E2 European Long Distance Path: Comments

After 205 days and 4507 kilometres (2817 miles) over 6 trips, I completed the E2 European Long Distance Path, including an unofficial section from Galway to Stranraer. An average of 21.5 kilometres a day visiting seven countries (Ireland, Great Britain, Netherlands, Belgium, Luxembourg, France and Switzerland). I spent 102 nights in hotels, guesthouses and Bed & Breakfast establishments, 15 nights inside hostels and refuges, 49 nights in official campsites and 36 nights wild camping. My 6 trips ranged in length from two weeks to two months long. These figures refer to the eastern route which I followed through England and the Netherlands, there is also a western alternative through Britain and Belgium along which I had walked a little way.

What did it offer? A huge variety.

In terms of landscapes it ranged from the flat fields of the Fens and Flanders, to the mountains of the Alps; the trees of the Jura to the rounded hills of the Yorkshire Wolds. There were beaches and cliffs in Northern Ireland, a hugely dammed delta in the Netherlands and river valleys in Luxembourg. History added another dimension: from the remnants of two World Wars at the border of France with Germany, to the "Troubles" in Northern Ireland. Then there was the food: vol au vents in Flanders, tartiflette in the French Alps, pub food in North East England beneath blackened beams. Accommodation varied from wild camping on the Southern Uplands of Scotland to pretty Bed & Breakfasts in England and hostels in Luxembourg. You need to walk it to experience a little of Europe's diverse offerings.

More information on the E2 can be found at the European Ramblers Association website, the organisation which coordinates the E-paths. I have also provided details of guidebooks etc. on this page.

Links to posts at the start of my walk through each country:

Western Ireland;

Northern Ireland;

Scotland;

England - Eastern variant;

Netherlands - Eastern variant;

Belgium Eastern variant;

Luxembourg;

France - Alsace Lorraine;

France - Jura mountains (Franche-Comté);

France - Alps.

Western Alternative

England - Western variant.

Link to start of each trip:

Trip 1 Western and Northern Ireland;

Trip 2 Northern Ireland, Scotland and north of England;

Trip 3 England, Netherlands and Flanders - Eastern variant;

Trip 4 Ardennes, Luxembourg, Lorraine and the Vosges;

Trip 5 Jura mountains;

Trip 6 GR5 over French Alps;

Trip 7 England - Western variant. 

E2: Abbots Bromley to Rugeley

A short day to the railway station at Rugeley and my trip home.

Catkins.

At breakfast I tried the Staffordshire oatcakes, which I discovered were a kind of savoury pancake. Folded inside were the black pudding and sausages I ordered, and it was served with a garnish of healthy green rocket. All very classy! I left Abbots Bromley by a path between hedges and houses, although attractive it was the wrong one! Instead of retracing my steps I followed a road back to the correct route. That zig zagged over fields to a reservoir, or almost to the reservoir, the paths stayed below the dam on a circuitous route.

Blithfield Reservoir.

I was now in an area where red brick was the dominant building material of houses, farms and bridges. A contrast to the blackened gritstone buildings I had encountered further north. Two buzzards flew high above me. After more fields I reached the village of Colton, which sounded a bit like a mineral to me. I exchanged a few words on the weather with an elderly man cleaning leaves and other remains from the side of the drive to the village hall. We agreed it was sunny but he warned me of showers between 12 and 1 pm. More fields and I reached the Trent and Mersey Canal. There I left the Staffordshire Way and the E2 and walked rapidly south-east to the station where I just managed to catch the 11:50 train, the slow service to Birmingham. 

Trent & Mersey Canal.

E2: Alton to Abbots Bromley

A long day walking over the Staffordshire countryside.

After a steep and muddy descent around a fallen tree I reached a good path through woodland, on which I passed numerous morning dog walkers. Alton was a little further from my accommodation than I imagined and there were a few more hills than I expected. The village is famous for the Alton Towers Theme Park. I presume it was the towers of the main building that I could see from a viewpoint, an outcrop of red sandstone, a little before the village. As a child I had visited once, I did not remember so many hills!

A view of Alton Towers.

The remainder of the day was over farmland, grass fields, soft and squidgy with all the rain, and gentle hills. Sometimes I was on barely visible paths over the fields, other times on farm tracks, often muddy. A kissing gate on the path was held firmly closed with a combination lock which annoyed me, as the landowner was breaking the law obstructing a public footpath. It did not stop me climbing over it but not so easy for less able people or those with dogs. A track between hedges had been improved by laying down a line of stone flags which I much appreciated as it helped avoid the mud or brambles.

Pussy Willows.

I had a few milestones today to break up my journey, the first was Rocester. The small town was dominated by JCB, the manufacturer of the eponymous, yellow, earth moving equipment. Rocester is their World Headquarters and there is a JCB Academy in an old mill built by Arkwright, the 18th century inventor who help industrialise textile manufacture. I stopped at a café for a coffee and cake. While her dog stepped in its water bowl one of the customers proudly told me the King was visiting the JCB factory today, apparently it was their 80th anniversary. King Charles helped change a tyre there according to the BBC.

