#ghosts of the north pennines

[northumbria-ghost-lore]

Barnard Castle. County Durham

[doctorloup]

Audiodrama Saturday rather than Sunday this week...

...because I'm fleeing to Scotland again tomorrow....spoilers will follow.

Finished Leviathan Chronicles and was very sad about Evangeline. I then kept getting Leviathan adverts on other podcast feeds and being sad about Evangeline again.

E27 of Proserpina Park did not shy away from portraying Tanukis in all their glory unlike those testicle-cowards who did the English version of Pom Poko. Let 👏Tanukis👏 Have👏 Magic 👏Balls.🦝🦝🦝

Disappointed the hirsute fellow from Lancaster on Monstrous Agonies 103 isn't real, he sounds lovely. Would absolutely pop across the Pennines for a date.

Speaking of the North, I binged all of Don't Mind Cruxmont and..where is Cruxmont? It sounds like it's about an hour's drive from me in Southwest County Durham. (I am not allowed to go driving down the A66 looking for the weird plum village.) Anyway, this show had intensely emotive scenes, intriguing plot and also mycology, of which I approve.

Been on a bit of a Fool and Scholar binge, you may be able to tell. Dark Dice was great, harsh but also adorable in places, Boar Knight S1 is finished. That final song had me tearing up. 😭

If you made it to the end of another of my infodumps, friend Leanne is crowdfunding for Tell no Tales! I need more wholesome ghosts, plz yeet them a dolla if you can.

[mybeingthere]

UK artist from Newcastle Sally Madge (b 1946) died of covid in November 2020. 

Her friend Diane Jones wrote to me about a retrospective at Newcastle Contemporary Art opening on 28th January and running till 25th February. 

Sally could do anything - ceramics, painting, sculpture, collage, film, installation, performance... Witty, skilful and imaginative she was ahead of her time in her art. In countless performances she would find the right media and the right tone to make her place in that world important and interesting. Sally Madge responded to daily life transforming tedious into extraordinary. 

Tom Jennings writes:"Entering the space containing Sally Madge's site specific installation does not feel like any typical passage into an art gallery. The work engages the body immediately and directly, preempting judgment and disarming expectations. The latter will already have been modulated by the journey across or towards the North Pennines, under a broad sky of characteristically dramatic weather, to Melmerby. Amongst traditional Cumbrian village architecture is the Isis gallery, converted a few years ago from its original function as a barn. The art work inside speaks to this past, unsettling traditional associations of landscape and the rural idyll, questioning the potency and significance of such representations.

Powerful sensations greet the visitor. First and most memorable is the strong, sweet aroma from a wall of hay just inside the door. There is a dark, heavy atmosphere, and as the eye adjusts to very low ambient light, it seems that the haystack virtually fills the space, with narrow, cramped areas to the sides. All manner of ghostly whirrings and whisperings circulate, and once accommodated to night vision, and moving further into the room, several sources of sound and light can be discriminated. Most disconcertingly, at the rear of the gallery's upper level, the flickering ghost of a gigantic barn owl emerges from the top of the end wall, pouncing in extreme slow motion and majestic beauty on unseen prey. From lower down, a cadence of sibilant tones recalls the sound of wind through trees, or an upland beck; resolving into the rushing, insistent rhythm of whispering voices. By the foot of the stairs (blocked by a 'private' sign) sits a showcase with a lightbox base. Slung from the top, a dozen tiny hammocks cradle the corpses of voles, small birds and mice. Light escaping this display guides one to the back of the haystack, which turns out to be hollow, allowing access to its calm, secluded centre...." 

Continue reading https://www.sallymadge.com/press.

html#onehttps://www.sallymadge.com/work/collage.html

[earthpkmnheadcanons]

What kind of Pokémon can be found around Yorkshire in England?

Yorkshire is full of vast, unspoiled countryside home to many grass, bug, and rock-types, with water-types also being common along the coast and the county’s many rivers. In the western hills of the Pennines, Geodude are common, while along the eastern coastline it’s easier to spot Poliwag and even the occasional Lapras floating along in the North Sea. When it’s dark out ghost-types are found throughout Yorkshire, including the British native Duskull and the elusive Litwick, often spotted as a will-o’-the-wisp leading travelers in the night. 

