The Nags Head........
After a photo op outside the Nags Head, we drop down and cross the log bridge
over the Grindsbrook and into the fields beyond. The slabbed path rises steadily
at our feet and the wind is at our back.
"Cooo !" says J "I think I'm in a good luck charm" The feeling is short lived.
We cross through the wood at Golden Clough and the breeze dies away, as do
we. In fact we start, very gently, to cook. The temperature is climbing faster than
we are and given last nights activities, some of us are feeling it....My mouth tastes
like a three day old sock, my head throbs with each step and my stomach is
wondering which way is up. All this with the walk is barely an hour old.... Mark
strides ahead, clean living squeaking in every pore....and boot.
We stop and sit in the stream to cool off. As I sit down everyone swears there is
an audible "Hisssssssssss". Mind you it seems to work - we cool off enough to
face the first real obstacle with some equanimity.
Many years ago there was a landslip here - now we have to climb over it. Before I
get to the top I'm perfectly dry. and trailing little cometary clouds of steam.
Mark is ahead of me. Without warning he dips into his pack pocket and produces
a pint of milk. I swear it was already vaguely green. He downs it. "Thats the only
sort of pint I'm drinking" he declares. J and I look at one another. "If he carries on
like that" I think to myself "I give him about two days"
We arrive at the foot of the steep climb at the top of Grindsbrook Clough. Sweat
is poring off my elbows in little rivulets and we have drunk nearly half the water
bottles - worse we have drunk half the water as well!
We climb up the dry gully. (not as dry as we are folks!) There are signs that in
different weather this is a stream bed...but not at the moment - it is as dry as the
moon. If only Kinder top was the same........
Sound effect : Wind etc Sclurrrppp!
We get to the top. in front of us is Kinder top. a black, trackless, quivering morass
of peat and heather. It steams very slightly. So do I.
Far back in the cold distance we can make out the campsite. There is a strange,
remote, rumbling noise.
Ah! The green camo tent has woken up! As if to confirm our hypotheses a cloud
of dust detaches itself from Edale village and rabidly heads north. There is a faint
but horrible buzzing noise. I swear I can hear something howling "Tekkelii Lii,
Tekkelii Lii" far off in the wilderness.
"Which way?" We consult maps and Wainright. A plan is formulated. "Everyone
Follow Me!" I declare and walk slap into a deep peat bog. I sink very rapidly. I
require assistance to get out again. We are almost crying with laughter by the
time I'm out. I steam dry for a while, and we try again.
These days there are huge gritstone slabs over the most nightmarish bits of bog,
marking the way and keeping the legs dry, ostensibly to cut down erosion. Ha!
Cissies! Back then there wasn't even a path or a signpost and the peat was deep
and soggy. and so were we. well soggy anyway.
Mark is looking very queasy. "You OK?" I enquire solicitously "UUUnnnkkk" He
says... He has gone rather green. Oooooh boy, is this gonna be a lonnnng walk.