From Rocester it was over fields to Uttoxeter following the valley of the River Dove. Close to the town I had to cross a busy, fenced dual carriageway. My GPS suggested the route went under a bridge by a river, however I could not see way through and wondered if the path was flooded as the river level was high. I spent a long time finding a way around, climbing over gates at a farmyard, then crossing the dual carriageway at a roundabout. Keen to find out where I had gone wrong I approached the river bridge from the Uttoxeter side. It was then I realised there was another arch with a safe passage through. I missed the turn to reach it as it involved heading in the "wrong" direction for a short while.

Although now behind schedule I had promised myself a sandwich for lunch in Uttoxeter, so stopped at a handy Starbucks beside a series of charging points for electric cars. Seemed to me a good business plan, offering coffee while your car is charging, although the two other customers seemed to be using the coffee shop to work on their laptops. On my next section over fields to Abbots Bromley I fell in step with a local man for a few hundred yards. We exchanged a few words. He had been a mining engineer in the coal industry before specialising in the demolition of oil refineries and similar.

Late afternoon on the way to Abbots Bromley.

Dusk had fallen by the time I had reached Abbots Bromley and my Bed & Breakfast. Despite removing my boots I still left mud stains on the carpet from my trousers which I tried ineffectually to clean up. I was glad to arrive, my left knee was complaining, my blister was bloody and I was tired. No one in the village is serving food tonight, however the helpful staff of the Crown Pub provided details of a place that did deliveries. So I ordered burger, chips and a brownie to be delivered to me in the pub. I must confess I was surprised when it arrived!

E2: Leak to Alton

A muddy day with some good canal sections and a pub for lunch.

Yesterday afternoon I began to experience a little pain from my ankle rubbing against my boot. Nothing that caused me to stop, however on arriving at my lodging I found a burst blister. In the shower it was exceedingly painful when contacted by water. This morning I protected it with a dressing. I was particularly stiff on getting up, having difficulty on the stairs. The exercises my body reluctantly performed loosened me up a little. On a longer trip I might have taken a rest day at this point, but I only had 2 1/2 days walking left so it was not worthwhile.

As there is no food available at my accommodation tonight and nothing else is near, this morning I needed to buy something to eat this evening. Being Sunday I had to wait until 10 am for the shops to open. I passed the time pleasantly in a coffee shop by the market square of Leek. The day's hike began with a walk over hillside through the Ladderedge Country Park. After that there was a long section on the towpath of the Caldon Canal, flat easy walking. A few narrow boats were moored, one or two with wood smoke drifting from their stove pipes showing they were occupied by invisible people inside. I passed old, red brick mill buildings and the remains of lime kilns, signs of the area's industrial activity in an earlier century. A few people were out, accompanied by their dogs for a Sunday stroll. Rain and strong winds were forecast, however in the sheltered valley there was little wind and the rain, although persistent, was mainly light.

Caldon Canal.

The lighted windows of the canal-side Red Lion Inn looked warm and inviting so I stopped for lunch, siting by a log fire. The pork and apple sauce bap I ordered was huge! With the rain outside I made my Coke last as long as possible. When I did leave I found "Footpath closed" signs on the towpath. There being no alternative route I just kept going and found no problem with the towpath. The canal ran parallel with an old railway line. Earlier a steam train had pulled several carriages down the line, and this afternoon it pulled them back again. A heritage line offering people a Sunday outing.

Welcome fire inside the Red Lion Pub.

Eventually, the path left the canal, climbing steeply up the side of the wooded valley. Once at the top it continued through fields, soft and muddy with the rain. As I crossed from one field to another I found myself ankle deep in a muddy slurry with the threat of sinking further if I did not find a way through a couple of strings of barbed wire. Having crawled under the wire I realised that the path actually went over a stile further down the field, largely hidden by the hedge and not strictly where the map showed it to be. 

There was a lot of mud!

I followed the Staffordshire Way back down into the valley of the meandering River Churnet. The canal had stopped at a wharf further upstream. After a few muddy sections the path climbed into woodland. When it subsequently descended I admired the rounded pebbles which formed its base as it made a passage through rhododendrons and tall pine trees. I speculated that the pebbles were produced by erosion of sandstones of the Permian period. I had been seeing red sandstone typical of this period of Geological time in road and track cuttings and used in buildings and bridges. 

I turned off the Staffordshire Way to reach the accommodation I had booked. This involved a climb up a side valley. The last part was the steepest. Steps had been made but a large tree had fallen across them bringing down another tree in the understorey. With difficulty I made my way around them following another person's footsteps which had made deep holes in the wet, black soil. On finally reaching the Inn, my boots were caked in a thick layer of mud. I left them by the door of the Inn with my trekking pole which was in a similarity encrusted state. I had been wearing my waterproof trousers and these were also filthy forcing me to wash them before I could put them down anywhere. On removing the dressing on my ankle to shower, I saw that it had been bleeding. The shower was in some way compromised, the knob pointing at the wrong things and I had difficulty in obtaining more then luke warm water.

E2: Macclesfield to Leek

The first sunny day of the trip. I climbed hills, followed old waterways and railways and visited a reservoir.

