The gritstone 100 is an unofficial 100 mile trail around the peak district, UK. Being down in this part of the UK I thought, what the hell lets give this ago!
I managed about 30 miles and called it quits on the morning of the second day. But more of that later.
The trip starts quite well, its a bit chilly but I whack my hat on and pull out my gloves... to realise that I forgot the liner gloves and only have the shell mitts. Oh well its not that cold I think, I've been living in Scotland, its way warmer here I won't need gloves. Did I mention I got frostbite in my fingers a couple of years back and now there quite sensitive to the cold. Merel you were right and I'm an idiot.
Anyway I continue walking through quite a scenic valley, though rather muddy - more off that to follow. I had big mileage plans for this trip but soon found that the unofficial nature of the route, and its seeming disposition to choose the smallest trails makes navigation a tad more time consuming than I expected. But no matter! I know where I'm going, and before not too long (through some very muddy fields) I'm on a good path, the sun is shining and I feel good. So good that I miss my turning.
I realise my mistake and soon I'm back on this horrifically marshy path through a bog, but after not too long I'm getting a little tingling that's telling me to check my bearing. Then GPS. I'm way off the "path" I suspect that that path never existed and so began the first uncomfortable march over the moor. I think here is where I first wished for trousers as the heather scratched up my legs.
The wind now begins to pick up, and when I reach the ridgeline I'm aiming for the wind is really quite strong, buffeting me around a fair bit. But I move on over some rather nice terrain up a couple of hills an so on. Its getting boggier, ad boggier. Apparently I'm should turn off soon to go see the crow stones, they are apparently worth the 2km deviation or so. BUT hold that though you have a particularly large leap over a boggy patch here we go!
I land where I want to land. Or where I think I want to land. the heather on a little bank that should be at knee height is now at chest, no eye level. Mud takes a couple of seconds to slurp back into place around a sudden insertion. Quickly I bend over and basically lie on the bog to prevent further sinking. With appropriate slurping, squelching and sucking sounds I extract myself from the bog and heave my muddy body onto the heather. My trekking pole has al
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Throwing a Hail Mary posting here but I’m looking for a partner to hit some of the all time British gritstone classics.
British expat trad climber visiting from California. Geeked for cracks and gear, 6+ years of experience, annoyingly safe and hungry for some English rock. Not a crusher by any means, moderates are more my cup of tea. Get at me for more credentials.
Got shoes and stoke but nothing else and I’m mobile. Currently in the south East but can make it to the Peaks no prob.
