Silence

We were walking on Ecton Hill today. A pleasant walk, part of which took us along a narrow country road which led to a few farmhouses before petering out into a track winding along a valley. This part of the walk was very quiet. We were well away from the Manifold Trail, there were no busy roads nearby, hardly any people and nothing to disturb the sheep from their contented grazing.

It was so quiet that we both noticed how silent it was. Hardly a sound apart from our own footsteps. It didn’t last but most of us have probably become so accustomed to noise that the lack of it is noticed, especially in broad daylight.

The picture shows an old millpond with a small derelict stone building in one corner. Not even a duck ripples the water.

Passaford Lane

Here’s an environment. 

Passaford Lane leading from the Devon hamlet of Passaford to Mutters Moor named after Abraham Mutter, one of  smuggler Jack Rattenbury's accomplices. 

Passaford Lane is one of those sunken lanes or hollow ways often encountered in Devon. We have a few in Derbyshire too. It is a steady climb up to Mutters Moor. Rough and stony underfoot and quite gloomy in places with all the overhanging trees, but pleasant enough in summer. Jack and his band of smugglers may well have used it on their way to Otterton.

A rabbit hops into the path, spots us immediately and hops back. So I think of rabbits and Peter Rabbit one of Granddaughter’s favourite stories which I must know by heart.

The lane is strewn with flints of all shapes and sizes so now I'm reminded of Neolithic times. Flint tools and those ancient, mysterious folk who scratched a living in these hills, using those same flints to make their axes, arrowheads and scrapers. I wonder if I’ll find one?

It's sweaty work climbing, the sheltered ground still damp, the air humid. I think of water and if it is better to stop for a quick drink or wait until we reach the moor where a welcome breeze probably awaits. 

A wren flits through the bushes lining the lane. Was it a wren? Might have been a wren but gone now. May have been a robin after sandwich crumbs. Human = sandwich crumbs - is that how it goes in the robin’s brain?

The lane is an environment. It stimulates thoughts, sweat, muscles, digestion, memories, impressions, ideas, emotions and the imagination. Environments do that.

Aqueduct Cottage

Aqueduct Cottage by Brian Cass

By the side of Cromford canal in Derbyshire is Aqueduct Cottage, a derelict canal keeper’s cottage occupied until the late fifties or early sixties.

The location is attractive, but there is no nearby road, no water, sewage services, electricity or gas supply. In other words, the cottage isn’t worthless because it is derelict, but derelict because by modern standards it is has become worthless.

In bygone times, the canal keeper who lived in Aqueduct Cottage would probably have used candles for lighting and logs from nearby woods for cooking and heating. He may also have bought supplies from passing boats and his water may have come from the nearby river. I don’t know about sewage disposal though – the canal?

Now the boats are gone and picturesque as this mode of life might be, it only appeals from the safe distance of modern comforts.

While out walking I’ve seen one or two derelict stone cottages in a similar condition and with similar problems. They became derelict because they are now worthless, not worthless because they are derelict.

It underlines how much the value of our homes depends on those essential services. Remove them and the value disappears as completely as it did for Aqueduct Cottage. Here it is in 1905 looking like a chocolate box idyll.

From Friends of Cromford Canal/Julie Simpson

Walking with a sat nav

Traditional walkers who favour big leather boots and hairy socks still seem to look down on satellite navigation for walkers. Yet bit by bit the practical value of these remarkable products of the electronic age are creeping up on us.

So I recently bought one.

continued at Broad Oak Magazine

Snow on the hills

We were walking in the snowy hills of Derbyshire yesterday - wonderful.

Nothing unusual about the walk, most of which we’ve done before, but walking it in the snow was something else. At the highest points, much of the snow lay undisturbed apart from a few fox tracks. A foot deep in some places, it made for hard walking but an exhilarating day.

Lower down among scattered farms and houses we were almost walking through a series of Christmas cards, snow still thick on trees and hedgerows, tracks and minor roads not yet turned to dirty mush.

Even though the weather wasn’t brilliant, with grey skies and flurries of snow, the slightly dour and sombre nature of the landscape was particularly attractive, with a depth of character not seen in fine weather.

Those views and the occasional whiff of wood smoke also brought home just how bleak winter must often have seemed in earlier times. Beautiful but bleak and not a little dangerous.

The picture above is a print by Victor Venner. I like the contrast between the mildly comic consternation of the foreground coach travellers with a rather bleak snowy background. Travelling in such weather was a rather more serious affair than today, with our warm, waterproof clothing and mobile phones.  

Many of our ancestors could not afford to travel by coach and if they had to get from village to village in such weather, then it was done on foot, using the same lanes and footpaths we used yesterday. Did they see the beauty of those trees and snowy lanes? I don't know, but I like to think so.

Yet they were obliged to survive winter too, without the luxury of enjoying it as we do when we remember to look. They had to exist on stored food and eked out fuel until the promise of Spring, but even then life was hard because Spring is still a good way from the first harvest.

In the distance we saw hares, almost black against a white background. A hare would have been a most welcome addition to the pot. We’ve almost forgotten about winter food – bread, potatoes, cabbage, leeks, oatmeal and maybe a few eggs or a slice of bacon.

I originally intended this post to be about Cameron and his EU promises, but he can wait. There are better things to dwell on for now. 

Hither and yon

During our last walk, I spent a few pleasant miles musing about footpaths. Walking is good for musing. It’s one of the reasons I enjoy it, over and above the pleasures of the open air, the sights and the sounds, the lovely views - and keeping a wary eye on cows.