As I had over 20 miles to walk today, and as my progress has been slower than usual on this trip, I started early, walking through the streets of Macclesfield among early morning joggers at 7 am. 3.5 kilometres later and I was back on the Gritstone Trail. I knew I had to climb three hills before a valley section. The second summit was the highest and most impressive as it had a concrete tower on top with multiple aerials and transmitters, this was the Sutton Common BT Tower built to survive a nuclear war. In continental Europe it would have been painted red and white but this one was a dull, concrete grey. Visibility was poor in the weak sunlight, but on the plain below I could make out fields, trees, buildings, a railway viaduct and the Jodrell Bank Radio Telescope. The later was a large white disc in the distance and apparently a UNESCO World Heritage Site. With all the radio interference from the populated Cheshire plain I rather doubted it still performed world leading research. The tower beside me must have contributed to the interference. 

Looking back down the ridge.

Winter view from the ridge.

After the three hills the path dropped into a muddy valley, greatly slowing my progress. My effort was wasted as each step into the brown mush squeezed mud out sideways and left boot shaped holes behind me. Having to place my feet carefully on slippery slopes delayed me. Would a younger, more agile person have moved faster I wondered, with quicker reactions if they started to slip, more confidence in their movements or maybe with less consequences if they fell? I was pleased when the Gritstone Trail took me onto what might have been a towpath beside an old canal. The canal or feeder channel had long been abandoned and was filled with vegetation, decaying leaves, fallen trees and areas of stagnant water. Leafless branches stretched across the water, catkins hanging down. At least the path beside it was flat. Unfortunately it was also excessively muddy in places.

Leaving the waterway the Gritstone Trail took me across a road to an abandoned railway where I switched to the Staffordshire Way along the former Churnet Valley Line. My paced picked up as the ballast on the former railbed was firm and flat letting me stride ahead. At the top of Rudyard Lake the Staffordshire Way moved onto roads and good tracks on the south side of this large expanse of water. Many signs made it clear that the landowner was not too pleased with having a "right of way" across his land. I had to explain to a couple that despite the no entry sign across a private road, it was a public footpath, and they were allowed to follow it. The route went by an old stone building that looked like a lodge for an important estate. All the windows were now boarded up except a few with broken glass on the first floor. An interesting renovation project if the landowner cared to sell. Near the end of the lake was a sailing club with an open coffee shop where I enjoyed a latte and a slice of Tamworth Fruit Cake on the balcony, among the many dogs out for a Saturday walk. Rudyard Lake was actually an 18th century reservoir used to supply water for the Caldon Canal. I followed the path beside the feeder channel from the reservoir to the edge of Leek, where I turned off to find the accommodation I had booked.

Rudyard Lake.

Feeder channel followed by the Staffordshire Way below Rudyard Lake.

E2: Disley to Macclesfield

A day pushing against a strong headwind, especially over hilltops.

After numerous trails yesterday, all of today's walk was on the well established Gritstone Trail, which started from the railway station at Disley. Full of an egg and sausage bap from a "bakery" I followed good tracks between walls and hedges to Lyme Park, a National Trust property. There was an extensive area of open grassland, with "keep out" signs stating it was a deer park. On a modest rise in the distance was the "Cage", a hunting lodge where the ladies watched the men hunting. The main building on the estate was a large stately home with bits from the 16th, 17th and 18th centuries. Being National Trust it had a café. As I arrived a few minutes before it opened I had a look at the 19th century Orangery, which had a few tropical looking plants such as a banana plant, as well as a fountain totally encrusted by moss.

The Cage.

After tea and a scone I continued across the landscape, farmland of fields for sheep and hay. There were several hills to climb today. At the top of one stood "White Nancy", a folly built in 1817 to commemorate the Battle of Waterloo, looking like a large white breast with a black nipple on top. Coincidentally it appeared on the local TV news this morning as it had been the goal of a sponsored climb to raise money for a teacher with Motor Neuron Disease.

White Nancy.

The weather forecast had predicted winds of 40 to 50 miles per hour and on the hill tops it was all of that. Coming from the south west it was generally in my face, sapping my strength as I tried to progress, or sometimes hitting me sideways trying to unbalance me. However it was not cold despite being wintertime, which may explain why odd gloves kept appearing, placed over the top of any post that happened to be near in the hope that the owner might return for it. I was feeling cross that I was tiring, as this was one of my shorter days, when I came across a café at Tegg's Nose Country Park. After debating whether to stop or carry on, I chose to stop for a coffee and a cookie. In retrospect a good decision as it gave me renewed energy. After the café I walked by an old quarry. Items of the old machinery to crush and cut rocks had been preserved with informative display boards.

Typical scenery.

Lost glove.

As I knew I had a long day tomorrow I walked as far as the reservoirs by Langley on the south west side of Macclesfield before turning around and heading into the centre for the hotel I had booked. This will save a few hills in the morning. My first time in this northern town of red brick buildings and many pubs. I am currently in one of these, busy on a Friday night. A place where women as well as men seem comfortable meeting over a bottle of wine whereas some of the other bars, with sport showing constantly on large TV screens, look more men's places.

Mural in Macclesfield.

E2: Hollingworth to Disley

A day switching between long distance paths in warm but wet weather.

