Dales walkies

I've spent the week walking in mostly golden sunshine in Derbyshire.  The accents are gentle and I was called "dook" which is "Northern" for Duck!  Such a lovely accent.  I've managed to pick it up a little I think.  The holiday was a Ramblers walking break in the Peak District - which I have been to before but apparently only on the Dark Peak side.  The White Peak, where we stayed (Cromford) is in Limestone country and we walked amidst glistening towers and pikes of white which apparently look like an Italian Dolomites in miniature, against the clear azure sky.  According to our walks leader anyway. 

I was tired. It has been a long summer, learning a new job.  My neck took about 5 days to unstiffen - a group of us came in from the 10 - 14 miles walks each day to swim in the small pool in the hotel grounds, which was so nice and refreshing. But you had to go as soon as you had taken your boots off or there wasn't any motivation. It gave me a good appetite - cake, ice cream and Eaton Mess featured in my nice-moments of the holiday file!

The dales were silent in many places, peopled by some majestic wind turbines.  We got very close to them and I am amazed at the magnificent proportions of them.  We heard and saw buzzards overhead and one day someone asked if there was an owl in the tree.  It was a resting kestrel, which then flew past and gently came to rest on another tree, whilst a buzzard mewed overhead.  Definitely my highlight of the holiday.  Walking in Lathkilldale, we saw harebells, sheep, and many more people and went down a little abandoned lead mine, with a long metal ladder and dripping, fern festooned walls.  It must have been such a hard way of earning a living and so very dangerous.

Dovedale contributed takeaway coffee, dippers and grey wagtails and half the schoolchildren of Derbyshire.  It's definitely a honeypot.  We finished at Ilam.  I looked in the church and there was a large stone table of prayer cards, written by people who might not normally pray.  The hearfelt grief and honesty made me feel more than a little ashamed when I have been so lacklustre and routine in my own prayers.  I guess it makes God weep for the world.

There was a lot of industrial past on show.  We walked past tracks and cogs, an abandoned engineering workshop, now a nice informal museum, lots of chains and rusty irons bits and pieces.  The Monsal and High Peak trails are former railway tracks axed by the infamous Dr Beeching.
It's been lovely. I spent my thirties and forties climbing/walking/scrambling up big hills and testing my dodgy lungs, but gentler walks with lovely scenery and some fun banter from my walking holiday companions strikes me as a much more lung friendly and interesting way to go forward.  I need to make sure I save hard as I come alive walking outside.