tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90354977990189388712024-03-19T03:47:51.050+00:001,000 Miles before I'm 40My blog about developing a passion for walking, seeking out the landscape and industrial heritage of Northern England, and hopefully getting in some healthy exercise before I turn 40, and maybe getting money raised for charity too.Christopher Wrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09743749271457169317noreply@blogger.comBlogger150125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9035497799018938871.post-44446928446272595162015-02-02T12:45:00.000+00:002015-03-26T16:33:32.303+00:00Concluding NoteMy original walking odyssey is now concluded, and the three months of exercise which turned into a three year journey to cover 1,000 miles on foot has reached its end, with the target achieved and exceeded, and 40 years passed with no trauma to speak of. The walking career that I have taken on is to continue, however, but my blogging is to take on a different shape and style from that found here, as this particular tale is naturally self contained and I feel a need for fewer words and more pictures as the miles continue to roll on by in the future.<br />
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So join me at <a href="http://alonebeneaththesky.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">Alone Beneath the Sky</a> as I resume blazing my trails across Northern England and beyond, absorbing my surroundings and enjoying the solitude that comes with being on the trail again, taking on my next target of 5,000 miles travelled on foot before my 50th Birthday, which is not such a daunting task when you already have 1400+ miles on the clock.<br />
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If you have enjoyed my tales and pictures, please consider donating to my charity drive as well, as walking is done for the benefit of my mental health as much as my physical health, so would you like to contribute to my attempt to raise £5,000 for <a href="http://www.mind.org.uk/?gclid=CLby35_-xcQCFSrMtAodvk0A5Q" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ff9900;">Mind, the Mental Health Charity</span></a>? I feel that it would be the right thing to do, and would benefit many people down the line.<br />
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My Just Giving Link can be found here >insert link here<, Thank You.<br />
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Happy Browsing, and Thank You all for your interest.<br />
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Chris W Christopher Wrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09743749271457169317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9035497799018938871.post-78516477269698288342014-12-29T23:38:00.000+00:002015-01-18T17:48:15.115+00:00Rumination: The Conclusions of 2014Once again the concluding thoughts of the year come along after the business of the 2014 walking season has receded to be replaced by the surprisingly involved festive season that has absorbed most of the last 5 weeks, I might not have had any self-powered excursions to fill my days, but it feels like I have barely had any time to relax since celebrating my 40th birthday. The conclusion of 2014 feels a whole lot better than the similar end a year previous, 2013 ending with me feeling mentally drained and physically exhausted, whilst this time around I'm already looking forward to what 2015 might bring and seeking out the new trails to occupy my legs as there are still so many routes to walk, around West Yorkshire and beyond. Still, nearly half way through this particular Dark Season and at the end of the 1,000 Miles Before I'm 40 odyssey, and we have to wonder it once again, What have we learned this year?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wear Your Achievement with Pride.</td></tr>
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First up,<strong> I am thrilled and baffled by my mileage total</strong>, as 1,000 miles seemed like such a lot when I started out but has turned out to be an easily attainable total, and as the distance has gone on to pass 1,400 miles, I realise just how mobile we can be as a species. Consider that my total only includes weekend and holiday walking, and does not include any of the daily strolls to work, the regular mileage I put down pushing a barrow or pacing the library at the hospital, and none of the necessary trips made around Leeds and Morley. If you start to add those total up, and I wish I'd been wearing a pedometer so that a rough figure could be given, you would start to realise that travelling huge distances is entirely plausible in a short period, but we choose to not do this, constrained by homes, family and employment, and bounded by borders and languages. The distance that I have put down, when expressed in lines drawn across Europe brings this home, in a big way, and if you consider my original plot, going south from Morley, via London, Paris and Marseille, and heading into Italy, I might not have made it to Rome, but I have passed all the way through Tuscany, and rind myself in Pescia Romana, on the outer edge of Lazio district, only 73 miles short of the Eternal City. If my route had been charted directly for Italy though, Rome is somewhere in my wake, as I roll up at Torre del Greco, on the Bay of Naples, below the slopes of Vesuvius; meanwhile I course set to the East would have had me pass through all of Poland and have me on the road through Belarus between Kobryn and Pinsk, whilst going towards Spain on a southerly course would place me in San Javier, not far from Murcia. Additionally, if I'd been aiming towards Istanbul, at the south-east corner of the continent, I would be just past Belgrade by now, and if I'd aimed for Cap Finisterre at the bottom corner of Portugal, I would be in Abrantes, just across the Spanish border an 87 miles shy of Lisbon. And yet, most of those miles fell within the bounds of the West Riding, now neatly expressible courtesy of <a href="https://www.google.com/maps/d/edit?mid=zN6wnV8IyJLw.ktpYUomJrZD4" target="_blank">Google maps,</a> leaving me with a huge sense of achievement and joy at my capability to exert myself, but also the realisation that the Ancient Humans must have been easily capable of crossing continents within a single generation, making my attainment seem very small indeed.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv38bSrXXZVMBzsQVBjhb6EYqSOtBsDApBfGA8XdfLJqoDs3DZGeElIjlhg6Ez8VzHsW77rGtgHsDV4pJes-ICNI6xU_Ts9GkGSxs7t8Jc_5CIb_c7z_3vEG4wVkh4w-bPDHKAedq7W28/s1600/DSCF2959.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv38bSrXXZVMBzsQVBjhb6EYqSOtBsDApBfGA8XdfLJqoDs3DZGeElIjlhg6Ez8VzHsW77rGtgHsDV4pJes-ICNI6xU_Ts9GkGSxs7t8Jc_5CIb_c7z_3vEG4wVkh4w-bPDHKAedq7W28/s1600/DSCF2959.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All of West Yorkshire seems <br />
to lie below Castle Hill.</td></tr>
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Secondly, <strong>I have done West Yorkshire proud an my travels over these last three years</strong>, and am much happier with my list of attainments this year. Putting down ten brackets back in February, I can now look back to see that seven of them were completed in full, namely Hadrian's Wall path, the route to the five major town of West Yorkshire, the Woodhead route, Railway walking, venturing through Kirklees and Wakefield districts, attaining my three well-observed landmarks, and social walking. Two can be claimed as half successes, as the Kirklees Way went down, but the Wakefield Way didn't, and whilst I did get over to Lancashire to get walking with my nieces, I failed to get anywhere near the Witton Weavers Way at all (aside from a snow bound stroll for some sledging after Christmas), whilst my only utter failure was to get out to Mallerstang, as both FOSCL trips dropped from my schedule. So that's an 80% success rate this time around, as well as getting in a personal best on the year, just one trip shy of breaking the 500 mile barrier. What really makes me happy is the fact that most of it was done along fresh paths, making fresh acquaintance with the lands south of the Colne and the Calder, and whilst I had feared that the landscapes might not have been equal to the lands of Calderdale, Airedale and Wharfedale, I have found so much to see in terms of history and the paths of industry that it has proved just as rewarding, and the insights gained from taking in the viewpoints and absorbing the local history has just intensified my love of this land. West Yorkshire really does have it all, from high moorlands to bustling cities, quiet waterside paths to tracks through the heart of industry, striking viewpoints to the peace of agricultural land, and I have gained a appreciation of this county because I have found so much to see and to find interesting, and I've still got so much of it to see, as new vistas and trails await among the ones that I have already walked, and having met its many edges and looked south towards the Peak District, north into Nidderdale, east to the Humber and west across Lancashire has me aware that I might be in the heart of the most interesting part of the entire country. Sharing my enthusiasm at work, my colleague observed 'Well, this is God's Country, after all', and whilst I may have parted from religion a long time ago, I am inclined to agree, as the territory of the West Riding is a gift for all of us to enjoy, and it is surely one that I have been particularly fortunate to receive.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The trails lead Eastwards in 2015, <br />
from Wooley Edge. </td></tr>
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Thirdly,<strong> I know what my walking future holds, but am uncertain whether it will be recounted</strong>, as the walking is going to continue for the good of my mind and body, thought the blogging has become such a drag I'm pretty certain that it is not going to continue in its current form. I certainly know that I walk for the good of my mind rather than my body, as getting out at the weekends is essential to prevent cabin fever or dark moods setting in, whilst it's essential for my body, though I have ended up heavier at the end of my three year trip than I was at its start, so once again thoughts turn to healthier eating and more focused exercise in 2015. Checking out my spread of trails on my map, I see that I have crossed so many different paths around the county, with only a few small towns having had no visits at all, with only two corners of the county having been missed over these three years, and it'll be towards the North-East and South-East that I will be heading in the coming year, into the flattest lands of this county. A long bracket of lands from Harrogate, through Wetherby and Tadcaster, and down to Selby will be my immediate focus, as well as striking towards York and making further inroads into Wakefield district, and the major plan is to strike for the coast, surely no more than four days away from West Yorkshire, in either direction. However, this blog is done, as writing out every trip has become a bind as inspiration for writing never comes to me that easily, and this three year tale has become something of an albatross to me as my lack of concision and regular attacks of verbal diarrhoea have caused my blog to become long-winded and cumbersome. Still, the tale of <strong>5,000 Miles Before I'm 50</strong> will continue, but I'm not certain how, probably with more pictures and a lot fewer words, and the wanderings have no reason to stop, as there are still so many paths to blaze along, and it will be a while before I need to start retracing my steps. After all the trail has no end, as every journey leads you somewhere new and each destination brings a new perspective on these lands and suggestions of where the paths of life might take you next.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqwSDYdNky_ptY_XuT-z_P9dDEbVe3DfxtCCzkQY4I6XHGxkjdpF6dnDMGKL3yi1Mm9uRuSxrUntwYy07-x2Wi7LcQY1X0d7I1W46WauZukIV93QRn0tZ5WPKI6yMWo3y9ZhaW3G5MWMY/s1600/DSCF1339.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqwSDYdNky_ptY_XuT-z_P9dDEbVe3DfxtCCzkQY4I6XHGxkjdpF6dnDMGKL3yi1Mm9uRuSxrUntwYy07-x2Wi7LcQY1X0d7I1W46WauZukIV93QRn0tZ5WPKI6yMWo3y9ZhaW3G5MWMY/s1600/DSCF1339.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There's a lot of Family History <br />
in Forden Chapel Graveyard.</td></tr>