Returning to the E2 from the hotel, I again walked by a slow moving river of cars, headlights on in the dull morning light. Whereas last night they were returning home, this morning it was back to work. It seemed like an unending treadmill but I do not recall being too upset during my working life, with the challenges, comradeship and the sense of meaning it brought. Back on the E2 I walked through the lesser visited parts Hollingworth. Not the prettiest part of my journey, but I was soon following tracks through the countryside again. From Hollingworth I was on the Tameside Way and the Etherow-Goyt Way, both follow the same route and guide the E2 for a while. They led to the village of Broadbottom (a name schoolchildren may have sniggered at, which reminded me of a school on my route where the headmistress was Miss Tickle). As I left the village I was pleased to find a tea room at a Garden Centre, such places being home to many of the cafes in Britain. After I left refreshed, the path led me through a "Heritage Site" where there were the foundations of a gasometer, the pits of an abandoned dye works and other remains of the cotton industry which once thrived here. The whole area was once a centre of the Industrial Revolution, but textile manufacturing has now moved to China or Bangladesh and I wondered what kind of work the inhabitants did now.

I noticed that I was also following a stretch of the Trans Pennine Trail. This is part of the E8, another European Long Distance Path going from Ireland to Turkey, indeed someone had written "E8" in black letters on a footpath post. I was also periodically on two other long distance paths, the Pennine Bridleway and the GM (or Greater Manchester) Ringway. Roundels for the later had a QR code which looked very modern. However I wondered if in 20 years time it would look out of date, and we would pick up directions from RFID codes attached to the roundels which would access the Internet and display directions on our smart glasses....or via our brain implants.

Multiple Waymarks.

Shortly after the E8 marked post I left the Tameside Way in a wood, or rather I should have left it but I missed the turning and was forced to retrace my steps. A new wooden fingerpost had been installed, but not the "roundels" indicating which direction each of the many  "Ways" went. The correct route took me up a sunken path or "holloway", overhung with holly. On a higher track an elderly lady was retrieving some rubbish from the hedgerow, her husband looking on leaning on his walking stick. I stopped to thank her for her efforts, we agreed the remains of a plastic sack was better in landfill rather than on the trackside, although it would be better if it were not produced at all.

Typical view.

The path led me across a field to a patch of woodland, but my way was stopped by a plank of wood across a stile with "path closed" spray painted on it in orange. It did not look like an official closure and I wondered whether to just climb over. However it was possible that the path had been washed away or there was a landslide, so instead of investigating I took another route via a road to reach Etherow Country Park at the bottom of the valley. A lake seemed to be the centre piece of the park, populated by hungry geese and swans wanting to be feed by children and their parents. Beside the lake was a café where I bought some lunch among elderly couples looking after grandchildren during the school's half term holidays. The young staff did not seem very attuned to the needs of their older clientele, the lady ahead of me dropped her backpack as she struggled to extract her purse to pay for a cappuccino. I picked it up and indicated to the assistant holding a card machine that the lady was offering a five pound note. We then waited for our coffees while the many staff chatted to each other. The village of Compstall beside the Country Park included industrial buildings left to decay, broken windows, graffiti and the like. I was amused by a sign on an entrance gate topped by razor wire that stated "No Parking" as "24 hour access" was required. As there were large concrete blocks preventing access at anytime at all the sign was ignored.

Etherow Country Park.

Across the road from Compstall I entered Brabyns Park, an expanse of grass and trees beside a river. After earlier showers, heavy rain now began to fall (as forecast) but this did not stop a fly fisherman, up to his waist in the river trying to lure a fish. Despite the rain it was warm, snowdrops bloomed today beside paths and roads, a sign that winter was moving on. 

Snowdrops.

I was now on the Goyt Way having lost the Etherow part at Compstall. It took a tour of the park before joining the Peak Forest Canal. Her I admit to a navigation issue. I had assumed the canal would be at the bottom of the valley but it was actually at the top! I joined it part way through a flight of an incredible 16 locks, the "Marple locks". A railway line passed beneath the flight, a waterway over a railway is something I find just wrong. Part way up there was a group of people in high visibility jackets, one was poking around beneath a bridge. On asking one of the hivis guys standing around what they were doing, his more helpful female "coworker" said they were conducting an inspection. In the basin above the next lock the water had been partially drawn down. I was surprised there was not more rubbish on the canal bed, one usually expects at least a shopping trolley. At the top of the flight there were a good selection of narrow boats, a few with smoke emanating from the stove chimneys. One boat surprised me with a "hello" as I peered at its opaque windows. Leaving the canal I took a small road (marked on a noticeboard as part of the Pan-European E2) into the village of Disley and my lodging for the night. Another town of stone built buildings from an earlier age.

Marple Locks on the Peak Forest Canal.

E2: Diggle to Hollingworth

A day looking down on towns in the valley, passing reservoirs and crossing moors.

I showed great willpower refusing a cooked breakfast, despite smashed avocado and poached eggs on toast being on the menu, instead I feasted on cereals, yoghurt and toast. The Old Bell Inn made an effort with food, last night I ate gin cured gravlax with pickled cucumber, followed by curried monkfish in dahl. Only the cheesecake for dessert (not the baked kind) with its rather rubbery topping let them down, but the edible (I hope) flowers were pretty.

