The Cal-Der-Went Walk linked to The Limestone Way - Horbury Bridge to Matlock via Penistone/Castleton/Monyash 65miles

Devised by Geoffrey Carr* The Cal-Der-Went Walk links the rivers Calder and Derwent from Horbury Bridge near Wakefield to The Derwent Valley at Ashopton Viaduct in the Peak District. With the addition of a 6 mile link via Win Hill to join the Limestone Way at Castleton, a satisfactory 65m weekend is possible from Wakefield to Matlock. Further, as the Limestone Way has now been extended, Ashbourne or Rocester in Staffordshire could be the final destination adding up to 20m+ if desired.

Friday10pm: The Bingley Arms Hotel, Horbury Bridge.

With money in the pocket I'm finding it hard to restrict the Black Sheep intake, but I don't want to have to get out of my bivvy bag in the small hours - nor do I want to over-dilate all those nice warm little blood vessels. The forecast is cold and stars are visible and stars means cold. Between me and the night sky on this trip will be: what I'm wearing (the lot), a very thin layer of silk, a thin layer of fancy permeable nylon and around an inch of goose down and still air, topped off with another thin layer of fancy nylon, a few microns of Teflon bonded to yet more fancy permeable nylon. If I'm lucky a few clouds of a duvet might separate me from the great beyond.

Between myself and the terra of firma, reduce the above by most of that inch (the down - now duck derived and compressed), add some 5% of small feathers and about a quarter of an inch of sealed foam with a bit of flattened grass. This is the doing of writer and fell runner Ronald Turnbull. I've been reading his excellent 'Book of the Bivvy' and feel inspired to suffer for my art - that being lightweight pedestrian travel.
I don't want it to rain, but it could do...

The landlady introduces herself as the licensee - she's been told I've asked if it's okay to sleep on the beer garden, she says. She reminds me of the Taxi firm owner's wife on Coronation Street - the one with the big earings - you know, works for Mike Baldwin... (did they ever get through the marriage ceremony?), anyway, I feel old. But it's okay she says and thanks me for asking first. I'm in - (well no, out, in fact). I've already checked the options: under the bridge on the Calder and Hebble navigation right next door (concrete makes for a ruthless under-mattress - but I'm not here for 5 star facilities - handy if it turns wet though) or somewhere along the bank in the long grass, and the map tells me there's a disused railway line nearby as last resort. Bed and Breakfast this most definitely is not. But the pint is good and I can manage another 'alf.
One of the young blokes at the bar picks up his mate, then drops him... all good fun...

*****

It's certainly a bit fresh out for May and my breath's burning steam into the night air, tell thi, you just know when its going to be cold at 4 am. Traffic's noisy too; oh well, here goes. The bag's easily laid out anyway - no poles , no pegs... I don't have the balls to undress. If I should get too warm, I'll take the fleece top off later...

Sleep comes fitfully between bursts of diabolical discomfort. Doors slam, people shout. And later a dog barks, alarmingly close to my ear'ole, or so it seems. I'm clammy, too hot - thinks: take off fleece... hmm? I drift off...
I wake, cold now and draw the opening up a bit... Brrr.

DAY1: Horbury Bridge to Castleton

I'm awake! Did I ever sleep? Of course I did. Not 5 o'clock yet… brrr… Breakfast in bed...? Where's that water? I've pre-packed and sealed two 100gm portions of Alpen and dried milk - I read the instructions… (oh, of course, they're in my head)… tear open along soldered edge, add water, stir, eat straight from bag… in the bag - breakfast in bed. Hot drink's off though. No stove. Hot drink was off last attempt at this route - with a faulty gas bottle... No tent; not much of anything really... I'm packed up in half the time for it though. It's light, it's cloudy and after a few pics of the start I'm on my way - a good time for me: 5:45am. 

Calder and Hebble Navigation

Today I get it right at Coxley and turn left by the houses. Last time I went past and took some overgrown footpath - losing a good 20mins. Tch, 'tell thi... down there for thinking or what?  

 

Entrance to Stoney Cliffe Wood

Edging a field of rape by Stoney Cliffe Wood I discover an advantage of running shoes over boots - they hold less water! I squelch my way up to a better and wider track to continue up a wooded lane to the road. Beyond, I'm soon into Stocksmoor Nature Reserve.
I'd stopped to take some pics of large stock piles of tree trunks, and now find I'm without map... so I'm trotting back to look for it... 

