Mam Tor To Lose Hill

The ridge from Mam Tor to Lose Hill is a classic Peak District walk with wonderful views down to the Edale Vally on the left and the Castleton Valley on the right. Unfortunately our enjoyment was somewhat curtailed by the couple and their dogs following behind us. There was a constant fear that they would catch us up and the greyhound would let off another round upwind from us.

Just before the ascent to Back Tor, the couple and their hounds took a path down towards Castleton and we could relax and breathe a little easier. Back Tor is an impressive crag and a rest point between Mam Tor and Lose Hill. The cairn builders had been busy on the top with dozens of intricately built cairns.

The cold wind through all it had at us as we climbed up to the top of Lose Hill. There is a compass plaque on top that has been there for years (1948 apparently) and is looking a little worn now. Just below the summit a plaque is dedicated to the memory of the Mr M Ward (Lose Hill is also known as Ward's Piece)and has the aphorism, 'A rambler made is a man improved'. Maybe it would be worded differently if put there today.

Breakfast And Buckshot

We were blown down the other side of Lose Hill to the Hope-Edale road and then back up the other side on to the Fullwood Farm track. Halfway up the hillside we decided to take a break and found a good spot along a broken wall.

As I bit into a vegetarian sausage roll I had a faint revisit of the earlier greyhound emissions and I nearly gagged. I wondered whether some of its gastric molecules had stuck to my clothing or, perish the thought, my teeth. I decontaminated with the contents of most of my 1.5 litre water bottle and this seemed to clear the air somewhat.

We had a wonderful view of Lose Hill across the valley. In the valley bottom some clay pigeon shooters broke the peace every few seconds. I wondered if the guests in nearby hotel were appreciating the quiet of the countryside.

Hope Cross And Kinder

At the top of the hill we paid our respects to Hope Cross by circling it. It stands at the crossroads of medieval packhorse routes. Sheffield is inscribed as Shefield, but Glossop, Edale and Hope are spelt correctly. I'd like to think that its creator was finishing his masterpiece, with just Sheffield to chip out, and then realised he didn't have enough space for all of Sheffield's letters. 'Bugger it', I'll just drop one of the Fs'.

The path took us up to the rim of Kinder Scout and back into the strong wind again. We gained what shelter we could in a disused quarry, and had our lunch. Despite the strong wind we could still hear the shooters down in the valley.

The path is an easy contour around the edge of the plateau with fine views down into the Edale Valley. At Ringing Roger we headed down towards Edale.

Edale Pub Crawl

Edale was busy with walkers and tourists. A gaggle of youngsters headed towards The Old Nags Head holding inflatable golf clubs. Mo explained this was a themed pub-crawl where the objective was to visit 18 pubs. I was quite impressed; Edale's Nag's Head is out in the sticks. It was going to be a long day for them. I'm not sure I could manage 18 pubs nowadays. In fact, I don't think I could even come close to 18 even in my prime. It did bring back a memory though in that Edale's Nag's Head was the first pub that refused to serve me. Well, I was only 16, on a weekend camping trip with school friends, and so I can't really blame the landlord.

We navigated through fields across Edale's valley bottom and then headed up the steep slope to Hollin's Cross.

Winter Olympics On Mam Tor

Rather than returning via our morning route across Mam Tor (we feared it would still be a Hot Zone due to our friend, the greyhound this morning), we took the path that contours along its steep face to join the road. It started off okay, but then got boggier. The slope also got steeper as we made our way along it. At one point the meagre path disappeared into a bog of indeterminable depth and so I cross-stepped uphill to try and avoid it. Unfortunately, the uphill was so sodden that it was like ice and my feet started slipping downwards. I managed to get my hands on to the ground, but this didn't provide enough purchase for me to stop. I slid down the slope for 10 yards on my feet and hands. My gloves, trouser bottoms, boots and jacket cuffs were totally soaked in mud. Mo and Calse beamed like Cheshire cats. The worst thing was that my cameras had swung around from my back and had caught some of the mud. Sigh.

It was a sodden walk back to the car, and even the persistent gale at Windy Gap couldn't dry my clothes. It was a disappointing end to the walk on what had been a cracking day.