I returned to the Oldham Way by a slightly different route, admiring houses built of gritstone. Even the modern houses have been faced with the stone. Initially the freshly worked stone is a mellow, yellowy ochre that blackens with time, so that most of the houses that line the valley look pretty black. Historically I imagine smoke from the many coal fires used to heat people's homes might have been responsible, however it is also said that algae entering the pores of the rock blacken it. As I climbed out of the valley I examined a freshly broken surface of the stone in a dry stone wall that looked recently repaired. Quartz and feldspar were the dominant minerals in this coarse grained sandstone, with specks of some black mineral. Orange staining indicated the presence of iron oxide and gave the stone its yellow hues.

Blackened stone buildings at Dobcross.

Having exhausted my investigation of the dry stone walls I plodded on. The weather had changed. Warmer than it had been, without the biting easterly wind, there were a few light showers. Over the morning I followed tracks along the hillside among fields above urban sprawl that flowed like rivers down the valley floors. On a promontory there was an obelisk dedicated to those who died in the First and Second World Wars. An outcrop of rock on which children were climbing formed an excellent viewpoint although today the visibility was poor, the views obscured by water laden air.

Obelisk to commemorate those who died in war.

Later I admired the Dove Stone reservoir at the base of the Chew Valley. Nearby I spotted people wearing bright yellow gilets spread across a nearby slope peering at the ground. Curious as to what they were doing, I enquired of a man standing nearby. He said they were part of a RSPB (Royal Society for Protection of Birds) effort to plant wild flowers. He gave me two small packets of wild flower seeds to scatter on the path-side, which I duly did. I felt confident they would not grow. Plants have their own means of distributing themselves and only thrive when they have found their ecological niche, the set of conditions most favourable to them. The path proceeded up the Chew Valley on its left hand side then about turned, and went down the other side in a lengthy "V". It was an area that my father-in-law was fond of. Somewhere among the irregular teeth of blackened gritstone on the skyline his ashes were scattered.

Wintery scene of muted colours: black trees, reddy brown reeds, dull green grass. 

The E2 switched from the Oldham Way to the Tameside Way, and after passing a cluster of houses climbed back into the moors for several kilometres visiting two more reservoirs.

Switching trails.

Reaching Hollingworth I departed from the E2 to walk a mile or so to my hotel in Hattersley, following a busy road, its hedgerows strewn with litter. It was rush hour, nose to tail cars heading home, headlights bright under a darkening sky. It made thankful to be retired but also made it difficult to cross the roads. As I waited at a crossing with traffic lights at one junction for a lengthy period I noticed a metal figure seated on a bench opposite. Maybe he had to wait so long for the lights to change he turned to steel.

E2: Stoodley Pike to Diggle

After a day on the moors, this evening I am in a deep valley in an old industrial village.

Learning from yesterday I minimised my exposure to the cold wind by brushing my teeth while still in my sleeping bag inside the tent. After having packed my various dry bags of belongings inside my rucksack I eventually emerged from my tent to face the chilly morning. A cold easterly wind was blowing inconstantly but the wind turbines in the distance were stationary, just as they were last night when the wind was a steady breeze. (Maybe awaiting connection to the electricity grid due to delays in obtaining Planning Permission)? As I set off across the empty moors, the pink underlighting of the clouds soon passed leaving a grey, overcast sky. The line of gritstone slabs placed to provide a stable surface for the Pennine Way were frequently covered with grey ice, while the muddy sections were frozen hard, preserving bike tracks (despite a "No Cycling" sign). Reservoirs beside the path had signs which warned of cold water shock leading to death, and the water, rippled by the wind, steel grey with a little foam, certainly looked cold today.

Warland Reservoir.

Blackstone Edge was well named. Like Standedge later in the day there were multiple blocks of near black gritstone, that required walking on or around to make an irregular progress. The ground dropped away to the right and would have provided extensive views in clearer weather. What could be seen were the edges of urban areas. Patches of white ice attached themselves to the rocks.

Blackstone Edge.

The M62 motorway, the main route across the Pennines, slicing through the high moorland, could be heard well before it was visible. On reaching the A62, quiet now the motorway has taken its traffic, I left the Pennine Way joining the Oldham Way, barely 1 1/2 days walk from where the Pennine Way finished in Edale. At least one person walking the E2 went via Edale to complete the entire length of the Pennine Way, the first National Trail in Britain, now 50 years old. 

Oldham Way waymark.

The Oldham Way is a circular walk around the old industrial town of Oldham, once a major textile producer. I would follow it for only a short part of its extent. If I thought that leaving the Pennine Way would result in fewer hills I was mistaken. The first part of the Oldham Way was distinctly up and down. After passing near Diggle I turned off to reach my hotel for the night. I was disturbed to discover my route led me steeply downhill for a good distance. A hill I will have to climb back up tomorrow. The buildings I was passing were distinctive, built of blocks of blackened gritstone. I liked those buildings where the glass window panes were separated by stone uprights. Retail estates had names referring to the mills that once stood there. As a bonus I went by, and into, a café beside a river with lovely carrot cake (the nuts not crushed too small so that they added texture).

E2: Ickornshaw to Stoodley Pike

A bitterly cold start to the day, but welcome coffees at May's shop.

