Catching a red eye train from Birmingham New Street up to Derby, the sun slowly rising during the journey on a Friday morning in early September.
At Derby it is a quick dash across the city centre to the bus station to get on a peak comuter time bus to Ashbourne. Heading out of the city with a motley crew of construction workers, college kids, apprentices, early morning shoppers and others whose destination once they left the city for small town south west Derbyshire could only be guessed at. With my little Osprey pack, Decathlon’s finest boots and thin Regatta waterproof, I was the only obvious tourist.
At Ashbourne I found the sandwich shop I’d picked out on Google was cash only, but thankfully there was an equally reasonably priced alternative more or less next door.
Then I set off to find the Tissington Trail. Walking through a well lit former railway tunnel all the way to the edge of the town.
The Tissington Trail, an incredibly well maintained, by infamously monotonous route makes for a quick way of getting out of Ashbourne. However, to reach Dovedale, the true entrance to the Peak District, and my quick way of reaching Hartington where I would be spending the night, I needed to leave it setting off across the fields for the village of Thorpe.
Suddenly, just before where my Ordnance Survey app indicated the boundary of the National Park lay, the peaks at the entrance to Dovedale came into view. Walking towards them from the south it is easy to see why the romantics of the later Georgian period and their Victorian offspring christened it a “Little Switzerland”.
Entering the Peak District National Park the peaks loom larger up ahead.
At the edge of Thorpe the first of several rain showers that occurred throughout the day began. Leading me to shelter beside the village church.
The shower soon passed to be replaced by pretty bright sunlight. So I continued walking through Thorpe.
Before heading out onto the National Trust’s land just up from Dovedale.
This leads to a wild dale steadily sloping down towards the River Dove.
Soon you reach the side of the river running through its rightly famous limestone gorge. Apparently 2 million people visit each year. Luckily on the Friday I visited, with decidedly patchy weather, it was pretty quiet.
Heading north, I could clearly see why Dovedale is so celebrated. I had not visited the area since childhood when I doubt I fully appreciated it. The valley fully lives up to its claims to have truly spectacular scenery.
Impressive outcrops and cliffs of limestone emerge out the trees which rise above the babbling River.
Here and there, there are caves which have been worn by the elements into the limestone as well.
Leaving Dove Dale for Hall Dale (but still following the course of the River Dove). I arrived at the little village of Milldale.
Here, crossing briefly over to the Staffordshire side of the River Dove, I stopped by a packhorse bridge from the 1650s to have lunch.
Before carrying on towards Wolfscote Dale.
Heading onto a footpath along the river bank once more, surrounded by limestone outcrops.
This was one of the wetter stages of the walk. The beautiful gorge looking moody amidst the overcast skies and tumbling rain.
Nearing Hartington, and pretty, albiet less dramatic scenery; the weather took a turn for the better. For the final mile or so.
The final part of the day’s walk was across the field’s towards Hartington.
I was pleased to see that it was well dressing day. A charming White Peak custom (which has spread to much of the rest of Derbyshire and parts of Staffordshire outside the Peak District) where villages collaborate to make brightly coloured decorations celebrating fecundity, happiness and community. The nicest kind of folk custom.
Amidst the thundery clouds, this time the best views were looking back.
I quite liked Hartington. It is a quintessential White Peak village. Very well equipped for a place of its size with shops and places to eat.
The main well dressing on the village green, however, had taken on a new significance: Transforming into a memento mori. It having seemingly have been inspired by Queen Elizabeth II’s Platinum Jubilee. The Queen had died the day before I did the walk.
Hartington Youth Hostel where I was due to spend the night, before carrying on to Eyam on the northern most edge of the White Peak, is pretty plush. Quite literally a manor house. Few places you can get an ensuite for less than fifty quid in the heart of a National Park these days.
From there I set off to find some food.
Want to see my route? Check out the Ordnance Survey Explorer route here