Kinder Scout

County - Derbyshire

Elevation – 636m

Date – 03/09/2021

Distance – 14.6km

Elevation climbed - 401m

Let's be honest here - my County Top efforts this year thus far have largely focused on the namby-pamby "peaks" of the south. When your County Top is a small field at the side of a village you know you've not really achieved anything. With the summer coming to an end it was time to take on one big ol' mountain before the weather closed in.

I had a couple of nights spare so headed up to Cheshire after work to see my old pal Nelly, who has recently discovered the joys of Topping and has tucked Cheshire and Staffs under his belt already. After much faffing we set off on the hour's drive to Edale, with Bella the Dog in tow, with watchful eyes on the low cloud which seemed to be hovering the other side of Macclesfield.

I'd never actually been to the Peak District before, other than through it on a train to Sheffield, and can report it's stunning and requires further exploration. We parked up at Edale, where the stupid car park only accepts change and change can only be had from the nearby cafe if you buy something, and wandered off to find the start of the Pennine Way.

Bella sniffs out the start. She did a huge poo about ten seconds later. Very wise to shed the extra weight.

The Pennine Way was, to my surprise, paved for a long way. I guess erosion issues have led to this, but it does make things seem somewhat easy. Thankfully the "easiness" passed after about 5k when we reached the bottom of Jacob's Ladder, a staircase to the sky which seemed to go on forever and marked the start, I would say, of the Proper Part.

The start of Jacob's Ladder. Looks easy from here; it got a lot steeper. Nelly was right to have trepidation.

The Ladder was a swine and got the heart rate going, but on the plus side it enabled the first really good views (and possibly the last, moving up into the cloud base...)

After one last effort we came to the top of the plateau and headed for the "castles" of erratics placed on top of the mountain by retreating glaciers. The landscape was a geography teacher's dream - plateaus scraped flat by glaciation, huge boulders left out of place by melting ice, levels of limestone pavement, U shaped valleys - all we needed was an oxbow lake and we'd have grown leather elbow patches.

Sadly by this stage we were into the clouds. Occasionally we'd get the odd glimpse of a stunning view down to a distant lake or whatever, but by and large it was just mist.

The "castle" emerges from the mist. We had our butties here.

Eventually through the mist we found the trig point - TOPPED. Except it wasn't really. I had misread the book; the trig point is Kinder Low, which is the second highest point of Derbyshire. The Scout itself doesn't have a trig point; it's a set of stones on the top of a peat bog with no real clear path. We could have walked through and found it, but as we turned off the Pennine Way onto the lesser-trodden peat bog it became clear that in low visibility and sucking, waterlogged, treacherous conditions underfoot it probably wasn't wise. It's only three more metres...what the hell.

The River Kinder - pretty much the only way through.

On top of the mountain was a thick, black peat bog, incredibly marshy with the path only marked via the footprints of previous walkers. Often we would just have to walk along the river bed as the peat bog was impassable; or we would leap between the tussocks. We came to one dodgy-looking section.

"Hmm," said Nel, glooping over. "If I were you I'd go across there" he suggested, pointing at a slightly less menacing looking section. I figured that the shortest period of time spent with my foot on the black stuff the better, and decided to skitter across the surface.

With sickening inevitability the ancient bog grabbed my foot, grasping my boot to the depths, and tripping me up so I faceplanted into the mud. A hysterical Nelly pulled me to my feet and noted with glee that my boot remained stuck, with just the heel showing. Thankfully I was able to retrieve it and squelched onwards.

At the end of the plateau the fog lifted slightly, enabling a view of Grindslow Knoll to emerge, a kestrel hoisted in mid air above.

Almost at the end now, we wandered across the edge with Edale below, pausing only to examine the wind-sculpted rock perched over the rim of the escarpment.

Eventually we reached the point on the map which suggested we just needed to drop into the valley and we'd be back. "2k to go," I said. "Be in the pub in half an hour"

Half an hour later we'd progressed around 500m horizontal and 200m vertically down. The route down the valley was just a ludicrously steep pile of rocks with a stream cascading between them, requiring constant focus to avoid a snapped ankle or, worse, the embarrassment of a fall in front of all the lovely young hikers making a similar journey. Finally the torment came to an end and we entered a lush green valley, waist high in bracken and heather, and utterly full of bloody midges.

Looking back up Hell Valley. Looks innocuous from here. Wasn't.

It's funny how the last, gentle part of a big walk can suddenly feel like the hardest. My knees were starting to hurt, my back grumbling, were those blisters forming? I'm sure the pub was closer than this, etc.

Thankfully the welcome sight of the Rambler's Arms finally hove into view and a welcome pint was quickly procured before heading home, nearly as tired as the dog...