Memories of childhood are always set in that perma-summer time. Hazy hues of pale brown and yellow and a languid recollection which seems to always render itself in slow motion. Mine aren’t rose-tinted. They’re scented with the smell of a burning stubble field; shaded with the dappled light of the oak and birch of the woods close to home; punctuated with the alarm call of a startled blackbird at dusk as I play with friends.

These images – postcards – of that time are imprinted on my mind, happily so. And they aren’t just some carefully curated collection of nostalgia. These sensations and memories are visceral, true things that happened that don’t so much hark back to a ‘happier’ time, but yet remind me of periods in my life where things were different, and the responsibilities of adulthood were not yet realised.
One in particular often rises to the top of my thoughts when I’m out riding. It’s there for a fleeting moment, as memories are, but in that briefest of moments, entire days – weeks even – unfold in my mind and bring the warmth of that summer time flooding back, albeit briefly.

I can picture now the patchy hawthorn hedge over the ditch to my left. On the right, a barley field, dry, golden, rises away beyond my small horizon. The ground beneath my buckled shoed feet is hard – it is summer – and the baked indents of wet weather boots trip me up and make me stumble as they crumble under my small steps. 

Behind me, no doubt calling me to take care, my grandfather – Grandad – walks with my older brother, as always in his usual brown trousers, shirt and suit jacket no matter the occasion. My brother inevitably matching me in a t-shirt and shorts, walking the familiar path down the gentle slope and over the lane to the reservoir where we spent so many hours playing under Grandad’s gaze. The small reservoir nestles into the landscape in almost a T shape, the elongated end formed naturally into the valley and the top of the T bounded by an earth wall, around which intriguing sluices and channels became fortresses, caves and trenches for young adventurous explorers. I can see the rough grey concrete, overgrown with dark black and white mosses, I can almost feel the knock on my head of a hard concrete bridge as I crouch beneath it.

But the memory that persists isn’t one based on the colour, or the light, or the landscape. It is one of sound, and a sound which when I hear it today acts as a key to unlock that treasure chest of sights, sounds and hours spent doing nothing.

The skylark.

On those summer days, walking that dusty path, I likely wouldn’t have even noticed the frantic trills and calls of this curious little bird which, now with hindsight, I know will have been happily bouncing round on the wind a short height above me, my brother and Grandad. But its call was indelibly imprinted into that memory – ready to resurface when the right connection was made.

And joyously, that connection is made time and time again as I ride the hills and trails of the Peak District, though I didn’t know it at first.

Though grimly named, Mount Famine, close to Hayfield is a picturesque and impressive landmark on the Pennine Bridleway and it was here many summers ago, where that memory was unlocked. Hearing the now familiar call, I asked my friend what bird it was.

“A skylark”.

And right then, for that moment again, miles away from the reservoir, years away from my Grandad, I was back there with him then, and he was right there with me now on that hill. And as fleetingly as the memory returned, it was gone, leaving behind just a warmth and happiness still accompanied by the playful sound of the bird high above us.

Riding through the moorland heather, excited skylarks will often join me, teasingly staying a few metres ahead, jumping up and chasing away down the path only to land and repeat the process as I bob and weave, fearing I’ll one day catch up. 

Above the Snake Pass, beyond Crookhill and towards Hagg Farm, at the top of the aptly-named ‘Screaming Mile’, the sheep-mown grass slopes away from the dry stone wall and pine woodland. It’s a short blast of track connecting an up to an enjoyable down. But it’s also the home of the skylark.

As I stop by the side of the path, unclip my boots, step off the bike, sit and take off my helmet, there’s no shame felt in me interrupting my ride. As, high above me the skylark wheels and turns, all the while singing his song, I’m once again back on the path to the reservoir. It’s summer time, and the baked hills around me are bathed in pale browns and yellows. Behind me my Grandad walks with my older brother as we head towards the reservoir for another adventure in the sun.

The skylark continues his song. 

And the trail calls once more. 

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Trig points across the Peak District are to be upgraded to become e-bike charging points, in a wide ranging investment in infrastructure across the national park.

The pillars, conveniently positioned at points where riders typically stop for a rest anyway, will be connected via underground cables to the national grid, though during installation some overground cabling may be required.

“This marks the biggest change to the outdoors since Benny Rothman led 30,000 people on a mass trespass into the Duke of Devonshire’s billiard room,” says Trixie Day, e-nfrastructure e-coordinator for the ePeak ePulse eProject, which is leading the activity.

“The trig points are the perfect tool to bring charge to riders when they need it most, and our aim is not only to provide e-bike charging points, but also usb sockets for charging devices. The primary e-charging spots have been selected using the latest Artificial Intelligence tools developed by the labs at the Open University, making this the first E-AI-OU project in the peak.”

Subscriptions to the service will start at £7.99 per month.

