Atop the Shivering Mountain
‘‘Before the stone
before the land
the running hare
the pointing hand
the rattled wheel
the bright idea something
else would lead us here’’
~ CJ Allen, Cubar Head
Well, what a year, right? It’s been unbelievable and not in a good way, and we aren’t even at the end of it yet. So much has happened, Covid, politics and everything in between.
I’m not even going to get into it.
There’s plenty of stuff out there about everything that’s wrong with the world if you want to read it but I don’t really want to talk about it. I’m not ignoring it, I know it’s there but I’m tired and I’d rather lose myself in an ancient forest, or on a hilltop in the mist. In fact, I think that’s the perfect medicine for this time.
A few weeks ago I visited the Peak District which is, for those of you outside of the UK, the oldest National park in the UK, an upland area at the southern end of the Pennines. It’s about an hour's drive from my home (the benefit of living in the middle of England, a lot of places are within a couple of hours travel) and autumn is the best time to go, or at least I think it is. It is a popular place in the summer, especially this summer just gone because of the many travel restrictions in place. I guess that’s one of the silver linings to come out of the lock-downs, that people are rediscovering those wild places that are closer to them, noticing the beauty that is on their doorstep. Discovering the healing benefits of being outside in nature. Anyway, in the summer, such places are teeming with people. Give me a cool autumn day where the mists hang low and the tors stand as silent sentinels, the landscape brooding and dark like a Brontë novel.
There are many standing stones in the Peak district, the 9 Ladies perhaps one of the most well known, dating from the bronze age. There’s also the lesser known Dol Tor stone circle and the Cork stone too. More even. It’s weird seeing these up close in person, good weird, not 2020 weird. Walking where so many have before, I wonder what the ancients felt here, what they did here. Did they lay their hands on the stones as I do, walk around them three by three? Who knows and it’s fun to guess, but the draw of the area for me are the tors.
‘‘Over the moor and through the trees
through the grasses and through the bog
under the stars, under the leaves
then weaving and winding through fog’’
~Alyson Hallet, Shillito Wood
I climbed Mam Tor on our autumnal hike. It is a beautiful area in the High Peak of Derbyshire. A road used to run through the hills here. You can see what remains of it as you begin to climb, have to navigate the crumbles and broken remains, testament to the fact that man is not yet able to claim dominion over the land. The road was finally abandoned in 1979 when a landslide caused irreparable damage to it. In fact this area of the Peak District is prone to landslides and gives the Hill it’s name, Mam Tor or Mother hill as the landslides cause lots of little hills. It’s also called the Shivering Mountain. I like this name. I could be a little old witch who lives in a cosy hut on the Shivering Mountain, #life goals.
The Blue John cave can also be found here. It’s the only place the stone named Blue John is mined and on a previous visit when my kids were young we descended the dark depths. I’d recommend it to anyone. There’s something about being deep within the earth, something words cannot just describe, an eerie feeling perhaps akin to being in the belly of a whale.
On this latest visit though, we arrived early in the morning, having left home even earlier. We began our ascent, seeing only a couple of hardcore runners bounding up and down, sure footed like the sheep perched on impossible slopes. As we climbed higher, the world below seemed to melt away and was soon hidden by mist. At the top of the tor are the remains of a bronze age fort and a bowl barrow. You couldn’t see more than a few feet in front.
I stopped, let the others carry on. This was a special moment, one that cannot be shared with others, even the closest of people. On top of the world, in the swirling mists, with the caw of the crows and the ghosts of this place. Regular readers will know woods are my thing, but spirit is everywhere and here it felt so real. Tangible. My face was numb from the cold but it didn’t matter. With the fog it felt as though the sense of sight and hearing were muffled, untrustworthy. It is when we dispense with the ordinary that we become something else, something more; that the world feels deeper, more real.
There is definitely something about being on a hilltop in autumn, surrounded by mist and the lonely call of the crows. If magic is a feeling, it is this feeling. But then I say the same about the woods, the ocean, the riverside and more. Magic is nature and nature is magic, I guess it really is as simple as that.
I stood for a few minutes, though it felt longer before finally leaving and catching up with the others. I could have stayed there for hours.
The descent was fun, full of bubbling brooks, heard but not seen and more than one fall (I was soaking and muddy by the time we reached the bottom, but that’s the fun of it, isn’t it).
The world is a beautiful place, once we give our eyes a rub and look past the shit show. I’m not saying that stuff isn’t important, but we forget the importance of everything else, of our connection to land and it is this that will give us the strength to see us through and do what we need to do. So turn off the box for a while and put down your phone and just get out. You’ll feel better for it, I guarantee it!
‘‘This place is neither here nor there,
but set your hand on its gritty heart,
feel the earth’s cold pulse.
For every path will lead you
to somewhere you have yet to name.
So choose,
the road out, or the long road home.’’
~James Caruth
EMMA KATHRYN
Emma Kathryn, practises traditional British witchcraft, Vodou and Obeah, a mixture representing her heritage. She lives in the sticks with her family where she reads tarot, practises witchcraft and drink copious amounts of coffee.
