(Think I’ve forgotten a report for July, ho hum…)
August’s BAM ticked off on Monday night, eking out the long weekend. I’d even proposed an earlier than ususal start, in order to get a hot meal at a pub before settling down.
Despite this, early offers of companionship resulted in a comprehensive round of folk bailing, so it would be a solitary Landslide out on the hills of the Peak District…
A more than acceptable substitute for any pub-based sustenance was found in Mrs Landslide channelling GBBO, and producing some splendid entremets. Filled with a variety of chocolatey goodnesses, I headed out onto quiet roads, and headed for what looked like a promising area of moorland. I was hoping for a high spot where I’d be able to see both sunset* and sunrise**, and there’d be a bit of breeze to keep any flyingbiteylittlefeckers away.***
I spotted Sir William Hill from afar. This was not difficult, the hill in question being big and steep enough to host an annual hill-climb competition. Before starting the ascent however, there was a nice long downhill swoop down through Padley Gorge and Grindleford, where a right and a left turn put me at the foot of the cricket bat hill**** that is SWH.
I was never going to entertain any notions of racing up here, and immediately selected my granny gear. Passing a couple of groups of pedestrians, I got encouraging words such as “Someone’s feeling fit!”, “You’re brave!” and “Bet that was a slog!”, to which I replied, “Or slow…”, “Or stupid…”, and “It still is!”
Near the top, tarmac turned to gravel, and I neared my planned sleeping spot. Unfortunately, it seemed to have a liberal covering of sheep. Not fancying getting trodden on during the night, I continued onwards to the pub, and kept an eye out for alternative spots. Soon enough a couple of dry stone walls and a small copse presented themselves. That looks handy, I thought, and I made a beeline for the Barrel Inn, Derbyshire’s highest pub. Unfortunately, it clearly costs a fair bit to winch beer up the hill, but I supped a pint, and got some heat into my bones before heading back to my bivvy spot through the gathering dark.
https://www.instagram.com/p/BnBdVdwhMF9/
Here, I tried to find bit of flat ground, and was halfway through setting up my tarp when I felt a sharp pain. Looking down, I spotted a wasp on my ankle. Retribution was swift and devastating (for the wasp at least), as I flicked it to the ground and stomped on it.
Tarp up, into my bag, and Magic Rock analgesic was administered. I also enjoyed the last episode of “Hidden” before it disappeared from the iPlayer. Good choice of viewing for being alone in the woods…
Eventually, the shot and a half of espresso in Magic Rock’s Common Grounds porter wore off, the local insomniac sheep piped down, and I enjoyed a decent sleep.
Come the morning, all that was left was a whoosh down SWH at least 10x quicker than I was going up, a potter up Padley Gorge, and a coast back into Sheffield.
https://www.instagram.com/p/BnBddUgBs86/
*Failed due to cloud cover
**Failed due to sleeping longer than anticipated
***Success! (Apart from the stripy bastard.)
****Credit: htrider
8th bivvy of the year, 6/8 months (6 in a row) in 2018.