Article28th April, 2026 / outdoors
A week on the moors
I’ve just spent a week in a beautiful converted barn on the edge of Saddleworth. Nothing restores my positivity quite like being alone on the wild Pennine moors.
I was thrilled to find this place. It’s just inside the north-west border of the Peak District National Park, and it’s the last habitable building for miles, with no close human neighbours, a vast array of birdlife, and some funny sheep at the bottom of the garden. It also came with an old piano, views on all sides, brutal winds, and perfect sunsets.
I prefer not to reveal too much about my projects while I’m doing the work, but anyone who knows me well understands why a week on a remote Pennine moorside would fill me with joy. I will say that these landscapes are relevant to the project in many ways, and I was eager to find a place to work while immersed in them.
I keep daily progress notes about my projects, wherever I am, but I had no intention of diarising everything else. Still, I found myself tapping out notes in the evenings. There’s nothing particularly insightful or beautifully written here, just the musings of a man on a moor, saved for posterity.
Day one, Sunday 19th April
On arrival, having reversed up a narrow track to the barn, I was met by an inquisitive gang of woolly Ryelands at the gate. And I was thrilled to immediately hear the bubbling calls of Curlew and see them flying over the nearby moor. Then a Pheasant ran past. Above, a Kestrel surveyed the land before getting mobbed. And then I heard the Lapwings.
The sounds were so comforting, like listening to that old BBC record A Year’s Journey, which has some great moorland bird sections.
I’d carefully planned and tested my temporary studio set-up at home and packed it all carefully, so it only took 30 minutes to get everything organised next to the old piano. Before I even put my food shopping away, I was testing piano recordings with my RØDE mics rigged ORTF. It’s not a great piano and some pitches are totally off, so I decided to use it for sketching and some experimental sound ideas and lean into its powerful and very loooooong resonance.
While testing things by the big arch window, I watched a Robin dart down to pick bugs from the grass, and a pair of Long-Tailed Tits flit around another small tree. A male Blackbird dug about in the background.
An hour before sunset, I strolled behind the barn: a minute’s walk up a grassy, uneven track. It feels like something from 200 years ago, so I’m calling it the timeless track. It was cold, but also golden hour. The land is coloured with rusty ochre and glowing greens, and it’s a riot of wildlife. I settled by a drystone wall to watch the Lapwings and do my best to record their “peewits” bubbling like electronic pulses, and rapid wing rhythms during wheeling flypasts. I love that the Latin name, Vanellus vanellus, means “little fan”, a reference to that dramatic wingbeat.
I saw many more Pheasants, a wild rabbit, and heard the telltale call of a Red-Legged Partridge. Moorland birds are an important part of this project, and it was a treat to see and hear them up close.
Then I misstepped and fell into some nettles, throwing my hands out to avoid a faceplant. There’s nothing like those stings to take you straight back to being a kid.
After dark, I stood at the gate listening to the Lapwings calling and the occasional Curlew space echo. I was happy to hear distant Snipe drumming as they dive, something I’ve written about before. All three birds add to that sense of twilight moorland eerie.
Later, I made dinner, then tried again with the piano, doing my best to soft-pedal it and use a much lighter touch. There’s no TV here, so I wound down by watching Match of the Day on my laptop before heading to the top of the barn to snooze in a big soft bed.
Day two, Monday 20th April
I awoke at 4am with a brutal migraine, and it never left me all day. At least it was quiet. I did see two Red-Legged Partridges picking at the ground out of the kitchen window. Mostly, I slept under a blanket.
Day three, Tuesday 21st April
It was brutally windy all day. I felt scooped after yesterday’s all-day migraine, but managed a more positive, productive day. I spent most of it working out new piano accompaniments.
I watched a gorgeous little Wren on the wall, which encouraged me to go for a walk before dinner. I put my boots on and headed along timeless, then up the hill towards the Slades Rocks gritstone ridge. I found a flat rock on Rocher Brow and sat there for an hour under clear skies, watching the sun set. From there, I had an amazing view of Manchester, with the faint outline of the North Wales mountains beyond.
I heard Curlews and saw lots of Lapwings and Pheasants busying around. I spotted a Wheatear and several Meadow Pipits, and possibly a Ring Ouzel on the rocks above (my binoculars weren’t powerful enough to confirm).
