Lucy Melford: Mam Tor and the Broken Road

I was in the southern Peak District in late September, pitched at the Carsington Water Club Campsite, just above Carsington Water itself, a large reservoir filling a valley, with a long wide dam topped by a cycleway and footpath, and a good road running below them. As well as holding a vast amount of water, it serves as a general leisure facility for the south-eastern Peak District.

It was a nice Caravan Club site, set in pine trees, with glimpses of the Water below. I'd go there again, but not in the autumn. Wind and rain while I was there brought down plenty of pine needles that covered car and caravan, and were very tedious to brush off. They got into all of Sophie's upper-surface crevices, and a few were annoyingly tricky to winkle out. Indeed one or two are still lodged there. But otherwise I enjoyed my week in the Peak District, even if half the time the weather wasn't great.

There was a lot to see, if you appreciated dramatic rocky ridges, deep wooded valleys, and rolling farmland. There were historic towns and villages; many industrial locations connected with lead mining, or cotton milling; and one or two Victorian spas, the chief one being Buxton, which actually had an opera house. There were fine churches: those at Ashbourne, Wirkworth and Ilam stand out in my memory, but of course I didn't get to see more than a few. There were prehistoric stone circles and preserved steam railways. The walking was of course superb, whether you followed old railway lines, tumbling rivers, or high rocky ridges. Indeed, there were strange rock formations all over. The geology must be fascinating. This was where Blue John, the prized decorative mineral, comes from.

I was last here in November 1996, twenty-eight years ago, with Mum, Dad and M---. I hadn't returned since, partly because the Peak District was not on my direct route to Northumberland or Scotland. Sticking to the fast A1/A1(M), I always by-passed it to the east. Apart from that, it seemed hedged in by the big cities of the North, and I don't care overmuch for big cities. With the personal experience of London in mind, I imagined hoards of urbanites swarming into all parts of the Peak District, most of the time, compromising its allure. So I stayed away. Once or twice in recent years I'd actually booked a few days at Carsington Water, or at Belper, only to change my plans and go somewhere else. I seemed fated to always do that.

But this year I finally managed it. As I said, a full week: but it turned out to be insufficient for more than a superficial exploration. As for the notion that the Peak District is besieged and overwhelmed by day trippers from Manchester, Huddersfield, Bradford, Leeds, Wakefield, Barnsley, Sheffield, Nottingham, Derby and Stoke-on-Trent - well, I was wrong. They may have been there, but were all swallowed up by the scenery. To be sure, I encountered many people along the prime walking spots and at the must-see tourist spots; but elsewhere I found space and solitude.

I did what I wanted to do. And I still couldn't see more than a fraction of it all. I'll have to go back. I will say, though, that I did not enjoy my initial approach through the western suburbs of Derby. Whatever Derby's city-centre charms, its outskirts were humdrum and dull. And yet, coming from the East Midlands, I could scarcely avoid Derby. Oh well. Next time, a different route, even if it adds mileage.

On this first revisit, it was important to take another look at places I'd seen with my parents and friend back in 1996. One of them was Mam Tor. This famous peak commanded a superb view to the north-west over Edale head to the flat top of Kinder Scout, to the north-east down Edale, and to the south-east to Castleton and Hope. It was an unmissable viewpoint, but it involved a stiff climb from its lower slopes to the windy summit. The climb was a simple upward slog, but it wasn't for the unfit or disabled. So Mum and Dad, then in their later seventies, were not up for it, and remained in the car below. They still had a great lower-level view.

That silver speck in the bottom of the shot above was Dad's car.

Mum and Dad professed themselves quite happy to do crosswords while M--- and I tackled the steep path upwards. We were then in our forties, and as spring-footed as gambling lambs, and we happily made the ascent. We were amply rewarded with views to die for. Many others were up there too, taking in Edale and the surrounding hills. It was clearly a top spot for hang-gliding too. Here are some pictures from 1996, to show what I mean.

