There’s something instantly energising about setting out toward Kinder from the reservoir side. The climb begins without fuss, a clean rise though fields and onto an open moor which feels almost cheerful. No twists, no drama, just a steady invitation to get higher and see what’s waiting.

And what’s waiting is… more climbing, this time up to the plateau itself. As you reach the plateau edge, the wind picks up its usual commentary; brisk, nosy, fully committed to being involved. You’re now on the western edge, passing Kinder Low and trekking forward to reach your converted view of these tremendous falls. The approach to the Downfall has a quiet sense of anticipation. You know it’s there, somewhere ahead, but the edge hides its best bit until the last moment. Then, suddenly, you’re at the top lip of the waterfall with the whole drop opening beneath you.

The Downfall itself is typical Kinder: dramatic only when it feels like it. Sometimes it’s a waterfall. Sometimes it’s a sideways or upward spray. Sometimes it is completely frozen and sometimes it’s just a cliff with an attitude. But standing on the edge, looking out across the scene, you realise it doesn’t matter what the water is doing, it’s not here for your pleasure, the place is still doing exactly what it’s always done. 

There’s a clarity in that. No pomp, no performance. Just open space, stone, weather and the steady sense that you’re somewhere that doesn’t bend to meet you. Kinder Downfall doesn’t ask for reverence, but it defiantly earns it.

What follows is a long, relaxed descent back toward base, passing the reservoir where everything settles into a calm stateliness. This is modern walking at its best; simple, open, uplifting.