Let’s Walk Up a Hill and Watch the Sunset

I started to write this blog post last week. Whilst writing the opening paragraph, I got carried away sharing some home truths with myself, and instead ended up with a page of text on my observations of my relationship with social instead.

I mention in that blog that I had recently spent a day travelling in the Peak District to walk up a hill to get some great photos for social media. The truth is that was probably half the reason. I do enjoy hiking, and I do enjoy taking photos and videos, but looking back I think some of the motivation was because I thought pictures and videos taken there would get more likes than the ones taken at the park near my house where I usually go for a walk.

It’s probably quite fitting then, that after nearly 2 hours of driving I realised I had forgotten the camera clip for my tripod, which pretty much ruled out taking any decent video footage. I was pretty gutted, to be honest. I had plenty of ideas for a short YouTube video and some Instagram Reels I could have taken and now would have to do without.

I could have let that ruin the day, but looking up at Mam Tor, basking in wintery sunlight, I thought how stupid I was being. A few likes on some social media posts weren’t going to be the thing I remembered most about my day in the Peak District. I started taking photos and videos so that I could remember the trips myself, and I only share them in case other people like watching them and not solely for other people to enjoy.

So forgetting about anything other than the walk, I set off from Castleton where I had parked the car and headed out of the village towards Mam Tor. The weather in the few days leading up to the walk had been dreadful, and although the skies were clear and the sun was shining, the trails were boggy and muddy. I took my time walking through, trying to place my feet on half-buried rocks so they wouldn’t slide about. I didn’t really fancy falling into a muddy bog and having to spend all day wet.

I took the signposted route up to Hollies Cross, a point between Back Tor and Mam Tor. The climb up the hill was steep, and I had to stop a couple of times to catch my breath. I’d not been out walking or running much, and I certainly hadn’t been up too many hills recently. It was a little disheartening because I had always been pretty fit and found hill walking more comforting than challenging. I moved jobs this year, going from being outside all day, every day, to being in an office, and it was starting to show.

From the top of Hollies Cross, there was a cobbled stone path going along the ridge all the way to the summit of Mam Tor. I didn’t need to worry about mud and puddles as I hiked the last 200m to the top. It had been warm enough on the climb to take my coat off, but once I reached the summit the wind speed picked up massively, blowing the cold, ferocious November air at me with force.

Despite it being midday on a weekday, there were a few people at the summit, including a group of 3 retired men who I stopped to chat with for a while. One of them had been a photographer during his career and told me about some of the photos he had taken over the years. I found it quite easy to relate to him, because he like myself, was from a county which was flat and far away from any mountain ranges. He knew the struggle of longing for hills at golden hour as you see in so many landscape photographers’ work.

Despite the wind battering me, blowing my bag all over the place and forcing me to stand upright, leaning into the force of the wind to keep my balance. I looked back at the trail I had just climbed. Castleton sat at the foot of the hill, surrounded by green, rolling fields, only broken by the occasional hedge way or road.  The hills, however, had turned yellow as we moved into the winter months, but there were still deep patches of purple and orange where the peat and heather grew. You could spot the occasional silhouette of a walker along the path which connected Mam Tor with the other peaks. Rain clouds were blowing across the sky behind us, causing the sun to dip in and out of view, which created deep patches of shadow and light on the landscape.

I decided to start my descent when the clouds did eventually catch up and it began to rain. Descending down the other side of the hill, I planned to loop back around into the village. It was a fairly straightforward descent, clambering down stone steps, which although a little slippery, were easy to navigate without concentrating too much. I dropped down one step at a time until I passed through a gate and back into the farm fields, where a few cows were grazing.

The three blokes I had been talking to took a left turn at the road to follow Winnats Pass back into the village. I opted to head across the road and carry on along the trail instead. I had no idea what the route was like, but had only done a few miles and wanted to get a couple more in yet before finishing.

I carried on walking through farm field after farm field, dodging the occasional sheep who was brave enough to not move out of the way, as well as avoiding all the piles of poo scattered everywhere. Ohh, the English countryside.

When I reached the end of the farmer’s land, I passed through a gate, out onto access land and found myself at the top of Winnats Pass looking down onto the road from above. About 100m up it was a pretty steep drop, and with the grass sleek and wet, there would be no chance of stopping yourself if you fell. Standing carefully as close to the edge as I dared (not very close), I watched cars drive up and down the pass, between the two towering walls of rock on either side. I could also see the silhouettes of the 3 walkers I had spoken to, as they walked along the patch of grass at the side of the road.