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Finally, <strong>2014 is not just the end of my 1,000 mile odyssey, it really is the end of an era too</strong>, as 5th December brought the death of my Mother's cousin RT at the age of 96, the closest of the many relatives of the Welsh branch of my family, and notable as being the point of contact in Powys for family visits for over 70 years. You may recall that on my last excursion before the start of the 2012 walking season, I made a trip to the Welshpool area to give her a visit on the occasion of another family funeral, as well as having a stretch among the hills that my relatives have farmed for well over a century, and now the conclusion of 2014 marks the occasion of her funeral, with the passing of the cousin whose home was virtually our second for much of my lifetime, and my Mum's too. It provided a chance to for the four of us Wrens to travel to the Welsh Borders for one last time, to pay our respects to her, and to the many other relatives buried in the graveyard of Forden chapel, where nine siblings of my maternal Grandmother are buried, as well as my Great Grandparents and other first cousins (once removed). Of course, there's still plenty of family remaining, Mum's calculations suggest that seven (or eight) of her cousins still remain, but none were as close as RT, and my generation of second cousins is scattered with some faces familiar and others being folks that I have never met. So, with RT's passing, I doubt I'll be making another trip to Forden or Welshpool again, at least until Offa's Dyke Path comes calling in the future, an idea that I pondered for 2015 as a seemingly appropriate tribute, but one soon junked once the logistics of doing it were properly considered, it's just too long and too remote to fit into my plans, sadly. I'll admit that this has little to do with my wandering tales, but RT always took an interest in my walking odyssey, despite her fragile health and diminished capacities, and my last visit to her, and her final passing book-ended my three year tale, so it's worthy of a public tribute here.<br />
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So, that's the end of 1,000 Miles before I'm 40, getting a final post, unlike so many blogs that just seem to stop with their tales still in progress, the new season will be coming on in less than six weeks, as I commence my excursions to the north and east of Leeds, first footfalls due on 7th February once the nasty, brutish and altogether too long month of January is out of the way. Pictures and words will show up somewhere, a link will surely show up over there to the right once I've worked it all out. Also, take note of those words in the headline too, as my promise to raise money for charity was never taken seriously whilst the 1,000 mile trail was blazed, but be warned that a charity drive will be coming as 2015 rolls around. Thank You for your interest, and Thank You for allowing me a forum to witter to my heart's content, but it's all done now, aside from having my closing music on to play me out, See you all again in 2015 on the 10 year trip to 5,000 miles!<br />
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If you would please, Fats...<br />
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and Next on the Slate? - The Trail Never Ends!Christopher Wrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09743749271457169317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9035497799018938871.post-39813315979532748622014-11-18T19:59:00.000+00:002015-01-18T18:01:36.450+00:00Rumination: 40 Years Achieved & Celebrated!So, how does 40 years old feel, exactly? Not all that different to 39 to be honest, or to any age back as far as about 32 for that matter, it's more of a marker along the way of life than the start of old age, and so many people I know have turned 40 without it affecting them at all that it held no dread for me, indeed hitting 30 was far harder for me than 40 could ever be. No one believes the 'Life Begins at 40' adage any more, and the fears of irrelevance with the passing years have been shunted on by a decade or more, certainly no one I know feels like life left them behind with their fifth decade starting, and I can now look back on the last decade with a great feeling of satisfaction and hope for the one to come. My fourth decade may have started with some moments of serious emotional instability, followed by the dissolution of my settled existence in Burley, but at its end, I am permanently settled in Morley and feel like I am in my prime, at the end of a walking odyssey that has taken me cross country and given me fresh perspectives on all corners of West Yorkshire, feeling good about my current self rather than lamenting my lost youth. So, taking a week off work seemed like a good plan for my 40th Birthday week, so that I might enjoy some time to myself rather than having to exercise my limbs at the hospital, and when you have gone and walked 1,400+ miles, you deserve the opportunity to do nothing for a while. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">40th Birthday Selfie</td></tr>
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Of course, nothing is precisely what I didn't do with my week off, time is precious and the mind will find things to do with the body, like hitting the cinema to see 'Mr Turner' and enjoy Mike Leigh's take on the later years of Britain's first 19th century modernist painter, which features a remarkable performance from Timothy Spall, a really excellent feeling of the period setting and a gorgeous palette which is a joy to look at, but sadly lacks a strong narrative drive and errs rather too long, all said. There's also the business of taking cake to work, as my friends and colleagues might be lacking my company and labour for the week, they can enjoy my largesse and £20's worth of sweet goods, whilst I drop in for a brew before the even more important business of treating myself to a new printer-scanner-copier as my old one hasn't been working properly for 8 years now. Birthday money can also be splashed online to acquire my annual treat of a new old Railway poster via eBay, and a few festive t-shirts from Zazzle, plus whatever bargains can be snared on Amazon, and once the money is dispersed, I can get on with the hard work of putting 18 months worth of paperwork in order and organising a clear-out of my closets, one of which is largely filled with stuff that I haven't touched in 7+ years. Who'dve thought a boy could hang on to so many empty shoe boxes (8), videotapes (3 boxes), bags of worn-out clothes (6), jiffy bags (3 boxes), pairs of knackered shoes (5!), cardboard tubes and broken electrical appliances (4, including 2 PCs, the newer of which I had been praising recently for having made it to 5 years old without any fritzy moments). Just as well I had my Parents coming up to visit, as they are not just good for taking me out for a celebratory dinner at Saffron Desi in Morley (with Tandoori fish!), but they can also haul me to Middleton tip to get rid of all the junk that I have acquired, allowing my spare closet to be actually useful for storage and guest usage for the first time since I moved in, all those years ago. They also prove handy to tear me over to Garforth, so I can drop in on my supervisor's house and purchase her unwanted PC that her daughters no longer need, a useful spare machine to have in reserve whilst I get used to working on a laptop, at least it will be once I've broken the password lock on it which her little girl just cannot remember, unfortunately. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Left Foot Forward c/o My Sister</td></tr>
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Of course, the important business of the week is having a proper celebration of my 40th Birthday on the Saturday, the first time I have made a concerted effort to have an occasion since my 30th, an idea which I've had in the back of my mind for quite a few years, and right up front ever since I decided to do 1,000 Miles before I'm 40. The back room at the Adelphi was organised for it back in August, chosen as it's one of the few venues that I honestly love, being equal parts old-timey and full-blown hipster, and also because it has small rooms that can easily be claimed and isolated, guaranteeing my own space and no interference from the regular clientele. The whole family is organised to come over, which isn't too difficult when there are only seven of us, but getting everyone to arrive for a 2pm start feels like it should be a bit of a challenge when Elder Niece shares a birthday week with me, but in the end, My Sis, Dr G and the girls all arrive without difficulty and on time, despite the mist, and they bring a pair of considerations my way too. First is my gift, of Benny's SPACESHIP!!! from the Lego Movie, which I have wanted ever since seeing it at the cinema in March, and have been reluctant to purchase as it price never dipped below £50 (and have I mentioned that I am a Lego Classic Space nut on this blog? Probably not, and there's certainly a whole 'nother tale to tell with that particular fascination, someday). Second is my cake, a commission placed on her as her girls have regularly seen the full force of her artistic creativity come birthday time, and my request was stipulated as 'a boot' without any further details, and what she has turned out is a pretty good recreation of the style of my first pair, long since disposed of, but still recalled as tan and black. Inside it's madeira and jam, with the slightest hint of caramel in the icing, plus gummi laces, altogether a confection worthy of the highest praise.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Right Foot Forward c/o NW</td></tr>
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I'm not up for whole lot of decorating, some bunting banners and a half dozen balloons will do for me, whilst most of the entertainment for the day is brought by me compiling a slightly alternative 80's playlist to be played out of my laptop, which had been intended to just be part of the day's musical accompaniment, but eventually grew to fill 9 hours, providing enough sounds for the whole session, and frankly a blast was had compiling it, too. Ale choices seem to suggest that I should be drinking 'Old Man', a deeply appropriate beer for the occasion but one that is just a bit too dark and burned-toast flavour to be good for a session, thankfully, 'Leeds Pale' is on the pump too, and that'll do the ticket just fine. Folks take a while to turn out in quantity, but everyone who comes out is received warmly and with gratitude, my good friends IH & AK, who are sadly unable to stay out long, but who do bring beer from the new shop in Hebden Bridge, MW in the midst of a madly busy weekend and lacking the company of S due to familial illness, and also MC, who I haven't seen since he moved away and then returned to Leeds during the last 5 years. The arrival of my buffet spread for 20 (dips, cold cuts, fries and 10,000 sarnies, mostly) happily coincides with the appearance of many of my comrades-in-arms from the hospital, JM, KM, KC, WD, LT, CM, DS and super DH, with a gift of a £25 amazon gift card, and a celebratory pint glass, and also along is NW, with her husband B and her kids E & S, who have both somehow gotten to be around the top of their first decades already. Along with them comes more cake, as NW is famed for her exploit in 'caking hell', and her commission was for another boot, this time a pretty close representation of my third and fourth pairs, brown with chocolate mud within, complete with silver eyelets and simulated sheep poo, another superlative effort which deserves the utmost gratitude, some people's capacity for creativity never fails to astound me.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ignition: Cheers to 40 years & 1402.2 miles!</td></tr>
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My parents depart mid-evening with my nieces, so they might have a personal celebration for Elder whilst her personal festive season is still close, whilst the remainder can settle into the routine of booze, banter and balloon tennis, and that's the reason why you need your own space for an occasion like this, isn't it? I also run a slide show on my laptop, so that people might get a flavour of my many trails around the country, but it does get a bit embarrassing that far too many shots from my first two seasons can slip by on a random shuffle and my commentary is reduced to 'Nope, Nope, Somewhere near Kirkby Stephen, I think...', a prime example of showing how the brain fails to respond in a pressure situation. Numbers dwindle eventually, so the remainder can cluster around a single table for wit and wisdom, largely never to be recalled because of the amount of booze forced into our collective systems, whilst I take up DJ duties to keep the company entertained, mostly by putting more David Bowie into the mix foe super DH, as she believes that music is basically Bowie and everything else, and I'm happy to keep her accommodated, which makes my failure to provide Abba or Leann Rimes for others a bit pitiful (that's not something you can provide when you major personal tastes are Noise Rock and post Hardcore, and the general populist thrust of the day is 80s cheese). All in all a rather sedate time, I'm not the person to look to for doing raucous, after all, indeed Karaoke is as demonstrative as I'll get these days, and the party dissolves around 11.20pm, with the company getting the warmest of thanks before separating to various taxis, and I've got enough cake to take away to keep us going for a good few days, happy to prove that there was good reason for me not to dispose of my many biscuit tubs. Take the ride back to Morley via the Kirkstall Road Premier Inn, where the rest of my family is staying so that I might sleep off my hangover in piece, and on the last leg the taxi driver enquires of the occasion, and when I tell him it was my 40th Birthday, he tells me 'you don't look it', and that's a good reason to end the day in extra good cheer.<br />
