Purple Curled Toes

While our recently turned 13 son, was fighting orcs and climbing great snow topped mountains (epic Stranger Things style Dungeons & Dragons session) my wife and I went up to the Hope Valley to move around a lot more. 

The drive there, avoiding anything approaching a fast road like the A38 or the M1, was covered in a thick mist.  I’d brought only a jumper with me in the unBritish expectation of consistent weather.  

It reminded me of waking on the first day of the new Millennium to find the cottage we were in so surrounded by fog that it did feel the end of the world was here.  But suddenly it cleared and the road opened up to a great view of the heathers and clear blue skies hugging us happily.

Walking we took the easy option and stuck to skirting the Derwent Reservoir, so not exactly much of a gradient.  However it was a bit longer than we had expected.  We met a man walking his own blue Weinerama and asked him how far, “Well I’ve come from that way and done 7.2 miles,”  mmmmm, we’d been going an hour or two already and weren’t close to reaching half way.  It was already 1pm and we had to get back to pick two children up at 4pm.  With an hour of driving before that.  Do the math man, it ain’t gonna work!  There was no signal either to inform the other child’s parents.  In good responsible parenting fashion we decided they could walk home fine. 

(Which they did, although Austin’s friend did have a night hike that evening of 12 miles so he could have done with not doing the two miles up the big hill of Belper back home.  But kids that age are athletic right?)

To cut off a bit of time I took Samantha down a hill to a style and then up to the edge of a small river that was feeding the reservoirs.  It cut off part of the walk up to the Slippery Stones that we should have crossed by.  This was our PCT moment.  On the PCT there are a number of occasions where rivers can cross your path and you have to wade across, trying to keep something dry.  The water will be ice cold as it hasn’t long melted from the snowy mountains above.  It wasn’t quite that bad but my feet have never felt so frozen.

I wanted to take a picture, but as Samantha pointed out, my phone was in her backpack (I never carry the backpack, Samantha is in training you know!) and her feet were in the icy waters, with stones that felt like they’d been well oiled to keep you from getting a grip.  So she wasn’t hanging around to pose for a selfie.  Every step felt like you were losing toes and about to lose your grip.  Cold calves was one thing but chilled and soaked all over was a step beyond my imagination but every step seemed to take us a step closer to that. 

When our last step took us on to dry, mossy land we could laugh and tick off another bit of training as we got our shoes back on, using my useless jumper as a towel.  It was so hot by then!

It wasn’t over though, we had to climb up and over ten meters of thick cut fir trees, with their gaps probably letting any misplaced feet fall two foot or more.  Snake country!  I always remind myself no one has died of an adder bite in this country since 1975 but that’s still just about in my lifetime….

Samantha clambered across safely, despite being allergic to firs.  In the end, as we reached the path again, I thought “we probably saved absolute no time at all doing this”, but that’s not the point of adventure is it?

NOTE:  Back at the visitors centre I used a payphone for the first time in years and got a message to the other boys mum in time to say “walk home” but of course they didn’t get it as boys don’t bother to switch on mobile phones.  It was a nice day though and I don’t think they hardly noticed we were missing.