Yorkshire is home to many major cities, including places like Sheffield and Leeds, some of the biggest urban centers in the UK. Sheffield, in particular, was a major center of the Industrial Revolution, and even today is home to a wide variety of steel-types, especially Klink. However, the city also has plenty of grass-types today. The historic city of York, from which the county derives its name, lies in a flat fertile area in which Wooloo graze. 

[trainsingames]

Train Sim World (PS4/Xbox One/PC, 2018)

It’s weird how much the Train Simulator games have played a part in my life. Railworks 2 got me interested in train games, and its transition over to yearly editions of Train Simulator gave me plenty to cover during my first ever trips to Gamescom - trips which eventually landed me a role as Editor of Pocket Gamer.

It’s been a wild ride these past nine years or so (probably coming up to ten, Jesus Christ), but digital trains are still a love of mine. I simply don’t have the time to write about them anymore, as I’m too busy writing about anything I can get my hands on for sweet, sweet money. And sometimes, that means forgetting to write a blog post for Trains in Games until like, 6 months after the PR guy gave me a code for it. Sorry, Ben (who has now apparently left that job, so... this is all kind of pointless).

Train Sim World, then. A slightly more stripped-back version of the true Train Simulator experience, it’s the first outing of the series on console, but hasn’t taken many concessions to accomodate the move. That’s a good thing - the controls are all intact, and while there’s button combinations on your controller to press, you can just as easily use first-person view to hit everything in the cockpit instead.

But I’m more interested in the “World” part, because now you can get up and physically walk around the environments, both on the train and off the train. Hence why I spent so long messing around in Reading, a station I had become intimately attuned to following a brief time living in Oxford.

Train Sim World’s Reading isn’t like the real Reading. For one, the WHSmiths is gone. And for another, it’s never that quiet in the station. You can walk around digital Reading station and bump into maybe three people. Perhaps it’s because I had the clock set to 10pm, when the only folks around are people making connections to Oxford when trying to get home from London - again, something I knew all too well.

It’s eerily quiet, almost to the point of being beautifully serene. You have this entire blank landscape with absolutely no interaction, just you and the walls and the doors. There’s a haunting kind of beauty to the whole thing, like you’ve just wandered into somewhere long abandoned, a place the locals tell you through hushed tones and terrified eyes that it is definitely haunted. No train times ever show up - trains simply arrive like ghosts through the fog, begging you to get on them and drive them to the next stop. You oblige. It is pleased. You leave, and the train leaves too, no driver on board. But you feel like it knows where it’s going.

I wrote this post a) because I’ve felt guilty about not writing it for months now and b) because I was hoping Ben would hook me up with the Trans-Pennine DLC and I could wax lyrical about the North of England while driving a train about. But he’s gone now, so that’s that plan scuppered. If anyone from Lick PR is reading this, find me on Twitter yeah?

[andypaciorek]

Northumbria Ghost~Lore Society

I have started a new Tumblr feed specifically for my mobile phone photographs of the uncanny landscapes and haunted /haunting buildings of the North of England, Pennines and Scottish Borderlands -

 https://northumbria-ghost-lore.tumblr.com/ For folklore and strange experiences of some of the places that will feature check out the blog at -

https://northumbriaghostloresociety.wordpress.com/

[fhithich]

Kirkcarrion

The ghost of Prince Caryn, a Brigantean chieftain, is said to haunt the copse of Kirkcarrion.

I’ve never done the Pennine Way. All the way that is, in one go. I’ve done bits. Crossed it many times, but I’ve only ever been in the dales north of the A66, Baldersdale and Lunesdale, once before as I recall. So I was quite looking forward for a run along the Pennine Way from Middleton-in-Teesdale to Baldersdale. The climb out of Middleton is dominated by a distinctive copse of trees on the…

[pinbitch]

was it whitby? i bet it was fucking whitby, they still haven’t killed the braughest=dracula association even though it’s been literally over a century. vampires are mostly chill but you get one really famously evil one and it fucks people up for YEARS. oh also, in south yorkshire they had some kind of spectral rabies that made the ghost dogs REALLY DANGEROUS for a bit in the 70s and people are still wary, but it never reached us up here on the border between west/north yorkshire. i have two (living) dogs and when we moved into our house there were three whoofters living in the graveyard next door. i’m not sure my puppies will ever understand why they can’t run right through walls like their bigger siblings. the real problem is dinner time, a whoofter floating through your bacon sandwich and leaving it covered in electoplasm is upsetting to say the least. they can’t even taste the food!

one thing i’ve always wondered about is those strange lights in the hills you see when you drive through the pennines at night. we get centaur parties on the yorkshire moors, but you can tell one of those from miles off, and that is NOT what is going on there

regional differences

“oh hey,” she said, “it’s a really touristy area, but since you’re gonna be passing through anyway, you might as well stop by pier 29, see the dragons. also, there’s a—”

“hold on,” i said. “i knew your city had mountains, but. dragons? uh, actual living dragons?”