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Next on the Slate: What have we learned in 2014?<br />
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<br />Christopher Wrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09743749271457169317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9035497799018938871.post-37157151763436681192014-11-13T11:21:00.000+00:002014-11-24T22:29:27.969+00:00The Last Act: Bradford to Leeds 11/11/14Well, the last day of the season is here, indeed the last day of my 3 year, 1,000 mile odyssey has finally arrived, it seemed such a long way away when I was first thinking about a long walking season to conclude on my 40th birthday, but over 1,100 miles have gone down since then, and I'm only just shy of 1,400 on the whole enterprise. Having featured five long circular trails, two cross-country treks and a whole mess of summits and high points, the season almost calls out for a dramatic conclusion, but mid November is no time to be making for Black Hill or Great Whernside, and I'll have to settle for somewhere a bit more mundane, and a trip to the old country of my first 14 years in West Yorkshire seems to be in order as I haven't visited my old haunts in Burley and Hyde Park since I moved away 7 years ago. Of course, a start in Bradford is pretty remote from there, but it makes more sense then striking out from New Pudsey or Horsforth, and anyway, filling in the gap between Leeds and Bradford seems appropriate at this late stage, indeed the city of Bradford deserves another apology, as whilst the district as a whole offers plenty for the walker, the city offers nothing at all. I have kept avoiding it as it has no green corridors or riverside walks, whilst development has ruined much of it historical face and the town planners seem to have favoured the motorist far more than the pedestrian, and whilst the terraces and suburbs of Leeds offer a kind of familiarity to me, those of Bradford have no resonance for me at all. But none of that is such a worthy excuse to ignore it completely, it is the second city of West Yorkshire after all, and so it deserves more than just the one visit during my 3 years of travels.<br />
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<strong>Bradford to Leeds, via Tyersal, Pudsey, Upper Armley, Burley & Hyde Park 12.6 miles</strong><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdnNs1iMPMmiRUp-qE54oEQjEiyCnnOtvoeUHNgIeB1AB0f_RgYFcl_uMNrIeww-yruzrVh3orhq1SVn9w5TyZVfMVWdhg7uXQM17JsZnujFyTAa1CzTvgnmEL7sosXykNMMlyPgcxrwA/s1600/DSCF0744.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdnNs1iMPMmiRUp-qE54oEQjEiyCnnOtvoeUHNgIeB1AB0f_RgYFcl_uMNrIeww-yruzrVh3orhq1SVn9w5TyZVfMVWdhg7uXQM17JsZnujFyTAa1CzTvgnmEL7sosXykNMMlyPgcxrwA/s1600/DSCF0744.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The remains of Bradford Exchange</td></tr>
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I feel like a slightly later start is in order, so as to avoid all the commuters whilst I am NIW for my 40th birthday week, so we don't arrive at Bradford Interchange until 10.10, and unlike Forster Square this station seems to be a lot more amenable to getting its noticeboard contained within my selfie, and even though it's now functioning as a transport interchange once again, it's still a pretty sad replacement for the original L&Y/GNR joint station. So first steps are taken between the Victoria hotel and St George's Hall along Drake Street to seek the mortal remains of Bradford Exchange station, and whilst the Combined courts and a car park have absorbed most of the site, the industrial archaeologist in me is delighted that the retaining apron of walls has remained, along with the pedestrian gateways and footsteps to Hall Ings and Leeds Road, the latter still possessing a small remnant of its signage. The generally glum weather doesn't show up the town's best face otherwise, and my path soon leads me off among the newer office buildings of the city centre and the immediately interesting thing to see is the mural on the Bradford Playhouse, which celebrates the 1893 foundation of the Independent Labour Party. Passing across the A650 and up Filey Street and the town centre recedes from view, as my chosen route leads me through a largely industrial district, passing onto Hammerton Street where trucks pound up and down the road with fierce abandon and the air is filled with industrial smells that feel like they might be taking years off my life. Passing beneath the railway bridge of the line to Leeds, and of the abandoned Laisterdyke - Bowling avoiding line, and the ascent I'm taking on starts to make itself apparent, I know that Bradford sits in a hollow, so I don't know why its always a surprise that it should be uphill all the way to get out of it. Bowling Back Lane and Parry Lane continue the industrial surroundings as the pull uphill continues, finally levelling off when I meet the A6177 ring road, and a look back gives as good a perspective of the city as could be gained in these conditions, as the town centre peeks through the haze, whilst Valley Parade stadium and Manningham Mills loom above it in the distance. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7-H8bWUfZVrvGDNuwjieA7zMKDZmM6iSEgs_V-sUnGUrEVlC8TZAgVI-oHxZwzp57-dxIDa-c5D8meYMqMgOF2Bucs6w8Pb6jrW_sY0XQ2bXQv448ABe_JPnEDFTh71toMwOR61GwtfA/s1600/DSCF0849.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7-H8bWUfZVrvGDNuwjieA7zMKDZmM6iSEgs_V-sUnGUrEVlC8TZAgVI-oHxZwzp57-dxIDa-c5D8meYMqMgOF2Bucs6w8Pb6jrW_sY0XQ2bXQv448ABe_JPnEDFTh71toMwOR61GwtfA/s1600/DSCF0849.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tyersal Beck Embankment</td></tr>
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Once over the ring road, we find ourselves in urban surroundings once more, and Broad lane takes me through the district of Tyersal, mostly know to me because of all the old railways which used to junction near here, and to prove my thinking, it's only a short way past Dick Lane, that we meet the former bridge and in-filled cutting of the Ardsley - Laisterdyke branch, the old line to Morley Top, making a late and last appearance on the year. Tyersal Lane leads me out of the city, where a council estate on one side faces a field of many, many ponies on the others, and this green space is where I'm heading following the track for a mile of more towards the farms that sit above Black Carr wood and work the land that keeps Leeds and Bradford as separate entities. Views north show up the former triangular junctions where a bunch of old GNR lines used to merge, and attention eastwards shows up Pudsey high on its hillside, and the view south reaches all the way down to Morley, with the Town hall making a rare appearance on the horizon, it's odd that this green space is only getting its second visit from me, having only come this way before on the second day of my walking tour, and it's such a pleasingly peaceful spot after the bustle of Bradford has been left behind. The track between Tyersal Hall and Black Hey farm descends gradually, drawing attention to the looming embankment of the GNR Pudsey Loop Line of 1893, which I have talked about before, but once you have passed below the missing bridge and followed the broken track all the way down to Tyersal Beck, the hugeness of the structure become apparent, this tree clad monstrosity must be half a mile long and 40m tall, and the logistics of constructing it, and wondering why a viaduct wasn't put in its place frankly boggle the mind. The stream is really what keeps the two conurbations independent of each other, and the pull up to Smalewell Road is no fun at all, a lung-burster that I could do without in these damp conditions, and I keep on looking back at that embankment as it drops below us, just to marvel at it, the largest embankment by volume, in the world? <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Sn36LoRUrnLjSBcqCV3HqHRpyDaBDcsdI_9hc7ap8OSVdVclQNsLGQ1pBc37PlAMd7pQVTNyyX10DSb0rt0MthJX8g5GWAZsnoRkkAbae5pAvWfnXPOW0ms9vcW89r9DbYOhllA_zfw/s1600/DSCF0929.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Sn36LoRUrnLjSBcqCV3HqHRpyDaBDcsdI_9hc7ap8OSVdVclQNsLGQ1pBc37PlAMd7pQVTNyyX10DSb0rt0MthJX8g5GWAZsnoRkkAbae5pAvWfnXPOW0ms9vcW89r9DbYOhllA_zfw/s1600/DSCF0929.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The GNR Pudsey Loop Line</td></tr>
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Say Hello again to the Leeds Country Way route once we finally hit the top, and the lungs get some relief as I pass the Fox and Grapes, too early in the day for booze or food, and I head into the town, where another day might have seen me heading off for a closer look at Greenside Tunnel, but for now I'll consider Pudsey as an ideal example for a village study, to illustrate how the passages of local history have turned an independent rural town into a suburb of a larger city within the last three generations. The variety of vintages along Smalewell Road and Station Road is certainly broad, and that's a thesis to ponder for another day as I come up on the large void that sits in the middle of the town, and even with the trees being free of leaves, it's impossible to see through them down the to east portal of Greenside Tunnel, so other railway features will have to be noted instead, like the Royal hotel, a very fine public house, and the bold bridge carrying Carlisle Road over the site of Pudsey Greenside station, a better view of which can be gained by descending to the industrial sites at the bottom of Carlisle Drive. I'm pretty sure this line, between Bramley and Laisterdyke, closed in 1964, is one that Britain's railways would love to have back, as the growth of Pudsey in the last 50 years makes the railways absence seem all that more stupid, and despite the half century of development that has gone on since then, large sections of the alignment remain intact, beyond the old folks bungalows on New Street Grove. Rights of way might not exist along the filled in cuttings, but popular paths do, all the land remaining shaded by trees and pleasingly wild, surely preserved by the local council as I can't think of any other good reason for it not having been built upon, with four iron overbridges remaining in situ between New Street and Robin Lane, with the last section being the best stretch in this quarter, a neat little finale for 3 years of railway walking, having managed to somehow cover most of West Yorkshire's walkable lines in that period. Development has claimed the site of Pudsey Lowtown station, but access is still available between Longfield Court and Crimbles Place, and the pedestrian tunnel is still accessible too, so I'll pass through that before arriving at the B6154 Lowtown, where course can be set for the city of Leeds.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVm8Ah9s72GhyphenhyphenCk7-4ng-HQPkgeMo_G2XwCNTUSJ3vufsFOIjtN43IiyoGeO3MqcXAt6O0k50Daeq-SdeEPxqBjrthmspQXyJYRENSytJ5dAcM11zr9tWEhdORIoUUwMfcDqrl86f9mFA/s1600/DSCF0984.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVm8Ah9s72GhyphenhyphenCk7-4ng-HQPkgeMo_G2XwCNTUSJ3vufsFOIjtN43IiyoGeO3MqcXAt6O0k50Daeq-SdeEPxqBjrthmspQXyJYRENSytJ5dAcM11zr9tWEhdORIoUUwMfcDqrl86f9mFA/s1600/DSCF0984.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wortley Reservoir</td></tr>
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Away From Pudsey, and the older corner of the town judging by the buildings, following the B6154 as it slips out of town, as the terraces are left behind, and more recent builds command the hillside view into the green space on this side of town, another deep valley cleft of the same complex of streams encountered before, now flowing north up Troydale, where a wooded embankment endures, and my Sis and Dr G used to live in house somewhere down in that direction too, if we are noting personal links to this area. It's actually going to be a bit of a haul until we get to any locales that I am actually interested in, so my entry into West Leeds is best done with the hammer down, following the footway all the way along Pudsey Road to the roundabout on the A6110 Ring Road, by Wickes and opposite the Corn Mill Lodge hotel, continuing on as the council estate rises on the hillside to the north, and my lack of geographical knowledge in these parts comes to the fore when I fail to put a name to it. We are not in Farnley, Swinnow or Bramley, for sure and I wouldn't have thought we were in Wortley either, but that is the name given to the beck that feeds into the reservoir which site between the roads, so I'll stick with that for now, and it's a disappointment that even when you slip down to the perimeter path, no good views can be gained across the water's surface, hiding away behind thick vegetation on the elevated banks. Hit the rise on Tong Road, and slip onto my path towards my old residences via the footsteps up to Heights Drive, and the council estate retreats from view as we pass on along the many terrace ends of Upper Armley facing onto Whingate Road, noting that they get a bit lager and more upscale as you progress closer to Leeds. Past the Commercial Inn, we pass over the railway line to Bradford once again, above the site of Armley railway station, and that's surely another location to wonder why is isn't still on the railway map. Cross town Street and follow Armley Ridge road past the architectural highlight of this corner of town, the bold high Victorian take on Early English style that is Christ Church, Upper Armley, one that you wouldn't notice if you attention was drawn to the much larger and brasher St Bart's closer to the town centre, and once down through some of the craziest terraces seen on my travels we meet the A647 Stanningley Road, to finally get a view towards the part of West Leeds that was my home for 13 of the 21 years that I have lived up country.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPPdbr6HV38RIPKsqJ4tTcQh9G8_vzsqMBo59-fs5AFmFtD17ybMfcWen9k6GjWx38JVqWlW_DyJFv7iD2Vqd1b2waL3YPUKdyPGI3oeKKmnMUV-dmeeybmuBYtKjkPeU6IDkzWGw00J8/s1600/DSCF1044.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPPdbr6HV38RIPKsqJ4tTcQh9G8_vzsqMBo59-fs5AFmFtD17ybMfcWen9k6GjWx38JVqWlW_DyJFv7iD2Vqd1b2waL3YPUKdyPGI3oeKKmnMUV-dmeeybmuBYtKjkPeU6IDkzWGw00J8/s1600/DSCF1044.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gott's Park, Armley</td></tr>
