The cafe at Grindleford Station was heaving, and the picnic tables swarmed with people nibbling ice creams and plates of chips, as a single teenager strived manfully with a long queues and a lack of change. L and I were very amused by the multiplicity of admonatory signs covering every available space. Those visiting the loo (For Customer Use Only) were exhorted to remember that "taps don't turn themselves off". Outside tables were "Not for you to have a rest at but for paying diners only". Visitors were asked "Not to be rowdy" and a counter inside was labelled "This is a serving hatch, NOT a viewing area". Lest we start to think that customers were a nusisance, there were also notes to the staff. I particularly liked "WIPE YOUR SPOUT" over the expresso milk frother. Put me off having a coffee anyway.
We passed the charming Padley Mill and started ascending the gorge. The path is a stoney one, involving much stepping over blocks of grit stone and stubbing your feet on tree roots, through a grove of gnarled trees twisted into strange forms by age and weather.
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| Me & My Compass |
Two more days of freedom before the Easter / Royal Wedding / May Bank Holiday Fest comes to an end and I have to go back to work. Being the Sunday before a Bank Hol it was probably a bad time to choose to visit the National Trust's popular Longshaw Estate for a walk, because with the weather continuing fine, sunny and warm, the world and his dog were tramping the moors. We couldn't squeeze into the main car park so ended up at the overflow a mile or so away, but by some serendipity this turned out to be very close to the Grouse Inn, which was on our walk route.
Anyway, we set off up the hill into a strong wind. Luckily we had our comedy sunhats with us which prevented drafty ears, but there was some anxiety about them blowing off and wrapping themselves round the face of an unsuspecting hiker. We weren't sure if we were following quite the right track. Later it transpired that we weren't, but we still ended up at the right place - descending from woods to Grindleford Station. See - even with a compass I have no sense of direction. Good job L is better at this kind of stuff.
The view was good, but listen to the video and you'll see what I mean about the wind.
The cafe at Grindleford Station was heaving, and the picnic tables swarmed with people nibbling ice creams and plates of chips, as a single teenager strived manfully with a long queues and a lack of change. L and I were very amused by the multiplicity of admonatory signs covering every available space. Those visiting the loo (For Customer Use Only) were exhorted to remember that "taps don't turn themselves off". Outside tables were "Not for you to have a rest at but for paying diners only". Visitors were asked "Not to be rowdy" and a counter inside was labelled "This is a serving hatch, NOT a viewing area". Lest we start to think that customers were a nusisance, there were also notes to the staff. I particularly liked "WIPE YOUR SPOUT" over the expresso milk frother. Put me off having a coffee anyway.
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| Totley Tunnel |
We passed the charming Padley Mill and started ascending the gorge. The path is a stoney one, involving much stepping over blocks of grit stone and stubbing your feet on tree roots, through a grove of gnarled trees twisted into strange forms by age and weather. At one point I thought I had found "Little John's Well" as marked on a map, but it turned out to be an old explosives store from when this area was quarried for the stone used to build Howden Dam. As we ascended the gorge it got busier and busier, with dogs, toddlers, teens and scouts all milling around. The rushing stream in the rocky valley bottom below was a magnet, particularly for the dogs and children, who were enjoying that timeless game of jumping in and out, slipping off boulders and getting very wet.
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| A tree hug |
At the very top of the gorge the scene began to ressemble Skegness, with much pink flesh on display - none of it very attractive. We steered in the direction of Longshaw Lodge, a grey grit stone Victorian mansion, which I presume was built by Lord Manners purely as a "Shooting Box", for the outlook over the moors cannot have been attractive in anything other that high summer, and even then it is a windy exposed spot. The breeze was still trying to pull our hats off and the dust from the well trampled paths threatened contact lens problems at any moment. However, we made it to the National Trust Tearoom with no mishap, where L tried a Fentiman's Rose Lemonade (smashing!) and I had a Mandarin and Seville Orange Jigger (very refreshing).
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| Longshaw Lodge |
From thence we walked to White Edge Moor, heading down a path by a dreer looking stone lodge. I can't imagine who lived there in such a windswept and treeless place - perhaps a grumpy gamekeeper. It was pleasant to get away from the pushchairs and grannies for a while however, and there was a fine view across to the more hospitable wooded valley opposite. Back at the car it was a relief to get out of the breeze and a cup of tea from the thermos went down nicely.
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