October 15, 1987: Ravenstor to Castleton

I was the first to rise on the morning of Thursday, October 15. Naturally I had a peek out the window of the first floor loo – and the view was not encouraging – for a persistent drizzle was tapping against the eaves. I shaved and returned to our dorm to get the rest of the guys up at 8:00. I also knocked on the door of the women’s dorm; there were already sounds of movement. Evidently we would have no problems with slow starters – as we had had with Myassa’s older sister Lamya the year before.

Most of the kids had porridge and the fried breakfast. Again there was a terrible din in the dining hall. Tosh kept going back for more cups of coffee. The sky was getting lighter but the rain was still falling as we started to pack and clean our dorms. Tosh bought everyone a canned drink and distributed the lunches packed by the hostel. (We had gotten one lunch belonging to the fifth-formers and it took some time to straighten this out.) Dina’s mother had evidently called last night when it was impossible to search the entire hostel. We ordered Dina to call her mom tonight instead.

I told everyone to put on rain gear from the start. I slipped my new rain pants on and went out to the front porch to put on pack and rain cape. To my surprise the moisture had stopped. I decided to continue with the rain pants only and stowed the cape in the back of my pack. In fact it never rained at all this day, though it was rather gloomy for the first hour or so. At 9:45 we were ready to make our departure from the forecourt of Ravenstor, a single file along the access track and then, against the traffic, back down the hill to Miller’s Dale. Lovely autumn foliage colored the steep sides of the Wye valley.

We made good progress back along yesterday’s route. Once again we paused at the beginning of the riverside section so that some of the girls could make a loo stop. The river did not seem to have receded at all overnight but fortunately we had only good, level, though occasionally mucky paths to follow. Had it been really nasty I would have been tempted to follow the motor road to Wormhill, but this was far better. Before long we were back at yesterday’s metal bridge. Here I took off my rain pants, which did seem unnecessary this morning. Most of the kids did the same, but Myassa now found some difficulty in keeping her trousers up. I gave her a piece of rawhide I carry as an extra shoelace. “Thanks, Dad,” she said. Then I showed off a bit by aiming unerringly for a bush behind which lay the hidden path I had discovered yesterday afternoon. We were soon climbing steeply up to Wormhill.

Our last views of the Wye valley were lovely. The path seemed to have been cut into the stone so there was very good footing. I knew that this would be the first of two uphill bits for today and I was happy to see that no one seemed to have any difficulty with the rise. The path curved north and eventually rose to meet a motor road just south of Wormhill Hall. While others rested I moved forward to find the access road to the village church. Here we turned off, passed the vicarage, found a twisting walled lane guarded by two solemn orange cats, and entered a long field.

I located the solitary hawthorn on the horizon, my next guidepost, and began a progress across the field. The sun was trying to break through over our right shoulders and this was a very cheering sight. Mike Messner was proving to be a very good walker – indeed he had broken his boots in on an outing with Myassa and Kerry and the rest of the hiking club two weeks earlier. He was also an expert mimic and he had memorized the routines and songs of a dozen TV shows and nightclub entertainers. How strange it was for me, after all these years, to hear word perfect renditions of the songs of Tom Lehrer!

We left our first field and crossed a second, entered a walled lane and began to make a northerly descent. I took out my compass to confirm our line of march, for the route called for was somewhat obscured by hawthorn trees which had grown low over the lane. I lead us downhill along this walled space, stooping low as the branches of these trees scraped the back of my pack. At the bottom we reached a road, crossed it, and began the transit of a series of interconnected dales, beginning with Peter Dale.

Yesterday we had been descending narrow canyons; today we were climbing very gradually in less dramatic surroundings. Mud was the chief enemy and we took evasive action several times, climbing up the valley sides and scooting over stone walls. We were now approaching a farm on the road separating Peter Dale from Hay Dale. Tosh and Jenny Frost were beginning to agitate for a food and rest stop. I agreed that we would stop as soon as we reached a comfortable setting, but Tosh hopped the first fence in Hay Dale and chose an exposed pile of rocks as the likeliest spot. Soon everyone was munching happily. I finished the second of the sandwiches I had made before leaving London and wandered around the corner for a pee. I was anxious that we not linger too long and thus miss our chances at a pub stop in Peak Forest. In this case the wind was my ally for no one wanted to sit on the exposed hill for very long. Myassa put out her cigarette and we were ready to proceed.

We wound through Hay Dale and emerged on a track. Views of the Derbyshire uplands were becoming clearer now; the play of shadow and light on this stark scene was quite enchanting. I walked with the lads and Dina while the rest of the women caught up. I didn’t want to get too far ahead because we now had a turn off from this track into Dam Dale. The path passed a number of buildings belonging to Dam Dale Farm, with numerous stiles and fences, and the obligatory crop of car tires covering black plastic in the farmyard.

Beyond the farm the route was more obscure; I knew we had to pass in front of Damside Farm, ahead, but how to do it without trespassing wasn’t clear. I wandered around on the hillside pondering the options and then decided to wade through a mucky break in the stone wall to emerge on the farm road as soon as possible. Here we encountered a man mending the stone fence. He looked up just as the girls were screaming in horror over the soupy footing. “You’d think this was the first time they’ve encountered mud,” I said.

Tosh stopped to chat with this chap also, but I wanted her at the front now. We would emerge at the end of the lane in Peak Forest and I always sent Tosh into the village pub to ascertain if we were welcome. She pressed forward with this mission while I lingered near the rear. A woman at Damside Farm inquired, “Are there still more of you to come?” when the first wave passed through one of her gates without closing it. I assured her this would be done, having given this responsibility to Greg. It was nice to have the equivalent of ASL’s student body president bringing up the rear.

