Kon Tiki

Some field hopping brought me to Kon Tiki. This is a house, rather than Thor Heyerdahl's boat. The footpath goes right through the house's back garden. After hopping over the boundary wall I studied some instructions on a sign nailed to a tree. They were of the ilk: 'keep to the footpath', 'don't feed the ducks', and 'don't have barbecues'. The Terms And Conditions ended with a footnote saying that my transit would be caught on camera. It is a curious garden with a few abandoned cars and a small pond with a small alligator creeping out. There were some large wooden 'A' shaped frames that had been stacked on some breeze blocks. These were either for the roof of a new building or for the hull of a boat to cross the Pacific Ocean.

On Black Moor a female jogger stopped and told me that she'd just seen a couple of deer at the edge of the woods at Black Moor Common. I kept an eye out, but they were long gone by the time I got there. I dropped down to the stepping stones that cross the river Don. There was hardly any water going down the river today. The footpaths had also been incredibly dry so far. We could be in for a very dry summer this year. A man caught me up and we started chatting. He was heading off towards Wharncliffe woods on a 15 mile epic. 'I want to make the most of the light', he informed me, and then bounded off at a cracking pace.

Green Moor

I joined the single track road heading towards Huthwaite. It is a wonderful valley with woods on either side and the river Don meandering down the middle. I left the road and crossed the river again, using a footbridge this time. The sheep on the other side had a curious look about them. They looked a bit like Ryelands. I joined a delightful track that gradually made its way up the hillside through the woods, to the small village of Green Moor.  There are probably as many information boards and plaques in Green Moor, than there are actual inhabitants. They are well worth reading though. They describe how the area would have been totally different in the 19th and early 20th centuries. The place would have been industrial with a mixture of sandstone quarries, iron forges and textile mills. One of the old iron forges is still around, further down the valley towards Wortley. Another information board told me that some of the Green Moor sandstone was used for the pavements outside the Houses Of Parliament. It was obviously held in high esteem since a wharf at Southwark in London was named 'Greenmoor'. In the '80s, I used to commute to work alongside this very wharf. At the time, I never knew about its connection with this small Yorkshire village. Sometimes the world can seem very small. The quarries at Green Moor have now been filled in, although the locations are evident. On the other side of the quarries I crossed a field and headed for Hunshelf Bank. I now had to face the challenge that I'd been secretly dreading.

Maze Runner

After the approach through the wooded Huthwaite valley, and the confines of the quarries around Green Moor, the open view from the top of Hunshelf Bank takes you by surprise. It isn't quite the same surprise as you'd get from reaching the edge of the Grand Canyon, but it definitely does qualify as a surprise. For one thing, the other side of the Stocksbridge valley is a mass of houses and streets. The valley bottom is dominated by the Fox Valley retail park and the huge buildings of the Stocksbridge steel works. Given that description, some people might be appalled by the view, but personally I find it fascinating. Above and beyond this urban and industrial landscape, the tops of the moors of the Peak District can be seen. 

My route followed the Hunshelf Bank westwards. Although a lot of the bank is open access, most of it is covered in thick gorse. Initially it is possible to keep to the top of the bank, but eventually you are forced downwards. It is well worth making the effort to keep to the top of the bank up to the trig point. One of the gates has been barbed shut a little before the trig, but it is possible to squeeze through at its side. The trig on Hunshelf Bank has to be one of the oddest I've ever come across. Rather, the trig itself is not odd, but the surrounding area. Nearby is a junkyard of skips full of rubbish (although these had been emptied since the last time I was here). The most bizarre thing though, is a large cross with some florescent lights strapped to it. Every Easter, the lights are switched on, and the cross can be seen from the Stocksbridge valley.

The next part of the walk involved getting up, close and personal with Hunshelf Bank's gorse bushes. I would like to give specific instructions to traverse this prickly obstacle, but there are a number of tracks (most of them dead ends), and also one area looks pretty much like the next. I've probably been across here half a dozen times, but have never used the same route. My only advice is to go downhill from the trig before attempting to contour along the hillside. Also, be aware that if you find yourself wading through chest high gorse, you might have to return along the same path if you reach a dead end. You could make your way down right down to the bottom of the gorse, and then join the path that contours along the hill. This is what sensible people would do (see my map for navigation hints).  Personally, I do like a bit of a challenge on my walks and so don't mind reaching the odd dead end. The local farmers have also been a little overzealous with their barbing in this area, but it all just adds to the enjoyment of the day. There was a brief respite when I reached Don Hill Height road, but the fun started again just after Edgecliff farm. This second phase is almost trivial compared to what has gone before, and so shouldn't present any problems to an expert Gorse Maze Runner. By the time you reach Briery Busk farm, the bulk of the day's challenges have been accomplished and you can relax for the rest of the walk.

I was so happy to get through it, that I skipped down Mucky Lane and sang heartily as I made my way down to Underbank reservoir.

Underbank

A man stopped to have a chat as I crossed Underbank reservoir's dam. He wanted to know what I was photographing. I gave him my stock reply to the question: 'Anything that stops still long enough for me to shoot.' 'Better than shooting it with a gun,' he replied. He was an occasional photographer too. 'You see a lot more when you are taking photos' he told me. That's my view too. My pre-photography walking years consisted of a lot of looking, but not a lot of seeing. With a camera at the ready, you are far keener to study what is going on around you. Some people say that it's best to put down the camera and 'enjoy the moment.' In my view, if you put down the camera you may not see the moment. My new photographer friend spotted a couple of Oystercatchers perched on the edge of the reservoir's concrete overflow. He must have had good eyesight since I could only just make out their distinctive red eyes and beaks looking through the long lens of my camera.

It was a delightful walk in the woods that run alongside the reservoir. There was just enough wind to rustle the trees and mask the drone of the busy A616 on the other side of the water. You are almost guaranteed seeing a Heron at Underbank, and sure enough, I saw one perched on a branch, patiently waiting for an unlucky fish to swim by.

Butterfly Man

'Are you the Butterfly Man?' I'd been walking along the long drive that leads to the couple of houses at Judd Field and had stepped off the track to let a car past. A jolly woman had rolled down the car window and posed the question. I wondered if she'd mistook me for a Russian spy, and that maybe I should reply with something like 'The Geese are late from the east this year.' I didn't of course, and after a discussion I found out that another photographer frequents this route who specialises in the colourfully winged insects. She went on to tell me about the Barn Owl who is resident in her neighbour's barn down here. I considered whether I should go knocking on her door and ask if I could have a rummage around for her feathered friend, but I wasn't sure how the request might be received from a stranger. After a mutually appreciative discussion on Barn Owls, the woman departed in her car.

On the rough track of Doubting Lane, a length of drainpipe walked towards me with two German Shepherds in tow. At least I thought it was a length of drainpipe, until I heard the following issued from the long  length of the parka's snorkel hood 'It's cold today isn't it?' I squinted and looked through the furry entrance  to the pipe, but it was too dark in there  to see if it's occupant was a man or woman. I settled for binary.  In truth, despite the low temperature, I was feeling a little on the warmish side in the sun. I agreed though, in order to bring the conversation to a close; I didn't really fancy a meteorological discussion with a drainpipe.

It had been an enjoyable 200th Nun's Walk. My fellow travellers had been especially chatty today, although I'd expect nothing less in Yorkshire. I'd also enhanced my reputation as a Hunshelf Gorse Maze Runner.