I had left the crowds of Mam Tor behind and was the only person up here, which was surprising because the view was breathtaking and I much preferred it to the top of the hill. I stood up there for a while, taking some photos and just appreciating the view. I was there long enough that the rain cloud passed over and as the sun crept back out from behind it, it caught the last of the misty rain lingering and a bright rainbow arched over the village and finished right at the foot of the hill I was standing on. I tried to take a few more photos with my camera but the rain got on the lens and blurred most of them.

When the rain finally did stop and the rainbow disappeared, I carried on my walk back to the village. Following the path along the top of the final ridge, I could see a footpath passing through a field and into a small cluster of trees on the edge of the stone houses. I wasn’t far away.

As I dropped off the flat grassy peak of the hill, the path began to descend to what looked like a little gorge. From up high it looked like a small climb down, before going back up and over the hill again to what I assumed was a nice rolling descent on the grass. However, as I got closer I spotted another walker, climbing up on his hands and feet. He reached the last step just as I got there and I made a little jokey comment about it looking a bit treacherous. He didn’t seem to find it that funny and told me the top bit I could see now wasn’t too bad, but round the corner the gorge got steep and the trail was just flowing water. He did tell me about a rope on the side of the path which I could use to help me down and gave me some advice on the way he had just climbed up. Wishing me luck, he carried on walking.

I don’t particularly like heights, and when I get near any sort of drop I wouldn’t be able to jump and have an overwhelming fear of slipping and falling. It’s not normally too bad, and in good condition’s doesn’t bother me at all. Seeing how wet and muddy the rocks were though, I wasn’t feeling great. It was a long walk back the other way, however, and I didn’t have long left on my parking ticket.

I decided to avoid the path all together and went over to the grassy section next to the stone wall. Although it wasn’t well trodden, I could hold on to the protruding edges of the stones in the wall. Doing so, I was confident that if I did slip, I would at least be able to catch myself. This worked pretty well and got me down the first steep section, where the gorge took a turn and flattened a little. Taking care with each step, hands out to the sides ready to fall, I managed to zig-zag my way between rocks, all the time thinking where on earth is this rope he was talking about. I found where it was when I came out to a particularly steep section of the gorge and was so grateful that someone had made the effort the tie a rope into place around a fence post. The gradient was steep and the larger rocks had given way to a slope of gravel and mud.

I grabbed the rope and turned backwards to descend, leaning against it and pushing my feet into the slope so they were flat. Even with the weight distributed, my feet slid around looking for some traction, and I had to be careful with each step to make sure my footing was secure before taking my hand from the rope to move down. The rope was also wet and muddy, and although the grip seemed tight, there was a worry of slipping and getting rope burn. With every tight grip I made, I squeezed dirty water from the rope and could feel it running down my arms and into my coat. I was also conscious of the fact that at any moment the rope could snap. I’m a big bloke at 6”4 and 20 stone, and if the rope did go, I would be falling down the gorge head first.

I did eventually make it to the bottom of the gorge after about 20 minutes and would have liked nothing more than to sit down and finish the walk there. I was also soaked through and covered in mud and God knows what else from the rope. Now that I was safely at the bottom, however, I could look back up the hill and consider the descent challenging but probably also fun. It didn’t feel like it at the time though.

Back in the village, I got some food and headed to my car. It was an hour before sunset, and my plan all day had been to drive to another car park 30 minutes away so that I could get some photo’s from Baslow Edge. These were the shots I was thinking about when I came here (having googled best places to take photos in the Peak District). Drastic golden light, flowing across the hills, painting beauty onto the landscape.

When I did get there the sky remained clear, but for one cloud. One thick rain cloud was right on the horizon, directly where the sun was. There was no sunset. The sky merely turned from blue to black, with the odd whisper of a pink cloud in the sky.

I didn’t get a single photo of the sunset. I also only got a handful of photos I liked from earlier in the day. None of which would get any interaction on Instagram and direct people to this blog post. Yet, at the end of the day, I still had a good day walking in the hills. That’s the point of this blog and should be the point of any content I make for it. I can say I did that, so who cares whether I got the perfect shot of a sunset to show off on social media.