by Jack Ashcroft

An innocent enough walk around Edale. “You can’t get lost up there,” was the bar room atmosphere at half past ten on Thursday evening. Well you can. If you don’t take your map and compass, whistle, torch, contact lenses if appropriate and it’s raining, the cloud banks are low, the gale force on the Beaufort Scale is approaching eight and you don’t check your position regularly and keep the group together…

Ten of us left Mam Nick car park at 8.45 am to tackle the Walk clockwise. Before Lords Seat the furious Westerly had us reeling and two returned to the car park. Eight then battled on for Brown Knoll a little spread out but on arrival at the trig point we were only six in number. We got cold standing there in the wind, straining our eyes through the mist for the other two, both ladies. Concern.

“Secretaries are dispensable.” E

…mutter… mutter… mutter… J

“Let’s push off in the true spirit of mountaineering
comradeship.”

“Here they are.”

Two figures loomed out of the mist. But it wasn’t them.

“We haven’t seen them we followed the path all the way.”

So we were eight again, but a different eight.

“Hope they are together.”
“She’s never been up here before hasn’t got a map.” E
“She knows the topography she’s got common sense.” E

“Your decision.”
“Let’s go on and see what happens.”

We walk on to Edale Cross.

“They’re here.”
“You’re disqualified missed out Brown Knoll check point.”

“Rubbish, we followed the right hand side of the dyke.
Pointless going off route to the trig point.”
“We really will keep together now.”

And we basically did… to the shelter of the boulders below The Pagoda.

“I’ve just been talking to someone up there who I
thought was one of us until I pushed my nose into his
face.”
“We need a Kinder sixth sense move to the top of
Grindsbrook. We’ll stop there for a bite to eat.”
“OK, it’s alright. Don’t bother to get your map out.”
So ten set swiftly off into the wind, rain and mist, full of
confidence.

“It’s rough going. Too much up and down the groughs.”
“Stop. Let’s think where we are.”
“More to the right.”
“Up to the left.”
“We’ve lost them now.”

Five of us left.

“Let’s stick together.”
“The stream is going north. This must be the Kinder
River.”
“This way.”
“Move south.”
“No. Move over. Still more east.”
“It’s like caving above ground.”
“Drop into the groughs at the head of Grindsbrook.”
“This is it.”
“Damn! It’s Crowden Brook, not Grindsbrook.”
“We’ve gone round in circles.”
“No we haven’t! Just a horseshoe a mile to progress
half a mile.”
“Are we stopping to dry out tights and long johns?”
“I wear socks the same as every one else.”
“The feminist touch.”
“Right, now for Grindsbrook, I bet someone’s there.”

Someone was.

“I’ve been here five or ten minutes. Dropped into the
groughs head of Grindsbrook on a compass bearing. I
haven’t a map.”

It was 12.38 pm.

“Don’t go down there. It’s best to wait until we get to
Golden Clough if you want to go down.”
Six of us stood at the top of Golden Clough.
“Who’s for going down?”
“Well…”
“Tea in Coppers.”
“Newcastle Brown in The Nags.”
“You can tell who are the walkers!”
“You can tell who are the climbers!”
“Who’s doing what?” “That’s it then.”
Two went down for refreshment. Four went on. Too swiftly again, I
fear.
“We haven’t seen the trig point.”
“It’s over there.”
“This is the head of Jaggers.”
“Doesn’t seem deep enough to me.”

Neither was it.

“That’s the Snake road down there and we are walking
out.”
“It’s Blackden.”
“Turn around for Crookstone Knoll.”
“I’ll watch her down there and you up here keep in
contact.”
“You can get off the plateau but you may be fifteen
miles from where you want to be.”

And so off the plateau towards Crookstone Barn. Two lasses and two lads.

“Those trees must be two of the toughest in the Peak.”
“Down the Roman Road to meet the car at The Cheshire
Cheese.”
“There’s a quicker route than that.”
“Oh! Someone has moved the fence.”

And so we were on the road at Edale End. The two lads approached Lose Hill under the railway near Fiddle Clough. It was 3.20 pm. The two lasses walked along the road to meet their transport at The Cheshire Cheese.

Lose Hill wasn’t in fact traversed by both the lads: one followed the track around the south side of Lose Hill into the wind. Slow tiring progress.

“I waited here out of the wind so we’d be together to
traverse Mam Tor. It looks vicious up there.”

And so it was. Racing cloud touching the summit, the light gone, crawling on hands and knees. It was 5.05 pm. The rest of the cars had gone.

“I’ve never been in wind like that before.”

And who sheltered at Kinder Downfall for lunch and never saw Crowden Brook or Grindsbrook at all? What a Who dunnit! Oh the freedom of the hills! u I call an EGM. The motion:

“The CMC should affiliate to the British Orienteering
Association.”

Proposed Guess Who? Seconded Get Lost! Plus ten supporting Kinder members.