For more information, contact april1EpulseEprojectEbygumEplugitin@sparkypops.com

The hills, valleys, crags and caves of the White Peak hold many secrets. Shadows move in dark corners, deep caves echo only to the sounds of water disappearing into the depths to emerge who knows where.

We’ve already spoken in these pages of the mysterious and terrifying Black Harry, the ghost of a highwayman who still patrols the lanes above Stoney Middleton – awaiting a late night wanderer, or a night rider tensely following a pool of light in front of them, fearful of looking behind scared they may see the spectral outlaw on their tail.

But emerging from Black Harry Gate, another terror may confront you.

Rising, steep over the valley, the towering cliffs of Middleton Dale form a deep and imposing valley. Beneath them, labyrinthine caves disappear dark underground. Though popular with climbers, it may not be one of these you see atop the tallest clifftop in the valley.

No, you might just spot the ghost of Hannah Baddeley.

It was 1762 and jilted by her lover William Barnsley at just 24 year old, Hannah ran to the top of the cliff distraught, and seeing no future without his love, she threw herself into the abyss. Fate had other plans, however, and a gust of wind caught Hannah’s long flowing dress, and she floated gently down to the valley below. She suffered only cuts and bruises, but died just two years later.

Her story does not end there though.

It is said that the ghostly form of Hannah can still be seen pining for her love at the top of the cliff, before taking her fateful leap once again.

So as you ride down the bridleway by Darlton Quarry dare yourself to look up, and should you see a young girl in a flowing dress standing silhouetted, spare a thought for the poor Hannah – destined to live an eternity in heartbreak.

Happy Halloween…

Trial period on equal access begins in the Peak District

Outdoors groups have reacted with joy to the news that access to the rights of way network is going to be made equal from today. After years of campaigning for rights of access to be updated, today marks the first tentative steps in a period of testing for six months where all those using the paths in the national park will have the same rights.

“We’ve been looking forward to this day for years and years,” says Paul Myleg, Access Rights campaigner from the Foundation of Outdoors Liberation. “The equality we’ve campaigned for is finally here.”

From today, walkers, bicyclists, horse riders and unicyclists will be granted a blanket 11% access to the rights of way across the Peak, setting right years of injustice.

Heralding the change, Paul Theo Therone from Step-UP! Centres announced the ground breaking on a new “Walk Centre”, a dedicated walking facility featuring 3 miles of graded trails from family friendly ‘green’ grade pavements to more challenging ‘black’ trails featuring steps and puddles.

“We can’t wait to welcome walkers to our facility here in in the quarry,” says Paul. “We’ve started on the foundations today on what will be a amazing facility, removing the slurry and old metal work to begin on our car park – which will be just £8 a day using the latest finance tech.“

Step-UP! Peak District will feature boot cleaning facilities, and it’s hoped in the future to incorporate an uplift from partner company Gondola Solutions.

“We can’t wait to put our best foot forward,” adds Paul. “Here’s to the 11%!”

In my latest revisit of my digital archives, here’s a piece I wrote about the various indiscretions of outdoors folk, back in 2020. Funnily enough, my feelings are still pretty much here despite being five years down the line.

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I’ve felt the need to press the reset button a few times in recent weeks. Whether it’s been the stress of lockdown with three kids and a full time job for eleventybillion weeks or just the general heightened sense of concern that seems to have taken hold globally, it’s sometimes felt like a constant white noise – in various different tones – of ‘stuff’ that’s made me want to step back, take my foot off the gas a bit and just try to put things in a bit more helpful balance.

And so I’ve been out riding my bike. And riding my bike as I used to a long time ago, before I got involved in organising stuff. Before I got involved in anything more than just going for a pedal. Back in the days where it was just a spin out for the sake of a spin out without the associated considerations of wanting to check a drain or see how a new feature was bedding in. Back to the time where I could ride up a path without getting frustrated about watching people stomp or ride the easy line and widen it. Back when I guess I was a bit more naive.

There’s some brilliant stuff emerging about how mountain bikers play a significantly contributing role to the places they ride. Not all ‘lycra louts’ – the vast majority are out there for a nice day, enjoying nature and wanting to enjoy it again next weekend. We don’t want widening trails – nirvana for a rider is a sinewy piece of singletrack. So it’s sad that the same old tropes about who we all collectively are constantly find themselves at the top of the social media news feeds simply because they engender the liveliest arguments and so get the traffic. Some of it is true of course, but the silent majority of riders, walkers, climbers, fell runners, boulderers, hang gliders, parascenders, dog walkers, cavers, photographers, bird watchers and bog snorkellers are just out in the Peak to have a nice time. Enjoy the space we have and get on with the people around us.

So why do we still have those petty frictions that nobody – anybody – wants? Why  – when I’m on a rest ride  – do I find myself bristling at the things that others are doing, that they themselves might not even recognise as ‘wrong’?

