Miller's Dale, Chee Dale, Chelmorton...and Bakewell

I was hurrying to get ready this morning and forgot to pack my transistor radio so that I could listen to the cricket commentary; when I got home it was no surprise to find out that England had been well beaten by teatime...just as I'd been expecting. 

Something else that didn't go quite to plan either; I had planned to visit a new village for me, King Sterndale, but I missed the turn off for the footpath.

Anyhow, I got off the bus at Miller's Dale and walked up the road to reach a footpath that I hadn't used before - one that leads down into Chee Dale.

I passed over a footbridge and spotted a trout in the river; a few minutes later I caught up with a man and we walked and chatted for the next half an hour or so until we reach the cafe at Blackwell Mill. He name was Mike and he's an administrator for the 'Derbyshire Born and Bred' Facebook group -he's invited me to join the group...he's already made me an honorary Derbyshireman. [oops - according to Google no such word exists.] 

We walked down in the valley for half the distance to Blackwell Mill, and the other half higher up on the Monsal Trail - hoping to get some better photographs...I'm not particularly happy with any of mine, but these are the best. We mainly talked about walking and our previous visits to the area; I'd not been in Chee Dale for about seven years, for Mike it was sixty years though. 

Somewhere either just before, or just after Blackwell Mill Cottages, I should have taken a footpath which would have meant that I could reach King Sterndale without having to walk along quite a long stretch of the busy A6 road. Instead I came out on to the road at the car park at Topley Pike and just crossed over the road and headed down the footpath towards Deep Dale; King Sterndale will have to wait for another time. This footpath was quite difficult in places, as difficult as walking in Chee Dale...which has quite a reputation for being difficult in certain conditions.

I arrived at the main road at the head of Deep Dale and then took the first of the footpaths across the fields to Chelmorton where I stopped for a drink with the locals at the Church Inn...there were several other humorous displays featuring scarecrows in the village.

It was an easy walk up and over the fields to the bus stop at Blackwell Lane End; it took me a lot less time than I thought it would and I arrived twenty  minutes before the TransPeak bus was due. After only five minutes one arrived though, the driver explained that he was forty minutes late. The problems in Manchester had certainly worked to my advantage, meaning that I had a few minutes to spare in Bakewell...so I took some photographs of Bath Gardens, right next to the bus stop which the Sheffield bus departs from.

Monday is market day at Bakewell and the single decker bus was already standing room only when we set off. When we reached Chatsworth House not everyone could get on - fortunately there was another bus due in five minutes going back to Sheffield, but calling at Bakewell first.

Blackwell, Priestcliffe Ditch, Priestcliffe, Brushfield, Sheldon, Ashford-in-the-Water, and Bakewell.

Today's walk didn't get off to a good start. I'd only taken about a dozen strides after getting off the bus at Blackwell Crossroads when I fell over because I was concentrating on zipping up my jacket, and not on where I was putting my feet. Not being able to multi-task is more of a disability than some people might imagine.

I walked along the road and soon reached the strangely-named hamlet of Priestcliffe Ditch, then continued further down the road, and then along a footpath which went along a pretty dale at the bottom of Priestcliffe. I therefore bypassed  most of the village, but I did walk by one old farm building which had dozens of rusty horseshoes incorporated into the stonework: I should think that was done to bring good fortune.

The route I took than briefly climbed up a farm track and then across open fields to the lovely little valley of High Dale. The last time I walked along here I commented that because it was a dry valley it reminded me of the countryside of the Yorkshire Wolds: that wasn't the case today though, since there was a quite substantial brook flowing along the bottom of the valley, right where the footpath is.

At the end of the valley there's a track which leads to Brushfield.  Just before I reached this hamlet a small group of motorcyclists was gathered. Their vehicles were muddy and it was obvious that they'd just ridden along the byway which was the next part of my walk. Two of them appeared to glour at me, so I gloured back, subconsciously making a growling noise. The riders have a legal right  to use any byway in the Peak District, but their vehicles must be road legal at all times. Quite often the number plates on trail bikes are obscured by mud, therefore meaning that the vehicles aren't roadworthy...an excellent revenue raising opportunity I think, by imposing on-the-spot fines.