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I'm hitting that point in the day when I realise that this supposedly short day of wandering is actually turning out to be a lot longer than I had expected, a handy reminder that Bradford and Leeds are actually a lot further apart than you might have thought, so a brief watering and feed are necessary before I make my way down Redcote Lane as it makes its way across Gott's Park. This is probably a good moment to talk about Benjamin Gott, the third major industrial of the trio including John Marshall and Matthew Murray who fired the development of Leeds in the 19th century, a man who made his fortune in wool, establishing the first factory producing woollen goods in the world at Bean Ing, on the site once occupied by the Yorkshire Post offices, in 1792. The parkland here formed his personal estate, acquired by the city in 1928 and largely containing a public golf course these days, the landscaping having largely endured in the period, with Armley house, Gott's residence, now forming the club house, and oddly, this is the first time I have ever been here, so the walking is proving useful for some things. The rough track eventually leads to the bridge across the Leeds & Liverpool canal, and that's a track previously walked again, and a lot of fresh miles have gone down today, which is already something of a surprise, but all tracks from her on in will be familiar, first following the road around the perimeter of the main electrical substation for Leeds, now surrounded by dense wire fences to prevent photography of its interesting geometrical shapes, and then slipping beneath the bridges of the railway line to Skipton. Pass through the golf course associated to the health centre that sits at the valley floor and then come up to Gott's Bridge crosses the river Aire, and this end of Redcote Lane at least seem to have a bit of purpose as it rolls me out to Kirkstall Road, just a bit too far along to get a picture of the viaduct on the Harrogate line. I'll apologise ahead of time if nostalgia seems come out rather heavily over the remaining few miles, but we are heading into my local old country as we head up between the terraces to meet the Haddon Hall pub, one of the more awful drinking establishments in student land, which I am happy to report is no longer open, and beyond that we meet Burley Road, and it's hard to believe that 7 and a half years have passed since I was last in this quarter.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmrBq95WMo63R8Zh-4a-kbM3hO7A7YJ8UROJnjgLtkrw5KzCLgdUlkC64CfqFM5UJ0aCpmiSpfen4CoeA4vaq8R8pQYtdrPtlUdkhQlnMmlBSd1XhSz5QNXgoDPypgQ1-CirL_7JGGZWg/s1600/DSCF1131.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmrBq95WMo63R8Zh-4a-kbM3hO7A7YJ8UROJnjgLtkrw5KzCLgdUlkC64CfqFM5UJ0aCpmiSpfen4CoeA4vaq8R8pQYtdrPtlUdkhQlnMmlBSd1XhSz5QNXgoDPypgQ1-CirL_7JGGZWg/s1600/DSCF1131.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Left Bank Leeds, Hyde Park</td></tr>
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Start up along The Village Street, next to the parkland where the original Burley village lingered until the late 19th century, and our path takes us up Knowle Road, the last of the quartet of steeply rising roads which have terraces that are really a bit too good for student accommodation, and then on to still-cobbled Knowle Mount, the street where I lived for 8 and half years, 1998 to 2007, sharing with my good friend IH for most of them. All this time has passed since I was last out here and it's still looking much the same, my old house still being the odd one at the angle that is full width at the front but half width at the back, looking like it has had a fresh lick of varnish since I moved out, but offering no sign of the interior as the residents have left all the curtains drawn, sure indication of student occupation. It's an odd feeling to think I've now been in Morley for just a year less than I resided here, and I move on as a previous residence is only a couple of streets away, so I note the launderette has gone from the corner, and Dial-A-Pizza has changed identities, before passing onto Lumley Road, that has Leeds Rhinoceroses' Headingley Carnegie Stadium looming beyond its end, and down Lumley Avenue to see my first post-university residence at the corner of Beechwood Terrace, where three friends moved in in 1996, and only two friends moved out in 1998, a lot of good times had whilst living there, but really too much unemployment endured to make the whole period not one to be remembered too fondly. Move on, past the garage on the corner of Beechwood Crescent, to roll over the platforms of Burley Park railway station, one that is unlikely to ever feature on my walking travels, but still stands as the third most used station in West Yorkshire during my residence here. Down Ashville Road, to where the Co-operative store and the video shop still endure, and then strike off down Cardigan Road, to note that estate agents seem to be the local growth industry, and take a slight detour to see that Temple Moore's St Margaret's church has finally gotten the second life that is deserved, reinvented as Left Bank Leeds, a creative arts space, and then it's on up Royal Park Road, past some of the district's least appealing terraces and the Makkah Masjid Mosque (for all you alliteration fans), to see what the heart of Hyde Park's student land is looking like these days.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7azMfpG9kFmRDPJ_drDbJxy35w4ZXMKW6cwG2D9gDivwkxe6Q_LrVQEn6yu7NvsDShxZhv7srSvIAVFacJZuhhbmM7U_xU_g_8AEDnmMn47hBWs3-HaYSGFafrkHpQnOdxiUWFE2zgic/s1600/DSCF1203.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7azMfpG9kFmRDPJ_drDbJxy35w4ZXMKW6cwG2D9gDivwkxe6Q_LrVQEn6yu7NvsDShxZhv7srSvIAVFacJZuhhbmM7U_xU_g_8AEDnmMn47hBWs3-HaYSGFafrkHpQnOdxiUWFE2zgic/s1600/DSCF1203.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Michael Sadler Building, <br />
the University of Leeds</td></tr>
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That odd space that used to be a scrapyard is still there, not wanted by any developers, whilst the shop fronts along Queen's Road have definitely changed during the last decade, and the Royal Park pub still endures, always having been one of the better awful pubs, and always good for pool, and most disappointingly, Royal Park Primary school has been demolished, replaced by a fenced off green space that just looks like it needs to be wanted. Ascend the steep hill up towards Woodhouse Moor, resisting the temptation to venture into the terraces to see if Peter Chan's Chinese Chippie or <em>Man Mountain,</em> the Asian supermarket, are still in business, instead rising to the top to find my second student house, on the corner of Hyde park Road, where four ill matched characters lived between 1994 and 1996, and left on good enough terms to be Facebook friends 20 years down the line, not the site of wanton debauchery mind, as I did most of my drinking at the late and lamented Bricklayers Arms in Woodhouse. Move on along the wooded perimeter of Woodhouse Moor, above Moorland Road, a track walked many times when supposedly attending university, noting that student land is looking far healthier than I had thought, considering the changing expectations of under-graduates these days, rolling on past the Old Leeds Grammar school, and the Duke of Wellington statue (still painted in incongruous colours) to get my first student home seen as well. That will be the Henry Price building, on Clarendon Road, looking like it has had a major refit since I lived there in 1993-4, but I can still walk up to C-block and point to my window, demonstrating that I still have a memory for such things, and hope that the first year students of the 21st century have better accommodation that is more state of the art than one which had 2'6" pull-out beds and 3amp electric supply. Then onward through University campus and the bustle along Lifton Place, to note just how young students are looking these days, and to look distinctly out of place among the many people hanging around outside the Union, one of my other drinking establishments, to then go on past the Michael Sadler building, which contained the School of History, which I did my best to avoid during my days as an undergraduate, but they still somehow saw fit to award me a <em>Desmond</em> 2ii in International History and Politics in 1996, a degree which I have insisted I did nothing to deserve for more than 18 years now.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikSbsIB1Bc7J3EKq448j7A798iFSESxnzDeHe9aKjtZIRuvRMLrl-A_AfEwdDKVKFISa_zDhzUK7mTYCJ6d8wT8koSkJF_xtOYf1T1yPCA-uUyl7IdVjfpTuB81ML96CL5Sdp4Psw0cF8/s1600/DSCF1253.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikSbsIB1Bc7J3EKq448j7A798iFSESxnzDeHe9aKjtZIRuvRMLrl-A_AfEwdDKVKFISa_zDhzUK7mTYCJ6d8wT8koSkJF_xtOYf1T1yPCA-uUyl7IdVjfpTuB81ML96CL5Sdp4Psw0cF8/s1600/DSCF1253.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The 2014 season , and the <br />
1,000 mile odyssey, ends.</td></tr>
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My conclusion to this this trip through the university is that not much has changed in the last 20 years, a thought soon refuted once I spot the Ziff building, and the ongoing construction work next to the Emmanuel institute, but my day of walking needs to come to a conclusion, with me on the wrong side of the city centre, so I stomp away, down Hilary Place and onto Woodhouse Road, past the Fenton, the grimiest and most authentic of all the Otley run pubs, to pass over the Inner Ring road, and wonder how I missed the extensive redevelopment of the Metropolitan University campus, and it being renamed as Leeds Beckett. For complete trip down Memory Lane, I really ought to go though the underpass to the Merrion centre and Morrison's, but that has been inaccessible for a long time now, and I'll not be ending my day at Cuthbert's on Millennium Square like so many of my jaunts into Leeds this year, instead choosing to press on down to Albion Street and on though the heart of the Leeds shopping district, passing by the St John's centre, the Light and Trinity Leeds as I go and slowly marking most of the streets of Leeds Town centre off on my walking travels, which hasn't officially featured the Headrow yet, which seems like a mistake. Also missing from my walking destinations list is Leeds City Station, which has been passed through so many times, but has never had a walk start or end there, which is again a major omission, and half way down New Station Street is as close as I'm going to get today, passing away from it as I take the steps down to Swinegate, passing below the station throat and past the site of the recently closed Cockpit, a venue I should have done a lot more to love when I was a younger man. On past the Malmaison (French for Sick House) in the old tramway HQ, and onto Bridge End, over Leeds Bridge again, and on to the corner of Hunslet Road, where the Tetley brewery may have slipped into history, but its most celebrated heritage pub is still in place as my 3 year journey comes to an end at the Adelphi at 3pm. A celebratory drink is in order, but just the one as I'm four days early for my 40th Birthday bash, and that is the end of the odyssey that started at Gargrave station 983 days prior, ending on a total mileage that exceeded my expectations by quite a distance, <strong>1402.2 miles</strong>, and I'll drink to that!<br />
<br />
Next on the Slate: Turning 40, and Celebrating it!<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>1,000 Miles Cumulative Total: 1402.2 miles</strong> <br />
(2014 total: 489 miles)<br />
<br />
(Up Country Total: 1306.6 miles)<br />
(Solo Total: 1175.2 miles)<br />