Overnight temperatures had dropped precipitously. I woked a little after midnight and answered a call of nature, admiring the lights of distant villages. On returning to my sleeping bag I decided to blow up the airbed I was carrying to lift me off the ground, as it was feeling distinctly cold. This ensured I stayed warm until morning, snuggled in the thick, warm folds of my soft sleeping bag. I soon cooled down as I left the tent, putting my feet in boots stiffened by the cold. Last night there were only a few scraps of ice, but this morning rivers of grey, translucent ice crossed the path. Packing and dismantling the tent was painful. My hands felt as if they were moving in ice cold water. I was wearing thin liner gloves as I could not manage the more delicate operations such as tying my laces or removing pegs in my proper gloves. All my hand movements were clumsy as they struggled to move properly in the cold.

What was a puddle last night was solid ice this morning.

Finally packed, things improved, walking warmed up my feet. My hands, now fully gloved, heated up more slowly, it took a while to stop them feeling ice cold, but my exercising them, clenching and unclenching, helped a little. The clouds, bubbling across the horizon with pink undersides distracted me. On the path through heathers and reeds, the puddles had frozen hard. The mud had solidified with the subzero temperatures, preserving in detail the tread patterns of hikers' boots and the pawprints of their dogs. As I walked I sprung grouse, who flapped into the air muttering complaints. Top Withens was one of today's sights. A ruin in a location said to have inspired Emily Brontë's book, "Wuthering Heights". It was certainly a bleak place today.

Top Withens.

I was now entering a part of the Pennine Way which has multiple reservoirs suppling the great metropolises of North England with clean water. Although I passed a couple today, my main interest was "May's Shop", an Aladdin's cave of many treasures well known to Pennine Way afficionados. I prepared myself for it being closed on a winter Monday but was overjoyed to find it open. I lunched on a pork pie, a buttered scone and two mugs of coffee sitting outside at a picnic table, slightly sheltered from the wind. The coffee was welcome as the water in my bottle had started freezing on the inside surfaces. So cold was the water that I could only managed a few sips before the chilling pain at the back of my throat forced me to stop, so the warm coffee was a means of ensuring I stayed hydrated. 

Sign for May's Shop.

After May's the next landmark was the deep Calder Valley, a highway used by road, rail and canal. The walk down the steep valley side was enjoyable, a change from bleak moors. The twisting descent on cobbled paths and steps went by houses so close you could look on their rooms.

Part of the walk down into the Calder Valley.

Unfortunately, it meant a steep climb through birch trees up the opposite side of the valley to reach Stoodley Pike on the moors above. Stoodley Pike is a prominent stone monument originally built to commemorate the defeat of Napoleon. The easterly breeze was bitingly cold, small blobs of ice were forming on the windblown grass, so on reaching a hollowed out area with a modicum of shelter where I had camped before I decided to pitch my tent despite it being only 4 pm.

The second abandoned Land Rover of my trip, Stoodley Pike in the distance.

E2: Airton to Ickornshaw

In contrast to previous days, today my journey was principally through farmland, green fields and sheep.

Felling excessively full after a cooked breakfast I ambled down to the valley bottom and the Pennine Way. I was not going to have a "Full English" today as I was still full from my dessert of the previous night, but the owner was in his chef's whites ready to prepare it and it seemed a pity to disappoint. As I carried the weight of my heavily laden stomach down the valley, burping periodically, I wondered on the breed of sheep I was now seeing. No longer Swaledales, they had broad white faces, Texels maybe or Cheviots? First stop was Gargrave where I stocked up with provisions at the Coop as I am camping tonight and tomorrow. Then I enjoyed a pot of tea at the Dalesman café, listening to the clipped Yorkshire accents of those other customers with louder voices. I continued over fields and modest hills, the weather cool but not excessively cold, the sun found occasional gaps in the clouds to pick out a distant slope or a nearby field. Black trees, naked of leaves, were silhouetted against dull green grass. There was a short section of walking on a canal towpath for variety. The canal went under a curious bridge, strange as it was built on top of an earlier, smaller bridge.

A winter scene as the Pennine Way crossed farmland.

Leeds and Liverpool Canal.

In my research I found no accommodation in Ickornshaw. Possibly I could have tried harder, looking at nearby towns and exploring options using a bus, however I decided to camp on the moors as a way of stopping myself over-eating with pub meals of chips and puddings, and cooked breakfasts. Maybe there was also a bit of "machismo", in proving to myself I could camp in wintery conditions. So I walked through the Pennine town of Ickornshaw with its stone built houses dating from the Industrial Revolution, continuing up through farmland to the high moors of heather and moss. On reaching rough ground the Pennine Way completed a tour of little huts that were spaced at regular intervals. Each had a chimney and waterbutt, all were padlocked, doors and boarded off windows, maybe they were used for grouse shooting with a stove to keep the customers warm. I did not wish to camp by these places, if someone visited them they would probably take offence to my tent on their grouse moor. Continuing on I was pleased to find a good spot, level with short grass, by the ruins of a small stone building, far more comfortable than camping on the surrounding tussocks of heather or in wet areas of grass and sphagnum moss. I set up my tent as the light was fading, pinning down the upwind side first with a tent peg before inserting poles to avoid the fresh breeze blowing the canvas away. Then I quickly escaped inside to avoid the rapidly cooling temperatures caused by wind-chill and the onset of night.

