Periodically, I decide I can no longer cope with city life. I lived in the countryside for about 18 years, and despite having now lived in Manchester for over 6 years, once every couple of months I reach a point where I have to go and climb a hill and see trees and fields and sheep and things or I’ll have a nervous breakdown. When this happens, I invariably climb on the next train to Edale and go for a walk.

So, that’s what I did this weekend. Naomi and I got up bright and early on Saturday morning, and made our way to the tram station (we reasoned it would be faster than the bus – in the event, flooding had closed half of the Altrincham line and the replacement bus service never actually showed up, so we had to get a taxi in the end. You can mentally insert a lyle-esque rant about public transport here, if you wish).

View from the top of Mam Tor towards Castleton

Edale is only 45 minutes out of Manchester, but it’s a whole other world. The noise and stress and crowds of the big city give way to snow-capped hills, stone cottages, fields and many, many sheep. We’d decided that we’d walk up Mam Tor this time, replicating a walk I’d done many times as a child, and giving me plenty of opportunity to reminisce about living in Nottinghamshire and how great it was to be a kid.

Mam Tor is the site of an Iron Age fort. Obviously, it’s not there any more, but you can still clearly see the ring where the fortifications used to stand. It’s believed, though, that the site was of some importance earlier than the iron age – the trig point stands atop what is almost certainly a bronze age tumulus, and bronze arrowheads have been found there too. Unfortunately, the large number of visitors the site receives have meant that the National Trust have had to pave the area, and as such the tumulus is no longer easily visible.

The other thing Mam Tor is notable for (besides the fact that it’s the site of some fairly serious landslide activity) is its wind – it’s very popular with hang- and paragliders, and there were two hanggliders there on Saturday, the sight of which immediately prompted me to consider taking up yet another daft, expensive wind-powered sport, much to Naomi’s annoyance.

Anyway, our little route took us straight up the side of the hill – which surprised us, as we thought we were aiming for Hollins’ Cross, but evidently either the signposts or our map had lied to us. Having barely seen another soul except for a couple of fellow hikers since we left Edale, it was quite a surprise to discover that the top of the ridge and the Tor itself was crawling with people – families going sledging, students having snowball fights and a few people who, like us, had decided that a snowy day in February was clearly the ideal time to go and climb a hill. We continued along the ridge a little way before descending back down to Edale and retiring to the Old Nags Head for a couple of pints and a bowl of chilli (I can’t speak highly enough of the Old Nags Head, incidentally – a lovely little pub, and their yorskhire puddings are fantastic).

I think next time, we’ll maybe go over the ridge, and continue through Castleton to Hope, and get the train back from there. I’ve not been to the Blue John Mines for a years and it’d be fun to go back and see them again.

An amusing footnote to the day is that, having walked up and down the Tor in not-entirely-great walking boots without major incident, upon alighting from a bus later that evening (having been out for a friends’ birthday) I tripped and twisted my ankle. Oh, sweet irony.

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