Ramsley Moor is just west of the bent tree. Some moors are typically rugged upland places of heather and gorse where you may find hardy sheep grazing amidst the rocks. Other moors are flat, characterised by boggy ground and tussocks of rough grasses. Such is Ramsley Moor.
Yesterday was bitterly cold but bright and clear. I left Clint in a lay-by adjacent to the the A621 road to Baslow.
"Brrr! It's flippin' cold up here boss man! Can't you keep my engine running?" said Clint.
"Can't do that mate. I would have to leave the key in so somebody might steal you."
"How bloody compassionate! Don't mind me freezing my exhaust pipe off - just go and enjoy your ramble!"
I set off into the winter's afternoon and soon found myself at the ruins of Ramsley Lodge. Not the most picturesque of moorland ruins and later on Google could not lead me to its history. Then I was plunging through straggly trees. The path led me to what is left of Ramsley Reservoir. It served the town of Chesterfield for over a hundred years but it was decommissioned twenty years ago.
After circling the reservoir site with its remaining pools, I thought I would head past the approaching woods, reach the open moorland and then head back to Ramsley Lodge across the expanse of tussocks.
All was going well but in a fifty yard wide dip in the slight undulations of the landscape I discovered an area of boggy ground that soon revealed it was a quagmire with black pools of mud hidden beneath an icy crust that was itself camouflaged by the tussocks.
I tried to cross this unwelcoming zone in three or four places - at one point sinking to the very top of my boots. I was floundering and flailing around. If a drone with a camera had flown over me at that instant it would have gathered comedy footage of a solitary human being in a Hull City manager's coat, being beaten by boggy ground as the sun lowered itself rapidly in the west.
It was sensible to backtrack - get out of the bog and retrace my steps. Back to the trees just north of the disused reservoir. There I discovered another treacherous path with swampy ground and mossy pools amidst malnourished saplings and rotten trunks. It was like being a character in a computer game. To win the golden rings you had to traverse the danger zone. I was Sonic the Hedgehog moving at the pace of a hedgehog.
And then before you knew it I was up through the trees and back at the ruined lodge, marching along the exposed path back to Clint whose teeth were still chattering.
"G-g-get the en-en-engine run-running quick!" he pleaded.
On the way home, I stopped to take this picture from Owler Bar Road towards White Edge Lodge which is on the left...
Good grief. A narrow escape. I expect you were a little flushed after your experience in the bog.
ReplyDeleteAre you cunningly referring to my recent visit to a lavatory?
DeleteI like yours and JayCees sunsets YP.
ReplyDeleteI bet you see some wonderful sunsets from your peninsula Dave.
DeleteNow that is a walk I do not envy you for. Have your feet warmed up yet? Forget Clint- I worry about you.
ReplyDeleteDon't worry about me Ms Moon - I am a mad man.
DeleteOwler Bar Road, beGob !
ReplyDeleteIt could be a Ted Hughes poem.
That last photo would make a grand Xmas 2021 card, *If we are spared,* as my mother used to say.
"beGob!" Is that a Scottish exclamation?
DeleteAbout as Scotch as Nighttown, Dublin, where poor Joyce caught the unmentionable thing a fella catches from harlots.
DeleteBegob is the Hibernian version of the English *Begad* only the Irish do not like to intone the name of God lightly not even harlots.
It can be shortened to: *Gob, don't be talking, Haggerty was nivir a scholar, dog Latin was all he ever knowed, in fact his name was nivir Haggerty, he is the man with the triple-barrel name come down from the Mountain. Begob I can say no more, I seen the priest coming for his jug of porter.*
Thank you for the clarification.
DeleteAt least you got some lovely photos out of the adventure!
ReplyDeleteI must say that I was not planning an adventure yesterday - just a nice walk.
DeleteAlright. I understand moors much better now. We have those boggy areas that you can sink down into as well. I have walked out of my boots in more than one of them. I cannot imagine just casually coming onto ruins like that. My mind would immediately whirl off into imaginings and they'd find me later, frozen stiff as a piece of garden statuary, my wide unseeing eyes studying the ruins.
ReplyDeleteIf I had found you there I would have carried you home and sprayed you white before standing you next to our greenhouse.
DeleteThe last photo particularly, excellent though it is, makes me think it was really a day to stay home by the fire.
ReplyDeleteDo take care YP - you can't afford to get marooned in the mire!
I enjoy a little bit of danger CG. After all I am not wrestling great white sharks nor trekking alone through the Sahara Desert.
DeleteThat's one of the joys of many walks up here - navigating the bogs.
ReplyDeleteBogs can be so deceptive. Dry and easy to traverse at one point and wet and spongy at another point.
DeleteTo this very "city girl" that experience sounds quite frightening!
ReplyDeleteI felt safe Terry. The worst that could have happened to me was very wet feet.
DeleteCan't go over it. Can't go under it. We're not scared.
ReplyDeleteNothing scares a Yorkshireman apart from dentistry.
DeleteWell now I'm very curious about the history of Ramsley Lodge. That sounds like a treacherous walk! I'm glad you managed to avoid sinking in OVER the tops of your boots. Love the sunset pic.
ReplyDeleteIf you find out anything about Ramsley Lodge please let me know.
DeleteThe last photo is very pretty, with the sun ever so low in the sky.
ReplyDeleteThank you Andrew. I was pretty pleased with that one.
DeleteSometimes we run into some nasty conditions on our walks. The only thing you can do is back track. I've been there.
ReplyDeleteI hate backtracking but sometimes you have just got to do it.
DeleteThat is a striking photo, the last shot. If you're a purist, it is marred only by two jet streams in the sky. Airplanes, that is.
ReplyDeleteI have looked at that picture carefully Joanne. I can't see any contrails. I believe it's all perfectly natural cloud but I might be wrong.
DeleteThat winter sunset is fantastic! The other pictures in this post are great, too. Glad you managed to get back to Clint before he really froze off his exhaust pipe, and you did the sensible thing in retracing your steps instead of trying to make your walk a circular route.
ReplyDeleteIt seems a little cowardly to retrace one's steps but sometimes one should be sensible.
Delete