I’d have stayed on that rock until sundown, but the wind made it far too cold to sit any longer.
Day four, Wednesday 22nd April
Another beautiful and sunny but way too windy day. I have views on all sides and they’re irresistible. With my back to the house and looking down into the valley, I have some shelter from the wind, so I sat for a while, enjoying my coffee and watching birds. All the usuals, plus Willow Warbler, Greenfinches, and a close-up Redpoll (a first for me).
I spent the core of the day working on chord progressions for a song that already has a tied-up climax. After some frustration, things clicked mid-afternoon and I ended up with a solid arrangement.
At 6pm, under clear blue skies but with the wind still howling, I set off for an evening hike. Up timeless, on up the hill, past the rock where I sat yesterday, and on to the ridge line. A right turn over Slades Rocks, on to Sugar Loaf, over Kinder Stones (I wondered if they’re so named because of the similarity to Kinder Scout’s edges), and on to the huge war memorial at Pots and Pans stones. The wind carried traffic noise from the Holmfirth Road long before I saw it down below, where the moor edge narrowed. Beyond, I could see the dramatic dark slopes surrounding Dove Stone Reservoir. I didn’t see a soul until I reached the obelisk: three lads with bouldering kit headed for a sundown scramble.
I watched a pair of Wheatears and several Meadow Pipits. I heard a Red Grouse and soon spotted it, illuminated by the sun, on a flat rock. I saw a lone House Martin on the moortop, zooming back and forth, perhaps just arrived and yet to choose a village.
I really enjoyed the walk back down the path over Primrose Hill to timeless. I absolutely loved being able to switch off my machines and head out for a hike at 6pm (and that I could see the barn down below for perhaps 80% of the time).
Later, once dinner had settled, I went out into the freezing cold to see if I could spot the Lyrid meteor shower. I’d read that it would be its peak, and being alone on the moor felt like a good chance. Alas, all I got was a stream of big jets in and out of Manchester Airport, a few satellites, and a growing desperation to go back inside. I rewatched Train Dreams, then worked on a few ideas. Another good day.
Day five, Thursday 23rd April
To start the day, I sat out front, contrasting the beautiful song of a Chaffinch and a distant Skylark with the guttural garblings of a Mistle Thrush. I also heard a Fieldfare, but it shouldn’t be here right now. I stayed out there for at least two hours.
I did some more work on yesterday’s track, adding carefully-created textures, double-tracking and other fiddly things. Time flew by.
I set out at 5:30pm for an evening hike. It was still really windy, but not quite as bad as yesterday, and the skies were clear blue again. I’d become addicted to these sunset walks.
I was soon up at the war memorial, and had intended to retrace yesterday’s route in reverse, but paused at some rocks just beyond and noticed an undulating path across a few low hills towards Dove Stone Reservoir. Hoping for a view across the water to the high moors, I headed that way instead. The path skirted Board Hill and looked down into Brockley Moor. Eventually, I arrived at Alderman’s Hill, with fine views across the reservoir and the granite edges high above. To the east were the brooding bogs of Black Hill, with moody Saddleworth Moor to the north-east, and the Holmfirth Road winding between the two.
Walking back to the memorial, I was accompanied by Skylarks ascending and parachuting, singing relentlessly. The moors are known for their strange waders, but lots of delicate little songbirds survive up there too.
I retraced my route all the way back to the barn, hunger biting. A simple, enjoyable 5.5km with 430m of elevation. Not bad for a short walk between work and dinner.
Day six, Friday 24th April
Finally, no wind! The air was totally still and uninterrupted sun was forecast. It was so peaceful—just me, fifty different birds, and several overheated Ryelands. The weather would allow me to work through a bunch of field-recording tasks and capture my spoken-word passages on the moor.
I left the barn just after 10 and returned to my flat rock on Rocher Brow to get set up. I worked through my list and scripts, making sure I had plenty of options for every part. I quite enjoyed wandering around the rock with a sheet of prompts in one hand, delivering lines into the air like an actor on location.
