We set off later than usual, as breakfast wasn’t available until 9.00 a.m. (David was pleased though!) We continue to walk on the Alternative Pennine Way. It was a long steep climb back up to Stanage Edge, but great views of the Ladybower and Derwent reservoirs. Once we were walking at altitude, it was very cold and we were glad to have extra layers to wear. The area is owned by the National Trust, and therefore the main paths are excellent, paved with large flagstones where necessary to avoid the bog. Our route took us across Howden moors where the path was at times non-existent (and David admitted that Komoot was very useful!). We were just pleased that we have had dry weather recently as the paths were very boggy and we made plenty of detours to avoid wet feet! Back on a firm path again, we eventually descended via Cat Clough and then up through a pine plantation and some farmland to the busy road where the Dog and Partridge was a welcome sight!

A Backward Glance

Tough walking from beginning to end today in a chilling wind, a lot of it across bleak moors haunted by the call of curlews everywhere. I thought this bird was a resident of sea-side locations, but there were plenty of them in the skies over us here during our trek. Folklore has them associated with bad news and death. If I were in difficulty in these soggy treacherous barren wastes, their call would give me no comfort either. They are mottled brown birds about the size of a gull, long legs and long downward curved beaks. They flew up out of the rough tufted grass, circled over our heads whistling then slowly glided back down to ground and out of sight again. In places along the path on Stanage Edge we came across abandoned millstones, about six feet diameter and a foot thick with a centre hole. These had been quarried locally and cut to shape and the two tons of gritstone somehow transported down the slopes to flour mills in the area. Demand for them came to a sudden stop early in the 18th century when whole grain bread (with bits of stone in it) went out of fashion and the new finer white flour version became the preferred daily bread. Unfortunately the local gritstone was not suitable for grinding grain to the new fineness required, so the farmers who made them returned to their sheep to make a living instead. ‘Ah well, back to the grindstone’, was probably a literal expression before the advent of the white loaf. Life was tough back then.