(Declared Total: 1194 miles) Christopher Wrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09743749271457169317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9035497799018938871.post-67122415509732599562014-11-10T23:19:00.000+00:002014-11-22T23:10:31.601+00:00Brighouse to Batley 09/11/14The final corners of the season are here already, the last days of my three year odyssey as well for that matter, and having been good to my word to do a lot of wandering below the Calder - Colne boundary, I still find that there are corners of Kirklees that I haven't ventured into. Far too many actually. Last year I apologised for not getting anywhere near Slaithwaite or Meltham, and a year on neither of those locations have been visited on my travels, and even with all those lines coming down on my map, I have somehow failed to go anywhere near Mirfield as well, so I can only conclude that there will still be plenty of paths to pursue when more walking comes on in 2015. For now, though, a trip across the Spen Valley seems in order, as the top corner of this district has been largely forgotten when most of my routes went south, and so we head to the land of<em> Cleckmondedge</em> once again, to see if its best features are still there, and to sneak in a railway walk that could have easily been forgotten about. Additionally, as I'm trying to make the best of the weather whilst November offers days that are little more than 8 hours long, I'm travelling on a Sunday without making any changes to my plan, which means that my start line in Brighouse is not 35 minutes distant, but nearly 2 hours via the long way round through Bradford and Halifax.<br />
<br />
<strong>Brighouse to Batley, via Clifton, Liversedge, Heckmondwike & Birstall. 10.5 miles</strong><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG_bgAKdzZbmnMMokfSw_YKXuHVn8Xxde-iBRRU9Z_KoL-U5y6t30GpNvNkb0gebWD4QQ6cN8B9IUCWjChvd0rTMwR36mQPiTufkKgvvuofakGuEQToupjRuKWEgRwY097klylJytiN2c/s1600/DSCF0301.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG_bgAKdzZbmnMMokfSw_YKXuHVn8Xxde-iBRRU9Z_KoL-U5y6t30GpNvNkb0gebWD4QQ6cN8B9IUCWjChvd0rTMwR36mQPiTufkKgvvuofakGuEQToupjRuKWEgRwY097klylJytiN2c/s1600/DSCF0301.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brighouse from Clifton</td></tr>
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Disembark at Brighouse station, after 10.10am, as the low sun and long shadows drift across the town, and it's a rather familiar appearance as I seem to have made the acquaintance of this corner of Calderdale under similar conditions two years ago, and I'll make for the Calder Bridge, between the towering mills and flour silos, to admire the Welcome to Brighouse sign, rendered in a good facsimile of 1930s railway poster style, even if the town advertised doesn't really resemble the one in reality. Follow the A641 as it passes over the Calder & Hebble navigation, and the Calderdale Way, away from the town centre as we work around the extensive road works around Sainsbury's to find the way onto the A643, the most well hidden of all the major roads which pile up and criss-cross at this corner of the town, finally finding a familiar landmark in the embankments of the L&Y's Pickle Bridge Line of 1881, looking a whole lot more substantial than they did when I last passed this way, and also forming the entrance to the former Clifton Road station, which I have learned since. The ascent on Clifton Common road is pretty harsh, one I should have seen coming as every route out of upper Calderdale involves a hill climb, and this is no different as we follow the main road out through Brighouse's remoter terraces and suburbia, getting good views up the valley and over to the M62 bridge as we go, the appearance of Emley Moor mast is also completely predictable. Clifton village is met by the Armytage Arms, advertised as a refreshment point for the Kirklees way, se we're close to familiar tracks already, and I take the path along Towngate, expecting the village to be revealed as a ribbon of older houses spread along the bluff high above the river, but it's mostly a suburban sprawl, which is a much more disappointing aspect, with the oldest, and nicest, section being around the village green and war memorial, where no gathering seems to be going on despite it being Remembrance Sunday. It's definitely a village blessed with views though, hanging high above Calderdale, and I depart to Deep Lane, passing the Black Horse Inn which bookends the village and I follow the road as it rises above the Willow valley golf club, also previously visited on the Kirklees Way, soon passing over the M62 itself and rising to meet the boundary stone which marks the end of Clifton parish and our departure from Calderdale, and so onwards to traversing Kirklees district.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_w_COrZiXsnJ9RvV7WolNB0J605i2wX2vUOr-AXCqQ2NGB-I76CDSWOHmk_QXnqmVmYaVtkQTGd_QK-EcpQGhtjQpI8K2Q19HwFjctNyQJti1uhlLY85DSKMv2YukcC0-JrJTbirMN8w/s1600/DSCF0377.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_w_COrZiXsnJ9RvV7WolNB0J605i2wX2vUOr-AXCqQ2NGB-I76CDSWOHmk_QXnqmVmYaVtkQTGd_QK-EcpQGhtjQpI8K2Q19HwFjctNyQJti1uhlLY85DSKMv2YukcC0-JrJTbirMN8w/s1600/DSCF0377.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Liversedge Cemetery</td></tr>
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As Freakfield Lane rises, it's a surprise to find it inhabited with joggers and dog walkers as we are quite far from any major centres of population, but once we crest we get a familiar spread of views around us, with St Peter's Hartshead sitting in isolation above the fields to the north and that epic view into the Colne Valley emerging to the south west, and regardless of the number of times I have seen it , it is always one to love. It's shrouded in a mess of haze today, and despite the promises of all day sunshine, it looks like we are going to be getting a lot more cloud cover than I'd wish for, which should be entirely expected, and I'm feeling in an improvisational mood as I meet the track of the Kirklees Way once again, choosing against following the roads through Hartshead and Roberttown, and choose to go cross country, heading over towards Peep Green Lane to make an altogether greener trip into the Spen Valley. The familiar views soon pass as I head to the cluster of houses by Windy Bank Lane, as the Spen Valley appears, offering few immediately distinctive landmarks, and I descend among the undulating fields to meet Green Lane, rising behind a cemetery that seems to be remote from any of the surrounding villages, and I'll cut my path through there, despite the lack of official rights of way through it. It's a pretty large site, with quite a few people out to tend graves, and it almost feels like Victorian parkland that has since become a necropolis, but it hasn't remained active enough to keep the chapel open, which now stands boarded up and neglected as the heart of it. The identity of the cemetery is finally revealed as I depart it, belonging to Liversedge, which makes sense now that I'm in the landscape rather than regarding it on the map, as I'd suspect burial plots are much easier to locate on the hillside outside the town rather than trying to find more space within it after its rapid growth in the 19th century. A route from Clough Lane to the town needs to be found, around the entirely rectangular Triangle farm, and by the ancient and rather tumbledown Bullace Trees farm, passing small kids on Shetland ponies on the lane before meeting the longest field walk of the day, down to Lands Beck and on to the path that takes the perimeter of the Birkby's and Kautex plastics factories, also slipping behind the Spen Valley Sports college, where the kids are out on the playing fields to use their Sundays for healthy exercise, which seems nutty, until I remember what I am actually doing.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieOPKt_SJ-D5o9-9k9XxRd_V9Dwv5lYi1XPVDA7cHC4m2lz2iADeVwpdavYfoj0cXjGUpp0UIKfQst_iIcK3YfcLix08IKYvJFaUDng2pXrXiOZkYKpHUEsfpsqSoekIlLVE5lAORvXqk/s1600/DSCF0412.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieOPKt_SJ-D5o9-9k9XxRd_V9Dwv5lYi1XPVDA7cHC4m2lz2iADeVwpdavYfoj0cXjGUpp0UIKfQst_iIcK3YfcLix08IKYvJFaUDng2pXrXiOZkYKpHUEsfpsqSoekIlLVE5lAORvXqk/s1600/DSCF0412.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Liversedge Central Foot Tunnel</td></tr>
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Headlands Road drops us on the edge of suburban Liversedge, but we soon strike for the heart of town, wherever that might be as we cross to meet the footpath that slips downhill to the site of the former L&Y Liversedge Central station, now home to the Spen Valley Greenway and its riot of cyclepaths, and so a foot tunnel beneath the old station site can still have a current use as I pass beneath it to Ashton Clough Road, nowadays an industrial dead end, but surely once the road to the station? The footpath I had intended to follow around the back of the factories is somewhat overgrown and rather than have a fight with brambles, I choose to stay on the pavements as I move out to the A649 Halifax Road, heading west past the Lonsdale Hotel once I get the idea to go past the parish church and adding another improvised section to my day, and that can be found at the end of the footpath that departs Rouse Street, which is too narrow for both walker and dog walker to occupy simultaneously. Christ Church Liversedge might look like a rather mundane Victorian church when viewed from a distance, but up close it seems very well designed, as it sits atop its grassy promontory, with its high walls and elevated clerestory giving it a much more dramatic appearance, and it's definitely one worth seeing, especially as the shroud of trees have lost their leaves rendering it much more visible than it would be at warmer times of the year. Unfortunately no path exists eastwards, where a lot of houses have gone up since my E288 was printed, and so a long detour is necessary to get back on track, up Church Lane to Knowler Hill, where the Albion Inn looks like a good prospect as a pub fixer-upper, and then it's on among more factories and over the River Spen, looking like more than a ditch at this point, and up Green lane to meet the A638 Bradford Road. I don't much care for walking along major roads, and this one offers little of interest, aside from the observations that there seem to be an awful lot of pubs in the Spen Valley, and that it appears that about half of the Job Centres in the country seem to have been built out of the same pattern book within a single pre-1960s decade, and so on we go, passing across the A62 and failing to spot where the boundary between Liversedge and Heckmondwike might land, and the odd spread and mix of industrial and residential developments demonstrates the falseness of those models I was taught in GCSE Geography many summers ago.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid1_Ba5ENFbIt4ydJawKUg39-iXG95Iq0Q9q5zyc0kHL7hFcVu_trhpv1JvVSKE895JCKDfJYBKBinAQuISwOYsL1kXsxmr5VeO3gLMw9J0JOABHi3yMM_va3xJA6XTHT6Mjr1gR6FOI8/s1600/DSCF0530.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid1_Ba5ENFbIt4ydJawKUg39-iXG95Iq0Q9q5zyc0kHL7hFcVu_trhpv1JvVSKE895JCKDfJYBKBinAQuISwOYsL1kXsxmr5VeO3gLMw9J0JOABHi3yMM_va3xJA6XTHT6Mjr1gR6FOI8/s1600/DSCF0530.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heckmondwike Cemetery</td></tr>
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Depart from Frost Hill road to take the footpath that slips between a pair of factories before continuing in to Heckmondwike around the long perimeter of the Flush Mills site, now operated by Autoneum and one of those rare mill sites in any town that is still wholly in industrial use, and that's a rare triumph when 90% of mills listed on my OS maps are now residential site or post industrial dereliction. It might not be the old mill buildings, largely being newer buildings but a few wall fragments of the older mills still endure around the perimeter, and its worth taking a look too, as this path was chosen to take me on to the roads that dwell above Heckmondwike cutting on the L&NWR New Leeds Line, better known as the Spen Valley Ringway these days. I came along here to take the views down into the cutting which I had considered doing long before my walking life started, and to be honest the views are not that good as I make my way from Cook Lane to Cemetery Road along pavements and alleyways, as none of the bridges announce themselves distinctively and most of the walls are so high that I cannot see over them, so most of the pictures I take are not really of what I saw as I went past. It's still an engineering marvel, but certainly one best viewed from within rather than without, and being at ground level gives a few perspectives on Heckmondwike that I didn't get in 2012, like noting the turreted Non-Conformist chapel that has been converted to a Mosque with only a minimum of redressing, and spotting the former Roman Catholic church of the Holy Spirit, which stands disused at a scale and style that is all sorts of bonkers. My next walking target for the day demands that my track head north again, away from my destination, and it's convenient that Cemetery Road leads to another local green space, Heckmondwike Cemetery, naturally, where an even more extensive selection of graves fills a large field hemmed in by suburbia in all sides, high above the valley with a spired double chapel that is even sadder and more derelict than the one in Liversedge. It's good spot to get a perspective across the Spen Valley down towards the Calder and the parish church at Mirfield, and then it's time to stop looking back and make tracks towards Birstall, passing along Dale Lane and through the council estate to meet more suburban sprawl on the elevated B6122 White Lee Road, passing into our final valley of the day as we hit the descent on Smithies Moor Road.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9eZPAxVJ3_yAtOv8TH4ijGXYLVEHLg4IGatmByKW5QOIeiDkTO80bQci2sJwnwXsJ070uoNcur6ekQVWWwuiFLSwWkjdZGcJF_sA9yoQ2bkI83DexCGO8EY1qKC6JQTAklofuDuDhkC4/s1600/DSCF0589.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9eZPAxVJ3_yAtOv8TH4ijGXYLVEHLg4IGatmByKW5QOIeiDkTO80bQci2sJwnwXsJ070uoNcur6ekQVWWwuiFLSwWkjdZGcJF_sA9yoQ2bkI83DexCGO8EY1qKC6JQTAklofuDuDhkC4/s1600/DSCF0589.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">L&NWR Footbridge, Birstall</td></tr>
