From the station, take the exit marked East. Not the main exit — the other one, past the newsagent that might not still be a newsagent. It puts you out on Croft Lane, which isn't on the signs anymore but the locals still call it that.
Go straight until the road forks at the pub. The pub might be closed now; it was closed last time. Go right. The left fork takes you to the industrial estate and there's nothing there except a carpet warehouse and a cell tower.
After the fork, the houses thin out. You'll pass a row of terraces with satellite dishes, then a field with horses that are always standing in the same corner, near the water trough. The field gate has a piece of orange baling twine where the latch should be.
Keep going. The road narrows where the council stopped maintaining the verge. Hawthorn grows in from both sides. In May it smells like — I don't know how to describe it. Something biological and sweet. You'll know when you get there.
At the junction with the B-road there's a bench dedicated to someone named Elwin. I've never looked up who Elwin was. Turn left. The B-road has a pavement for about a hundred meters, then it doesn't.
Walk on the right side, facing traffic. There isn't much traffic.
You'll come to a place where the hedgerow breaks and you can see the reservoir. From this angle it looks intentional, like someone placed it there. You can't see the dam from here, only the water and the hills behind it. On still days the reflection is so exact you can't tell which way is up.
The gate is fifty meters past the reservoir view, on the left. Green metal, always open. The track beyond it goes uphill through a stand of birch — the trunks have orange paint from when the forestry commission surveyed it, which must be ten years ago now.
Follow the track to the top. There's a flat area where someone cleared the trees. You can see the city one way and the moor the other. There's a concrete slab from something that was here before — a trig point, maybe, or a relay station.
That's where.