Details had come to our attention about a happening in Bolehill (a large area of old quarries home to ravens and kestrels and a sea of stunning silver birch and a lot of climbers). Alcohol and fire were mentioned.
Not that bothered about the alcohol.
Everything in moderation.
Except wildfire.
After a 2.5 hr update meeting about all things patrol rangering we hastily scoffed yet another chippy tea and went out out to be patrol rangers.
These long daylight days enable us to see what folks are carrying from car to countryside and so it was that we settled in for a look see for people heading to a party.
And there they were …
The first three likely partygoers …. polite questions …. Are you camping ? ….no the mat is for me to relax on …. Are you cooking anything ? …. No I’ve brought a box of cereal and a lot of milk, cereal is the healthiest snack there is …. and we’re getting the last bus home …
Not a 24 can box of Stella anywhere.
…. Later on the party host (whose birthday it was) walked back out of the quarries and explained to we rangers the modus operandi of the party … he was wearing a shirt and tie … they were going to project a screen on to the main quarry wall and all sit down and watch ‘Stand By Me’.
We stood the riot police and the dozen Belgian Malinois down …
A taxi driver approaches me asking for water. They sell it at the Fox House I reply. Is there any running naturally around here he asks. Afraid not. I then see his passenger (possibly related ?) dressed in traditional thawb …. And instead of thinking ‘fools … why are they going walking without water’, I realised the elder of the two wanted to pray in the countryside and gladly gave him some water for which he was very grateful and washed his hands before heading towards the setting sun.
Then the gang of ten lads. All suns out guns out and big gold chains. Loud. No idea where they are or where the best walk is. Banter. Whose got the fastest car or the biggest muscles. I direct them up to Millstone and as they’re leaving I stop them and give them a stern warning about not messing about edge side of the boundary fence. An hour later they come back having stood with their toes on the edge mesmerised by the drop below them. How do people climb there they ask ? Thanks for telling us about the drop they all say. Man that was scary shit a few of them comment. We talk about mountain rescue and indoor climbing and getting started. All the rangers get a toot and a wave as they leave in their convoy of one litre dream machines.
Big dogs. Little dogs. Young couples dating in cars with no interest in anything other than each other. Fast cars. Crap cars. People from all walks of life. Welcome them as they get out their cars, remind them that the fire risk is high and ask that they refrain from smoking or having barbecues or fires on the moor. Then they ask for the best way to see the sunset. Most of them haven’t been here before. Suggested routes. Circular walks. Westward they go …
A drive round to put a pair of binoculars over the sunsetters at Higger Tor. No sign of smoke or fire. Only of fun and forty odd people all facing the orange ball setting over the west end of the Hope Valley
Round to Burbage. A big bloke sat on a bench. Now then. Now then. Setting off or just finished ? Just walked round there he said – pointing to the Burbage skyline route. What’s the bird making the tapping noise he asks ? Stonechat I said and describe the noise. That’s the one, he say, liking that it’s called after the noise it makes. Where’d you see it i ask ? He points down towards the woods and I reply ‘near Scotland’ and then have to explain that the woods down there were originally planted in the shape of the England, Scotland and Wales.
I then mention the outlier of trees and point out Higger Tor. He says he loves that name … Higger … and for the next 10 minutes I talk him round the edges, woods, features and folklore of the valley. I name a lot of the species he might see and where best to sit and listen at dusk.
He wraps his head around the word ‘ouzel’. Repeats it to himself. Says he’s lived in Sheffield all his life and never knew any of this. Another bloke wanders up from the valley bottom and he loudly says ‘ere mate this bloke knows everything come and listen to this’. I recommend (for the nth time) Chris Goddard’s book. We leave to go back to the other car park and he’s sat there transfixed, gazing across the valley.
Job done.
You don’t have to pay it’s after 6 o’ clock I say at least 50 times. This ‘in’ opens conversations, as does asking if Fido can have a biscuit. He can but he’s old. He can but he’s my son’s assistance dog. He can but watch your fingers. He’s a she and she’d love one. More route advice. More giving people thirty seconds of advice in words they can understand to enable them to translate what they’ve seen on TikTok or Instagram or their mates Facebook photos and make their way to sit up on Millstone or Mother Cap or Surprise View or Over Owler Tor and gaze west.
A German-but-we-live-in-California couple come back down full of thanks for the route advice and asking about the landscape of Longshaw and beyond and where they might visit the next day.
Eight men in the bottom of the car park stand around smoking vape and speaking a language I’m not certain about. I wander over to say hello. Now then young man says one. And we belly laugh out loud as we decide who actually is the youngest (me by 5 months). His handshake almost crushes my hand and his friendly pat on my back nearly forces my ribs out the front. White British men don’t gather in groups like this and go wandering together and stop for a smoke and belly laugh at each others stories. They ought to. More.
Maybe fifty or sixty or seventy people chatted to. All of them at least saved the cost of car parking. Loads of them had questions – especially the young ones. You need to know when to be straight and serious and when to banter. The bloke up at Burbage looked like he needed Burbage. I sensed a burden. The young lads with the toes at the lip of Millstone just needed someone to show them. A signpost. A hand. They will be at college today or their place of work telling their mates about the f’ing mad drop and the views and planning the next trip.
As I gaze across the moors and the valleys hereabouts I see the drawbridge of engagement being pulled up everywhere. Many of the landowners and land managers retreating (due to budgetary cuts and ergo staff reductions) away from education and engagement – particularly from the difficult engagement.
Others, some of which absolutely do have money in their organisations, spout cultist sentences to the national media about more car parks being the only way to solve the crises in the countryside. Telling us how there are too many cars so they propose accommodating more cars. Like a GP prescribing another 40 a day to a 60 a day smoker dying of lung cancer. Whilst simultaneously hauling up the aforementioned drawbridge of engagement. What remains ???
I don’t know how we lower the drawbridge again. There isn’t any money. Apparently. But without it, and without someone stood on the drawbridge to welcome people to the countryside and offer them a little bit of advice and a smile and to normalise the great unknown for them, the moat will only widen further. And further.
Postscript
As i turn off my radio and walk to my car to head home i notice that the windows are down and doors unlocked on birthday boys vintage Toyota Starlet. Cards and chocolates on the drivers seat. Laptop on the passenger seat. I wind his windows up, pop the expensive items under his passenger seat and (being a pre-central locking model) i lock his car doors for him.
Somewhere over there in Bole Hill he’s getting proper mad for it on his second bowl of Crunchy Nut Cornflakes …
“To do good, you actually have to do something.” – Yvon Chouinard