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I'm not entirely certain if Smithies Moor itself is meant to be parkland or not, it certainly has en enclosed playing field but I'm guessing that the rest is merely common land, and the descent away from the interestingly angled council houses has me looking over to the distant M62 and trying to get a fix on Oakwell Hall, which should be somewhere over there, but the big house that my camera picks out certainly isn't it. Looking over Birstall gives me a lot to see, but few obvious landmarks, and hitting the edge of the town has me finding more Shetland ponies hiding among the terraces and semis, and then it's on to meet the crossing of the A62 and A652, and you have time to ponder, as you wait for the traffic to allow you a moment to cross over, if the man outside the van dealership on the corner might really hate his life as he waves to traffic whilst wearing a dog costume. My next target hides somewhere behing the Italian restaurant at the crossroads, but It's not easy to spot the way to the cul de sac named The Crossings, which was once the terminus of the L&NWR Birstall Lower branch of 1852, one of the really forgotten railways of West Yorkshire, once envisaged as that company's route to Bradford but condemned to backwater status after the GNR gained approval for the Batley - Adwalton line. Having lost passenger services in 1916 as a wartime measure, it soldiered on as a goods line until finally closing in 1962, and now all that remains of this terminus are the distinctive sloping edges of the platforms and loading bays along the retaining walls of the 1980s suburban houses that have grown in the area, but off to the east, beyond the gate that just will not open is a mile of cycle path following the route of the line, which somehow didn't get consumed by redevelopment. the section that runs into Wilton park, the green space of Birstall - Batley, has a good reason to have endured, but the earlier section, up to Brookroyd Lane is an altogether more unexpected survival, running along an open section up to the substantial footbridge, before passing between fences through a new development of house on a track that is clearly only a few months old, so Yay! for councils putting money into schemes that promote healthy living. the track through Wilton park is pleasingly quiet, whilst a quiet buzz of activity goes on on the playing fields below and the woodland tracks above, the sun breaking through the cover of trees to give me one of the loveliest strtces of railway walking that I have had through all my seasons.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA0bZXpe1hzW1s8m7qc7Z3TaI868PDUAYB_8ztJ7CEpC4QSy23o-v89hvBMbXSGmvRk8oJkJVyVT1s9OwUIAr69zel5RnsHfkn4KqtMLwumJbFswmxfDJt-0H0NPx4QkDrvXupL5lAkr0/s1600/DSCF0668.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA0bZXpe1hzW1s8m7qc7Z3TaI868PDUAYB_8ztJ7CEpC4QSy23o-v89hvBMbXSGmvRk8oJkJVyVT1s9OwUIAr69zel5RnsHfkn4KqtMLwumJbFswmxfDJt-0H0NPx4QkDrvXupL5lAkr0/s1600/DSCF0668.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All Saints, Batley</td></tr>
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Glimpses of the transitions from Birstall to Batley are gained through the tree cover, showing up more enduring mills and well-sized town houses, and we run out of railway path as the track ends at the Carlinghow Hill bridge abutment, another former station site, but the alignment can be followed on along Chinewood Avenue as it drifts into one of those council estates that seems to be uniquely styled to this area, taking the path down to the A652 once more, leaving the briefest of railway walks behind, as I make for the ancient point of interest in this town. There are few churches in this area which are distinct in the landscape, notably those at Upper Batley, Hanging Heaton and Staincliffe, but Batley Parish Church seems to be doing its best to hide, behind the large building of the Conservative Club, but it shouldn't as All Saints is a rare Medieval establishment, dating from the late 15th century in the Perpendicular style, complete with a pedimented tower with battlements. The churchyard is a pleasing little oasis of calm in this town, and a quick glance at Wikipedia will show that I have passed and noted a good many of the Grade 1 listed churches in this county, and spotting the remainder should be another target for 2015. Beyond, Branch Road leads to the Market Place, and the heart of Batley's civic quarter, where the Town Hall and Branch Library stand opposite each other to illustrate the wealth available to the town in the Victorian era, and the contemporary heart of the shopping district can be found along Commercial Street, where the prosperity of the town is hard to judge as most of the shops are not trading on Sunday afternoon, though the Tesco superstore is predictably busy. The finish line approaches, as I descend to Hick Lane and across the A652 once again, noting the Batley Mill Outlet, which seems to be a thriving industry in these parts, and note the gateway to nowhere which has many bats upon it, which gives a literal interpretation to the town's name. The final pull is up Station Road, which is wide and proud looking, with many warehouses which must have been prime real estate in the 19th century, but now stand looking like this needs to be revived as an upscale residential district, another idea to ponder if a few million pounds were to drop into my lap. The day comes to its end point at Batley station at 2.05pm, and having had a sub 4 hour window to complete my trek before catching the Sunday service, I arrive with 7 minutes to spare, proving that it's possible to cross Kirklees and check a new station off this list even at this late juncture.<br />
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Next on the Slate: The first walk of the year went to Bradford, and so the last one leaves it<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>1,000 Miles Cumulative Total: 1389.6 miles</strong> <br />
(2014 total: 476.4 miles)<br />
<br />
(Up Country Total: 1294 miles)<br />
(Solo Total: 1162.6 miles)<br />
(Declared Total: 1181.4 miles) Christopher Wrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09743749271457169317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9035497799018938871.post-80952008299592315612014-11-04T21:44:00.000+00:002014-11-08T13:31:40.449+00:00Darton to Outwood 01/11/14Hello, November, I get the feeling that we haven't been acquainted in a while, having not gotten out onto the trail at all in your last iteration, having put on your gloomiest face when my walking enthusiasm had dwindled back in 2013. This time round you are putting in quite a different face, offering sunshine and a balmy temperature that really shouldn't be seen this late in the season, it's such a shame that I dropped the FOSCL trip to Wild Boar Fell from my plans when I started to rationalise down the trips for the late portion of the season, as I had no expected anything like this from you this late in the day. So FOSCL deserve an apology for my failure to join them at all in 2014, but even though I won't be taking to the high edge of Mallerstang today, there's no reason to not go on a ridge walk when the cloudless skies could offer views for many miles around, and whilst Black Hill ought to be the obvious target, the excessive mileage counts against it in these days of all-day evening sunshine and rapidly diminishing daylight hours, so we require a much more modest high land, like the loftiest elevations of Wakefield district.<br />
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<strong>Darton to Outwood, via Woolley Edge, Crigglestone, Horbury & Wrenthorpe 12.7 miles</strong><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Woolley Edge, the view East</td></tr>
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Start out early to make best use of the daylight hours as we enter the days of GMT, I would have sworn that Darton lands within the WY Metro territories, but the lack of signage at the station would indicate that we are actually in South Yorkshire, and my Metrocard should not have afforded me a free ride, so Northern Rail are owed a rare apology as I disembark at 9.20am under the brightest of skies. I'll be venturing no further into this village of terraces on the edge of the old Barnsley coalfields, instead rising away from the River Dearne, only a stones throw away below the station, up the rough footpath that leads to Woolley Colliery Road, which once led above the local playing fields and below the wooded ridge of Woolley Edge to the colliery that has now vanished to be replaced by an expanding development of midscale housing quite incongruously located amid fields. For some reason the pair of colliery terraces sloping up the hillside would make sense remaining in the landscape after the mines have gone, but a new bunch of housing makes little sense in my mind, and I guess the fact is that this brownfield site has been planned with car owners in mind rather than those who'd like all facilities to be within walking distance. Anyway, follow the rising track that leads up to the houses on the edge of Windhill Woods, returning to West Yorkshire as the track ventures off beneath the tree cover, passing old worked out mine shafts before hitting a field boundary to rise up to the top of the Woolley Edge ridge, with immediate views offered to the vaguely familiar landscape of the Dearne - Don bracket, whilst Emley Moor transmitter rises like the sentinel it is to remind you that the tracks of Kirklees are not too remote from here All told the rise from the Dearne is only 100m or so, but it's enough effort for early in the day, and hitting the Woolley Edge Road at the top, riding the 170m contour, affords a superb and evolving view to the east, with Woolley village front and centre, with the city of Wakefield beyond, and the high buildings of the Wakefield 41 business park above Outwood in the distance, and the high towers of Seacroft even further afield, heading north along the roadside and the power stations stretching down the River Aire appear, looking so close when so far away, Ferrybridge still being inactive after a serious fire this summer, and that whole flat expanse looks so inviting under the morning sun.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Woolley Edge, the view West</td></tr>
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Woolley Edge road itself is not a lot of fun to walk along, far too busy for a road that has both the M1 and A61 running as its obvious parallels, and the verges are just a bit too narrow to be honestly comfortable, so sides are swapped several times, mostly as the views east evolve as the sharper western edge of the hillside is heavily clad with trees and good views through the woodlands are few and far between. Thoughts drift to just how green the landscape is looking so late in the season, as fresh grass grows and some fields even have their root crops growing again as if they think Spring has already arrived, hopefully the inevitable temperature downturn isn't going to do them too much damage, but I know noting of horticulture so who knows. At High House farm, we finally get our view to the west, and it's a beauty, across Emley Moor to Meltham Moor and Holme Moss, a perspective on Kirklees not seen whilst touring within the district, whilst far down below is the M1, just south of the service station which takes the name of the hillside, and the lakes of Bretton Park, and my failure to wander into the Yorkshire Sculpture park must be counted as another strange omission in this season. A little further along is Rose farm, and the view westwards is most appreciated here, as the house has the largest picture window I have ever seen, a single pane of glass from floor to ceiling and the full width of the ground floor room, as well as a glass wall at the end of the garden to provide uninterrupted sight lines. The lane slips beneath tree cover as it moves around the highest edge of the ridge, but no sight of the 176m trig point on Beacon Hill is gained as far too much attention is to be spent keeping out of the way of traffic along the narrowest edge of the verge, with the declining hill slipping away to your left, and its a relief to come to the crossroads where the high edge swings east, and the path along Common lane get much quieter and seem welcoming to joggers and cyclists as the view north is again obscured by too many trees as I make my way around towers the mast and covered reservoir beside Intake lane, where the descent down from the ridge starts, slipping down the concealed s-bend of the lane through Totty Spring Wood, where senses have to be kept alert, before finally gaining a footpath having lost some 60m from the top of Woolley Edge.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Horbury & Ossett, from Crigglestone</td></tr>
