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Travel StoriesCamping In Derbyshire 2005 - By Sharon Parker
Camping In Derbyshire 2005 - Day 2
Morning
I wake again later in the morning. The pain is dull now and I am all warm and snugly, thanks to the sun streaming into the tent. So I had a bad night, but that's behind me now. A new morning has arrived, the pain is manageable and I feel happy and relaxed. I climb out of the tent; the boyfriend is nowhere in sight so I assume he has gone off for a shower. The weather is fairly cloudy with the sun struggling through at intervals. Ever the optimist, I decide to put on a vest top and short skirt in the hope the sun will win the day and burn off the cloud. I also know the boyfriend likes this particular skirt and I want to ...err ... arouse his interest shall we say.
The boyfriend returns, my assumption being correct, he has indeed had a shower. His hair is wet and I tell him to sit down while I brush it for him. So we sit there. Him and I, gazing out at the beautiful landscape while I brush his hair and quietly chat. It's one of those lovely rare lazy moments. So much of our time is spent racing here and there, racing the clock, trying in vain to find those extra few minutes in a day that, no matter how hard we try, always manage to escape us. But today is a day of pure indulgence, where we just stop and be still, no need to hurry, we are on holiday. As I sit there I already know this is a special memory for me and I take time to imprint this moment into my memory. Such a simple thing this being still together, totally at ease, simple but so very special.
Up until I met my boyfriend I spent most of my time feeling unsatisfied. I rarely lived the moment, my mind was always somewhere else, dreaming of being somewhere else or with someone else. I was always the one on the sideline watching other people's lives. I would watch young and old couples hold hands or kiss and my heart would constrict. Even when I was married I was lonely. I remember how a friend of mine at the time quoted an old Chinese Proverb to me, which was, "To be alone and be lonely is a waste of a body, to not be alone and be lonely is a waste of a soul." The first time I heard this it struck a cord deep within my own soul. Some time later my mother was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. This was the push I needed to wake up to the fact that our lives are just too short to waste being unhappy. We are all ultimately responsible for our own happiness, no one else, just us. Harsh words, because we all find it easier to blame others for own failings and our unhappiness. But once we take on the responsibility ourselves, for our own lives and our own happiness, we give ourselves the power to change our own lives and seek out the happiness we long for. So I took the reins of my own life and I left my husband. Not for one minute would I like to lead you to believe this was an easy decision, it was hard, painful and there was times when I wasn't sure I would ever emerge through all the misery that ensued. I did however come out through the other side so to speak and here I am sat brushing the hair of a man I truly loved. I was right there in the present moment, not wishing to be anywhere else, or with anyone else, just to be as I was, right there right now. This feeling is not a rarity to me now, with my boyfriend I have experienced many a moment like this, when I have been totally emerged into the time we have together, loving every second of it. None of us know what our futures my hold, so I store these precious moments like a squirrel stores her nuts. To one day dig up again if needed and relive its magic.
Afternoon
We finally rouse ourselves and decide to go for a walk, but where to? The boyfriend goes off to reception to see if there are any suitable leaflets and possible directions from the staff. Meanwhile I chat to one of the other campers. He is here for two weeks camping with his wife and young children, the youngest of which is only 4 months. I consider this a very brave thing to do, as I know for sure there was no way I myself could cope with a baby while camping. My youngest was at least two years old before I dared sleeping under canvas with her. Although he is happy with the site on the whole he is justifiably unhappy with the fact that he has been informed that he is not allowed to use the laundry room. Apparently such a privilege is not to be bestowed on the likes of us who are so lowly as to decide to camp in the field. Only those superior campers who camp on the hard pitches have access to the laundry. Graded facilities, how ridiculous! In all my time camping, ok so I am not exactly an expert but have been quite a few times, I have never heard of such a thing. I too am not impressed by the sites two-tier facility system.
The boyfriend returns with directions, we are going to have a walk to Dovedale. Dovedale we are told has spectacular rock formations, narrow gorges, caves and picturesque woodland. Sounds about right for us, so with a bottle of water, a packet of biscuits, my painkillers and jumpers, just in case, we set off.
