COMING HOME
Huw Kingston �inds it good to be back
Ilooked over the edge at High Neb , the wind pushing the clang of climbing gear up the buttress , closer to my ears . ’ Climb when ready ’ were the last words I heard before continuing along the edge . There were other familiar sounds , that of a curlew , forever sounding as if it needs assistance , a grouse I almost stood on , clucking and �lapping in its struggle to rise from the heather . To hear the ‘ Ay Up ’ acknowledgements of ramblers being pulled along by their dogs .
Views too : Win Hill and beyond to Mam Tor and Kinder and the disturbing but somehow reassuring intrusion of the Hope Valley cement works .
I ’ d walked away from my parent ’ s house , in the western suburbs of Shef�ield , early that June morning , using Porter Clough as my escape route to the Peak . With no map , I followed my nose and my memory , took tracks that I must have taken in years gone by , but some I couldn ’ t recognise .
It was good to be back in the UK , a �irst visit since that C word changed the world . That thing that had stopped , in their tracks , plans my wife and I had to be back for a year or so . Travel writers forced to stop travelling .
It was good to be back , despite dodging rail strikes and Jubilee jubilations for an anachronistic monarchy . Good to be back , despite the announcement of despicable , diversionary refugee policies , copycatting the dark stain of ‘ offshore processing ’ that has marked my own country Australia for a decade or more . Good to be back .
Once at Stanage End I dropped , off track , in the direction of Ladybower . To my right the A57 Snake Pass was busy with weekend traf�ic , running straight before slowing at the bends by Cutthroat Bridge . I recalled how one winter I ’ d been driving that section on a Friday evening , en route to the Lakes for a rare XC skiing opportunity . Brake lights ahead alerted me �irst and then I saw them all merge together . I too slid down the snowy hill to join them , a pile up of a dozen cars or more . Frustrating yes , but even more so for all the people already in Keswick waiting for me to turn up with a car full of skis that never arrived .
Up onto Derwent Edge , the moors dry enough to put a real spring in your step , stalks crunching a little underfoot . I met my parents and my wife at the inn at Strines . They took a coffee , I drank a
High Neb , Stanage Edge
Crossing the old bridge , Sligachan , Skye
12 outdoor focus / autumn 2022