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This wonderfully gnarled old tree stands alone in a quiet water meadow close to the River Dove. Its branches are like twisted limbs, painted with moss and lichen. I always stop to admire it, but on this autumn morning I was stopped in my tracks as I noticed the hundreds of gleaming silver cobwebs that it held so gently and carefully between its wizened fingers.
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Of all the wonky gates in all the world, this one is my favourite. It can be a little hard to push open, and blimey you've got to run through it quickly unless you want to lose half a leg when it crashes shut behind you, but I love that you reach it through the towering trees on this path beneath Stanage Edge, and that it leads out into the bright Autumn fields above the Hope Valley.
