t f R r

Grinah Stones

Grinah Camp
Each time I walk the corner of soaking bitter moorland between Howden Edge and Grinah Stones I promise myself never to set foot there again! Maybe I’m getting old but the bogs seem deeper and harder than they used too. Yet the peaty solitude here is second to none. All afternoon as I floundered and swore amongst the black morass I was alone but for the odd gangling mountain hare or laughing grouse. The dog loves peat bogs and makes no detours simply snorkeling straight across in a black doggy paddle. Not the ideal camping companion at times.
Grinah Dawn


At the Stones we dipped back a contour from the edge to site our tent just out of a blustery breeze. Years ago we made a fleece sleeping bag for our old mut but it was always too small. However the latest little Jack Russell fits inside perfectly and is trained to get in and not move an inch until dawn. Saves all my gear from getting peaty black and wet! There seem to be many mountain hares around here and I watched one on the dusk skyline all joints and limbs like a clumsy puppet, awkward and random in its movement. Squalls drove me in but the night calmed slowly to a cold still dawn where a nearby pool filled with sky and the Derwent Valley below brimmed with fog.