“dude, it’s not a big deal. they’re there all the time. of course they’re majestic and everything, but they’re loud and cranky and mostly they lie around eating garbage. now and then the city council will talk about trying to make them roost somewhere else, but—”

“dragons,” i repeated. i knew it was making me sound like a rube, but it was a lot to take in. “you live in a city that has dragons.”

“no, it’s cool, we used to go see them when i was a little kid. it’s worth doing. but that whole area is mostly dragon-themed gift shops, and the commercialization is kind of a bummer. also, sometimes a dragon will melt somebody’s car and it’s a whole problem.”

“fairytale-style, giant scaly fire-breathing dragons.”

“honestly, i forget other cities don’t have them?” she said. “there’s a few other sites on the west coast where they gather. portland calls them wyverns, but that’s a portland thing.”

“chicago’s got, like, bunnies and songbirds,” i told her, “but otherwise it’s just your typical vermin. pigeons, rats, sphinxes—”

“sphinxes? what the hell.”

“oh, yeah, they nest in the el tunnels. sometimes a fucking sphinx will flap down out of nowhere, bring the whole train to a halt until the front car answers a riddle.”

“that sounds exciting,” she said.

“it’s the worst. your train winds up being twenty minutes late, and you just have to hang out hoping somebody up there read their mythology. there’s supposed to be a program where the conductors get trained in riddling, but i don’t know. rahm emmanuel keeps saying it’s not a budget priority.”

“huh,” she said. “guess the grass is always greener and all that. but on some level, it’s nice to remember that even with all these big box stores, the country still has some variety left in it.”

“yeah, did you know that in rhode island they call water fountains ‘bubblers’?” i said.

“whoa, seriously?”

“i read it somewhere. crazy, right?”

“crazy.”

[stegzy]

In a Britain in an alternate universe where paganistic villagers performed fertility rites, sacrificed policemen in burning wicker effigies and sang folk songs with hidden paganistic undernotes you can imagine this compilation being enjoyed on PYE stereo systems or in-car Grundig cassette players.

Mental imagery of remote rural areas of the UK like the Pennine ridge of the Yorkshire dales and the Peak district with perhaps lots of woolen sweatered fishermen or farmer types (because why there would be fishermen in the Pennines I have no idea. Holiday perhaps?), busty lusty young Brit Eckland look-a-likes and manbeards worn for warmth rather than style. Burning log fires in remote rural public houses on the moors. Folk musicians holding their ears to keep in tune and the familiar pong of veganism. These are all brought to mind when listening to the British dark folk compilation John Barleycorn Reborn (JBR) (2007).

I had long lusted after JBR since Amazon first suggested it would sit nicely in my music library. Of course, not feeling confident that I would enjoy it because of the number of bands and songs I’d never heard of, I resisted, seeking only to try and obtain it during the great internet download free for all of the mid to late noughties. However, as recently as last year, I found the album on Apple Music together with its brother and followup compilation, John Barleycorn Reborn: Rebirth (2011).

As I took great interest in the neofolk movement that took alternative, mature and adult music to new levels across continental Europe the late noughties, I’m more aware that JBR is purely a British attempt to break into an already dying subculture. Yes we had the hauntology bit on our side (as the likes of Belbury Poly and similar bands from Ghostbox have shown) and we do hauntology well, but the dark/neo folk was becoming old hat and middleaged exgoth hipsters were already starting to reinvent themselves in other ways.

The compiler has put a lot of effort into these albums and, while they ooze hauntology, they stink of the imitation of the earlier neofolk compendium Looking for Europe (2007) which is much richer in diversity. Some strong acts feature especially the likes of Sieben, Sol Invicitus, Far Black Furlong and Martyn Bates while other groups linger, tempting the listener to delve into their own back catalogue while supping a nice warm frothing pint of Badgers Nipple and smoking a pipe.