The day is now sunny and pleasantly warm without being too hot. Perfect walking weather. A short walk up the A515 road from the campsite leads us under a railway bridge from which we climb onto the Tissington Trial. The Tissington Trial was once the Ashbourne to Buxton railway line that closed in 1963. The disused track was bought by the Peak Park Planning Board and converted to a walking, cycling and horse path that opened in 1971. The trail runs for 13 scenic miles (20.9km) from Parsley Hey to Ashbourne. The trail is excellent for cyclist and families alike with the benefit of being traffic, pollution and noise free. On route we pass or rather are passed by a variety of cycles. These range from mountain bikes to tandems, bikes with buggies attached to the back with small children inside and even bikes with wheelchairs attached to the front. I later learn that bikes are available for hire at either Parsley Hey or Ashbourne.
The trail is lined with Ash, Hawthorn and Blackberry. Intermingled with the likes of Dog Daisy, Thistle, Clover and Bindweed making it a haven for butterflies, crickets and all manners of other creatures. Due to the traffic free environment the crickets can be heard quite clearly rubbing their back legs together. The vast variety of butterflies come in all sizes and colours but being no expert I can't give any names. On either side of the trial are undulating farmland and fields with hills spied in the distance. Sheep huddle together next to dry stone walls to benefit from the protection afforded by this ancient feature.
Me walking along the beautiful Tissington Trail
We continue down this pleasant trial until we reach the now abandoned Alsop Station. We stop for a break and to nibble on our biscuits and have a drink. However my tummy is not satisfied and I long for a baked spud covered in cheese and chilli. However no food is on offer so from here we turn off the trail and cross over the A515 once again to start our descent into Milldale. I say descent because that is what it is. The 1.8 gradient is tough going on my back but more fantastic scenery and majestic trees on either side manage to distract me enough to keep me going.
Milldale is stunning, I love it at first site. Milldale is a tiny hamlet on the River Dove, and is the chief northerly access point for Dovedale. The hamlet derives its name from an old corn mill situated here but demolished in the middle of the 19th century.
Milldale is famous for the role it plays in 'The Complete Angler', a book published by Izaak Walton in 1653, which details his conversations with his friend Charles Cotton about fishing on the River Dove.
Idyllic setting on the River Dove at Milldale
Although small it has everything for me personally. A forest of trees, stunning hills and a babbling river surrounding picture book stone houses. I think to myself aaaaah, just idyllic. Here it is, my little dream home. I later learn Milldale has a shop that sells refreshments and has toilets, I sadly see neither, I need both.
We both decide we have walked far enough, after all we have the return journey ahead of us. Dovedale will have to wait, maybe we can come back on the bike later today. We have two choices, either to go back the way we have come or follow the river, which appears to go in the general direction that we wish to head. The idea of climbing back up the steep incline and the discomfort this would surely bring to both of us, especially my back, put us to following the river. Besides I am very fond of river walks and not over fond of retracing old ground. All in all the river seems the perfect choice. Seems ... oh yeah if only we had the gift of foresight but as neither the boyfriend or I have this gift we set off on our merry way.
I later learn that our chosen path is the Wolfscote Dale. Here by a ford, legend has it that the last wolf that roamed the area was killed. Again I say later because we stupidly have no map with us, so in all truth at this time we have no clue where we are or where we are going. However the boyfriend often displays remarkable abilities to find his way. He amazes me by his ability to use the sun and wind direction to determine compass points. So with a general faith in his ability and a remarkable degree of I don't care because I am so enjoying myself running through my veins we head off into the unknown.
The River Dove does indeed go in our presumed direction ... at first. However it then begins to twist and turn so one minute we are heading right direction, the next we are going in the wrong direction. We are by now though both enchanted by this beautiful riverbank walk and who wouldn't be? The scenery is awesome, changing from woods populated by Ash and Sycamore to open pastures with banks of flowers. Superb craggy rocks rise from the dense woodland and jutting pillars protrude from the slopes. Small dark caves are hidden deep within the limestone rocks. On occasion the valley opens up with slopes of limestone scree, which are dotted by a few tress trying to maintain their precarious hold. Loose rocks across the path lie in evidence of recent rock falls and an ever-changing landscape. Add to all this a crystal clear river bubbling merrily along with mallards diving below its surface in hope for a tasty fish dinner. We spot a magnificent heron standing still by the water's edge. As we approach he takes fright and spreading his huge spectacular wings effortlessly flies away to find a quieter place to enjoy his fishing. Who would want to leave this place? Not us, so we continue on our way.