A few hundred yards later I took the path that goes down through the woods to Lees Bottom. I was impressed by the degree of coppicing which had been done, on quite steep and inaccessible slopes.

There was a short stretch of path along the bank of the River Wye, then I crossed the busy A6 road and then went to the toilets located in the parking area. These toilets are composting toilets, and so there's no flush; however, there's no water used at al. The urinals seemed to have some sort of hydrous gel to soak up the urine...and there wasn't a sink.

I only needed to have a pee, but had a quick look inside the cubicle anyhow; however, when I noticed this strange device hanging by a piece of string directly over the urinals I quickly returned to the cubicle. It looked like some sort of long-abandoned hospital drip with some squeezy, oozing stuff at the bottom, then some brown liquid in the middle, and possibly some noxious gas at the top of the bag.

I gave it a poke...but didn't stand underneath it.

As I've already mentioned, there isn't a sink...or a hand drier, only a hand sanitiser dispenser...however, the instructions say 'ensure hands are clean and dry.' My hands were covered in mud; I still used the sanitiser though, but I probably made matters worse by sealing in any bacteria that I had on my skin.

It wasn't long until I reached Deep Dale, nothing out of the ordinary at this time of year, but in the spring and summer it is one of the best locations in the Peak District for enjoying wildflowers.

I then climbed out of Deep Dale and walked across grassy field to Sheldon, then down the path and along the road to Ashford-in-the-Water. I noticed that some new tearooms had opened in Sheldon; the timing wasn't convenient and so I didn't stop...they have been noted for future reference though.

The final stretch of the walk was along the river to Bakewell: I was brave enough to approach quite close to the alpacas that live in one of the fields...they are quite tall, so maybe they are actually llamas.

Miller's Dale, Chelmorton, Taddington, Sheldon, and Bakewell.

The bus was re-routed round Sheffield City Centre again today; this time the cause was hundreds of jogging women all wearing pink. I was only ten minutes late arriving at Miller's Dale though.

I walked down the lane, over the bridge and climbed up through the woods to soon reach the Monsal Trail. I turned right, headed over the viaduct and quickly arrived at the old railway station where I went to the toilet, bought a cup of tea and ate my sandwiches.

Just a few hundred yards beyond the station there are some very impressive ruins of limekilns. I climbed the path up to the top and took a photograph, and then explored the bottom, where you can actually go right inside. The pictures I took inside didn't come out very well; but the view you get from the Trail is spectacular...somehow reminiscent of something the Aztecs might have built.

The Trail then passes over a bridge which is very popular with abseilers; I don't know far down the drop is, but there were at least a couple of dozen people there in organised groups today.

I then saw a notice stating that the Monsal Trail will be closed to all users on August 1st and 2nd due to the Park & Ride scheme which will be operation for the Bakewell Show - I think they run buses along the route.

Next up was Chee Tor Tunnel, and then two much shorter tunnels, Chee Tor Number 2 Tunnel and Rusher Cutting Tunnel; both short enough so as to not require any lighting.

I got off the Monsal Trail at Blackwell Mill Cottages and walked down the track to the carpark at Topley Pike; the furthest west point of the walk, and the furthest west I've been on my walks since I started writing the blog. Through the trees to my right I could first hear, and then glimpse, one of the long quarry trains...it was rattling a lot, so I assume it was empty.

I crossed the main trunk road and then took the footpath which skirts Topley Pike Quarry. The quarry is well screened and there is some nice countryside here. Along one section the path climbs steeply out of the valley and I had to be careful because there were a lot of limestone rocks: limestone is always slippery, even when dry.