Track listing for John Barleycord Reborn: Dark Britannica

Listen on Amazon or Apple Music

John Barleycorn 3:56 The Horses Of The Gods North, County Maid 2:40 The Owl Service The Wicker Man 2:31 The Story Spirit of Albion 4:16 Damh the Bard Twa Corbies 5:14 Mary Jane Dives and Lazarus 6:30 Andrew King Three Crowns 5:38 The Triple Tree To Kills All Kings 5:01 Sol Invictus Ogham on the Hill 4:04 Sieben Horn Dance 3:31 Sharron Kraus Lay Bent To the Bonny Broom 7:55 Charlotte Greig and Johan Asherton The Burning of Auchindoun 5:44 Pumajaw The Scryer and the Shewstone 5:07 Peter Ulrich Where the Hazel Grows 4:31 alphane moon Hippomania 6:51 English Heretic Icy Solstice Eye 3:28 Far Black Furlong John Barleycorn Must Die 4:37 The Anvil To Make You Stay 2:55 Tinkerscuss Trial By Bread and Butter 3:37 The Straw Bear Band The Sorrow of Rimmon 3:56 Electronic Voice Phenomina Dragonfly 4:21 The Purple Minds of Lazeron Stained Glass Morning 5:56 Sand Snowman Summerhouse 5:11 The A Lords The Guidman’s Ground 4:19 The Kitchen Cynics PewPew 2:33 Quickthorn Reed Sodger 4:20 Clive Powell Child 102 Willie and Earl Richard’s Daughter 7:33 Venereum Arvum Nottamun Town 6:55 Drohne Gargoyle 6:16 Stormcrow Pact 4:21 Doug Peters Obsidian Blade 5:07 While Angels Watch John Barleycorn: This Life, Death and Resurrection 4:51 Xenis Emputae Travelling Band The Resurrection Apprentice 2:31 Martyn Bates

Track listing for John Barleycorn Reborn: Rebirth

Listen on Amazon or Apple Music

The Rolling of the Stones 2:04 Magpiety All Hallow’s Eve 5:05 Story, The Wood 4:57 Telling the Bees John Bonny Jaycock Turner 2:42 David A Jaycock Oh My Boy, My Bonny Boy 2:30 Yealand Redmayne The Bold Fisherman 4:36 Charlotte Greig & Johan Asherton Tierceron 4:00 Steve Tyler The Wendigo 6:24 Wendigo, The Wake the Vaulted Echo (Tigon Mi 4:53 Owl Service, The East Room V 3:33 Far Black Furlong Brightening Dew 3:10 Xenis Emputae Travelling Band Corvus Monedula 4:08 Sedayne Bear Ghost 5:02 Straw Bear Band, The Scythe To the Grass 3:06 Novemthree Lavondyss 4:55 Paul Newman Kingfisher Blue 5:16 James Reid (Digging the) Midnight Silver 4:18 JefvTaon Children’s Soul 1:48 Wooden Spoon A Dream of Fires 3:21 Big Eyes Family Players, The Improvisation At Kilpeck, June 4:18 Sundog Ca the Horse, Me Marra 11:17 Clive Powell Jack In the Green 2:41 Mac Henderson And Grand Union Morris Seven Sleepers, Seven Sorrows 11:58 Cunnan The Silkie 3:52 Orchis Thistles 5:28 Twelve Thousand Days Harvest Dance 2:31 Novemthree Elder 3:45 James Reid When I Was In My Prime 5:07 Mary Jane Ognor Mi Trovo 3:18 Daughters of Elvin De Poni Amor a Me 6:17 Misericordia Child 102 (Lily Flower Mix) 7:54 Venereum Arvum John Barleycorn Must Live 5:37 Anvil, The The Old Way 0:45 Sunshine Coding

  John Barleycorn Reborn: Dark Britannica – Various Artists [#648] & John Barleycorn Reborn: Rebirth [#649] In a Britain in an alternate universe where paganistic villagers performed fertility rites, sacrificed policemen in burning wicker effigies and sang folk songs with hidden paganistic undernotes you can imagine this compilation being enjoyed on PYE stereo systems or in-car Grundig cassette players.

[olwog]

This is a simple walk from Swainby to Osmotherley with mandatory fish and chips at the Osmotherley end. It’s a little challenging at the Swainby end as Shepherds Hill is closely followed by ‘The Steps’. The Steps are exactly that, they take you up over 200 feet in about the same distance but they vary in rise and depth so there’s no way of getting a rhythm going. When we first started doing these walks we would stop a half dozen times to catch our breath but the only reason to stop now is for the views and they’re well worth a pause.