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Stoney lane Leads us to the edge of the settlements that make up the southern part of greater Wakefield, a lot of bungalows in this one, Hall Green, which I recognise as a bus destination to give a bit more shape to the local landscape, and straightforward suburban walking is to be avoided as I take the path down Holligthorpe Lane, offering views back as Woolley Edge recedes and the smell of bird poo becomes overwhelming, even if the considerably sized poultry farm looks like it hasn't been in use in years. Around Dennington Hill and onwards to Painthorpe, just one of the many estates that surround Crigglestone, where the most straightforward route is across the edge of the rugby fields before slipping through the terraces and uphill past the Mackie Hill school, noting that dominating picture windows seem to be a thing on many houses in these parts, to arrive on Cliff Lane, where a perspective across the Calder is gained. Even at a modest height it's quite a panorama, looking all the way upstream to Ovenden Moor in the west and far over the city of Wakefield to the east, with the centrepiece being the quartet of towers looming over Horbury and Ossett, and it provides a feeling of extreme elevation, when you are only 50m or so above the river, and even with my ridge walk done, a surprise viewpoint is always welcome. A little way down through the house of Crigglestone, we meet the shortcut path that leads down to the road beneath the M1, and it wouldn't be too much of a detour to go for a look at the remaining portal of Crigglestone tunnel, on the Midland Railway's ill-starred Royston - Thornhill line, but that would involve more trespass than I'm comfortable with, so that will have to wait for a day when I'm feeling bolder. So on to Hollin Lane, still skirting the edge of greater Wakefield at Calder Grove and meeting the crossing of the A636 Denby Dale Road, at a point where making a passage is about as difficult as it gets, and then down to Broad Cut Road, passing the Crigglestone -Horbury parish boundary, which doesn't lie at the Calder for some reason. Pass over the Navigation (C&H) and past the Navigation (Inn) for some moments in a familiar landscape before meeting the scary footbridge that passes over the Calder entirely enclosed in plate steel beneath the railway bridge on the Wakefield - Barnsley line, not a spot for the faint of heart, especially if a train passes over when you are on board.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St Peter & St Leonard, Horbury</td></tr>
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On the north bank, the smell of balsam dominates as the cyclepath is followed alongside the factories up to meet Millfield Road, and this corner of Horbury Junction looks like it hasn't changed much in the last 60 years or so, and some features could easily pass muster in a 1950s set drama, the Calder Inn especially, rising to cross the Wakefield - Mirfield line, and one of those spot where a railway station should have endured, but hasn't. Along Daw lane, suburbia and council house have some old farmsteads mixed in between them, demonstrating more interesting patterns of development, and a look south in a couple of place shows up Calder Grove viaduct off in the distance, confirming at that it is one of those huge structures that hides in the landscape very successfully. Cross the A642 Southfield lane, continuing as the cyclepath ascends to Peel Street, which must have been attached to Daw Lane before the bypass road truncated it, and it's on upwards through the suburbs with the spire of Horbury Parish church to focus the attention as Cross Street leads to Cluntergate and Horbury's main drag, finally meeting the most notable West Yorkshire town that my trails had avoided. The town immediately strikes me as one of the more upscale settlements encountered, with a large number of independent stores and boutiques with very few chains, and the whole of the town centre is old, with the only 20th century buildings looking no more recent than the 1930s, so even if it's bit out of the way as the major routes all avoid it, it's not a town lacking in prosperity. Queen Street has the same sort of fell as it leads up to the town's point of interest, the parish church of St Peter & St Leonard, a fine Georgian composition in Ashlar of 1793, aping a number of Wren styles, by local boy and noted Yorkshire architect John Carr at his own personal expense, not one of the largest but certainly the best designed in the county, which surely dominated this landscape before Ossett parish church usurped it in the following century. The churchyard is a good spot to pause for lunch and to take stock on the day at its mid point, and finishing in Ossett as planned seems a waste of late season sunshine, so I have myself a mental redirect before heading off, aiming for the top edge of Wakefield district and adding an extra hour to my day.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lofthouse Colliery Disaster Memorial</td></tr>
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Up Northgate as the older buildings continue keeping Horbury picturesque, and take a turn to Dovecote lane and around the Silcote St Hilda's school, a former convent with its prominent green copper clad spire, which cannot be actually be seen to be attached to any part of the extensive site regardless of which angle you might view it from, and then it's onwards down the path by the side of the cemetery to Manorfield Drive and the edge of the town where all the council houses have been secluded. Meet the cyclepath that heads north, and we are on the line of the Wakefield Wheel once again, still making its oddly mapless way around the district, slipping between equestrian fields to the beck crossing in the green space that separates Horbury from Ossett, and thence to the next town along Manor lane, wondering if there used to be a manor somewhere amongst where suburbia has now grown. Away from Ossett town I head though, along Manor Road past the playing fields and on through the suburban sprawl, heading up South Parade where the point of interest are the Victorian chapel that seem to predate most of the area, and the Prince of Wales pub whose prince is the future Edward VII, and eventually landing us on Teall Street to cross last weeks route at the Thai restaurant, heading off along Queen's Drive just as the cloud cover comes on to spoil my plan of making the most of the sunshine. Head under the M1 and across a couple of horse filled fields to meet the A636 Wakefield road, where the entrance to the Silkwood industrial park has obscured the way onto the footpath that leads over towards Low Laithes Golf course and the way that I walked at the very start of this season, and I spot the turn that I missed last time, but don't make for the city of Wakefield on it, instead retracing steps to the clubhouse and the hitting Park Mill lane to head northwards. It's not a fun road walk, far too narrow with too much traffic and no refuges, so sides are changed multiple times as I rise to Batley Road, getting one last look back at Ossett Parish church before pressing on along the verge to the point of interest at this quarter, the memorial to the seven miners killed in the Lofthouse colliery disaster in 1973, more than two miles distant from the pithead to give an impression of the scale of the workings, and a reminder of the human cost of energy production and progress, with six of the bodies still remaining entombed in the flooded chambers far below our feet.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Declans, Wrenthorpe</td></tr>
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Onwards along Wrenthorpe Lane, once again at the edge of greater Wakefield, and I'll contort myself to get pictures of me by the signage, for hopefully obvious reasons, and this is again a suburbia of varying ages and qualities, but it's another place that I have not previously visited, so it's all good to me, and I will try to keep the lanes green, so don't head into the heart of Wrenthorpe, instead taking the path that leads down to the primary school, at such a steep pitch that it must surely be hated by kids and parents in equal measure. At least the section out to Jerry Clay Lane is more friendly, and another footpath takes me along the back of many domestic gardens along the field boundary to trough Well Lane, and the avoiding the suburbia becomes impossible, so paces are made to meet Wrenthorpe Road, and to find a familiar sight where it crosses Bradford Road, the route of the 425 bus, a local service that I've taken a good few times. Declans (with no possessive apostrophe) is one of those shops that sells all kinds of bizarre and oddball furniture and ornaments that all fits in that fashion of 'Didn't know it existed but now you know it does you wonder how you could live without it', stores like this used to be much more common than they are now, and it's a place I'm glad exists, even if it's some where I wouldn't burn my cash, personally, the sort of place you'd miss if it wasn't there any more. Hit Potovens Lane, a name familiar from a couple of early season trips, and pace on to the bridge across the A650, and on around the Wakefield 41 business park, seen much earlier in the day and now well hidden by foliage, which is remarkable when you consider how big it is. Pass over the Leeds - Wakefield line at Robin Hood bridge and make my way on into Outwood, which convinces me more is part of the empire of bungalows. Take a left onto Lingwell Gate Lane towards the station, but have to detour along the footpath that leads down to the old GNR terrace to take another look, and then it's a long circuit around to the northbound platforms at Outwood, noting the old entrance to the station that used to sit to the south of the road bridge, before rolling down for a 2.05pm finish. I've no idea what time the train is due, as I did this last stretch on a complete whim, but a 20 minute wait at a mainline station is never going to be boring as a trio of expresses charge through and I can enjoy some railway photography as the sun shines down once more.<br />
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Next on the Slate: The corner of Kirklees that I almost forgot about.<br />
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<strong>1,000 Miles Cumulative Total: 1379.1 miles</strong> <br /> (2014 total: 465.9 miles)<br /><br /> (Up Country Total: 1283.5 miles)<br /> (Solo Total: 1152.1 miles)<br /> (Declared Total: 1170.9 miles) Christopher Wrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09743749271457169317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9035497799018938871.post-65252141063415772062014-10-28T08:23:00.000+00:002014-11-02T15:42:59.370+00:00Wakefield to Dewsbury 25/10/14This time last year I had just about run out of energy and was trying to keep the season going when my body was feeling extremely reluctant to keep going, and it's a good feeling to find that twelve months on my demeanour is feeling much more resolute and my body feels like there are still many more miles to be put down this season. A change in the weather helps, and after glum days and general exhaustion taking hold in September, the weekends of October have felt much more amenable to being out of doors, and with the joys of Autumn in the air, I finally look towards that major architectural feature that has cropped up again and again on my travels without me ever getting that near to it, and if the day is only going to be a relatively short stroll once again, I'm going to find plenty to see as I fill in another gap on the map and make a significant trip between Wakefield district and Kirklees for the very first time. (A deeply trainspotterish thing to note along the way is on riding out to Wakefield Westgate, I think that on all my travels, I have now ridden on every type of rail unit that serves the lines of West Yorkshire, the class 322 EMU being the only one not previously encountered, and whilst that has nothing to do with my walking exploits, it shows that a small part of my youthful brain is still active.)<br />
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<strong>Wakefield to Dewsbury, via Lupset & Ossett 9.3 miles</strong><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thornes Park Motte</td></tr>
