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Paths Older Than Maps

Long before Ordnance Survey, before turnpikes and tarmac, the British hills were crossed by working roads. Packhorse trains carried salt, coal, lime, wool, slate and lead along routes that linked valley settlements over the lowest reliable saddles. Some were drovers' roads, wide enough for cattle; others were narrow causey ways pitched with stone and no more than a horse and its panniers could manage. A few were corpse roads, carrying the dead to consecrated ground. What they share is engineering: every one of them was built to be walked, day after day, in bad weather, by people who could not afford to fall.

That is why they are still worth following. A packhorse route takes the line of least resistance over ground that has been tested for centuries. If you learn to read them, they offer something modern guidebooks rarely do — a way through the hills that goes where the land allows, not where a map grid or a marketing department suggests.

Reading the Surface Underfoot

Old trade paths announce themselves in the surface rather than the line. Look for flat-topped stones set in rows, often worn into slight hollows where hooves and clogs have passed. In the Pennines and parts of the Peak you will find gritstone flags laid edge to edge; in limestone country, smaller setts. On softer ground the route may survive only as a trod — a narrow, compacted ribbon of turf a couple of boots wide, darker and shorter-cropped than the surrounding moor.

• Flat, squared stones in a line usually mark a made surface; they are often buried and reappear after heavy rain.
• Clapper bridges, guide stoops, boundary stones and ruined gates are reliable indicators that you are on a historic alignment.
• Holloways — deep, worn gullies with steep banks — indicate a route used so heavily that the ground itself eroded away.
• A line of isolated hawthorns or sycamores across open moor often marks an old enclosure edge or a former inn site.

Where the path vanishes into bog or tussock, do not assume you have lost it. Trade routes were often deliberately left unconsolidated across wet ground in summer, with the pitched sections reserved for the steep and the dangerous.

Gradient, Drainage and the Logic of the Line

Packhorses could manage something like one in four, but the people who built these roads preferred far gentler. So when the ground steepens, look for zigzags, long diagonal traverses and short traverses cut into the hillside at a consistent angle. The corners are usually stoned, because that is where hooves scuffed and water gathered. Follow the outside edge of a bend and you will often find the original revetment still in place.

Drainage is the other giveaway. A well-built path has a gutter on the uphill side, cross-drains under the surface, and a slight outward camber. Where you see a straight run of stone with a channel beside it, you are walking on maintenance that has been renewed, sometimes for several hundred years. If the surface turns to running water, the path has failed — expect to step off it onto the verge, which is usually firmer.

Footwear for Mixed Ground

Old routes are rarely one surface. A single day might give you wet gritstone slabs, loose shale, peat hags, riverside shingle and greasy limestone. That mix defeats extremes at both ends.

• Three-season boots with a deep, fairly soft rubber lug are the safest all-rounder. Hard, sharp-edged soles skid on wet flags; very soft ones wear fast on grit.
• Mid-height uppers with a proper heel counter help on stony traverses, where ankles roll as much sideways as forward.
• Approach shoes are fine in dry summer conditions, but only if you accept wet feet and a little less grip on greasy stone.
• Thin liner socks under wool matter more than boot brand on long, damp descents.

Add a pair of light gaiters for heather and bog, and carry a spare lace. A broken lace on a stony descent has ended more walks than a turned ankle.

Repairs, On the Hill and Back Home

Gear fails on rough ground, usually at the worst moment. A small repair kit earns its place in the pack: a blunt needle with a metre of strong polyester thread, a short length of cord, a couple of zip ties, a patch for self-inflating mats and shells, and a section of alloy tube or a splint for a bent pole. A torn strap can be stitched well enough to get you down; a split pole can be sleeved and taped and will hold for miles if you shorten your stride.

The same principle applies to the ground itself. If you walk these routes often, learn why a drain is cut where it is, and why stone is pitched rather than laid flat. Understanding the reasoning behind a repair makes you a better path user — and a more useful one if you ever join a volunteer work party.

Hillcraft on an Old Road

Historic routes are not waymarked, and in mist the trod can vanish within a few paces. Navigate by bearing and distance, not by following a faint line, and use the path as confirmation rather than as your only guide. Record your start time, note the bail-out options — a valley road, a forestry track, a bothy — and give yourself a hard turnaround time.

Pace matters more here than on a maintained trail. Stony ground slows you by a third or more, and worn zigzags climb more gradually but over a longer distance. Take the time to notice where the route is going: the old road will almost always choose the wider view and the easier crossing. Trust it, and it will take you down.