    The first part of the adventure is via Abbotts excellent bus service and with the advantage of our old farts passes we travel free! At Swainby we stop to admire an old American Ford pickup and fairly nippy sports machine both with approximately the same size engine which is difficult to describe without using profundities, let’s just say the engines are ‘very’ big and you can substitute your own ‘fluffing’ worlds to add the emphasis.

    The walk through Swainby is always a delight as we pass people that we’ve never seen before but always receive a smile and a ‘now then’ or hello regardless. On Shepherd’s Hill we look left at Whorl Hill and imagine, once again, how it’s perfect symmetrical round shape would have evolved against the craggy line of the North Yorkshire Moors ridge not a mile to the east and it’s still a mystery but happy to be advised should you know.

I’ve mentioned the steps and we’re up them with the minimum of fuss as we pass and talk to a number of Americans some doing the Coast to Coast and others the Cleveland Way both of which share this part of their respective routes. They’ll divide again after Clay Bank but that’s few miles and several ups and downs until then but will take in what we consider to be the most beautiful parts of both of these epic walks.

    Claim Wood can be a positive or negative experience. On a windy, cold day with the weather coming from the North, it takes some of the sting out of the icy blast but on a beautiful, blue sky day like today it obscures the fabulous view of the Vale of Mowbray but we do get the odd glimpse through the trees where there are fire breaks or where natural thinning of the generally dense section of the wood has occurred. We take full advantage of this occurrence and steal a photo or two to capture the moment.

We cross the road at the cattle grid, no snakes today though I can’t say I’m disappointed. The last time we saw an adder it was in this area and whilst it slithered away at speed it left an indelible impression on my mind that: 

a) they do exist and they’re lurking in the heather and gorse, b) they can move a at an astonishing speed and c) they bite and it hurts. 

For clarity, their bite may hurt more than a bee sting but it’s only about the same degree of danger for an adult human; however, if you have an allergy to their venom (and this applies to anything else that can bite and leave a sting) you may have a problem. Of course small dogs and tiny humans may also have a problem. The upside is, and I can’t emphasise this enough, they don’t normally attack you, they’re defensive creatures and will naturally try to get away from you so, short of stepping on them or cornering them, you’re safe. All of that said, I’m still not keen on ‘em.

    We take the Cleveland Way route up on to Scarth Wood Moor towards Arncliffe Wood. This is open and beautiful. In the winter it can be a bit bleak but today, with a ‘Simpsons Sky’ of blue and gentle cumulus, we can see for miles and can pick out Roseberry, Whorl Hill, Captain Cooke’s Monument, the profiles of the Pennines including Richmond and the windmills gently turning off the coast at Redcar. That’s not even considering the local areas including Scarth Nick where rumours of a ghost have abounded for some time. Apparently, the ghost is one of the better varieties that has helped travellers and locals with equal enthusiasm; at my age I think I’m OK without the need to meet him either dead or undead – I shiver…

We’re part way across the moor and there’s a couple of ladies heading towards us, it’s amazing who you meet on these beautiful moors. Sue Cochrane and Margaret McDonnell are taking advantage of the weather and have decided on a circular route from Osmotherley via the repeater station and back along the track adjacent to Cod Beck Reservoir. There are smiles and hugs all around as we stop to pass the time of day.

        We leave the open moor via the kissing gate and walk above Arncliffe Wood. The dry stone wall is covered with green lichen that’s almost phosphorescent as it glows in the sun. There are signs of autumn as some of the trees are gently turning yellow and the mushrooms are more evident but the clearest evidence is the brambles and other fruit. If the ‘old wives tail’ regarding the profusion of berries and a harsh winter is to be believed then we’re in for a beastie this year.

At the repeater station we continue on the Cleveland Way rather than the quicker but less muddy route that we take when there’s been a lot of rain. It’s a little more challenging but much more interesting and a raised heart rate is one of the benefits of walking.

    Before we drop through Mount Grace Wood we take a break to admire yet another view across the Vale and I sing to myself, “Glimpse of Heaven” by the Strawbs which describes these views with such imagination and clarity. It doesn’t need music as the words are poetic without but it’s certainly a great song with. I’ll leave a link at the end.