On a personal level, not only am I enchanted by the beauty in evidence all around me, but also from the great pleasure I am feeling from sharing this beautiful place with my boyfriend. Holding his hand while walking along, gazing up at the canopy of leaves above us, dappled with sunlight, I experience a surge of pure pleasure. My face begins to ache I am grinning so much. I have always loved woods, the scent and the colours. The sun making dancing shadows beneath the trees. The sound of birdsong and the rivers babble. I begin to daydream. There are not many walkers about but we pass enough to remind me that I better not get carried away with thoughts of my boyfriend and any fantasies I might hold.
Vast scenes from Wolfscote Dale
However all good things must come to an end and although the scenery remains as dramatic as ever our enthusiasm for it begins to wane. We are getting tired and the slow realisation that we are lost is beginning to dawn. There are no evident signs of any main roads, houses or possibly villages. We play the around the next bend there will be a road/house game for a while but after each bend begins to reveal nothing we give up on that. Humph.
We eventually come across a friendly chap with a small dog and more importantly, a map. The boyfriend struggles with the scale of the map but one thing is evident, we are definitely going in the wrong direction. We have overshot our home destination by quite a mark. We therefore need to leave the river as soon as possible and head uphill in the hope of eventually regaining the A515. This information leaves us somewhat subdued and deflated and we continue along the path in a quieter mood.
The mood is momentarily lifted when masses of pure white butterflies suddenly erupt all around us. They are so numerous they remind me of cherry blossoms falling from trees on a windy day. Just as they disappear we find a spot that enables us to leave the river and head upwards. Because I have no idea where we actually are it is difficult to account where we leave the trail. However at a guess I would say it was roughly just after Wolfscote trail ends and Beresford Trail begins. I realise that before we eventually turned upwards we had passed a valley which I later believe was Biggin Dale and the route we most probably should have taken to leave the river. However like I have already said we are stupid enough to have no map so we miss this turning and end up on the one hence described.
Our chosen route upwards is not particularly steep, but it is enough of a climb to produce painful spasms in my back and right leg. The pain makes me tire rather quickly. We are both quiet now in an attempt to conserve our dwindling energy.
The ground finally levels out and we stop by a field gate. The boyfriend's foot has now begun to cause him pain. He was involved in a horrific motorbike crash that nearly cost him his life. Against all the odds he survived but with several deep scars and one leg now shorter than the other. We sit and eat a couple of our few remaining biscuits and sip at the small amount of water we have left. The boyfriend is feeling guilty and is blaming himself for being lost. I gently remind him not to be so hard on himself. We both agreed to follow the river. We both went on a walk with no map and totally insufficient supplies of food. We both went on a walk that neither of us was physically up to. Ok neither of us intended to get lost and therefore walk further than planned and need more food than we had. But shit happens, life is all about learning and we had experienced a life lesson. When walking plan ones route, carry a map and supplies and be sure all parties involved are fit enough for the length of journey. Lesson learnt ... the hard way.
After the short rest and with more level ground underfoot I begin to feel better. Not so for the boyfriend, he looks very uncomfortable.
We carry on down tracks edged with farmland and spot a sign for Biggin, a name we both recall seeing from the start of our journey so with a little more hope we head for Biggin.
Biggin is a small village serving a farming community, situated 9 miles north of Ashbourne and 2 miles south east of Hartington, in the Derbyshire and the Peak District National Park. Biggin was first mentioned in the 13th century when it was called Newbeggin. It consisted of a grange with several small farms, owned by Garendon Abbey and farmed by monks of the Cistercian order. All that is left of those early years is a small part of the original buildings at Biggin Grange.
