Some two kilometres south of Haberwain is the tiny, isolated hamlet of Oddendale. It would be hard to find a more remote place than this collection of cottages and farm buildings sheltering in the lee of huge beech and sycamore trees at the head of a small gill. There are no shops, no pubs and as the settlement shrinks behind its protective dry stone wall it takes on the character of a fortified farmstead, a place that keeps the outside world at bay.
When I arrived at Oddendale the weather had changed to one of those beautiful days of shifting winter light. The sun illuminated a low blanket of dark rolling cloud that shadowed the ground; shafts of light were cast down to the earth, bathing the landscape in a soft golden glow. In this spectacular place of earth and sky the winter grass was pale and dead, blowing and flowing in the strong wind. The moor seemed huge and empty, not even the movement of sheep or birds disturbed the peace.