The hillside was a patchwork quilt Neatly stitched with tidy hedge And crumbling grey stone wall The trees were bare, but Spring was near To conjure up its endless strings Of green magic handkerchieves

I’m still visualising the words and singing them in my head as we walk the long drop through Mount Grace Wood as I think of all the other travellers and walkers that have passed this way. I do hope they stopped occasionally and take the time to look!

    We’re on Ruebury Lane now and the going is easy. Like Swainby, the locals give a cheery wave as we pass, lifts the spirit and we wave back with a smile.

    As we approach the village cross we’re squinting to see if the chippy is open; it’s under new management and so we’re interested in the quality as Briege offered the best in the area. 

It is open and we needn’t have worried. The new proprietor has taken advice form Breige and there’s no drop in quality and the up-side is that she’s introduced new offerings from curries to pies. We stick to the cod ’n’ chips and I go for the large cod. Now be careful with this one, I finished it but only because I don’t want to waste food – it is seriously big. I may have it again but go for a smaller chip size – just saying! Fir me, it retains its crown as the best chippy in the area – thanks  Pam you’re a worthy successor and we really appreciate it.

Half an hour later and we’re replete and running out of conversation when the Abbotts bus arrives bang on time. 

If you want a relatively short walk that will get your heart rate up, give you stunning views and a reward at the end this is for you.

Here’s the link to Glimpse of Heaven, click the photo – the video is from a walk a couple of years ago:

    Enjoy the snaps…G..x

Swainby to Osmotherley with a Reward This is a simple walk from Swainby to Osmotherley with mandatory fish and chips at the Osmotherley end.

[finding-yourself-at-50]

An Unexpected Journey...

Yesterday did not turn out as planned. It was meant to be an early doors hike up Kinderlow End for the sunrise, to find the cavern and the Dog Stone, and then back for lunch. However as the alarm went off at 3AM, the rain outside the bedroom window was the sort that causes the duvet to automatically clamp you to the mattress.

Fortunately, by 6 am the rain was fading, the sky was showing signs of blue, and the excuse of staying in bed was no longer valid. So it was with a slight amount of excitement that breakfast soup was heated and flasked, DogBert was installed in his harness, choice to carry full hill kit was made (was only going to be a short walk and nowt like a bit of extra weight to help shift the middle age spread). 

It takes just under half an hour to reach Hayfield, and from there it’s a further 5 minutes’ drive to the carpark at Bowden Bridge. Gadgets primed (FitBit and ViewRanger), boots changed, gaiters on and off we went, heading up towards the dam, and the first section of the walk up onto the plateau via parallel walls above Broad Clough. The weather was a mix of sunshine and low cloud at this point, with glimpses of the amphitheatre and Sandy Heys being, from time to time, illuminated as if from spotlights from the Gods.

From here it was a relatively easy walk to the base of Kinderlow Edge and the staircase that reminded me much of the Stairs of Cirith Ungol. A steep and winding set of rock steps placed at the edge of the shoulder of Kinderlow End, they provide a direct route up onto the plateau for those who don’t mind the angle of approach!

The choice for this route was primarily to find the Kinderlow Cavern (mistake #1). However once on the top, the Grid Reference as given by Derbyshire Caving Association proved to be incorrect (by around 400m, and on the wrong side of Kinderlow End!). A lot of searching on the northern edge proved fruitless...

...so giving up this first challenge, DogBert and I headed up onto the edge path proper.

This is where mistake #2 occurred. Looking back over the edge of the shoulder, Mount Famine kept drifting in and out of sight as the clouds swirled around it and us. The initial plan of heading to the Downfall then back along the Three Knolls path from the top of Redbrook began to evaporate. 

‘What if...’

Off now, heading north along the edge path, and on to mistake #3. The Dog Stone is something I had read of in several books. Its origins are lost in the mists of time and Cluther rocks, but I had found a possible grid reference online. Heading to it, we found one of the many aircraft crash sites that litter the slopes of this place. An RAF Handley-Page Hampden, AE381, lost, and caught in a blizzard at night whilst on a training flight, hit the edge of the plateau, killing all four crew instantly. There are many ghosts that wander around Kinder Scout, and many wear flying suits...

Having stopped for a few moments to think on the events from a lifetime ago, and given up with trying to find the rock (again, dodgy internet information put the actual location over 600m North West and close on 200m down the slope...) the journey to the Downfall was picked up again, but all the time, especially with the improving weather, the thought kept coming back.

