Monsal Dale

A track from Monsal Head took us down through the trees into Monsal Dale. Some trees had been cut down since I was last here, due to ash dieback, and this allowed some excellent views into Monsal Dale and Miller's Dale. It wasn't long before we reached the weir at the bottom of the valley. A fine spray was coming off the falling water and the strong sun caused a slight rainbow. We crossed the footbridge to the other side and started following the river down the dale. Given the amount of rain we'd had recently, I wasn't surprised at the state of the track. It was exceedingly muddy. We slopped our way along it, stopping occasionally to steal a glance at the River Wye or look upwards to the mighty Fin Cop.  Fin Cop had probably been the second most difficult Ethel to summit (the first being Harland Edge), due to the degree of undergrowth on our chosen route (see Fighting To Fin Cop). I'd suggested to the Kapitan and the Cabin Boy that we might want to include Fin Cop in our itinerary today, but they gave me a look of such distaste that I thought better of it. It wasn't long before we reached the road and we swapped Monsal Dale for Taddington Dale. This dale would take us back to the top of the hills again, and onwards to the village of Taddington.

Taddington

It was Squirrel City, the last time I was at Taddington Dale, but we only saw one of them today. We climbed through the woods and it brought us out at the farm at Taddington Field. I noticed a vintage tractor in an open shed. 'Ah, that might be a Lamborghini' I commented.  At this, the Cabin Boy snapped back her head and her chortling and guffawing could be heard throughout most of the White Peak. 'Yeah, looks very sport to me!' she responded. I raised my right eyebrow and went closer to the tractor to inspect it. It was a David Brown. When I got home that evening, I sent her a link to the Lamborghini Tractor website (they've been manufacturing tractors since 1951). I received no apology from her, nor even any recognition of the facts. We followed a grassy lane to the pretty village of Taddington and visited its High Well. Not surprisingly, it was full of water. A little below the well, we stopped to have a break in a shelter. It had a fine view across Taddington and to the hills beyond. Walk breaks tend to be quiet affairs with the Kapitan and the Cabin Boy since they are such a moribund couple. I tried to coax them into conversation by initiating subjects ranging from top hats, lions and Isambard Kingdom Brunel, but they were unresponsive. I was glad when the break was over and we could continue onwards to our first Ethel of the day, Sough Top.

Sough Top And Chelmorton Low

I'm not sure how you pronounce Sough. Is it sough as in how, sough as in dough, sough as bow, or sough as in rough. As we climbed out of Taddington up towards its summit, a young female walker was strolling down towards us. I was half tempted to stop her and ask her if she knew how to pronounce it, but I thought that the Kapitan and Cabin Boy might think it was a bit weird. However you pronounce it, we soon reached its flat summit. The actual summit has a trig and is in a field. The gate was open and so we made a quick dash across to the concrete pillar to officially bag its summit. It really is a flat top and so the views aren't great, although I could see our next Ethel of the day, Chelmorton Low over to the west. We started field hopping over towards it.

A farmer was spreading shite on one of the fields, but we managed to traverse it whilst he was muck spreading at the other end. The track then dropped down towards the village of Chelmorton and we came across our second spring of the day, known as Illy Willy Water. It used to be the water source for the residents of Chelmorton. An annoying feature of Chelmorton Low is that you have to first drop down to the village and then climb back up again to its summit. Fortunately, it is only a small climb. There is an extensive view from its top, but a lot of it includes limestone quarries. Even though the sun was out, there was a strong wind blowing on the top and I suggested that we should drop down to the village to have our lunch.

Chelmorton

It was the Kapitan who spotted it first. The church's weather vane had a golden locust on the top of it. How curious. I kind of associate locusts with famine; it seemed an odd thing to have on top of a church. Later research revealed that it is to commemorate John the Baptist, or John the Locust Eater as I shall now call him. Apparently, he ate locusts and wild honey in the wilderness. I obviously shouldn't have slept through my RE classes at school. I decided to take a snap of it and a crow photobombed my shot. The church is the highest church with a spire in England. Presumably, it is the highest golden locust in England too. I later read that the Elizabethan porch is made from coffin lids, although we didn't find any coffins with their tops ripped off as we wandered around the graveyard. 