Is there some league table of ‘things you shouldn’t do’ out in the Peak?

Maybe we should hold a knockout competition to work out what’s the worst behaviour?

Round one: dog off a lead v. walker avoiding the slabs ‘cos it hurts their knees. Round two: riding a footpath that by all other measures is a farm track v. not closing a gate? Actually, it’d be a waste of time because we all know the shittiest behaviour is putting dog poo in a bag and hanging it off a tree – who the hell does that?

But what does that say for all those little indiscretions that to others are a declaration of war? I’m tired of the tribalism. I’m tired of the whataboutery and I’m tired of the finger pointing. Again, we’re all out there for a nice time. We all want it to be there when we go back next weekend.

But what have we got? Outdated access laws, entrenched views and everyone trying to point score over the others. To move things on we’ve all got to give a little. We’ve all got to try to see things from another perspective and maybe, just maybe, we’ll start to see some kind of progression.

Now, enough of this nonsense. Time for me to go and dust off my bog snorkel.

I once, very early on in my mountain biking life, took on a far longer ride than I was ready for, lugging a tent and sleeping bag in a massive back-pack. Spent at the end of what turned out to be a 40 mile trudge, I collapsed on a dark, flat piece of land and hunkered down for the night, into a restless and disturbed sleep.

Maybe it was my exhausted mind but throughout the night there were strange sounds and breathing outside my tent – the unmistakable sense of a presence prowling around on the other side of the canvas, centimetres from me sleeping alone in the pitch darkness of a remote hillside.

Winnats Pass is a mystical place with many dark and foreboding stories. As it spills open into Castleton, the tourists stream in and out of Peak Cavern – the Devil’ s Arse. But legend has it that Beelzebub himself lived deep in the cavern, emerging late at night to prowl the fields and hillsides of Castleton to wreak his evil intent upon lost, weary wanderers. Maybe Lucifer had found his next unsuspecting victim. Maybe not..

Further up the valley, on the slopes of Mam Tor, folklore tells of a particularly pesky boggart throwing stones and causing landslides. There’s a reason Odin Mine is off limits….maybe he had wandered a little further down the hill in search of mischief.

Or maybe I was hearing the heart-broken cries of Alan and Clara, the lovers murdered on their way to Peak Forest Chapel in the pass, their bones found ten years later by miners sinking an engine pit. Dragged off their horses by local brigands, Alan was brutally killed, and despite begging for her life, Clara soon followed.

But over time, Alan and Clara had their revenge, and their killers came to some particularly gruesome ends. One – Nicholas, fell from a precipice (or was he pushed..?) close to where the bones were buried and was killed. Thomas B hanged himself, haunted by the guilt. John B, walking nearby, was killed by a rock falling from a cliffside, and the remaining killer, James A, was haunted by the murders and went quite mad – confessing the whole sorry business on his death bed 20 years later.

Alan and Clara perhaps had their justice, or may still forever be destined to pace an eternal wedding march in the valley, never to be betrothed.

It was a restless night in the tent. But morning came.

I blinked awake in the early morning light and stepped out of my tent – scattering a gathered bunch of sheep – my late night visitors.

Stretching awake in just my pants, I took in the view ahead of me….and was frozen, petrified to the spot.

Before it opens, the bus tours of Speedwell Cavern queue up just beside the small, flat, grassy piece of land near the entrance. That morning it was a pensioners’ special. Early bird discount to see the beautiful sights of the Hope Valley and Castleton.

Or a knackered scrawny mountain biker stretching in his Y-fronts.

Horrifying.

Happy Halloween.

A popular Peak District tourist spot is updating one of its most novel attractions – just in time for the Easter break.

The wishing tree in Padley Gorge has been a magical highlight of family walks for generations, with kids (and big kids) seeking out a rock to tap a coin into the twisted trunk of the tree close to the Longshaw Estate.

And now, recognising that many people prefer to use contactless payments and no longer carry cash, managers have added a card payment system, meaning wish-makers can continue to ‘tap’ their wish into the tree for many generations to come.

Gunar Ffalforrit, digital revenue tech manager at the Funding Of Organised Landscape Service said, “We’re pleased to bring the latest technology into one of our most historic locations. By granting the wish of so many for contactless payments in these locations, we can grant the wish of our partners’ Board too to bring an innovative new funding stream to the outdoors.”

The Wishing Card Payment System will be live from Bank Holiday Monday, and from that date, wishing tree payments will only be taken by card, with an assistant on hand during weekends and bank holidays to ensure those making a wish have no trouble with the system. To ensure no confusion is possible over the use of the card payment system, the area has been cleared of rocks which could potentially be used to tap the device by mistake.

“Making these wishes come true is a real joy for me,” adds Ffalforrit. “And for only a £2.50 service fee it’s a real bargain. And with pre-set wish choices of £5, £10 or £15, people can decide for themselves how hard they want their wish to come true!”