Great Hucklow, Bretton, Highcliffe, Eyam, Stoney Middleton, Calver, Bubnell, and Baslow

The bus was ten minutes late leaving Sheffield Interchange this morning; this was the first time in a long while I can remember TM Travel letting me down. The driver managed to make up a few minutes though by the time I got off at Great Hucklow - there's plenty of slack in the timetable.

Several local residents were busily putting up the final few of the Christmas trees that will line the entire length of the main road through the village. I counted twenty three already in place, some of them decorated; when everything's finished it will be spectacular to look at. It will probably rival the lights at Castleton; Great Hucklow isn't a touristy village though, there's only the pub to visit.

I climbed up through Great Hucklow Wood to the road, which was closed to traffic because of a recent landslip, continued along the path that goes past the ruins of Silence Mine and then followed a different road to Bretton where I sat and ate my sandwiches on the grassed area across the road from The Barrel Inn. There's a rather difficult to read toposcope placed here to help you appreciate the wonderful view you're looking at. 

I followed the road round to Highcliffe, a hamlet high above Eyam, and then took a slightly different route than on previous occasions down to the village.

In Eyam there's always plenty of colour in the garden at Plague Cottage, not all of it is plastic.

It's a lovely walk over the hill to Stoney Middleton. As I was approaching the village I heard the noise of loud engines and looked up to catch sight of a large low flying military transport aeroplane and a twin rotor heavy lift helicopter.

I had time to take some photographs of the unusual octagonal church and some of the pretty cottages, but not the aircraft.

I continued down to the River Derwent south of Froggatt, there was the best view of the day looking north towards Stoke Hall.

There's a riverside nature reserve at New Bridge to the north of Calver; I stopped to read a couple of interesting display boards about brook lampreys and great crested newts.

The caravan site at Calver is still flooded, and the water frozen over, but everywhere I walked today was fine.

The final stretch of the walk was following the course of the river to Bubnell and finally to the bus stop at Cavendish Bridge. At Bubnell there was more military activity in the sky, this time two large black ops helicopter gunships; they looked, and sounded, very threatening...somewhat out of place in the Peak District.

I found myself walking into the sun for most of the time today; I really should have done the walk in the other direction, but this wasn't possible because of the timing of the buses.

Leam and Bretton

Today was the first time I've been walking in the Peak District when I couldn't use my ENCTS pass to travel for free on the train between Doncaster and Sheffield. I only decided to do this because I was going walking with Chris from the Leeds Adult Asperger's group. It was a very long and tiring journey and I won't be doing it again unless I'm meeting up with him, and possibly other people, from the group. I was shattered when I reached Fox House, where I was picked up in the car.

Right from the beginning the day didn't get off to a good start. I was in the town centre on my way to the bus station when I realised that I'd forgotten my map; I know the area of the Peak District where I was planning going walking very well and so wouldn't need the map merely for the purpose of navigation, but nonetheless I decided to turn around and go home to get it just in case we were to have an accident and I'd need to provide accurate location details using map co-ordinates. It meant having to walk half a mile extra though.

There were a lot of people waiting for the Buxton bus at Sheffield; it was only a small bus that turned up and everyone just about fitted on. There were children sitting in the doorwell and rucksacks stacked precariously up against the left-hand side of the windscreen - I did get a seat though.

I struggled to stand up and get off at Fox House. I had to lean forward and grab a rail with both hands, then reach up as high as I could with my left hand and lurch forward and then upwards; having to twist round and then reach down to use the top of the seat for balance...I felt like I was a demented pole dancer trying out some new moves for a sexy routine at a sleazy nightclub later in the day. This fantasy/illusion was suddenly shattered when I simultaneously pulled muscles in my lower back and groin area. 

When the bus stopped I had to make room for me to bend down and pick up my rucksack. The children in the doorwell stood up and moved out of the way so that the doors could swing open. There wasn't very much room at all, and of course I was standing up; probably not the most sensible thing for me to have done, but I needed to stand up in order to press the button for the bus to stop. One of the children knocked the rucksacks over and they then tumbled into the doorwell. Somehow, and I can't recall the exact order of events, the driver managed to get the doors to open and those of us who wanted to get off at Fox House managed to do so.

It was 09:50 and Chris was due at ten o'clock. I walked through the car park and enjoyed a lovely view of the Burbage Valley. 

Chris was only a few minutes late; I used the time to do some stretch exercises and check that my pulled muscles wouldn't be too much of a hindrance. I seemed to be okay.

We drove in the car to the parking area on Sir William Hill Road, near to the transmitter tower.

We set off and walked across Eyam Moor, heading for the hamlet of Leam. There were some lovely views of Froggatt Edge and we posed for some photographs, using the timer function, with the Edge as a spectacular backdrop.

At Leam we had to walk along a road for a few minutes and then turned left and took the track leading towards Bretton Clough.. I thought it was very pretty down in the bottom of the valley with the trees showing varying degrees of new growth and the speckled effect of the sunlight, Chris said he preferred the view looking down into the clough from high ground. We found a sunny, and sheltered, spot to eat our sandwiches and about half an hour later we were climbing up to the road that leads to Bretton, and the Barrel Inn - the highest pub in Derbyshire.

I ordered a Diet Coke and I treated Chris to a glass of rather exotic cider. We took our drinks outside and walked over to the viewing point, but sat on the grass, and then on the seat when it became vacant. We then read the panorama board and I identified the locations for Chris. 