The summit of Mam Tor had once been a pre-Roman hill fort - a great place to light a fire-beacon from - so there were worn-down earth ramparts with a rounded centre. Mind you, a bleak spot for the inhabitants. I bet they huddled into their cloaks, and invented all sorts of excuses to stay in their huts and out of the winter wind! Some of this ancient fort had disappeared, for on its south-east side was a sheer cliff, the entire face of the hill having slipped downwards in a massive landslide that was still moving. Geology was slowly making Mam Tor collapse into the valley below. This was the 1996 view, as near to the edge as I dared:

Well, it was now 2024, and Mum, Dad and M--- had gone from my life many years previously. I was on my own, and in my early seventies. There would be no reprise of that 1996 ascent! My right knee wouldn't be up to it, even with a stick. It wasn't so much the going up to the top: it was the coming down. But Mam Tor still drew me like a magnet, and I was determined to at least photograph what I could. Here's a selection of the lower-slope views, taken with both LXV and my phone.

What did the landslip look like now? You had to divert onto the old A road to see. This originally replaced the very steep and rather narrow road that came up from Castleton through nearby Winnats Pass. The newer road zig-zagged upwards in a series of hairpin bends, but it had much easier gradients for the important east-west traffic that used it, at first horse-drawn but latterly motorised. From 1922 it was called the A625. But as it was constructed on unstable ground that kept slipping downwards, it needed constant repair. The cost of that, and the inconvenience of the necessary road closures, eventually became too much and the route was abandoned. For a while, the A625 had two disjointed halves, with an unclassified section in the middle - the bit that hairpinned under the sheer face of Mam Tor. There's a a similar situation with the A3055 on the south of the Isle of Wight, where persistent undermining and slippage of the road from springwater lubricating the clays and shales thereabouts has led to the complete closure of a section of the A3055, and its reduction to a fenced-in footpath, so that vehicles cannot get through any longer. As at Mam Tor, an unclassified road on much firmer ground away from the slippage point substitutes for the 'proper' route.

This is the 'footpath' section of the A3055, in this 2019 shot of mine:

It's all massively inconvenient for residents and delivery drivers, of course. And no buses pass by any more. The main worry must however be whether there is any long-term future for the homes built on the unstable land between the inland 'cliff' and the sea. Homes like this:

Back to the A625 story. Eventually, the damaged and downgraded remains of the A625 became impassable for ordinary vehicles. The slipping ground buckled and broke up the much-patched surface, then turned it into a contorted wreck, useless for all but walkers who don't mind a scramble.

Well, this would be something new to see. How bad was the destruction? It was easy enough to drive past the Blue John Cavern entrance (still a tourist attarction) and park Sophie. MamTor loomed up ahead, rather threateningly I thought, as if thinking of toppling onto any inquisitive but rash human beings who dared to get too close. Not a safe spot in very wet weather, I thought. How would you ever get out of the way of another big landslip?

But the thing that really caught my eye was the shocking state of the old A625. A testament to the inexorable power of nature! An earthquake could hardly have done more to destroy the road surface. I took a couple of shots from a short distance.

Should I approach more closely? I decided not to. I wasn't dressed nor shod for rough ground, and I didn't relish the consequences of an accidental stumble. Besides, it might tempt Mam Tor too much. No, best to get away while I could.

But I'll be back.

If I didn't attempt another climb to the top, I did at least have the thrill of driving Sophie through Winnats Pass. This, as I said, was the original route past Mam Tor, but with the serious drawback that it was very steep. As steep and twisting as some passes in the Lake District? As scary as coming down from the Long Mynd in Shropshire? Well, maybe not quite so bad. The experience is short, and the road is wider and better-surfaced. There's no feeling that one could easily get out of control and fall into an abyss. But it is certainly a test of one's engine and gear-changing going up, and of one's brakes going down. The Pass needs care and attention both ways. But I had complete faith in Sophie. I intended to stop once or twice on the way down, if I could find the right places, and take pictures of the Pass.

Well, the traffic was light. I managed to stop safely, getting in nobody's way, and secured several shots in sunlight. They do at least show how scenic the Peak District can be.