assumed I would be tackling this walk in the near future so I decided to avoid repeating the Doctor's Gate Path so soon after I'd just done it and take a different approach to the summit. The Sett Valley Trail seemed to promise an easy warm-up walk from the railway line at New Mills to Hayfield and the Kinder Reservoir.

The Torrs Millennium Walkway at the start of my walk.

Well, "best laid plans" and all that... That was last spring - now here we are in autumn and I have finally managed to squeeze this walk in at the end of September. The weather has been unseasonably warm and even though we'd just had a week's leave to go walking and have days out, I decided to take a further last minute day off at the end of my first week back - "easing yourself back into the daily grind after a break", I call it. Or "I can't face a full week in that hellish office" is perhaps another way of phrasing it.

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Marsden to Hebden Bridge

Solo walks are something I've only started doing recently. I don't drive but living in Manchester provides public transport links to a wide variety of great walking country, such as the Peak District, Calderdale and Saddleworth. 

Marsden in West Yorkshire is an attractive village not far from Huddersfield: it's quite large for a village - more of a small mill town really - and its architecture is testament to the area's industrial heritage. It's only half an hour from Manchester Victoria Station if you pick the right train. Some services involve a change in Huddersfield and take twice as long, so it's best to check the Rail Planner site if you're using this method of transport. For those that drive, there is a sizeable car park at the National Trust Marsden Moor Estate Office by the train station.

We'd been to Marsden a couple of times previously, once for a look around the village and on another occasion to walk around Butterley Reservoir. This time, however, I wanted to explore the moorland to the north of the town.

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