E2: Horton-in-Ribblesdale to Airton

An icy day on Pen-y-ghent followed by a climb into more snow before dropping down to Malham Cove.

Over breakfast with my sister and brother-in-law the owner of the bed & breakfast regaled us with various topics including his low view of the Pen-y-ghent cafe being closed and the lack of preparedness for some of those undertaking the Yorkshire Three Peaks Challenge among other things. The Three Peaks Challenge involved climbing Pen-y-ghent, Ingleborough and Whernside within 12 hours. At one time it appears you signed in at the Pen-y-ghent cafe when you started and when you finished, that way if you did not return due to a problem, someone would know. There is now no café in Horton-in-Ribblesdale despite the popularity of the village with walkers and runners, at least none open in February. 

After hugging my sister and reassuring her I would manage the steep climb down from Pen-y-ghent, despite the ice and snow that covered the peak, I started off for the mountain, ignoring the owner of the bed & breakfast who suggested that I bypassed it. As he correctly predicted, I was not be able to see anything through the cloud enveloping the summit. I was not alone on the mountain. Whether because it was Saturday or maybe they were in organised groups, many people were climbing the mountain, almost all heading in the opposite direction to me as they tackled the Three Peaks Challenge. The climb up I did not find difficult,  I could easily avoid icy sections of path by walking on the snow beside it. Going down from the summit, the Pennine Way drops steeply through an outcrop of rocks, requiring a little light scrambling, easy when the rocks are dry but they were treacherously wet and icy. When I reached the top of the outcrop a large and seemingly endless line of people were coming up what I assumed was the principal route. Seeing footprints in the snow suggesting others had chosen a different way down I followed that, carefully and cautiously climbing down a series of broken ledges of rock. However the final drop worried me, when testing a foothold my boot gained no grip. My rucksack impeded my movements. Seeing a competent looking hiker coming up I asked him to "brace" me. I took off my rucksack and placed it on a ledge, then he kindly stood prepared to support me if I slipped. In fact I didn't but I was glad I asked for help rather than risk a fall.

Ice, elongated by the wind, on a drystone wall on the summit of Pen-y-ghent.

People gathered on the summit.

After the Pennine Way departed from the Three Peaks route the trail became quieter, although I passed a group of girls twice as they ran first one way, then turned around and ran back, heading like me for Malham. I thought it was an all girl group but was proved wrong, the men were trailing far behind.

After descending from Pen-y-ghent and walking a short section of road below the snowline, I began the next climb, a climb I did not remember from earlier trips. The trail I was following might have been created to serve mining operations, for once I reached the plateau a sign warned against leaving the path due to open, unmarked, mine shafts. The high ground was again in snow and ice which cleared as I approached Malham Tarn. This was a big lake with National Trust buildings among trees on its north side. The trees seemed out of place, a patch of woodland among open moorland of faded grass and reeds, or fields of close cropped grass. Many people were visiting the Tarn, emanating from a nearby car park. A few were standing by the lake side looking at the water as it dissolved into the mist.

Malham Tarn.

From Malham Tarn the Pennine Way followed a dry valley down to Malham Cove. A dry valley like this was typical of limestone country. The water which once ran down the valley now travels through underground fissure and caves. At the end of the valley was a limestone pavement above a tall, curved cliff called Malham Cove, water wells up from the base of the cliff at the end of its underground journey. The "pavement" consisted of blocks of limestone called "clints" separated by fissures called "grykes". These fissures were created by rainwater slowly dissolving the limestone over many millennia. I followed the Pennine Way over the pavement, climbing onto the clints. Although this was something I had done several times before, today was different. The limestone, smoothed by both rainwater and the passage of many visiting feet, was wet and slippery. Access to the pavement involved walking through mud. My muddled boots had trouble gaining purchase on the wet rock. Recognising I was in difficulty I tried to effect a sideways exit. As the clints at the side were more eroded into curved channels this proved tricky. Before I had gone too far I slipped and fell. A passing hiker asked if I had broken anything, one of my trekking poles was the only casualty, now unnaturally bent. My pride had also taken a tumble. I should have been more gracious to the person who was enquiring if I was OK but I was cross at my own incompetence. 

Limestone pavement at the top of Malham Cove.

Maybe my mind was on the possibility of coffee and cake in Malham village. In this I was disappointed. I arrived at the café at 4:00 pm, just as it was closing. I did acquire a takeaway coffee from a machine at the village store bit it felt second best. Accommodation in Malham was either excessively expensive, full or closed for the winter, consequently I had booked a Bed & Breakfast in the village of Airton, an additional hour's walking down the Pennine Way in a valley beside a river. My hosts generously provided tea and a scone on my arrival, then drove me to the Victoria pub so I could buy dinner for myself. I am now back enjoying the warmth of my room as tomorrow I am planning to camp, having discovered no place to stay in Ickornshaw.

E2: Hawes to Horton in Ribblesdale

A fine day of walking made better by meeting my sister and her husband on the trail.

