Something for the Weekend

With my changing circumstances I feel under a certain amount of self inflicted pressure to make the most of the opportunities available for walking near home, maybe saying my goodbyes to some special places, before I move to Norway.
Last weekend I headed on my Burbage Round, my classic bimble of along Burbage Edge, up to Fiddler's Elbow and then back down past Higger Tor and Carl Wark.

It was a good, sunny, September day, blustery with the remnants of Hurricane Katia threatening, so clouds were scudding across the sky forming moving mosaics of the fields and gritstone edges. Walking along the edges, described a little unkindly by someone as little more than a "Farm Wall", was made fun by the wind being funnelled up, and judging when the gusts would happen and when they'd recede, leaning my body weight into them, made for some entertaining moments.
Pleasantly faint jangling of climbing equipment from underneath gave some entertainment value as beginners and people on stag dos had a go climbing; the expertise, flexibility and strength of more practised instructors clearly showing as they deftly scaled up.Others were relaxing against their Alpkit Phud mats, nestled into the bottom of large boulders, while others were sticking Spiderman-like to the rough stone.

 So a good time was had, lots to see, lots of wildlife, lots of different textures underfoot from that nice, easy to walk on stone, broken into tiny pieces more like sand, to bouncing but dry peat (yes, you can bounce as you walk along). I particularly enjoy making a game out of trying to just walk on the exposed gritstone, well it's more like speed hop-scotch as you leap from one stone to another, trying not to touch dirt. It makes for interesting looks from passers by but also gives a good stretch. Until you hit the dirt patch and then decide whether you can make it out alive or not...

I digress.
One of the reasons I wanted to post this was that towards the end of my walk I decided to walk through the plantation near the old packhorse bridge. No reason in particular other than I don't often go in there.
I was pretty sickened to see the amount of trash left behind from people who had used the area as a camp site but leaving burned out fire rings, lager and caffeine drink cans laying around, food tins and bits of twine. There was a large water bottle, seeming innocuous to me when Burbage Brook was only 50 metres away, tops. I felt so disappointed. I tidied some of it up but there was broken glass everywhere. How can people do this?
Leaving that space I passed the springs and into the next bit of woodland. Here I found a few burnt stones laying together; someone had placed them there. About 5 metres away a hollow pit about 1m across, showed where the fire ring had been. I was alarmed to see smoke emit from the depression. Well, it was more a hole than a depression. The wind from Katia was hitting the side of the hole and I could see embers glowing in the ground. I spent a few seconds trying to work out the best way of tackling this; not strictly a fire, so do I call the Fire service, or attempt to try something myself? I opted for the latter and went back to the first site, found the water bottle and made the first of a few trips to try to douse the embers. On the second or third visit (it was a laborious task let me tell you!) I saw that the increasing wind had caused flames to start to lick up one side, despite my trying to quench and dampen the ground. The fire had just retained too much heat and had sunk into the earth, spreading for who knows what distance around, underground in the peat.
I decided to call the Fire department. No phone signal. Ah, but Emergency Services could be called. I tried to work out the grid ref then remembered I could just create a Point of Interest on ViewRanger and take that (yes, lazy I know). I did that and called the Emergency Services. They didn't seem to be very well equipped to take a grid ref so I explained where I was using the Fox House as a point of reference for them. They asked me to wait in the vicinity to I said I'd wait at the old packhorse bridge which is a very well known crossing point in the valley.

Time passed.

More time passed.

I heard sirens. Where the hell were they?

More time passed.

I got fed up.

I watched as other likely looking campers made their way down towards the plantation and the bridge. They were dressed as if they were going out into the city for an afternoon stroll. Rain was forecast. Oh well it's only a 20 - 30 minute walk out to the pub. Plastic carrier bags were dropped and picked up, shouts and laughter passing between one another.

They were about to pass closely by me so I called out to them to warn them that if they were camping, to avoid the area I'd been as there was a fire in the making and that I'd called the Fire service out. They were grateful. So much so that I picked up a gift from them later which in no way would I have been able to anticipate.
The Fire guys still had not arrived and this was more than half an hour after my call. I decided to head out to the road where, past Toad's Mouth I could see a National Trust Land Rover and a Fire Engine. I picked up my car, drove and then legged it over to them, peering up at the driver from the open passenger side door. I explained who I was. They explained that the operator had referred them to the Maynard Arms at Grindleford (how, I have no idea) and that they had no mention of a grid ref. I opened up the app on my phone, reeled off the coordinates and saw their eyes light up! I showed them the OS map on my phone and said that I had set markers on the ground to direct them to where the fire was. I didn't receive any criticism for wasting their time; conversely they said that I couldn't make a judgement how far underground the fire was so I did the right thing in calling them. They were polite, professional, courteous, good guys.
Feeling good that I'd done the right thing I drove off home. Karma seemed to be in agreement; for those who don't know, the gift from the campers mentioned earlier was a wayward pack of sausages that they had dropped en route to their camp spot. I took it as an offering from Burbage valley, that the Gods were pleased and that I had earned a couple of nights supper.

If you do come across a fire hazard on the moors, just call the service. It's what they're there for, what we pay our taxes for. And please, be aware of the risk of fires; even after the on / off rain that we've had, it doesn't really take much at the back end of a summer, for something to spark.
Transmission end.