The peace of early Sunday morning can be interrupted in ways that never happened 20 years ago. An obsessive motor biker, a lover of the most raucous noise his machine can make, is in the habit of roaring up the Hathersage Road at around 7.30 am on this day each week. Occasionally others join him. Tranquility must be so bothersome to them it really must hurt.
But ten minutes of tranquility this morning was shattered by another noise. The strident bellow coming up from the depths of Blacka's most inaccessible parts reminded us that the annual rut cannot be far off. And in another part the stag seen last week was making his way across the thick mass of low shrubbery; he was identifiable by the forked left antler.
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