Moscar, Fairholmes, Yorkshire Bridge, and Bamford

A bit of confusion this morning on the platform at Doncaster Station - a young woman from Eastern Europe asked me which platform the train to Hull, or maybe she said Goole, went from. She spoke with a very guttural accent and I couldn't understand her; fortunately for her Hull and Goole are on the same line and so she should easily have got on the right train...I couldn't help her though because I was just getting on my train going to Sheffield.

After arriving at Sheffield I then travelled on the bus to Moscar, high up on the moors and headed north along Mortimer Road until I reached the first footpath, leading to Derwent Edge.

The sign gave very precise directions.

I found the turn-off to the left, but the next few hundred yards were quite difficult, being boggy and overgrown.

It was an early start for me and still overcast and misty...it was gloriously sunny  for a couple of hours just  after lunchtime though when I took a lot of photos.

I walked north along the Edge for a couple of miles and soon got my first glimpse of Ladybower Reservoir and was shocked to see how low the water level is now. It was too misty to take any photographs of anything in the distance so I just concentrated on the rocks. 

I gradually made my way down to the visitor centre at Fairholmes, the path staying just below the Edge for a while and then looping back to the south. I passed some grouse butts done on the cheap, propped up against an old dry stone wall.

It's all Access Land up here and there are paths everywhere...so I just kept taking the one leading downhill until I arrived on the road not too far from the dam wall of Derwent Reservoir.

I ate the last of my sandwiches at the visitor centre and then walked along the western shoreline of Ladybower Reservoir...and quite often actually stepping right down into the reservoir: The water is so low that it's easy to do. It meant that I got some rare and unusual angles to photograph from.

The ruins of Derwent village were clearly visible and several people were exploring them.

Further down the valley some water was now visible in the reservoir.

I continued along the road, crossing over Ashopton Viaduct and walking past Yorkshire Bridge and through Bamford to reach the bus stop near to the railway station just in time to catch the bus back to Sheffield.

Although I was in a hurry for the final few minutes I still briefly stopped to take a picture of the church from the roadside...the lighting conditions were perfect.

High Bradfield, Ashopton, Yorkshire Bridge, and Bamford

I arrived at High Bradfield at 08:05 this morning, the earliest I've arrived in the Peak District to start a walk. I headed for the churchyard and the footpath that passes through it leading up on to the moors, passing by Bailey Hill and the scant remains of the castle earthworks.  

I was nearly attacked by the sheep...or in truth, I nearly tripped up as I stepped out of their way.

There was  some lovely countryside for me to enjoy as I climbed upwards and there was always a rainbow just in front of me that I never could reach...or even take a photograph of.

The crossing of the moors was easy - underfoot it was either a wide, well-drained bridleway or a series of stone slabs laid across the boggy sections: I even jogged part of the way, maybe even halfway. It felt good. It's a bit bleak and monotonous though up here, but the scenery got a lot more interesting when I reached Derwent Edge with its surreal fantastical rock formations and stunning views down into the valley - it wasn't the best viewing conditions today though.

I stopped for a rest and to eat the last of my sandwiches, a flapjack actually, at the Wheelstones, a  large prominent group of rocks set back a few yards from the main path. I seemed to have intruded on a 'glamour' photoshoot and probably caused a halt in the proceedings. I didn't know what was going off at the time; all I was aware of was two large bald men speaking to each other in what sounded like Polish to me...and them re-arranging some expensive looking camera equipment. It was only when I'd left and was several dozen yards away and I decided to stop and look back at the view that I realised what they were probably doing when I caught a glimpse of a very sexy young women stepping out from behind one of the rocks, briefly into view, hurriedly wrapping herself in a shiny bright yellow latex raincoat that was very short. She had attractive legs; I didn't go back for a closer look though...I decided to settle for the attractive views of the countryside.

I arrived at Whinstone Lee Tor, from where there's a fantastic view right up the valley, with the reservoir in the bottom...I was literally just a few seconds too late to get a good view of one of the aircraft of the Dambusters' Memorial Flight; I only caught the briefest glimpse but I think it might have been the Lancaster Bomber. I think the pilot must have training or rehearsing for the celebration flypast for the seventy fifth anniversary of the destruction of the dams in Germany during the war. The actual anniversary is coming up in only a couple of weeks' time...and there will be thousands of people attending the event.

I found a different footpath down to Ashopton and then needed to walk along the road past Yorkshire Bridge and then down to Bamford, where I had time to visit the church for the first time. 

The church isn't very old; it's got a tall steeple which I couldn't fit in any of my shots...I couldn't find any suitable angle or location. The building was open and so I went inside; most of my photographs were out of focus, but I did get this one image of the best of the stained glass.

As I was waiting for the bus at Bamford a woman drove up in a car and started erecting some large signs in a prominent position on the grass verge at the side of the road: these signs read 'Get Down To Spanky Johnson.' and mentioned that he'd be performing at one of the local pubs.

When the bus arrived a few minutes later it was full of local schoolchildren going home. Some of the children had noticed the signs; I immediately heard the phrase 'Get Down To Spanky Johnson' being hurled about the bus, and a lot of shouting and laughing, and some lewd and crude comments...and then there were the sounds of slapping or even spanking, and the resulting comments and observations.

It felt as though I'd been dropped right into the middle of a 'Carry On' film...I'll let you decide the title though.

Fairholmes to Malin Bridge

Sometimes a few young women  get on the early train after enjoying themselves in the nightclubs in town on Saturday night. Naturally they are usually wearing quite revealing clothing...which always puts a smile on my face when I notice them. Today, however, I was in for a real treat; one young woman who was wearing practically nothing, just a skimpy pair of knickers and a flimsy toga that wasn't even properly held in place. When she walked by me on the train I got a right eyeful of naked flesh - her friend wasn't wearing much more, just beachwear, a thong and a couple of red stars covering her nipples.

My bus from Sheffield arrived on time at Fairholmes, and after visiting the toilets there I headed up onto the moors via the dam and a few isolated cottages.

I took the Wellhead path, which leads up to Dovestone Clough, a route a haven't walked along previously. There were some lovely views as I climbed up here, mainly looking behind me, and they'd look even better in the sunshine.

I then walked across open moorland for a bit and found the easiest way to get up to the Salt Cellar rock formation, climbing through the heather, bracken, and bilberries...it was quite tiring.

From this point onwards it was a steady descent along the top of Derwent Edge and then across the moors to Moscar House and then a bit more undulating past Moscar Cross Farm and across Ughill Moors.

The next section of the walk was along country lanes, tracks, and footpaths, passing the hamlet of Load Brook en route. There was some decent countryside to enjoy and take photographs of.

Only a few minutes after this point it started to rain; the clouds looked very threatening and I thought it was set for the day, and so instead of heading down to the Rivelin Valley and walking all the way to Malin Bridge I decided to bale out and head for the nearest bus stop at Stannington.

When I reached the bus stop I cursed because I'd arrived there five minutes after the bus had left and it was fifty five minutes for the next one. I continued walking towards the direction of Hillsborough and a few minutes later I noticed a timetable on another bus stop showing that two services stopped there on a Sunday - yet again though I was a few minutes late for the additional service. So I kept on walking, fortunately the worst of the rain had passed over.

I wasn't really sure exactly where  I was by this time, I had walked off the edge of the map...but I knew where I needed to be - in the bottom of the valley. I headed straight down a steep hill on a housing estate and arrived not too far from the tram stop at Malin Bridge. When I got there, there was a tram waiting for me on the platform ready for the journey back to the city centre.