‘What if...’

All previous missions now abandoned, DogBoi and I opted for brunch at the Downfall. It was here that the ‘What if’ turned into the ‘Go on...’ we were going to head into the centre, then extend the walk to Brown Knoll, South Head and Mount Famine. Epic!

After the soup stop, we headed East, into the unknown,,, into Gondor...

Ok, so I exaggerate - but it did feel like passing through The Argonath (bear with my imagination ;-) 

Kinder Gates with the river in flow for the first time in a couple of months looked quite something.

And thence into the unknown. The old Pennine Way Path is in most places, lost to to the ravages of time. Its a bloody nightmare (In cloud or at night it really does need your absolute trust in anything rocky or steep is going to be the edge!)

I saw two monuments here, dusted in white a few months ago whilst in on a navigation training walk when the snow was down - had no idea what it was. Was not the Gates, just two trees....

Anyway, this is a ‘grough’ - they are lethal - this one is around 3m deep. Not what you want to walk into at night, and not one you want to carry a stretcher with casualty strapped to across whilst trying to reach the Coastguard helicopter in the dark either.

Onwards though to Crowden Clough and the sight of where I knew we were. The desolation of the interior of the plateau though was something to come back and explore further. Its fabulous; a contemplative space to be alone with your thoughts.

From here it was a straightforward walk along the southern edge path to where the Edale-Hayfield path intersects. Traversing the Woolpacks and looking down into Edale itself.

So on to the final stages. Brown Knoll, South Head (complete with its flying ants nest I sat on), and Mount Famine where we were a month ago doing steep ground rescue training.

There I found the last steep path, the Northern edge of Mount Famine. A place all too easy to slip down (thank you, walking poles, you earned your keep on here).

All in, 19.5 Km. 6 or so hours and about double what I had initially planned :-D

Postscript: The only disappointment is that the NAAFI (aka the George Hotel) has stopped selling Boondoggle, something which quite cleary annoyed DogBert...!

[northumbria-ghost-lore]

Brancepeth Castle. County Durham

[wherespaulo]

Hiking Around Edale

Aug 7-10, 2017

Edale would be a perfect spot to spend the first three nights of my UK/Iceland trip. A tiny, remote village tucked into a nook of the Pennine hills in the southern Peak District, it is the starting point of the famous Pennine Way hike to Scotland, yet easily accessible from Sheffield or Manchester by local train. And, most importantly, serviced by two character drinking and accommodation establishments – the Rambler Inn and the Old Nags Head.

Growing up in Sheffield I have so much history with this place. And as I alighted onto the tiny platform, pausing briefly to take a deep, long breath of the intoxicating air, the recognizable sights, sounds and smells slowly began to course through my veins and percolate into my soul. I'm immediately taken back to my teenage years, when we were living for the day. When getting lost within the warren of rivulet-ted peat bogs on Kinder Scout, or down the maze of limestone pot holes of Winatts Pass, was followed by some underage drinking of the infamous Theakestones Old Peculiar ale in the Old Nags Head, and rowdy banter in a patched up, smoke filled tent pitched on Coopers Farm. Farmer Cooper, who'd had a god-like status amongst the teenage campers at the time. A man of few words and facial expressions yet with what seemed like some kind of mysterious power. Like the time we'd arrived just as dark was setting in only to find the crucial apex piece of our tent frame was missing, and two minutes later he'd conjured up one out of nowhere.

Then there was the time in my twenties when myself and two fellow PhD chemistry students/come drinking companions had decided to prize ourselves away from our university laboratory experiments to hike the first fifty miles of the Pennine Way from Edale. We were an unlikely bunch then, with Topul an out-of-place native of Papua New Guinea, and Ray, a hard drinking squash player from Wolverhampton.

Well, here I was again, more than thirty years on, checking into the Rambler Inn, perfectly located next to the train station. And I now delighted to find that the irascible and shrewd old farmer Cooper was still in residence after all these years! I set off late afternoon for Rushup Edge to hike through the jet lag from my New York flight. As I strode west along the crown of the blustery high ridge, cool air in my lungs and sun on my face, with vistas of wide green valleys on either side, north to Edale and south towards Castleton, the wide open spaces were like fuel poured onto the glowing embers in my heart, causing a wild conflagration and making me feel alive. It was a flame lit many years ago as a 10 year old while regularly exploring the desolate Haworth moorlands of Bronte’s Wuthering Heights country with my school class and progressive teacher, Mr Smith, where Catherine’s final words were “I wish I were out of doors – half savage and hardy - I’m sure I should be myself were I once among the heather on those hills’. I carried the widest incessant smile, both externally and internally. This is where I belonged. Where I really belonged! Not in this specific place, but in those wild, desolate places. Where the enormity of beauty will strike at your very soul, and, just for a moment, you will be part of it all, and time will seem to stand still.