Tosh had already gotten us into the Devonshire Arms when the rest of us reached the village, with its quite large church. Perhaps the latter was needed to perform all the quickie marriages that were once legal in this parish. It took us a while to find the rear entrance of the pub, but at last we were all settled, our packs piled beneath the abandoned dartboard. The bar staff kept a running tab for us as we ordered drinks (hot and cold) and snacks. It was a pleasure to sit calmly in this pleasant environment, our reasonably dry boots and our completely dry clothes still on. We were making excellent time and, as this was a short ten-mile day for us, I felt no compulsion to move.

The kids got antsy soon enough, however, and well before 2:00 we were ready to continue. We turned off the highway onto Church Road but got no further than the village store and post office. Snacks and stamps were purchased here while the rest of us read the headlines. Paul, reading the news of the latest anonymous sniper attack in Bristol said that every time he read the profile of one of these mass killers he began to worry – “Quiet, kept to himself – I think I’m reading about me.”

After this stop we headed north again, rounding a corner and turning up Eldon Lane. Our second steep ascent of the day was before us and as the angle increased I fell to the rear as usual. Ahead of us there was a slight diversion from the original White Peak Way, Richards having warned us that Haslam’s route up to Eldon Hole was not a public right of way! Ahead of us a range rover was bumping over the hillside and I told my charges not to enter the gateway on the right. Naturally they stopped here but some of them wandered onto the track now occupied by the range rover. The farmer emerged to remind us that the public footpath began over a stile to our left, something I could see for myself now that I had breathlessly reached the lads. This chap must have been particularly sensitive about mis-users of the Eldon Hole route, also on his property.

I told the kids to follow a stone wall on the right until they had reached a small windmill. Then I sent them on to the next stile, where they waited patiently. Eldon Hole, a large sinkhole, was off to our left, but I was a little at a loss for good landmarks up here, having walked off Haslam’s route; I used my compass and kept us moving north over the hillside. Finally we rounded the corner of a dirt cycling track and emerged on an easterly lane that lead us along the roof of this quarry-filled upland.

We had very easy going for a mile or so, with views to the north getting more and more interesting. After ignoring several turnoffs we had to climb a stile over a stone wall in order to cross in front of two railway wagons. Here there were a few elderly walkers about, trippers who had climbed up from Castleton. It was gray again, though dry, as we found the metal gate admitting us to the top of Cave Dale. We now began an occasionally steep descent down this narrow chasm, with views of Peveril Castle looming above us near the end. For some reason Dina and Chris decided to have an argument about the existence of God at this point, Dina taking the atheistic position and Chris arguing for the divine architect. Of course they made it up within a few minutes but this was only after a trial separation, with each of the participants accusing the other of narrow-mindedness, Chris’s face becoming as pink as her hair and poor Jenny Frost left baffled by the whole outburst.

Perhaps it was time we stopped walking. I reminded Chris of the dangers of discussing politics and religion as we emerged onto the back streets of Castleton. Our youth hostel was only a block away, just past the World War I monument. It was only 3:55, one of our earliest arrivals ever.

Naturally the hostel was “closed,” but they had left one door open and we used it to leave our packs. We agreed to meet at 5:00 and the kids scattered, most of them heading for a tea shoppe down the street. Tosh and I went down to the main drag and looked into some jewelry shops. I had been alerted to these by an item about a wave of local burglaries on Crimewatch only Tuesday night. The Toll Bar had, indeed, been one of the shops hit recently. This I ascertained as I was buying Dorothy a birthday pendant made of blue john, the locally mined gemstone. Tosh bought her Amy a brooch in the same shop.

We continued our walk through this rather large village and I pointed out to Tosh the line of march on the morrow. We got as far as the post office and newsagent and returned to our own tea shoppe, where we had coffee and carrot cake. I left Tosh behind with another cup of coffee as it was getting close to 5:00 and I wanted to check us in. This I did, while the rest of the kids returned and got directions on how to reach their dorms. Once again we would not have to share with anyone else – our first floor men’s dorm had only eight bunks.

I unpacked slowly and followed Jon and Nat down to the showers. It was nice to get cleaned off. I called Dorothy, on the way with her own American College class to see Me and My Girl, and then I watched the beginning of the evening’s chess matches and card games. Tonight our fellow guests were dozens of screaming ten year-olds. We had to run the gauntlet through their tables in order to squeeze into an anteroom where the rest of us were given three tables of our own. Dinner, at 6:30, was quite good, with soup followed by shepherd’s pie, but Myassa and Dina disdained the ground beef and the cook brought them a vegetarian version.

Some of our lot, all of whom seemed to be having an excellent time, helped clean off the tables, while giant dish-washing machines did the rest. In the games room I introduced Mike Messner to Categories. His antiquarian interests were further revealed when he chose Sixties rock groups as one of the categories. We warned our people that we might not be around for them to report to, as Tosh and I were going to check out the local pubs tonight, but everyone agreed to be back by 10:30. When Tosh and I did venture out in the darkness it was spitting a bit, so we went only as far as the nearby George, where Myassa and Kerry were ensconced next to the fire. Eventually almost all of of our group came by, and we bought them soft drinks and peanuts. This was a very pleasant pub, and a relaxing way to end the evening.

Before returning to the hostel Tosh and I and some of the kids walked the length of the town again – in spite of a fine drizzle – returning just before 10:30. Everyone else was in or on the way back. Unfortunately there was no toilet on our floor and I had to pass the games room to reach the nearest version, a cold, unfriendly cubicle at the end of a corridor – with bugs that aggrieved Dina mightily. On one of my passes by the games room I made Doug and Nat pack in the chess pieces as it was 11:00 and time for us to get to bed. I wanted an early start on a day that promised to be a quite strenuous one.

To continue with the next stage of our walk you need:

Day 7: Castleton to Hathersage