A Curious Girl: I'll climb the hill in my own way

At last, I have the chance to tell you about my weekend!
On Friday, we headed out of work early, I packed my stuff into Liz's car, and Liz, Paul, Frida, Tom (colleagues) and I all headed off to the Peak District. Liz is tall, young but somewhat motherly, an excellent swimmer, and does several watersports I previously didn't know existed. She is an enthusiastic auntie to one small nephew, and boy, can you ever tell! If I ever have to choose five people to be stranded with on a desert island, Liz would be one. She'd not only be at home when surround by water, but she'd bring several bottles of sun screen, plenty of fresh water, and enough equipment for three... She drove me to the Peaks.
Paul drove Frida and Tom to the Peaks. Paul might not be a good person to take to a desert island, but could be useful if I happened to become a goatherd in the Hebrides. He is a northerner to whom 'cold' means nothing. He loves football (I think he's a Man U supporter) and driving his car, but tends to spend weekdays swearing at his computer next to me. He always looks a bit scatty.
Frida is Swedish, loves playing touch rugby and going to Ikea. She also loves horses (and has one of her own). She manages to look relaxed doing everything (Paul sometimes seems to be stoically enduring everything).
Tom, who as far as I can tell, is Frida's boyfriend, likes rowing and football (I was the only non-footballer there), and is also is fond of cooking. He's the kind of person who doesn't look silly when he brings out the small cuddly monkey he brought with him. He's a nice guy, but I wouldn't take him with me to a desert island since he was planning to do the Peak District in jeans.

Trying to find our hostel was the first difficult task of the weekend. Liz had booked us in a private hostel in an obscure hamlet that wasn't signposted in the nearest village. Once in the hamlet, the obscure hostel seemed to be some way out, so Liz picked a direction, and we found the hostel by accident when she was going to turn around to ask for directions. Paul, Frida and Tom arrived about half an hour after we did - not only did they not have a map, but they'd taken a detour at Ikea.
After all these little problems, we settled down to our tea, with incidentally a very nice apple pie for dessert. Mmm. Liz leant Tom her spare waterproof trousers and me a waterbottle, her spare coat, and her spare woolly hat.

Saturday dawned and it was rainy. And misty. Tom's early prediction that it would be hot and we'd be laughing at Liz's over-preparation did not look set to come true. The hostel proprietor made us a cooked breakfast and a packed lunch each. We laughed at Tom and Paul for bringing trainers to do their walking in. Bringing jumpers, gloves, hats and rucksacks, we all squeezed into Paul's car and went to Hayfield. Hayfield's a little town in Derbyshire, big enough to have buses and other signs of civilisation. We walked out of the town and started to climb a hill.

Which was where I started to have a bad feeling about this. I might have been all right doing Bronze Duke of Edinburgh, but this hill wasn't like the hills in the North Downs, which aren't really that high. And the rest of my companions were footballers, already getting quite ahead of me. The concept of "going as fast as I can" was not alien to me, but it was alien when the speed of the said concept was about 200 metres an hour. They waited at the first gate, and I stopped to take of my jumper - I was already hot - and look behind to see that whatever spectacular view we might have had was obscured in mist. It's an area that is probably astoundingly beautiful in the summer - it was beautiful even now, with green and purple heather. We, thankfully, levelled out and walked along a path which was mere narrow plateau along the side of the hill. I looked to my right, down the steep hill to a stone wall about twenty metres down (The hill continued past the wall, too, we were rather high up). I idly wondered if I should plan something to yell should I fall - for a while, "As you wish" struck me as amusing (it's what Westley yells when Buttercup pushes him down a hill in "The Princess Bride"). Or perhaps "Tell my family I love them." That might be a bit too long - that stone wall looked a bit too close for a long message before my demise. In any case, I'd be missing out several people that I love, including Matthew who'd be incredibly hurt to think that I'd forgotten him. As we continued, and I took in the enormous hills, and the brooks and streams and springs flowing out and through them, I wondered if "Jesus is Lord" might be appropriate (I was trying to remember that verse in "How great thou art" that goes on about wandering on the mountain grandeur. As far as I recall, the writer praises God for the mountain grandeur on a particularly nice day. Ah, here it is -

When through the woods, and forest glades I wander,
And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees.
When I look down, from lofty mountain grandeur
And see the brook, and feel the gentle breeze.