After a few miles along Rushup Edge I took the right turning at the signpost marked 'Barber Booth and Edale' onto a long, winding path of enormous limestone slabs which disappeared into the distance over purple heather carpeted peat bogs. The expected signpost for Barber Booth and Edale via Chapel Gate never materialized, so I merrily carried on for a further few miles along this amazing feat of engineering that had been built by helicoptering in the slabs. My iPhone's electronic compass and OS map photo kept me from being hopelessly lost, although that scenario does have a certain attraction for me, as I'm always veering towards the edge of my understood geography, both within the maze of the landscape and the labyrinth of my mind.

I eventually hit the Pennine Way signpost and took a right down the steep Jacobs Ladder back towards Barber Booth, Edale and some well earned refreshments at the fine establishment known as Old Nags Head – Stilton, pork and leek sausages on a bed of cheddar mash, served inside a giant Yorkshire pudding, covered in a tasty layer of onion gravy, and with an ample side of the mushyist peas. And of course washed down with a couple of fine pints of Celtic Gold cask ale. I was in my element. A brisk ten mile hike, where I came close to heaven (whatever that is), followed by my feet up in a fine tavern with the very best comfort food and ale. Faces came and went as I gazed around those medieval walls. Ghosts of the past, living for the day before we knew where our respective lives might lead – Dave Tanner, Russ Lockwood...and of course Chris Anderson, who's life was taken away recently, way too soon.

The next day of rain meant a stroll around the quaint villages of Hope and Castleton. I was drawn towards Peak Cavern, otherwise known as the Devil's Arse because of the flatulent-sounding noises from inside the cave when flood water is draining away, and which until the early 1900's was the home of rope making troglodytes. This cave has always held a mysterious power over me, ever since that time I entered it's cavernous interior as a relatively sane twelve year old on a school trip, yet emerged into the blinding light with a hopeless crush on Sharon Askham.  

The Kinder Circuit was my next planned route, a sixteen mile hike around the the complete escarpment of the Kinder plateau. I took the Pennine Way route out of Edale, through Barber Booth, and up the steep Jacob's Ladder onto the plateau. I moved north past Kinder Low and Kinder Downfall, keeping to the western edge of the escarpment, before turning right off the Pennine Way, and along the northern edge of the escarpment to the prow of Fairbrook Naze. I then turned south, continuing to the follow the escarpment edge, crossed a brook, and followed the escarpment east towards Blackden Edge. At some point however, I became confused by my iPhone gps reading. It was informing me that the place I was headed, Crookstone Knoll, was in a slightly different direction than it should have been. And I know from past experience that you really don't want to take a wrong turn on Kinder Scout! So ten miles in I decided the safest course of action was to return to Edale the way I'd came. Of course about one mile into my return journey I realized what had happened – the Google map on my iPhone had simply rotated slightly from true north. Feck! Feckin doh! Doh! But I had already retraced one mile of my steps before my brain had got in gear, so I just carried on back to Edale the way I'd come. As I strode downhill off the plateau with a light feeling in my heart and twenty miles under my belt, the verdant green Vale of Edale stretched out below me, I looked forward to home made pie and cask ale in the Old Nags Head, and vowed to complete the eastern edge of the circuit another day soon.

For my final hike of around ten miles in glorious sunshine, I decided to head onto the Kinder plateau via Grindslow Knoll, then head east on the southern edge of the escarpment, past Nether Tor and Ringing Roger, before heading back down to Edale over The Nab. This last section actually took in part of the route I should have taken the previous day.  

As I sat on the train heading towards Sheffield to see my family, I contemplated the growing mysterious pull that Edale seems to have on me these days. Is it the ghosts of my past or the sheer beauty of this place that makes me feel so at home here?  Or is it the permanent residents that settled in the old cemetery opposite the church, Rowbottom's dating back to the 1600's? All I do know is that I'll be back again very soon!

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Brancepeth. County Durham

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