Emley Moor

In the grounds of Bretton Hall (now a Sculpture Park), I pass the figure of a carved runner. Pieces appear to be dotted about all over the place and that one over there looks like steps made out of breeze blocks. Just maybe I'm in the wrong profession... 

An ornate bridge crossed, an elderly dog walking an elderly couple encountered, more ornate gates and the way ahead lies through parkland to a gatehouse with some serene Scots Pines and a bird in song that I try to photograph. A red hand shakes on the screen as I zoom in and for a while I'm more interested in the little red hand than the songster.

The uphill road section brings me to High Hoyland and its church atop the hill. As I've had good views of the Emley Moor TV mast all morning I muse that before telly the congregation must have trooped up for administration. Now though, I suspect 'Songs of Praise' has re-educated the masses and many of the God fearing stay at home. I think of ley lines and fiery dragons and stuff like the conquering of 'dark forces' when I come across churches on hilltops…

Beyond the village a footpath from the road delivers me to a wood, and farther downhill are fields again with reluctantly parting sheep and only a feint line of a path. The sun breaks forth and I stop to get out my sunhat at the next stile - the significance of giving this a mention soon becomes apparent! Down the hill is a fine Hereford bull. Thankfully he's the other side of the fence… I'd be seeing him again shortly. I miss the right turn over the footbridge and emerge at the top the lane feeling foolish, so it's back down and over the bridge… and, ah yes, there's the cricket ground as shown on the map. We're in the grounds of Cannon Hall… me, and the heron at the edge of the pond… and a few other early birds about now too - the dog-owning variety. Over the bridge… left across the soft turf parkland between the Canada geese, on beside the river, and here is the car park... it's 8.36am. I'll just check the opening times of the Garden Centre café… Hmm, 10am - ah well… who needs coff… hang on a bit… where's my sunhat? Damn, I've only gone and dropped it. Must've been when I stopped to take a few snaps of the hall. I'm in good time so I decide to nip back. So off I trot… No, not there… did I go nearer to the river? Hmm? No… there's the heron - still not moved: amazing. Maybe I dropped it in the water? Nope. Perhaps by the cricket ground? Well… I did go wrong. So it's back up the lane and back down again. Well damn it… it's got to be between here and where I took it out of the pack then… must be … surely? Can't believe this… There's the bull again… and (eventually) here's the stile. Still no hat! So the bull's eaten it… a magpie's got it to line its nest. I'll buy another in Penistone. I'll need one today… going to be a hot one. Baldy fried brains for dinner otherwise. I'm back at the bridge… then the cricket ground. Eh? What? Oh, tch no... one of those early dog walkers has only gone and picked it up and stuck it up on a branch… I must've passed right under it! Can you believe it?

So I get back to the car park and it's now… 9.30! Now if I were to wait half an hour I could get a nice cup of coffee… hmmm. Decisions decisions. Well my sleeping bag is a bit damp I suppose… So I sit in the sun airing my bed till 10am feeding a few ducks with bits of crust from yesterday's dinner. 

And that's how I lost 2hrs on the Saturday. 

