Memorial Bench

As we entered the forest Captaion Mo and the Cabin Boy found quite a nice wooden memorial bench. The inscription on it read: 'I'll never know how far I can go, unless I try.' I told them that they could have that as the title of their 'Completed Ethels' photobook. I told them that I wouldn't mind a bench in my honour when I croak. 'I'd like it to have an inscription something like "Nun Warthead. He brought a ray of sunshine and an eternal smile to everybody he met."' I asked them if I was over egging it a bit, but they both thought it was okay. Some road walking brought us to a field full of Alpacas. We tried to coax them towards us but they seemed quite indifferent to our presence. 

Shat Fidel

The mist was gradually disappearing an as we made out way along the valley we could see the pointed summit of Shutlingsloe behind us. It looked quite high and impressive. A pity it hadn't been that clear when we were up there. A permissive path allowed us to shadow the busy A54 by ascending a clough. The road was high above and if it wasn't for the surreal road signs on the skyline, we wouldn't have known it was there. We finally got to the top of the clough and a short walk brought us to the famous pub, the Cat And Fiddle. There had been a discussion as we ascended the clough as to how the pub got its name. Captain Mo had googled it and revealed that one theory was that it came from the French, 'Shat Fidel'. Mo said he didn't get a good grade with his French CSE. A lot of motorcyclists were stood by their machines outside of the pub. There is quite a nice stone picture of a cat playing a fiddle on the wall facing the road. The pub is at the top of the pass and feels quite remote in this massive expanse of moorland. The roar of motorbikes somewhat diminishes the serenity of the place and so we quickly got on our way again. 

Whetstone Ridge

Just before the footpath starts over to Whetstone Ridge, a sign says 'Any persons who access this land without prior consent from Frederic Robinson Limited do so at their own risk.' There were no contact details on the sign and so we decided to proceed. Whetstone Ridge was hardly a ridge and more of a slight undulation in the moorland plateau. A line of occasional posts directed us across trackless moor to its summit. There was no cairn to signify the summit and so I took an educated guess of its location. We could still see the Cat And Fiddle and also Shutlingsloe. We dropped down off the ridge and on to a bridleway. A sign indicated that we should follow the bridleway to Three Shires Head and so we set off in that direction. 

Three Shires Head

The bridleway terminated at the A54 and we crossed it to descend into a valley that would take us to Three Shires Head. A large chimney (for a disused coal mine) on the hillside took as by surprise, just below the road. The spoil heaps on the other side of the brook were indications of the area's industrial past. We started following the stream down the valley. The closer we got to Three Shires Head, the more people joined us. This was certainly a popular location. I saw the remains of four dead sheep within about a mile, which seemed quite a lot. I wondered if this might be caused by dogs. As I was considering this, a small Terrier had a shite on the path in front of me and then started flicking the area with its back legs. I stopped and backed off in horror at what was being flicked towards me. Its owner said 'Sorry about that.' 'Not a problem' I lied, wiping my gaiters on nearby long grass.

Three Shires Head was not a place for quiet meditation. Well, at least not today anyway. To be fair it was a Sunday on a Bank Holiday weekend. Dozens of people lined the banks of the stream, having picnics or going for a paddle. A man was swimming under the largest waterfall. For some bizarre reason he was holding a large circular shaving mirror, although he didn't appear to be having a shave. His partner was on nearby rocks taking his picture. Three Shires Head is really very picturesque. But not today. I took a couple of photos and we fled the party in the direction and relative tranquility of Shutlingsloe. 

Return

Gradually we left behind the groups of people and normality resumed. Shutlingsloe loomed larger. We could just see walkers on the ridge line making their way over to the trig. In the valley, leading to the carpark, the fields were full of ewes and their lambs. We rated the youngsters by their size and cuteness. The farmer had dumped some turnip treats in the fields for them. Yum, yum. I'm not sure my teeth would be up to eating raw turnip. We were the third car in the carpark when we arrived this morning, but the place was full now. 

It had been a great walk, although the views were a little hazy. If I'd do this walk again, I'd definitely wouldn't visit Three Shires Head on a Bank Holiday weekend; in fact a weekday would probably be best, preferably also avoiding the school holidays.