Two villages were lost beneath the waters of Ladybower reservoir when it was built between 1935 and 1943. Over one weekend, a family hiked, swam, slept in a woodland cabin, and camped on a hillside in the Peak District, all while supporting community-run projects.
The children were asleep in the little tent behind us, wrapped in two sleeping bags, each with an extra helping of wool blankets. Earlier, all I could see were their little faces half-lit by torchlight as I read them a book about rivers to the sound of rain on canvas. They fell asleep as fast and thick as the fog pooling in the valley below.
My partner and I sat outside, huddled together under a waterproof coat, cheek to cheek, perched on our daughters' foam swim vests because the ground was saturated. We were laughing. As parents, absurdity and beauty make for familiar bedfellows.
Just a few days earlier, it had seemed impossible we would go anywhere; every affordable campsite, yurt and cottage was booked up for the Easter holidays. Then I remembered how last year, tagging along with the Right to Roam crew, I ended up sleeping on the floor of the Beeches, a former Quaker residential community house in the village of Bamford, on the edge of Derbyshire's upper Derwent valley. Its new stewards had amazing plans – a space for community health, social justice and ecological regeneration, all in collaboration with local people and grassroots groups.
I pinged them an email – “Can we stay on your land for one night?” – and, feeling inspired, contacted a few other initiatives, too.
We were in luck. Our hosts, Vanessa and Max, welcomed us into the Beeches, which was just as beautiful as I remembered. At the end of a wildflower path, past allotments and woodland, are two outbuildings: sheds on the outside, cosy cabins on the inside. “A family of deer lives here,” Vanessa said to my daughters, five and three, holding one hand each.
By the firepit, we unloaded still-hot pizzas, still-cold beers and marshmallows for roasting. As the dark set in, the children set the ends of sticks on fire, drawing shapes in the air.
In our cabin, candles, fairy lights and a wood-burning stove cast flickering shadows. The sofa beds were pushed together to make one giant bed. As I told the kids a story beneath the covers, I felt I was in a story myself.
By morning, we were a tangle of limbs. Light filtered through egg-patterned curtains. A train rumbled past and the sound summoned adventure. I opened the doors to birdsong while my partner prepared instant coffee and porridge. “I wish today would never end, Mama,” said my eldest.
We ate lunch at the nearby Anglers Rest, Bamford's community-owned pub, with a cafe and post office in the same building. I dropped my sacred local texts, Wild Swimming Walks Peak District and The Upper Derwent: 10,000 Years in a Peak District Valley by Bill Bevan, on to the table. There was so much to explore – reservoir, ruin, gritstone edge – but the sun was calling.
The River Derwent was just down the road, its banks dotted with bluebells, cow parsley, clover and stitchwort. A mandarin duck watched from a patch of brambles as we quickly changed into our swimming costumes. Wading in upstream from the stepping stones at Bamford Mill, I was instantly ecstatic, while the children sat in the shallows, covering themselves in river mud.
That evening, we followed a winding road up into the hills above Ladybower reservoir. Lockerbrook Farm Outdoor Centre is a hill farm now run as a residential education centre by Woodcraft Folk, a national youth charity promoting education for social change. “We will make an exception,” they explained in their email, “because the camping field is empty.” They don't usually rent camping pitches to individuals who are not on their courses, but have a cottage on the site available for rentals.
The friendly warden showed us around: field, sink, toilet, the most stupendous view of the high moorlands and deep cut of Derwent valley. The field was on an incline and, while we set up camp, the children bickered over which molehill was theirs. A group of cyclists passed above: “You're very brave!” shouted one, and I thought he meant the children until my partner pointed out the dark clouds bruising the horizon.
“I'm hungry, Mama!” I went to light the camp stove. It didn't work. Drizzle turned to rain. The packet of macaroni cheese said it would be edible with cold water. It wasn't. I ran to beg the warden for boiled water and found a scene of pure bliss – young people cooking together in a warm cottage. One hot flask, two pots of apology-porridge and countless-kisses later, the children were asleep.
And so, this is how my partner and I found ourselves pressed together outside the tent in the dark, in the rain. “Next time we must bring a waterproof blanket to sit on,” he said.
“And an umbrella,” I said.
“And test the stove,” he laughed. “And then maybe we'll be ready for a wild camp!”
We were giggling, shushing one another, when a female tawny owl screeched, quickly answered by the male, echoing from what seemed to be all the trees: ke-wick hoo-hoo, ke-wick hoo-hoo.
The next morning, we packed up early and drove down to Fairholmes car park, where the Refreshment Kiosk was waiting with hot drinks and pasties. From here, there's a family-friendly trail featuring carved wooden creatures on the shores of Ladybower reservoir. I told the children about the lost villages beneath its waters. They were already there, one foot always in the imaginary.
We smelt of mildew, wildflower, woodsmoke, river water and sweat. Dandelion seeds were caught in my daughter's curls. I blew the wishes free.
The Beeches has cabins sleeping four from £125 a night; camping £10pp per night. Lockerbrook Farm is predominantly for large groups, but the Warden's Cottage sleeps six from £33pp per night. The weekend is accessible from Bamford train station for those who love hiking: the Beeches is a 15-minute walk; pub and wild swimming 20 minutes; Fairholmes is two hours; and Lockerbrook Farm a further 30-minute uphill hike from there.