These words always remind me of the Harz mountains in Germany, but what about feeling the rain, or the not-so-gentle breeze?) It might have been cold, there weren't many sweetly singing birds either, but I still felt - possibly because I was planning my inevitable demise and felt I should really make peace with him - that this was God's awesome work. I, dare I say it, felt profoundly grateful that I'd decided to do this and miss church this weekend, because God felt more real than he had done in ages.

We descended a little, into the narrow rocky valley with a stream running through it. The mist cleared as we descended. We got to the bank - it was shallow, but I imagined you might do yourself a nasty injury on the jagged rocks... But it was time to cross. I didn't want to - I'm not particularly steady on my feet - but I couldn't see another way of crossing. Liz stood on the other side and I teetered on a rock, wondering if my legs were quite long enough to take the step. I managed to grab her hand as I pushed myself over - I don't think I would have made it alone. I felt better afterwards. I always feel better when I make a risk, even a little one, and it turns out well.

Some more climbing followed, as we walked upstream. Once again my unfitness was severely annoying. Liz stayed behind me, which was comforting, and she even pulled me out of the mud when I fell over. It didn't hurt, incidentally, there was lots of grass and mud and not many rocks where I fell over. My heart was thumping and I wondered if I really was going to make it. We stopped for a rest partway up and Frida handed round some Swedish chocolates. Paul was still wearing his non-waterproof hoodie. I got a wet bum when I sat down in my non-waterproof trousers. It's not that the rain was heavy, more that there was such a lot of it and it was cold.

"We're half-way through," Liz announced, looking at the map. Apparently the second half was mostly flat or downhill... but first we had to go up another hill. I looked up it. I couldn't see the top.
Paul, Frida and Tom went ahead. Liz graciously stayed behind me. I apologised for probably frustrating her, but she said it was all right, since being behind me she could actually catch her breath! The hill was steep - but there were millstone steps that were uneven but certainly better than climbing the wet grass. The others vanished upwards, into the mist above (or should that be, the clouds?) and Liz remained behind me as I pushed my unfit blob of a body up the hill. There were times when I really didn't think I was going to make it. I did however, remember a line from a Pink Floyd song that Mum likes "I'll climb the hill in my own way." It's quite a gentle and unfrantic song, which soothed me. Amazingly, I did make it, despite the fact that the top kept getting further away as we progressed through the mist. On top, it plateaued out, and large black rocks were strewn all over, and the wind was bitterly cold. There wasn't much grass up here, and it got thinner as we progressed. We crossed the stream again in a bleak little valley that we gradually saw through the mist, and carried on walking through the rocks. There was hardly any grass anywhere - just the odd rock pile or marker to show where we were.

By the time we did see grass, the plateau had come to a rather suddent end. I was suddenly grateful for the extremely bad visibility, and for whatever fool had made the millstone steps, because I hate heights especially when I can see just how far I have to fall, and I like to at least have a chance of surviving. I went slowly here - the others got ahead again, although Tom stopped occasionally to give me a hand. I was reminded of the Olympics, when during the women's marathon, a commentator remarked that in order to win, Paula Radcliffe would have to go very slowly indeed. She didn't win - in fact, she dropped out early... I wondered if I could ever run a marathon, and thought that I'd probably drop out too, and much much sooner. This walk - especially the hill climbs - had taught me something about endurance. On our final descent, I had a lovely warm glow for actually making it...

Visibility was much better at the bottom of the hills. Looking up, however, the peaks vanished into cloud. No wonder we'd been so cold. The last part of the walk was along the road, then back at the car park, Paul revealed that his clothes weren't totally soaked, Tom that his trainers were, and we took off out muddy boots and got in the car. Back at the hostel, hot showers were in order.

The next day, most of us being extraordinarily achy, we went to Dovedale, and walked through a valley that was mostly paved and bordered by huge hills. We saw a lot more people than we had on the Saturday, possibly because we could see more than 10 feet ahead. It was a lovely walk along a river, with many little caves along the way, and we had our lunch at Milldale, a picturesque little village at the end. I looked around to see if Postman Pat was about. He wasn't, so Frida bought us some hot drinks and we ate our lunch sitting on the riverside.

On our way home, we stopped in Ikea, ate some hotdogs, and then Paul drove me and Tom back. I heard on the radio that Paula Radcliffe won the New York marathon. Go Paula!

At my house, my landlord carried my suitcase upstairs. I went upstairs. Then tried to get down to have a bath. My legs didn't want to go down the stairs. At a 2:1 majority, they outvoted me. Actually I finally made it, put too much bath scent in the bath so it turned blue, and reflected that I would actually like to go walking more often.

Random word for today: cagoule

<< last entry ... next entry >>
top of page

Give food for free.