Chris wanted to be back to the car for three o'clock and so I needed to amend our route. We decided to walk past Stanage House farm and loop round and across the nearest part of Eyam Moor...and arrived back at the car at half past two. We probably still could have got back in time by taking the longer route; it worked out to my advantage a few minutes later at Hathersage though, when after getting out of the car on Station Road and taking a photograph of the picturesque fingerpost sign I turned around the corner and saw about a dozen people standing at the bus-stop. I'd been assuming that I'd have to wait forty minutes for the next bus, but the previous bus was over twenty minutes late and still hadn't arrived. Knowing that it would take a few minutes for everyone to board I knew I'd got time to go to the toilets.

The journey on the bus back to Sheffield, and then on the X78 service to Doncaster was a lot more pleasant than the outward journey...it really needed to be.

Grindlow, Bretton, and Hathersage.

The Buxton bus and the Matlock via Chatsworth bus are both timetabled to depart from the same stand at Sheffield Interchange at the same time, the one right next to the sandwich shop; and this is what happens: too many people blocking access because there aren't any seats...or even anywhere for them to queue in an orderly manner. People are already queueing to get food, gathering in groups to go walking or visit Chatsworth House, and many of them don't really know which of the two buses to catch...and then of course, there are the people dragging heavy suitcases who are going down the ramp just to the right to catch the long distance coaches, weaving in and out of the throng like demented rugby players. I think things were a lot better when the Peak District services went from separate, but adjacent stands, right at the other end of the bus station.

Although the number 65 arrived on time it took quite a few minutes for everyone to get on; there was then an additional delay when an unsavoury character tried to sneak upstairs without paying, and the driver had to go and remove him.

I had intended starting today's walk at the hamlet of Windmill, just beyond Great Hucklow, but I got off early because my knees were hurting me. Despite the bus being quite full I did manage to get a seat to myself, but there still wasn't much legroom though. I would have preferred one of the sideways facing seats at the front of the bus, but I don't think this vehicle had any.

I got up and pressed the bell in plenty of time for Grindlow Lane End, the driver stopped the bus almost immediately though. It wasn't exactly where I wanted to be, but I got off anyhow; I told him I'm going walking and so it doesn't really matter.

I walked along the road hoping to find a path across the fields leading to Grindlow but there wasn't one. I turned right down the lane which leads to the village and then looked for the path which I needed. I ended up having to double back though; I missed the path because it wasn't signposted and it looked like it led up a private drive leading to some posh houses.

I continued across some fields, going slightly downhill at first and then quite steeply uphill until I reached a road which I walked along for a few minutes until I arrived at the site of the Silence Mine.

There are quite extensive ruins here, but the site is fenced off - it wouldn't be difficult to climb over though. I didn't bother; I was more concerned with the rain, which was getting quite persistent by this time and so I reached into my rucksack for my lightweight plastic poncho. It did the job in protecting me from the rain, but it was quite difficult to put on...and flapped about a lot. There were some press studs which would have fastened it down better, but I nearly pulled a muscle in my back and almost cricked my neck trying to reach them. In the end I gave up the effort and used a length of string which I keep in my rucksack for emergencies such as holding up my trousers.

I continued walking along this path in an easterly direction until I reached another road, which I followed to the Barrel Inn at Bretton. By the time I reached the pub, the highest in Derbyshire, it had just about stopped raining. It was still quite cold and unpleasant and so I popped inside for a pot of tea and a large slice of freshly-baked cake that was still warm.

I sat as close as I could to the open fire, appreciating the warmth, and taking an interest in the paintings and prints on the wall. All of these were by local artists and were for sale, something which I've observed many times on my visits to pubs, cafés and tearooms in the Peak District. I was also intrigued by some old wooden combined skis and snowshoes which were fixed to the wall only inches from my head; these would have come in handy last month when I was walking through deep snow.

The weather was a lot brighter, and warmer, when I left The Barrel, heading northwards along the lane. I took the second footpath on the left, which heads down into Bretton Clough, but I didn't get far before I had to stop. I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my right foot, something like a bee or wasp sting I should think. Obviously a bee or wasp couldn't get inside my boot, but something had. I removed my right boot and took off my sock and carefully felt for an insect, or a thorn maybe; but there was nothing. I examined my foot; there was no obvious sign of a bite or sting, or any rash - it was swollen noticeably though at the base of the little toe, and was quite tender to the touch.

Just to be safe I put my sock on inside out, then my boot (the right way round) and stood up and made a few tentative steps. I was okay; I was still aware of the pain, but it was no more than a mild inconvenience now - as it would be for the rest of the walk. Even now, as I'm typing this, it's still bothering me; the swelling is still there...and it seems harder to the touch now. I wonder what could have done this to me?

I was soon at the bottom of the clough and continued downstrean towards Hathersage, passing a creepy-crawly tree, which, despite the obvious damage, is still alive and thriving.

I arrived at Stoke Ford and took the path which leads uphill towards Offerton Moor. I walked across the access land to reach Offerton Hall and then dropped down to the River Derwent. As I was descending across the fields there were some lovely views up the Hope Valley.

The walk along the riverbank is pleasant and easy and I dawdled as I walked along the  final approach to Hathersage across the fields, knowing that the bus wasn't due for nearly an hour. I had plenty of time to look around the outdoors shops in Hathersage: there are four.