Beyond Jowett House the way dips twice before the road climb of Cat Hill. But once that's behind it's all downhill into Penistone (mostly road). And this time I'm heading straight for the chippy for some well greasy calories 'innit'.
The way out of Penistone passes an outdoor skateboard centre… Hmm, I could use one of those for the downhill bits…
The north Derwent moors are coming into view now. Suddenly my foot feels 'funny' and I stop right there to check it out. A hole has appeared in my sock - could be a blister former, so I change them and add a little Vaseline to toe ends while I'm about it.
There's some more road, and the busy A616 to cross, then it's down to Brookhouse Bridge crossing the Porter (or Little Don) and I'm holding open the gate for some mountain bikers. The Cut Gate path is a designated bridleway and they've got a good climb ahead. I offer a push to one of them up the steep bit as he's losing traction on the loose stones, but no… he's okay. The guy behind says I can give him a push instead. We both laugh - (well, I'm sorry, but this is as good as it gets). They soon pull away as the ground levels out and I'm left to the young couples lost in love as they wander about wondering what to do next. A megaphone would be handy… I could remind them en-masse to make the most of it while they can.
From Mickledon Edge the view back north is extensive… then more so… and even more so as I gain height. Now the view is lost and I'm on the Cut Gate path picking my way over the loose stones. Grim work for the Jaggers who lead ponies laden with cloth and salt over here for hundreds of years... Though today is good: easy clouds bounding, breathless. Last time on this section the rain ripped into my scant Ethel Austin leggings like shot fired by an angry wind. Those guys must've been tough as old boots.
And then here it is - on me like a thief… the view over the Derwent Moors suddenly opens out - must be one of the best in the Peak. A pair of Curlews add some icing too. The first time I've seen 'em close enough to get a good view of their long curved beak as they whirl around with their distinctive cry.
Time enough to tuck into some calories as I get more air into that sleeping bag - holding it open creates a big air sock in the breeze. The black Pertex acting like a big sponge to soak in valuable heat from the sun. The drier it gets the warmer it will be tonight fo'sure. Some passing walkers give me a few odd glances - heading home to warm dry beds no doubt.
A knee churning drop to Slippery Stones and the original Derwent Bridge (moved from its previous location downstream when the dams were built), to a somewhat tedious finish by the reservoirs. A better route and one that I shall take if I ever get the chance to do this again is by higher ground along Derwent Edge from Margery Hill dropping down to the Ladybower Inn. Then, just maybe, next time I could extend my second day to Rocester instead of Matlock to cover more of the Limestone Way.
With only 6 miles of the Cal-Der-Went to go the Howden, Derwent and Ladybower reservoirs are to be passed. Walls disappearing into the water lead to thoughts of lost villages beneath the lapping waves, officialdom and…predictably, my water bill! Thus the mind is occupied along dry dusty tracks with the early evening sun cutting through sighing conifers… The end is in sight… the end is nigh… the end is passed. The obliging sheep turns its back on me by the time the camera decides to close the shutter.
Outside the Ladybower Inn I'm confident that my iced drink tastes better than anyone else's! A bar meal is in order. Last time I relied on the chippy at Castleton being open… it wasn't - take it from me: don't rely on places farther en-route being open. Get it while you can… I'm losing heat faster than an electric blanket in the snow. It takes a while to adjust, so I move inside, radiating, I'm sure, a fair old pong, sweat an' all.
Fit an' fed I'm ready for the next six miles to Castleton. Something near to 'as the crow flies' is via Win Hill. As last time the gate over the Ladybower Dam is open. This suits as I can avoid the steep footpath descent then climb from Yorkshire Bridge just to regain my present level. Some youths see fit to mark my arrival with a firework set off on the dam wall. Bo selecta.
Soon I'm climbing through the trees heading for the dastardly steep climb up Parkin Clough. But, unlike last time, I'm fed and watered so it soon passes and the top offers a reward in silhouette with the setting sun.
To be true to my new mentor Mr. Turnbull and the 'Book of the Bivvy' this should be my overnight stop - my bag would be more breathable and the views of sunset and sunrise would more than compensate for the hard. But I know things can go wrong on the morrow and my last connecting return transport (ye no.9 bus) 'verily shall waiteth not…'
I descend rapidly to Twitchill Farm. Last time here I encountered a young woman sporting a strap-on dildo… tell thi. "Ooo, that's bigger than mine," I croaked, having stopped to get my water bottle filled. She even asked me to show her(!) before being reprimanded and led away by a friend. I'm not in such a sorry state this time, even after adding 3 miles to the experience (yes I returned a mile and a half for that hat), but I raise a smile at the memory (no, not the hat). The outbuildings here are holiday cottages now… and the Saturday wine flows freely I'm sure.
Last time I was so knackered that I just followed the road to Castleton. But today it's to be the footpath route skirting Lose Hill.
Arrival in Castleton is heralded by the church clock - yet another Good Lord's timepiece - (in that: Good Lord! is that the time?) - 10 o'clock. Five minutes more sees me at some rather refreshing cold lager with a shot of lime. Once again it's turning nippy out and I decide to experiment on body heat retention by delaying survival bag entry until chucking out time… 

The entrance to Cave Dale is not so much dark as pitch black and it's a spooky enclosed feeling. The first level bit of ground off the path is given a quick survey, and without any tent pole fiddling it's goodnight from me and goodnight from some sheep up top somewhere. 'Bah' to you two too!

 

*The Cal-Der-Went Walk by Geoffrey Carr (Dalesman 1979) ISBN 0 85206 503 5

Dec2004©m.l.weller