Hargatewall, Derbyshire: Cycling towards a frosty Kinder Scout, I was waylaid by a raptor so settled she wouldn’t even move for a passing tractor

North of Hargatewall, the country has an austere quality, a high limestone plateau with a tracery of walls the colour of old bones dividing oblongs of pasture. The hamlet’s name has nothing to do with gates or walls. It’s derived from Old English words meaning “herd farm by the spring”, a clue to the deep roots that farming here can draw on. Wildlife was limited to the ubiquitous crows and rooks silhouetted against the milky blue sky or else resting on those white walls.

Cycling north, my attention was fixed on the horizon, where, in contrast to the green fields around me, the broad bulk of Kinder Scout was heavily frosted. Then, off to one side, a broad-winged raptor muscled into the air. Days earlier, I’d spent a few minutes watching a red kite near here, so that was my first thought. These richly coloured birds only began breeding again in Derbyshire seven years ago, and I can count my sightings of them in the Peak District on the fingers of one hand. Yet when I turned, I saw at once that it was a buzzard, less nimble in the air and prosaically brown.

Hargatewall, Derbyshire: Cycling towards a frosty Kinder Scout, I was waylaid by a raptor so settled she wouldn’t even move for a passing tractor

North of Hargatewall, the country has an austere quality, a high limestone plateau with a tracery of walls the colour of old bones dividing oblongs of pasture. The hamlet’s name has nothing to do with gates or walls. It’s derived from Old English words meaning “herd farm by the spring”, a clue to the deep roots that farming here can draw on. Wildlife was limited to the ubiquitous crows and rooks silhouetted against the milky blue sky or else resting on those white walls.

Cycling north, my attention was fixed on the horizon, where, in contrast to the green fields around me, the broad bulk of Kinder Scout was heavily frosted. Then, off to one side, a broad-winged raptor muscled into the air. Days earlier, I’d spent a few minutes watching a red kite near here, so that was my first thought. These richly coloured birds only began breeding again in Derbyshire seven years ago, and I can count my sightings of them in the Peak District on the fingers of one hand. Yet when I turned, I saw at once that it was a buzzard, less nimble in the air and prosaically brown.

Hargatewall, Derbyshire: Cycling towards a frosty Kinder Scout, I was waylaid by a raptor so settled she wouldn’t even move for a passing tractor

North of Hargatewall, the country has an austere quality, a high limestone plateau with a tracery of walls the colour of old bones dividing oblongs of pasture. The hamlet’s name has nothing to do with gates or walls. It’s derived from Old English words meaning “herd farm by the spring”, a clue to the deep roots that farming here can draw on. Wildlife was limited to the ubiquitous crows and rooks silhouetted against the milky blue sky or else resting on those white walls.

Cycling north, my attention was fixed on the horizon, where, in contrast to the green fields around me, the broad bulk of Kinder Scout was heavily frosted. Then, off to one side, a broad-winged raptor muscled into the air. Days earlier, I’d spent a few minutes watching a red kite near here, so that was my first thought. These richly coloured birds only began breeding again in Derbyshire seven years ago, and I can count my sightings of them in the Peak District on the fingers of one hand. Yet when I turned, I saw at once that it was a buzzard, less nimble in the air and prosaically brown.