The Roaches has a reputation for dramatics. Its towering, jagged cliffs and weathered edges scream adventure. Climbers test themselves here, photographers chase the light and walkers stride purposefully from point to point. It's easy to believe this rugged outdoors rewards momentum. 

Spoilers, we did almost none of that.

On this particular day, Pika (the dog) and I chose something different, but it wasn’t an easy choice, it took a different kind of effort to decelerate and delay. One which proved entirely worthwhile.

The weather could hardly have been kinder. Bright spring sunshine, a gentle breeze and just enough warmth encouraging us not to rush. I'd walked this route before, sometimes romping to the nearby Lud's Church which today felt further than it was and a diversion for another adventure. Instead, we meandered, adrift without urgency; stopping for several minutes at a time. We examined the curious rock formations, peering through natural windows in the boulders and discovering little framed views across the landscape. Eventually we stepped down to a small sheltered nook just beyond the path, a perfect pocket of sunshine overlooking the valley where we could see without being seen. We stayed far longer than intended,  snacking, listening to birdsong and the breeze. For a few minutes our little sanctuary was interrupted by music drifting up from a group far below, but, mercifully, that faded leaving the hillside to settle back into itself.

After a while I realised something. The Roaches was dramatic, but it didn’t require that from me. I'd arrived expecting it to. Instead I met it differently, and it met me differently in return.

We continued to the Roaches summit before choosing to retrace our steps rather than tackle the steeper descent (which looked like it required ropes). It wasn't the quickest route, but it led us through a small woodland whose bare trunks and bushes boughs resembled giant bonsai hiding the quaint and unexpected Don Whillans Memorial Hut. Soon Hen Cloud arrived, almost as a full stop to the long sentence The Roaches had been writing all afternoon. One final climb. One final view. Looking back across the ridge, it felt impossible to imagine one without the other.

Before heading home we rewarded ourselves at The Roaches Tea Room. A warm scone with jam and clotted cream, a pot of Earl Grey, and a biscuit or two for Pika. It felt like the only sensible way to end a walk which had reminded me that remarkable places don’t require remarkable effort.

 

Sometimes they are at their best when nothing much happens at all.