It seemed impossible to imagine rock climbing in February on an open crag like Laddow, but here we were, warm gritstone under the hands and the sun on both our backs.
It wouldn’t last. Two ravens sat above us, their wings closed like penknife blades, as the strong breeze caught Laddows crest. It must have been cold, I thought. And so it was when we reached the top and left the shelter of the crags. Worse, the sun climbed westward and the rocks were pushed into shadow, ending our unseasonal adventure. What can we do instead?
Although I thought it was obvious to take a walk up Black Hill, I was reluctant. My last visit was many years ago. It was a hard struggle through treacly glue, with little in nature to compensate.
It has a mixed reputation. John Hillaby described it like a huge chocolate cake. Alfred Wainwright saw it as a monstrous chocolate cake. He had a particular animus towards Black Hill. A desolate, hopeless quagmire. Wainwright blamed this on nature, but the true culprit is 19th-century air polluting that has poisoned the vegetation.
It was clear that Black Hill had experienced something very special despite all this. Red Ratcher is a wonderful spot, where the moors become one another like rumpled silk. Here I paused and looked towards Dun Hill, the slope that leads to Black Hill.
This area is not covered in heather, but instead has a steady flow of cotton grass, which spreads like the steppe all around. It’s a dome of space that allows us to explore.
The real surprise was at the summit, reached via a strong sequence of gritstone slabs. We were dry-shod there! A landscape that has been transformed for the better. Nearly two decades of restoration work by the estimable Moors for the FutureA hilltop that was once dead has become a green oasis. Most importantly, the flush of sphagnummoss was close to the trig point. This is a sure sign of the tide turning. The black hill is not black anymore.
