HIKING ALONG HARD-WORKING WATERS

In the middle of the afternoon, a few paces from the murmuring River Derwent, the Derbyshire scenery goes vertical. At eye-level, I see dozens of the plumpest, ripest blackberries a hiker could wish for. Above the brambles, a thicket of ivy-wrapped sycamore trees froth into the summer sky. And above the sycamores, towering over the land as it has done for more than 200 years, stands the red-brick chimney of Peckwash Mill.

Nature and industry define the Derwent. I’m spending four days walking the river’s length, from its mouth at the inland port of Shardlow to its source in the Peak District. It flows through some of England’s stateliest countryside – deep, copse-patched tableaus of cotton-wool sheep and half-hidden spires – but also leads past an age-old parade of mills, chimneys and weirs. The history spills downstream.

But first things first. There are no fewer than