The Cal-Der-Went Walk was devised by Geoffrey Carr* linking the rivers Calder and Derwent from Horbury Bridge near Wakefield to The Derwent Valley and the A57 at Ashopton viaduct in the Peak District. With the addition of a 6 mile link via Win Hill to join the Limestone Way at Castleton, a satisfactory 65m weekend can be made from Wakefield to Matlock. The Limestone Way could be followed to Ashbourne or Rocester in Staffordshire adding up to 20m+ if desired.
Friday:
It's 10pm in the Bingley Arms Hotel at Horbury Bridge. With money in the pocket I'm finding it hard to restrict the Black Sheep intake, but I don't want to have to get out of my bivvy bag in the small hours - nor do I want to over-dilate all those nice warm little blood vessels. The forecast is cold and stars are visible. Stars means cold. Between me and the night sky on this trip will be: what I'm wearing (the lot), a very thin layer of silk, a thin layer of fancy permeable nylon and around an inch of goose down and still air, topped off with another thin layer of fancy nylon, a few microns of Teflon bonded to yet more fancy permeable nylon. If I'm lucky a few clouds of a duvet might separate me from the great beyond. Between myself and the terra (terror?) of firma, reduce the above by most of that inch (the down - now duck derived and compressed), add some 5% of small feathers and about a quarter of an inch of sealed foam with a bit of flattened grass. This is the doing of writer and fell runner Ronald Turnbull. I've been reading his excellent 'Book of the Bivvy' and feel inspired to suffer for my art. That being lightweight pedestrian travel.
I don't want it to rain, but it could do...
The landlady introduces herself as the licensee; she's been told I've asked if it's okay to sleep on the beer garden, she says. She reminds me of the Taxi firm owner's wife on Coronation Street - the one with the big earings - you know, works for Mike Baldwin... (did they ever get through the marriage ceremony?), anyway, I feel old. But it's okay she says and thanks me for asking first. I'm in - (well no, out, in fact). I've already checked the options: under the bridge on the Calder and Hebble navigation right next door (concrete could be a bit ruthless - but I'm not here for 5 star facilities - handy if it turns wet though) or somewhere along the bank in the long grass, and the map tells me there's a disused railway line nearby as last resort. Bed and Breakfast this most definitely is not.
But the pint is good and I can manage another 'alf.
One of the young blokes at the bar picks up his mate, then drops him... all good fun...
It's certainly a bit fresh out for May and my breath's burning steam into the night air, tell thi, you just know when its going to be cold at 4 am. Traffic's noisy too; oh well, here goes. The bag's easily laid out anyway - no poles , no pegs... I don't have the balls to undress. If I should get too warm, I'll take the fleece top off later...
Sleep comes fitfully between bursts of diabolical discomfort. Doors slam, people shout. And later a dog barks, alarmingly close to my ear'ole, or so it seems. I'm clammy, too hot - thinks: take off fleece... hmm? I drift off...
I wake, cold now and draw the opening up a bit...
Next:
Saturday - an early start?
or back to:
Entry Page
*The Cal-Der-Went Walk by Geoffrey Carr (Dalesman 1979) ISBN 0 85206 503 5
Dec2004©m.l.weller