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.

Read More

The High Carneddau

Blue skies over the Glyderau as we neared my starting point.

Some places immediately capture your interest for the smallest of reasons. It could be a glimpse of them from another summit (I'd never heard of the Howgills until I saw their characteristic rolling heights in the distance from Pen-y-Ghent, for instance); or it could simply be an evocative name - rolling off your tongue, possibly incorrectly - that fires your imagination. For me, the High Carneddau was one such location. It took so long to get logistics and weather aligned, though, by the time I climbed this collection of peaks in mid-June this year I couldn't even remember how they'd burrowed their way into my consciousness. I thought I'd done my homework in that intervening period but even so this still proved to be one of the most challenging walks I've done to date.

Read More

Here Be Dragons: Chrome Hill and Parkhouse Hill

"Chattering Charteris"

Sadly none of the Ordnance Survey maps for the upper Dove Valley bear the legend "Hic sunt dracones" but you could be forgiven for thinking you've stumbled across a pair of sleeping dragons when you first see the distinctive knobbly ridges of Chrome Hill and its companion, Parkhouse Hill, in the distance. These hills nestle in the shadow of Axe Edge Moor, just south of Buxton, and while they might be relatively small prominences compared to the moorland heights of the Dark Peak, they still provide challenges of their own to the walker, with narrow summit paths and steep sides you certainly wouldn't want to take a tumble down. Parkhouse Hill in particular, whichever end you approach it from, has precipitous slopes that test both your knees and your balance.

Our walk started from the small village of Earl Sterndale, most notable for its curiously-named pub, The Quiet Woman. The unfortunate woman in question (who appears on the pub sign, minus her head but still admirably devoted to her job) was allegedly the overly-talkative wife of a former innkeeper, "Chattering" Charteris. When she took to nagging him in her sleep as well as their waking hours, he lopped off her head. The story doesn't say what happened to the innkeeper in the end but in the short term the villagers had a whip round to help him buy a headstone for his wife's grave -  an uplifting story of how small communities can pull together in times of unexpected financial need from one perspective, I suppose, though I doubt poor Chattering Charteris would have seen it that way.

Read More

Muncaster Fell

Once my knee seemed to be in fairly decent condition again, I was eager to head back out into the hills, especially as I had spent my downtime plotting and saving numerous walks on OS maps. One of the first ones we wanted to do was Muncaster Fell: I was attracted by the fact that the south western fells of the Lake District tend to be less busy at the weekend than the more famous hills to their north; Rich was persuaded by the fact that I had tied in a ride on a heritage railway - the Ravenglass and Eskdale Railway -  as part of our trip.

So it was, in early March,  we found ourselves heading for Ravenglass, the small coastal village by the castle at the southern end of Muncaster Fell. It was a beautiful morning as we made our way from the M6 towards the Irish Sea and snow-dusted hills rarely look so fine as they do in gleaming contrast with a bright blue sky. I had plotted what I thought would be the most picturesque route - over Thwaites Fell. The sat-nav backed me up on this being the shortest journey to Ravenglass too. And it was indeed a beautiful panorama that spread out all around us, albeit one that was difficult to fully appreciate during our nerve-wracking, slow progress along the wet and icy, one-vehicle-wide road across this wintry high ground. 

Crossing Thwaites Fell.

Read More

Bleaklow to Crook Hill

Joining the Pennine Way at Snake Pass summit.

Incidental footpaths that wander off from the side of my route always fascinate me and one that I noticed on my trip up onto Bleaklow last December had played on my mind since. I had been walking north on the Pennine Way and crossing the head of Hern Clough when I noticed a narrow trail - really barely more than a sheep trod in places - winding its way east, above the course of the stream. I wanted to explore but I was conscious that I had already extended my planned route to take in Bleaklow Head so I stuck to my course and made a mental note to look it up on the map later.

Read More