As far as I can see, there are three types of walker.

The talker – never shuts up.

The quiet, musing type.

Those who do a bit of both.

I have to confess, that I veer quite strongly towards the second group. I talk a little here and there, but not much. I prefer to muse. As I see it, a six hour walk gives you, allowing for stops etc, a good four to five hours of solid musing. Where else can you get that?

Anyhow, my latest muse covered a number of ephemeral notions, but I kept coming back to the subject of footpaths. Derbyshire has a lot of them. 1800 miles is one estimate, so getting to know them well is no simple task.

As I toiled up hills and squelched through ankle-deep mud, I mused this tangle of almost unknowable footpaths into an analogy of life itself.

Muse the first. We may walk the network of paths as much as we wish, turn this way or that, but very few people, if any, will ever know them completely.

Muse the second. The complexity of all those footpaths is dwarfed by the complexity of life itself.

So all we can do is walk this way or that, see what we see, enjoy the view and muse our incomplete musings. Because we can’t sum up the complexities of real life – not in the sense of describing, explaining and predicting what comes next. Not is the sense of creating reliable maps.

Okay, this is hardly a ground-breaking, or even a ground-softening muse, but so often we tend to pass over complexity. We tend to assume that if we try hard enough and long enough, we’ll crack the secret code. But we won’t and we know we won’t, but so often we carry on as if it’s possible.

But it isn’t.

It’s beyond us – always will be. The best we can do is walk, muse and be advised by those we trust. Beyond that lies deceit or madness.

Take your pick.

These boots were made for talking

Winding House at the top of Sheep Pasture Incline

We were walking the High Peak Trail above Cromford yesterday. The area is stuffed with industrial heritage, including Cromford Mill built by Richard Arkwright and now a World Heritage Site.

We came across Tony Robinson with a film crew, as he inspected the Sheep Pasture Winding House. It used to be part of a system by which trains were wound up and down the 3/4 mile long 1 in 9 Sheep Pasture Incline between Cromford Canal and the Cromford and High Peak Railway.

The first part of the line from the wharf at High Peak Junction, on the Cromford Canal, to Hurdlow opened in 1830. From the canal it climbed over a thousand feet in five miles, through four inclines ranging from 1 in 14 to 1 in 8 - Cromford, Sheep Pasture, Middleton and Hopton.

It was a remarkably ambitious piece of nineteenth century civil engineering, making a rail connection between the High Peak, Cromford Canal and ultimately the River Trent.

I don't know much about Tony Robinson apart from his role as Baldrick in the Blackadder series.

Mr Robinson seemed to be wearing substantial walking boots for this filmic occasion at Sheep Pasture Incline. Possibly an unnecessary precaution as it cannot be much more than two hundred yards between the Winding House and the car park.

Walk in the rain

The other day we managed a short walk. Only seven miles, but the second walk I’ve completed since a spell in hospital a couple of months back.

Part of the route took in Cromford canal in Derbyshire, an late eighteenth century canal now disused, but popular with walkers and designated as site of special scientific interest (SSSI). We find it more attractive than your usual canal.

Lined with trees, it’s a relaxing stroll with bits and pieces of industrial heritage to remind us why it was built. Leawood Pumping Station for example. It pumped water from the River Derwent to keep the canal topped up.

About a mile or so from the end of the walk it began to rain. Although we had waterproofs we didn’t bother putting them on. Apart from a real deluge you don’t usually need wet gear in summer. Clothes made from lightweight synthetics dry out as you walk and it’s pleasing to walk in the rain without feeling the need to find shelter.

Why is that? Maybe it’s that unique aroma you get from falling rain plus... Plus what? Maybe a sense of being outdoors - proper outdoors. We stood under nearby trees for a moment when it came down hard, watched it drip great fat drips into the canal from overhanging trees. Then we moved on.

I’m not usually keen on rain while out walking. It obscures the view and out on the hills I think there is an aspect of rain you don’t quite capture. It's just a nuisance really - not atmospheric as it can be elsewhere.

Maybe the aroma goes missing in the hills. It's softer and more peaceful down by the canal. Not a nuisance at all. With no view to lose, the rain adds a touch of something strangely pleasant, something more than a mild wetting.

Sunday walk

We went for a superb walk yesterday. About twelve miles, so just right for a fine day. We set out from Hathersage in Derbyshire

...and from there climbed up to Stannage Edge under a blue sky

...then past the Redmires Reservoirs where the water level seemed low to me.

Then it was moorland walking past the Ox Stones

...on Burbage Moor and back down into Hathersage to the evocative call of curlews. I have to admit that when absorbing some truly beautiful views, there were times when I wondered why I choose to spend precious time in front of a computer screen.

   

Mist in the hills

Out walking in Derbyshire yesterday. It was a frosty, misty start, but once up in the hills we could see the valleys below still full of mist, great lakes of it bordered by grey-blue hills. A beautiful sight. I didn't have my camera, so the picture above will have to do.

It was one of those sights where you just stand for a while and gaze, drinking it in because it can't last and only rarely will it be repeated.

Stag stare

During a recent walk we came across a stag. Normally, the most we’ve seen of wild deer is a quick glimpse as it disappears over the next hill but one. This one was close - maybe it was used to people.

Seen up close, you tend to notice how big stags are, how well-equipped in the antler department. They don’t look nervous, they just give you a level stare then wander off quite casually, knowing you can’t possibly get near them in those great big walking boots. Anyway, who has the antlers matey?

At this time of year there are plenty of young ones about too. Tread softly.