|View to Win Hill and Lose Hill from Stanage Edge|
Further? Further along Stanage Edge. After a largely grey week, Sunday appeared brightly - as if she had cast off her November clothes. There was blue sky and I was up very early. After partaking of breakfast in "The Hammer and Pincers" (£2.99), I was back at Stanage Edge but further along the escarpment than where I was for my last Stanage photos. Remember "Sunset"?
There were already a good number of people around - enjoying the countryside that is on our doorstep. Walkers, cyclists, rock climbers and a woman flashed by me in a skin hugging black lycra suit as she ran towards the rocky Edge. Victorian ladies would have never dressed like that! It was as if she also had cast off her November clothes.
Up along the track that is known as The Long Causeway past The Buck Stone. The dramatic autumn light illuminated the old rocks beautifully. Jagged teeth. Roughly hewn building blocks. Always looking westwards. At this time of year the the bracken swathes and the heather are chestnut brown - one of the costumes of death. So different from the greenery and bee humming heather fields of mid-summer.
|The Long Causeway|
I met a path that took me northwards on the crest of The Edge, stopping by a wooden stile to chat with a seventy something couple who were striding out together with walking poles and rucksacks containing God know's what. When I see some Peak District ramblers with all their outdoor equipment kit, I sometimes think - Where the hell are you off to? Antarctica? In England's first national park, you are never more than two miles from a road. This isn't the Australian outback or the northern tundra of Canada. This is The Peak District for heaven's sake. Survival bags. Compasses. flasks and sandwiches, ordnance survey maps in weatherproof folders that they hang around their urban necks, flares, GPS instruments, whistles, spare socks.
|Win Hill from Stanage|
Over the moorland below I could see the volcanic summit of Win Hill. Nearby there was a stone shelter constructed specifically for posh grouse shooters with hip flasks. When I clambered down from The Edge, I passed the remains of an old millstone quarry with various abandoned millstones in the dying bracken. It was past midday now and as the chummy weatherman had promised, clouds were now moving in to smother the bright morning. Back to the car and home.
|Grouse shooters' shelter|
|Triangulation pillar at High Neb|
|Abandoned millstone below High Neb|