Today was one of those days when but for the advance planning we would probably have stayed at home. As it was, Graeme and Andy joined Sue and me for a familiar and enjoyable 12km stroll over Shutlingsloe from the Leather's Smithy, to Wildboarclough and back via the Hanging Gate Inn and the Gritstone Trail.
On the summit - cool and misty - three fell runners who were doing the 'Cheshire Three Peaks' - Tegg's Nose, Shutlingsloe and Shining Tor - appeared out of nowhere, the only people we saw out walking today. Photos of the respective groups were taken, and the jolly threesome set off towards Shining Tor.
We thought of another Andy, who last night said he would be able to spot us on the summit from his living room above Bury.
Once we were out of the cool breeze, we stopped for coffee and chocolate digestives. Here there was a good crop of assorted Wax Caps.
Down in Wildboarclough, despite the greyness of the day, autumn colours were most attractive.
There's a well marked path from the Crag Inn to Lower Nabbs. We thought of Sir Hugh (aka Conrad), a friend who has recently been having a few problems with stiles and gates, and we thought he might be able to negotiate this metal kissing gate without too much of an epic adventure.
There were more Wax Caps near here, and further on, as well as this pretty Petticoat Mottlegill that we left in situ.
It was good to see that the Hanging Gate has reopened, but not on a Tuesday.
So we continued onwards, eventually reaching the small ravine from which the steep exit brings you out at the Ridgegate Reservoir a few metres from the Leather's Smithy, which was inundated with customers today.
Tomato and basil soup went down well.
Here's the 12km route, with about 400 metres ascent, taking us a leisurely four hours or so.
Here's a sample of our findings, and there was also a bag of Meadow Wax Caps that made for an excellent starter.
1 comment:
A similar but old wooden stile stood alone on the moors as I was about to descend into Weardale way back in 2017. The fence was long gone - no point in negotiating the stile. The old fence wire was hidden in the heather. I fell and broke my arm. That turned into a long long story, but perhaps that set in an exaggerated aversion to stiles which still lingers.
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