Biggin now has a hall, a church, a pub, a shop and it's own local school. It was once particularly noted for its sheep and cattle markets, holding several throughout the year. As many as 14,000 sheep sold at the market in a day, which made a lot of trade for the local pub and part time employment for anyone who wanted some extra cash. Now however the cattle is sold at Bakewell in the new market. The hall dates from the 17th century, the church is younger having been built to a design by E. H. Shellard between 1844 and 1848 and dedicated to St Thomas. It hosts an annual flower festival each July. The pub, the Waterloo Inn, has a caravan site situated behind it. There are several caravan sites in the area due to it being a popular tourist destination during the summer months. It is a pretty village, with gardens well kept and in full bloom with Roses, Begonia and Busy Lizzies, all in riotous and colourful display.
The boyfriend is really struggling now. We stop at the bus stop to see if there is any chance of getting a bus to anywhere near the campsite. As we look at the timetables a man, out on his own walk, passes us by and informs us that the Tissington Trail is only 500 yards away. We decide to rejoin the trail, surely we must nearly be back to our nice warm, soft, snugly tent? Half an hour later we are still trudging along the Tissington Trail. We can now see the A515 and it is getting closer but as the boyfriend says it isn't getting closer fast enough. He is in real pain now and my own guilt emerges to make me feel bad. It's my entire fault, I was the one who suggested going on the walk in the first place. I tell the boyfriend how I feel and it is now his turn to tell me that we both got ourselves into our present sorry predicament. One item we decide to add to our list of items for any future walks is a compass. The walk just seems to go on forever, one footstep after painful footstep. I really begin to worry that we are not going to make it, I'm in pain but I know I can handle my pain but I am running out of energy due to lack of food. I burn energy quickly and need to eat often. I am more concerned for the boyfriend than for myself however, every footstep looks like agony for him. We stop again, eat the last of the biscuits, have another sip of water and try to encourage each other the best we can with tales of not much further. After another slow painful trudge forward we see the bridge that brought us onto the trail at the beginning. Oh the sweet relief, oh the joy, such a sight for sore tired feet and legs and bodies and souls. The end of the journey is nigh and we both break into smiles of relief.
The short trip along the A515 is not too bad as the campsite is now in sight. We finally hobble into our tent. We have made it; we are intrepid adventurers, returned home after a harrowing and dangerous journey. Ok so not exactly, but believe me that is how we feel.
Evening
We sit in the tent and rest. While lying on my bed I can hear a patter on the tent which I mistake at first for rain. However the sound isn't quite right so curiosity drives me out to investigate. Our tent is covered in hundreds of flying ants. There are a few crawling about on the other tents but nothing like the hoards we seem to have on ours. Ours is the only blue tent on site so we think that the ants might just love the colour blue. As for our walk we conclude that we both really enjoyed the walk, despite the pain, but it just needed to end about 2 hours earlier than it did. That way no pain and no hunger would have been involved, perfect. The walk took us 7 hours and I think we covered around 13 miles at a guess. Talking of hunger that situation has yet to be resolved, so being too tired and too sore to even think of pulling on our bike kit we head for the campsite pub. The food is fine, nothing special but it fills the hole in my tummy good enough.
Rivendale Campsite, home sweet home.
We head back to the tent and I notice dark threatening clouds beginning to appear on the horizon, looks like rain is on the way. It is only 10pm and I am exhausted. I am usually a night owl, a total chatterbox and I have never had any one able to stay awake longer then me. Well not tonight, tonight my record was broken. I love talking with the boyfriend but despite this, as he chats away I feel my eyes grow heavier and heavier. I am falling asleep, I apologise to the boyfriend and tell him I am about to nod off and I do so, very quickly indeed. I awake at some point, no idea of the time, to the sound of rain lashing against the tent. The whole of the darkness is then illuminated by an extremely bright flash of lightening followed by the roll of thunder. I don't like this one bit, I am not a lover of storms at the best of times but out in the middle of a field in a tent, oh please! However uneasy I feel the tiredness in me wins over and I fell asleep again, right in the middle of a storm, in the middle if a field, in a tent. Boy must I be tired!
Camping In Derbyshire 2005 - Plans
Camping In Derbyshire 2005 - Day 1
Camping In Derbyshire 2005 - Day 2
Camping In Derbyshire 2005 - Day 3
Reader's Comments
Jayne said :-
A very nice entertaining and informative story. I came across the site by chance,thank you for a pleasant distraction !
01/01/2000 00:00:00 UTC
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Travel StoriesCamping In Derbyshire 2005 - By Sharon Parker