I then walked across meadows, fields and tracks until I reached Chelmorton, a village I have never visited before; and hadn't even heard of until planning the walk a few days earlier. The last few hundred yards into Chelmorton are part of the Midshires Way; a long distance footpath I didn't think I'd be walking along today. Along this section I also noticed that the word ENGLAND had been placed on the hillside. The lettering was large and had probably been formed by removing the topsoil to expose the limestone underneath. It wouldn't be that prominent from a distance though...maybe it's not finished yet.

I didn't go right into the village; I turned left and walked uphill, stopping briefly for a glass of Diet Coke/Pepsi at the pub across from the church.

The house next to the pub had what I would consider to be a linguistically interesting name.

'High Low' is a fairly common topographical name in Derbyshire though.

I then had a steady climb up a lane and then walked across open grassy fields to reach Taddington. I didn't walk along the main road, but turned right, along a minor road and then a path heading in an easterly direction towards Deep Dale.

I descended into Deep Dale and then climbed up the other side; fortunately it isn't its deepest at this point. A level path alongside grassy fields comes out just before Sheldon. I barely entered the village, taking the first path on my right; signposted towards Magpie Mine. I didn't visit the mine; I've been there before and it was getting quite late.

In the vicinity of Magpie Mine there's a dense network of criss-crossing footpaths. I managed to navigate myself across this section and ended up on a lovely stretch of unchallenging footpath across gently rolling pastoral countryside until I reached the road which goes down into Bakewell, where I arrived with enough time to visit the toilets and buy some refreshments.

In conclusion, it was a lovely day; the weather was mainly sunny, and certainly not too hot; the walk was at least twelve miles long, probably one the longest walks featured on the blog...and I certainly ventured the furthest west since I started writing about my walking in the Peak District.

Blackwell, Flagg, Sheldon, and Bakewell.

Unusually, for a day I had planned to go walking, it was raining when I woke up this morning. The weather forecast was for plenty of warm sunshine later; and I wasn't disappointed.

I got off the bus at Blackwell: the bus doesn't actually go into the hamlet, but the houses are only a field away from the bus-stop. I took the road which leads towards the settlement of Priestcliffe Ditch, following a path across the fields though before I sighted the buildings.

I soon arrived at the main Buxton road, crossed over it and continued across more fields, this time climbing rather steeply uphill though, until I joined the Limestone Way.

I quickly walked along this section of the Limestone Way, mainly along country lanes, until I reached Flagg. What a strange village Flagg is, it must be nearly a mile from one end to the other, but there are actually very few houses. Very little must ever have happened there...well that's my assumption after reading the inscription on this memorial stone...there may be other reasons I suppose.

There were a couple of other strange things I noticed in the village. At the site of the former pub called The Plough there is now a private property inexplicably called 'Plough Station' which consists of a chalet-style bungalow set back from the road and something which I would describe as an art installation; consisting of a small forest of unused flagpoles, a ship's wheel, and random pieces of old agricultural implements and machinery. A few yards further on there's a concrete dog half-buried in the grass verge.

After taking what seemed like a very long time to walk through the village I took the road which forked to the right, and then quickly located the path leading eastwards across grassy fields. I then had a very short length of road to walk along before taking the track the leads down into Deep Dale. I didn't go down into the valley, although it looked very tempting, being perfectly illuminated with the sun being at just the right angle.

I took the path to the right and soon arrived at Sheldon - there were good views of Magpie Pine all along this section. I'd barely entered the village last year on a walk which incorporated a visit to see the substantial ruins of the mine, and so today I got the chance to see all of Sheldon; the one thing I noticed was that the occupants of several farms and smallholdings were offering eggs for sale at the roadside...the eggs were stacked up in cartons and  jam jars or saucers were left to put your money in.

After passing through Sheldon the road led down into Kirk Dale and I took the footpath leading up the other side of the valley. There was a final couple of miles to be covered before reaching Bakewell, arriving in the town just by the church.