Weekend of Hiking, Swimming, and Camping Supporting Community Projects
The children were asleep in the small tent behind us, wrapped in two sleeping bags with extra wool blankets. Earlier, their little faces were half-lit by torchlight as I read them a book about rivers, accompanied by the sound of rain on the tent canvas. They fell asleep quickly, like the thick fog pooling in the valley below.
My partner and I sat outside, huddled together under a waterproof coat, cheek to cheek, perched on our daughters’ foam swim vests because the ground was soaked. We were laughing. As parents, moments of absurdity and beauty often come hand in hand.
Just days before, it seemed impossible to find accommodation; every affordable campsite, yurt, and cottage was fully booked for the Easter holidays. Then I recalled how last year, accompanying the crew, I had stayed on the floor of the Beeches, a former Quaker residential community house in Bamford village, on the edge of Derbyshire’s upper Derwent valley. Its new stewards had ambitious plans for a community space focused on health, social justice, and ecological regeneration, collaborating with local people and grassroots groups.
I emailed them, asking,
“Can we stay on your land for one night?”Feeling inspired, I also contacted a few other local initiatives.
We were fortunate. Our hosts, Vanessa and Max, welcomed us to the Beeches, which was as beautiful as I remembered. At the end of a wildflower path, past allotments and woodland, stood two outbuildings: sheds on the outside, cosy cabins inside. Vanessa told my daughters, aged five and three,
“A family of deer lives here,”holding one hand of each child.
By the firepit, we unloaded still-hot pizzas, cold beers, and marshmallows for roasting. As darkness fell, the children lit the ends of sticks, drawing shapes in the air with the flames.
Inside our cabin, candles, fairy lights, and a wood-burning stove cast flickering shadows. The sofa beds were pushed together to create one large bed. As I told the children a story beneath the covers, I felt immersed in a story myself.
By morning, we were a tangle of limbs. Light filtered through egg-patterned curtains. A train rumbled past, its sound evoking a sense of adventure. I opened the doors to birdsong while my partner prepared instant coffee and porridge. My eldest said,
“I wish today would never end, Mama.”
We had lunch at the nearby Shoulder of Mutton, Bamford’s community-owned pub, which also houses a cafe and post office. I placed my treasured local texts, Derbyshire and The Upper Derwent: 10,000 Years in a Peak District Valley by Bill Bevan, on the table. There was much to explore – reservoir, ruins, gritstone edges – but the sun beckoned.
The River Derwent was just down the road, its banks adorned with bluebells, cow parsley, clover, and stitchwort. A mandarin duck watched from brambles as we quickly changed into our swimming costumes. Wading upstream from the stepping stones at Bamford Mill, I felt ecstatic, while the children sat in the shallows, covering themselves in river mud.
That evening, we drove up a winding road into the hills above Ladybower reservoir. Lockerbrook Farm is a hill farm now operated as a residential education centre by The Fairbridge Society, a national youth charity promoting education for social change.
“We will make an exception,”they explained in their email,
“because the camping field is empty.”They usually do not rent camping pitches to individuals not attending their courses but have a cottage on site available for rent.
The friendly warden showed us around: the field, sink, toilet, and the stunning view of the high moorlands and the deep Derwent valley. The camping field was on an incline, and while we set up camp, the children argued over which molehill belonged to whom. A group of cyclists passed above, shouting,
“You’re very brave!”I thought he meant the children until my partner pointed out the dark clouds gathering on the horizon.
“I’m hungry, Mama!”I went to light the camp stove, but it didn’t work. Drizzle turned to rain. The packet of macaroni cheese claimed it would be edible with cold water, but it was not. I ran to the warden to ask for boiled water and found a scene of pure contentment – young people cooking together in a warm cottage. One hot flask, two pots of apology-porridge, and countless kisses later, the children were asleep.
And so, my partner and I found ourselves pressed together outside the tent in the dark, in the rain.
“Next time we must bring a waterproof blanket to sit on,”he said.
“And test the stove,”I laughed.
“And then maybe we’ll be ready for a wild camp!”
We giggled quietly when a female tawny owl screeched, quickly answered by the male, echoing through the trees:
ke-wick hoo-hoo, ke-wick hoo-hoo.
The next morning, we packed up early and drove down to Fairholmes, where the Refreshment Kiosk awaited with hot drinks and pasties. From here, there is a trail featuring carved wooden creatures on the shores of Ladybower Reservoir. I told the children about the Ladybower mystery. They were already there, one foot always in the imaginary.
We smelled of mildew, wildflower, woodsmoke, river water, and sweat. Dandelion seeds were caught in my daughter’s curls. I blew the wishes free.
The Beeches has cabins sleeping four from £125 a night; camping costs £10 per person per night. Lockerbrook Farm is mainly for large groups, but the Fairbridge Society cottage sleeps six from £33 per person per night. The weekend is accessible from Bamford train station for those who enjoy hiking: the Beeches is a 15-minute walk; the pub and wild swimming spots are 20 minutes away; Fairholmes is two hours; and Lockerbrook Farm is a further 30-minute uphill hike from there.