That said, it was hard, because it’s noisy up there. On an average ramble you don’t really notice it, but as soon as you hit record the true cacophony becomes frustratingly apparent. There were dozens of passenger planes heading in and out of Manchester, and a couple of helicopters. There were trains and speeding cars down in the valley, and I’d have to wait until the reverberation dissipated. There was also a school down there with shouty kids, and someone at a farm occasionally banging sheet metal. And a 4x4 roaming the lambing fields. Even the birds caused me issues: I adore the Lapwings, Curlew, and Pipits, but not every take needs their chatter. Anyway, my project acknowledges the human impact on these places, so some traces of planes, trains and automobiles will prove useful.
I saw three Golden Plover land in a field nearby. Two small Falcons drifted over, but I was in the middle of recording and couldn’t identify clearly. There were new lambs all around.
I looked up between recordings and saw Manchester on fire. Later, I did a quick search: it turned out to be a warehouse in Trafford Park, the enormous cloud of smoke earning its own live feed and some “Unbelievable drone footage!”.
The wind picked up a little just as I got back around 2pm. I was soon sat out front and stayed there for many hours, listening to recordings, working on song bits, updating dozens of notes, and listening to the birds. The Fieldfare is still here, which isn’t right, and the Mistle Thrush still sounds like a woodpecker running low on batteries.
At peak sunset, the chap who cares for the Ryelands arrived to serve up their evening kibble. “Doesn’t get any better than this,” was his opening greeting—and he was right.
The wind had dropped and it was unbelievably peaceful, as if everyone in the valley had fallen sound asleep. No voices, no hum from the Oldham road, and barely a plane above—just birds singing and insects whizzing. I read for an hour or so and stayed out until sundown. With my food supply running low, I made beans on toast. Lovely.
Day seven, Saturday 25th April
My last full day. I was awake on and off from 4am. There are lots of “picture view” windows and a couple of skylights, and no blinds, so my circadian rhythm is in full primal mode. At 4:30am, I got out of bed and went out front to start recording the dawn chorus, something I often do on field trips. The Blackbird, Robin and Wren were already warming everyone up. I went back down sometime after 6:30am to stop the recording.
Over breakfast, I listened to the performance with the Merlin app running. The Robin and Wren dominate the entire show, but it was fun watching the others appear on the list. In order of prominence: Chaffinch, Willow Warbler, Song Thrush, Wood Pigeon, Blackcap, Goldfinch, Great Tit, Blue Tit, Greenfinch, Coal Tit, Dunnock, Collared Dove, Cuckoo, Nuthatch, Bullfinch, Red-legged Partridge—plus plenty of loud cries from Pheasants, all the crows, Canada Geese frequently flying over, and the occasional Lapwing and Curlew (not typical dawn chorus birds for most people). Oh, and a Cockerel. I just love knowing that they’re all out there, around me. The world is amazing.
While listening, I watched a pair of Wheatears on the stone wall. Not a typical garden bird, but this isn’t a typical garden.
I went for a final walk at midday. Headed up timeless and then around derelict Slades Barn. Unable to find a clear path up the clough, I had to trespass through several farmers’ gates until I found myself in sight of Broadstone Hill trigpoint.
I stopped for an hour on a rock some way off the path. Silence. Barely any planes overhead, the Holmfirth road was mostly inaudible and I was shielded from the valley. I saw a few birds up there: lots of Larks, and a pair of Buzzards patrolling.
I enjoyed the descent down Broadstone Moss to the long-abandoned Running Hill Pits. I wandered around some curious structures and stepped into the empty shell of a small building, with a solid ashlar-stone entrance. It had a datestone marked “JL 1836”. I read later that locals think it was a quarry shelter, and that the high-quality masonry was used as an example to teach apprentices.
I paused for some time, staring at the widescreen sweep of open moorland, then set off down Running Hill Lane. I realised I’d only seen four people all day.
My walk took me past the Cross Keys pub, and it called me to sit and have a pint in its beer garden. I then made the steep walk up Pobgreen Lane to the barn.
I sat out the front for a few hours, reading, writing and enjoying every minute of the sunset. After dinner, I dismantled my little studio and packed most of my stuff, ready to leave (begrudgingly) early next morning.
My trip took place from 19th to 26th April.
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