'That's an odd manoeuvre!' I said, as we sat having our lunch, on a bench in the centre of Chelmorton. A blue van had just reversed down the road and then on to the grass and stopped about 5 metres in front of our bench. I looked at the driver's side window to see who'd drive like that and saw...well, I saw nothing. The driver and passenger seats were empty! I got up and circled the van. It was definitely empty. Obviously the handbrake wasn't fully on or the brakes were faulty. I thought about putting a stone under one of the wheels, but it was now on reasonably flat ground and so it wasn't going to go anywhere. We were lucky it hadn't hit us. Our Guardian Angel, John the Locust Eater was looking out for us. 

Heading To The Dales

We followed a country lane out of Chelmorton. Somebody had formed the word England in large letters on the west flank of Chelmorton Low using rocks. I’m not a big fan of landscape graffiti. We started  field hopping  over towards the Monsal Trail. At the end of the fields we headed down into a sparsely wooded ravine. A metal grill prevented anybody tumbling down Churn Hole. Further along we joined Deep Dale for the last stretch to the T  junction with Wye Dale. Near to the end of the dale we came across half a dozen walkers sat next to the track having their lunch. We were about 10 metres away when the woman at the front suddenly started laughing manically. I instinctively fumbled with my crotch to see if my fly was open, but everything was ship shape. She was still laughing when we were 10 metres beyond them. I guess I should have asked what was so funny.

Wye Dale And Chee Dale

The atmosphere of the walk totally changed as we came to Wye Dale. There were many people and cars around and even two anglers fishing in the River Wye. We joined the Monsal Trail and cyclists joined the party. They weaved in and out of walkers like cruise missiles. A lot of people were making use of the Bank Holiday weekend with good weather. Most were potterers and we looked a bit out of place with our muddied gaiters and trekking poles. There was certainly quite a diverse selection of society. At one point, a man held a bag of dog shite above his head, whilst his partner videoed him. I had dreadful feeling of FOMO and I made a mental note to subscribe to TikTok when I got back home. I’m obviously missing out on so much culturally. Blue flashing lights revealed a Mountain Rescue car on the trail at Chee Dale. There must have been some sort of trouble down by the river. A few minutes later a paramedic vehicle and then an ambulance came up the trail. 

This was the first time I’d been along this stretch of the trail and I have to say that it is spectacular with high cliffs and a deep drop to the river. I decided that I’d return at a later date when it was less busy and explore the trails around the dale. The frequent tunnels were a bit of a challenge, being quite dark and most cyclists not having lights. 

Miller's Dale

At Miller’s Dale we performed a short out-and-back  down to the River Wye to have a game of Poo Sticks on the bridge over the river. This isn’t a game that we normally play, but we’d recently seen an episode of a walking program on C4 where Bill Bailey and another fellow had a game of Poo Sticks from this very bridge. I won our game, although I have to admit that I did throw my stick in a good two seconds before the Kapitan and the Cabin Boy. We climbed back up to the Monsal Trail and continued our journey eastwards. It had been a long walk and the hard trail surface certainly challenged the bones. I wasn’t too disappointed when we reached the viaduct at Monsal Head. We completed our final climb up out of the dale and made our way to the carpark. 

The tent and training shoe was still on the stone wall, although they were now accompanied by another training shoe, making it a pair. I still wasn't tempted. It had been an excellent walk with great weather. Maybe the Monsal Trail would have been better appreciated on a less busy day. I informed the Kapitan and the Cabin Boy that even including today’s Ethel tally, they had still not reached halfway yet. At 49.47% completed so far, they still needed another Ethel to get over the halfway marker. They looked a little disgruntled, although that tends to be their natural disposition anyway.