Drystone walls are a feature of the Pennines, bringing order to nature by dividing up the land. A variety of lichen covered their surfaces, usually in dull colours, so I particularly liked the more exuberant, orange types that brought colour to overcast days.

After leaving Hawes and its satellite suburbs of stone built houses it was steady climb up to higher ground, eventually rejoining the snow. From then on it was a brisk walk along good trails, an old pack horse route then a Roman Road. Puddles were frozen over and any mud was hardened by the cold so my boots stayed dry. The cold south-easterly wind froze any exposed skin, but with my gloves, buff, woolly hat and jacket hood, I made myself cosily comfortable. For a long stretch a "U" shaped glacial valley was visible to my right, then after crossing the highest point the distinctive mountain of Pen-y-ghent was visible, snow covering its rocky ridge.

Pen-y-ghent, a popular mountain, today topped with snow, visible in the distance.

Coming down into the Ribble valley, the multiple arches of the lengthy Ribblehead railway viaduct was visible, an elegant piece of engineering from an earlier age. Other sights included a pothole, where a stream disappears into a deep hole in the limestone. A caver was lowering helmeted youngsters and a few not-so-young down into the darkness. One of the men standing by in a blue hard hat offered me a harness to go down, however I excused myself as I had arranged to meet my sister and my brother-in-law.

A stream disappearing into a hole in the limestone.

The meeting was achieved a little later, they waved at me from the top of a hill on the trail. Soon we were descending in Horton-in-Ribblesdale. The village no longer has an open cafe it appears, at least not in February, so we drove out to the Ribblehead railway station for a coffee and cake at the Station Inn which had plenty of people in outdoor gear. Our evening meal was in the Golden Lion Pub, its walls lined with football regalia.

E2: Tan Hill Inn to Hawes

The best part of the day was high in the snow covered fells, with magical scenery and wind pulled ice. 

Unfortunately I felt distinctly stodgy for a lot of the day following a heavy meal last night and a lighter breakfast. My still full stomach needed a lot of effort to carry it. In the background an annoying headache played around my temples, which I felt unfair as I had not drunk excessively in the bar last night while exchanging pleasantries and views on different long distance paths with a couple on a neighbouring table.

Nevertheless my ailments did not prevent me admiring the scenery this morning. The Tan Hill Inn, England’s highest pub where I stayed last night, stands surrounded by high ground which today was covered with snow. Somebody was out before me, their clear boot prints stamped into the white snow. Rabbit trails headed this way and that. Standing water on the path had frozen over, and I was cautious to avoid slipping on its grey, translucent ice. Reeds and grasses poked their needle like leaves through the white blanket. Despite the overcast skies visibility was good. All the higher ground was white above a sharp line, a height below which extended valleys of dull green fields, marked out into large rectangles with grey, drystone walls. Each field seemed to have a drystone barn in the corner.

Pennine Way by the Tan Hill Inn.

Looking down at the valleys, note the snow on the distant fells.

I happily walked over this empty, serene landscape, eventually loosing height, and leaving the snow behind for a time to enter Swaledale. At the bottom of the valley I passed a waterfall, East Gill Force. All the waterfalls are called a "force" in this area of Yorkshire, and valleys are called "dales". After steeply climbing out of the valley bottom I diverted into the village of Keld. I thought I had stopped at a café here on a previous occasion but was mistaken, I spotted the café, closed until the end of the month, in the next village of Thwaite. However my walk into Keld did reveal a "Self Service, Winter Tearoom". Inside there was a warm fire, the equipment to make tea or coffee, and a wide selection of cakes. Despite not being hungry I could not resist a slice of Yorkshire Fruit Cake with a glass of blackcurrant squash. The latter was particularly wise as the water I was carrying had become so cold that I was unable to manage more than a sip at the time. Lacking any change for the honesty box, I made my donation through a card reader they helpfully provided. Very modern!

Self service winter tearoom at Keld.

Some of the stiles today were exceeding difficult to get through. Approaching Thwaite, there was a stile of a type where, to make absolutely sure no animal escaped, a small gate, held closed by a spring, was combined with a narrow slit halfway up the drystone wall. The narrow slit proved difficult for me to squeeze through and I do not consider myself as having a wide girth. After Thwaite the Pennine Way climbed gradually up Great Shunner Fell and back into the snow. As the path rose higher, the ice on the grasses and rocks became ever more fantastical in shape. Clear ice formed on needles of grass protruding from the snow. As more ice was deposited, the wind caused it to stretch out to form little translucent "daggers" pointing downwind. If the wind changed direction around obstacles, so the direction the extended shards of ice changed.

Horizontal icicles, shaped by the wind.

In this empty, cold, white landscape I saw a distant figure walking towards me in multicoloured clothes. One of two hikers I passed with heavy packs, evidently planning to camp. I also overtook a man out for a day trip. Finding someone progressing more slowly than me was so unexpected I exchanged a few words about the weather with him to make sure he was OK. In the last hours of the day the lowering sun made a few appearances, through gaps in the cloud, creating graceful shadows, transforming a dull, dark landscape spread across the valley ahead of me into one of warmth and beauty. Below me I could see the town of Hawes, my resting place for the night, where I arrived as the last of the daylight was extinguished.