In the mid-18^th century Treak Cliff was mined for lead, and no records were kept of the amount of Blue John taken out. But it was no doubt discovered as a by-product of lead mining, and by the late-18^th century was in high demand among the monied classes and pieces were even commissioned for royalty. Today, under various protective restrictions, only small pieces are mined, and largely for jewellery, but discoveries of new veins continue from time to time.

The entrance to the mine is a door within the gift shop dressed in a ‘Police Box’ façade, to emphasise the threshold of another world. My companion for the day was a Welsh friend, and I’m a proud Yorkshireman, so we carried the weight of mining heritage with us through that portal.

“We carried the weight of mining heritage with us through that portal”

Within minutes though I’d liberated the largest and purest specimen of the day while the representative of Wales scrabbled around in the purple chippings that cover the cave floor. For Yorkshire.

I doubt it was my heritage, but I did find the mining pleasantly easy. The idea that picks must be swung with the relentless effort of Sisyphus to make the merest dent in the rock does not apply to Blue John; delicate tapping results in obvious progress and the volume of blue-purple shards littering the floor is evidence of abundant success for others. And this is key to the whole experience – the satisfaction of coming away with a specimen is not in the least diminished by a lack of toil.

But the real satisfaction comes from the next steps; getting to grips with various machinery, rock saws, sanding and polishing equipment and any conceivable way to reduce the rock in ever finer ways until the gnarly bit of ground that you have hewn from the earth becomes something as vibrant and luminous as a kaleidoscope and as smooth as marble.

In addition to your own specimen, you’re provided with a smaller piece, prepared in advance with pine resin, and ready to be shaped and polished into a pendant. Later that evening it hung around my girlfriend’s neck reflecting the fairylights in the beer garden of the Bull’s Head in Ashford-in-the-Water and I guarantee nobody in that genteel place had a clue I’d just crawled out of the pit.

“I guarantee nobody in that genteel place had a clue I’d just crawled out of the pit”

Ashford is quite possibly the prettiest village in the Peak District, and our rented cottage was another throwback to a time of shorter human stature. If I’d kept the mining helmet it would have seen more use in the tiny doll’s house accommodation. Whilst it might be a chore to live in such a pint-sized building, the short-term holiday charm is off the charts. As with all such places, the elevated levels of twee are perfectly acceptable (even down to the drinking glasses sporting pictures of bunnies eating doughnuts) when set alongside original features such as enormous stone lintels above the windows.

Ashford also provides close proximity to Bakewell without being caught up among the weekend hordes, which is perfect for an early morning call to pick up lunch before a day on the hill. The Lambton Larder is a forward-thinking deli among a sea of tea rooms, and serves the best coffee and pastries in the Peak as well as sandwich choices beyond the usual; ideal to set you up for a day in the most remote reaches of the National Park, among the stretches of peat on Bleaklow.

Mountain Hares – once widespread – now exist in only one part of England: Bleaklow (although normally not this close to the crash site). By coincidence it was Earth Day, and to spend it stalking and photographing one of our endangered mammals was an absolute honour.

Not that stalking seemed necessary to begin with. After the first hare showed itself, our eyes became attuned to many more, popping up and vanishing just as quickly, or scurrying away in the distance. Many seemed to be paired up, and there was a great variety of colours as some had transitioned to summer coats more completely than others.

“People think this area is barren… but it’s actually full of life”

They had succeeded entirely in drawing our attention away from the crash site and onto more vital matters, so we began a long hike over the summit of Bleaklow towards an intricate maze of meandering valleys among the peat; the hares’ more usual territory.

“People think this area is barren” said Paul “but it’s actually full of life” and as he pointed out Devil’s Matchstick fungus and varieties of Sphagnum moss along the walk, all punctuated with fleeting hare sightings and constant calls of meadow pipits, plovers, grouse, curlew and even a wheater, I realised ‘Bleaklow’ is not as apt a name as it first appears. In fact, the area is quite a success story for the Moors for the Future project which aims to restore the peatlands and their carbon-storage capacity. Reviewing old photos of the crash site – which show a scoured, blackened landscape – show just how much progress has been made in bringing life back here.