DANK MIST HUNG over the damp hillside and a line of craggy hawthorns resembled a cluster of wizened old witches. Only the guttural croak of a jet-black raven, silhouetted like a character from a Gothic novel, broke the silence but two minutes later a pale yellow disc shimmered over the skyline. Strands of weak sunshine now danced over a fiercely jagged tor and, with a cold shiver, I wondered whether the ghostly shadow of Wild Edric might be due to make a special appearance.
The spiky landscape of the Stiperstones lends itself to legends. Edric was a Saxon warrior who fought against William the Conqueror, but in spirit he still gallops across his beloved Shropshire hills, riding out whenever England is threatened with invasion. And the exposed quartzite crag known as the Devil’s Chair, left after a giant once spilled his bag of rocks, comes with plenty of tales too. When the cloud is down and the winds blow from the west, it is said the devil takes his seat on what must be a rather uncomfortable throne.
ROCKY VIEWPOINT
If the skies are clear, the magnificent panoramas stretch east to the muscular contours