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On to the trail at 9.40am, anyway, leaving the new Westgate station, heading down past the entertainingly austere Unitarian chapel, and onto Westgate itself, another older-than-you'd-think road, and looking over to the now fenced off old Westgate station, an unattractive structure in beige bricks that is surely not much longer for this world. Passing under the railway, there's one good remnant of the original GNR station to note, the doorway to nowhere with is stone carved architrave, one of the few visible reminders that Westgate station endured before the late 20th century, and then it's away from the corner of Wakefield that still has Georgian origins, heading down Quebec street and Charlesworth Way among the many superstores and fast food joints that have all been built to a uniformly dull plan. There would be some good angles along here towards Wakefield viaduct, if it wasn't for the fact that I'm looking directly into the sun for most of them, convincing me that the longest viaduct in the county is also the hardest to photograph, and the city centre is left behind as I join the A636 Denby Dale Road, heading out into the burgeoning suburbia to take a closer look at St James, Thornes, a late Georgian styled church that look like a plain companion to St John from back in the town, one which oddly fails to appear in Pevsner West Riding (indeed the whole town gets an unreasonably short shrift. Across the road, is the park with three names, which I'll just call Thornes Park for the sake of brevity, and beyond the roadside pavilion and drinking fountain, is a small hill that maps claim is a Motte and Bailey, and detouring from the paths onto it reveals that this is indeed the case, with broad terraces running around its northern face and a prominent crown sitting below a cover of tree and shrubbery. You'd hope it would offer excellent views across the city, but the tree cover largely prevents that, and despite being a similar elevation to the castle at Sandal, there's no good sightline across the river either, still it's good to see it endure, largely as an exercise mound for the dog walkers, though getting down from it has me heading to the southern corner of the park rather than progressing westwards, and my disorientation gets worse when I find that a branch of Premier Inn dwells within the parkland itself, and I'm not entirely sure if I'm wandering into their property.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St George's, Lupset</td></tr>
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Hit the southern boundary anyway, progressing among the local sports facilities, offering tennis, bowls and miniature golf for a small fee, and avoiding the heavy duty runners who look like triathlon types compared to the usual class of joggers, I make my way around the Gill Syke Pond, where it looks like every Canada goose in the district has come to winter, and this is definitely a good spot to be if you enjoy urban birdlife. Last surprise in the park is the formal garden and glasshouses, arranged inform of the old 18th century house whose grounds have become parkland, and like Huddersfield, Wakefield has a municipal park that is very easy to love, and having enjoyed the green interlude, it's back to the roads again, following Thornes Road and the council estates out towards our old friend the A642. Not the prettiest of lanes to tramp along to be sure, taking time looking south towards Wooley Edge across the district golf course, before meeting the pub call the Lupset, which takes my route into the Lupset estate, naturally, heading up Broadway to find the shortest route out of Wakefield and into the countryside, found along St George's Road where Snapethorpe Primary School looks like it came out of the same pattern book as the infants and juniors that I attended in Leicester many moons ago. Also worthy of note is St George's church itself, seemingly far too old to live in a 1950s estate and an odd design too, a double naved church in stone with an undercroft because of its sloping site, and again ignored by Pevsner, which has me hoping that Yale UP will get its finger out and get the second volume of West Rising (South) published before we are too much older. To the fields anyway, where bold boundary paths take me west and north, despite possessing no ROWs heading up to another tertiary trip point, at a whopping 73m elevation, offering a good view of Horbury, one of the few towns in the county that I have totally failed to visit, and finally an appearance of the sentinel that has loomed over so many trips, Ossett parish church, peeking across the crest an already looking large at this distance. That's where our course is set, heading north to meet the cycle track that ruins downhill out of Wakefield and under the M1, a steep track that would be no fun to ascend followed by a long tunnel with no illumination at all, where it would be far to easy to startle and be startled in equal measure, as is found out in practice.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2-mt4hYGsfYLz3j6pYLFjtD0E9lGQIp0c8OA72kmr_FPnhuNZOkDZxIe8CtKxAPcix-cNDTaYsP_8GnHhvOjc5bRvSXQNcnaiuIyE5On5Yc3wjX_nKDij9rzpqeSizU5OOhOayOTTxZo/s1600/DSCF9652.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2-mt4hYGsfYLz3j6pYLFjtD0E9lGQIp0c8OA72kmr_FPnhuNZOkDZxIe8CtKxAPcix-cNDTaYsP_8GnHhvOjc5bRvSXQNcnaiuIyE5On5Yc3wjX_nKDij9rzpqeSizU5OOhOayOTTxZo/s1600/DSCF9652.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trinity Church, Ossett</td></tr>
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Baptist Lane offers me my path into Ossett, which is soon found to be much more extensive than I would ever have thought, and the route to the Parish church starts along Teall Street, where suburbia has developed in about as piecemeal a method as is possible, and interest is only piqued by the few old farm buildings hidden among some of the 20th century's least inspired designs. Pound the lane all the way up to Queen's Drive, where the Malagor Thai restaurant occupies probably the most interesting building in this quarter, and ascending Towngate gives me another view as the parish church looms closer, but the most straightforward way to get there is actually to not follow the roads, which seem to have been laid out to be as confusing as possible. Instead a footpath can be taken onto some rough ground , or a nature garden if you prefer, above the local miniature golf course, following some vague paths to a pavement walk among the houses of Whitley Spring Crescent before meeting the footpath that leads among the factories up to Wakefield Road, passing the route of the old GNR branch along the way, though no visible remains of it can be seen, that note is for the trainspotters only. More industry endures along the B6129, in buildings of a broad variety of ages, and the church continues to loom above the older terraces and villas around the town centre, and entry to the churchyard can finally be made via Far Richard Close, an uninspiring selection of recent houses with a prime location next door. The churchyard is big, feeling like it still has enough capacity for several generations of Ossettites to come, and I'm delighted to report that Trinity church is just as big up close as it is from a distance, like St Bart's, Armley, but in a much more traditional fashion, built in 1865, it's a bold Victorian take on the Early English style with a tall tower and spire at the crossing, with lancet and rose windows in quantity, with the yellow stone illuminated as the morning sunshine just starts to fade. It's a glorious monument to the certainties of the Victorian age and its builders certainly knew how to make their mark on the landscape, for like Emley Moor transmitter, this is one of those standard candles that defines the landscape of West Yorkshire in my mind, and it's one I think I might always love too.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFZ0LUvdiros_rw-Jsq4gH2usfVe0Kd9WlsTqliHm2kxWmf6KoXJfAD3PDRYoCreN4sIFn53vShd627j3sG14vurcCDvqvNb1hUt6j5OD9FCVsQAkTwQN7uDMfHRw5Ak3CL1lqJPhLKKw/s1600/DSCF9722.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFZ0LUvdiros_rw-Jsq4gH2usfVe0Kd9WlsTqliHm2kxWmf6KoXJfAD3PDRYoCreN4sIFn53vShd627j3sG14vurcCDvqvNb1hUt6j5OD9FCVsQAkTwQN7uDMfHRw5Ak3CL1lqJPhLKKw/s1600/DSCF9722.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Dewsbury - Ossett Greenway</td></tr>
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My on going route demands a snaking path to be taken down through Ossett itself, proving that the shortest route from A to B is not always the most interesting one, and as the parish church recedes from view the route down Church Street offers me more interesting industrial relics, like the sadly forlorn Northfield Mill and the yard that still has rails running into it, but offering no indication of where they might have lead, certainly not to the GNR line, which is nowhere near here, a tram depot, perhaps? On past the primary school and the playing fields, and on into the town centre, certain that this definitely qualifies as a town, as along Dale Street, the town hall can be found, in an architectural style that defeats me, but makes enough a statement of civic pride, with its prominent gable ends and clock tower, and the market place spread out in front of it gives it a good location. Plenty of options for food or watering here as the middle of the day approaches, but my plans have me keeping moving, down past the War memorial and away from the shopper along Bank Street to find the path to National Route 699, and the new(ish) greenway to Dewsbury, found down West Wells Road, a lane which feels like time forgot about it, being lined with old weavers cottages and not being suitable for motor traffic, still having a surface of heavily rutted flagstones. The greenway starts out at the site of Runtlings Lane junction, west of the old Ossett GNR station, where a playing field now resides, and the cycle path sets off on the rising track towards Batley and Adwalton, rather than taking the lower path of the Dewsbury loop, probably because it is following already established permissive paths, and some land owner refused to open up his rough fields of former trackbed to troublesome cyclists. Altitude is gained around the edge of Ossett, and a good view would be had up the Calder valley towards Thornhill and Dewsbury, if it wasn't for the cloud cover greying everything over, and the according temperature drop makes getting to the end of the day feel very appealing indeed. The descent to hit the alignment of the Dewsbury Loop comes at a sharp hairpin, and the steepness is startling, as I always think of cycleways as being level tracks, and it convinces me further that cyclists are made of sterner stuff than I, and once down we hit a large and impressive embankment that rises above Pildacre Mill Beck, a feature that would be a whole lot more prominent if it wasn't for the tree cover which conceals it and the views.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCRtLd2mtcMxmtIMmqRG9g5HEQH5XNZx4Ne0bamKhE-pmNWlBtsMxh4u8Cec3z-y2dRpWZk1iQybZjmyYTKY0t0uDM3MeMYf6nydWnjIJ1qBoIKHxCSHg3bmI_R4HpoflWelndDN5AvL4/s1600/DSCF9789.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCRtLd2mtcMxmtIMmqRG9g5HEQH5XNZx4Ne0bamKhE-pmNWlBtsMxh4u8Cec3z-y2dRpWZk1iQybZjmyYTKY0t0uDM3MeMYf6nydWnjIJ1qBoIKHxCSHg3bmI_R4HpoflWelndDN5AvL4/s1600/DSCF9789.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All Saints, Dewsbury</td></tr>
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We have now moved back into a familiar landscape, having come out this way on the Kirklees Way, and I do ponder taking an alternative route to get in some paths that I haven't previously paced, as this is a Greenway which deserves to be walked in its entirety at least once, so pass by the many dog walkers and amblers who seem to be out for a lunchtime stroll, descending the snaking path to the site of Earlsheaton station, a much larger site than such a modest village would seem to need. Then onwards through the tunnel to take pics in the dark again, and two years on from getting my stick, I still don't use it a monopod, and the gathering chill of the day is brought home as the wind blows hard through the tunnel, in the fashion of a wind tunnel, appropriately enough. Press on to the hairpin down to the riverside track, getting much better views of Headfield viaduct along the way as the leaf coverage is much reduced, following the track on into Dewsbury, as the Calder flows far below the flood embankment, as an industrial or post-industrial landscape dominates on both sides. Our second retail park of the day is traversed to meet Link Road (that is its name), and a detour through the churchyard of Dewbury Minster, the church of All Saints, hiding away beneath heavy tree cover even after the fall of the leaves, and no really showing its best side to me, even after the sun starts to reappear and make the day feel warm again. Across the A638 ring road, and up by the parade of shops opposite the town hall to join the throng of shoppers, as my thoughts start to turn to food, and I'm convinced there's a chip shop to be found somewhere around these parts, and as I head across the old market place to Northgate, I'm even sure that I can smell it, but I can't see where it is, and I rise up Bond Street to the railway station without having found sustenance. All done at 1.10pm, mere minutes before my ride to Morley is due, so I've got time to get to the Miners fisheries at the top of the long flight of steps (not welcome at this stage of the day) before their lunch session ends, and whilst they've run out of fish, I do get a free Scallop (fried potato cake, rather than bivalve) for my trouble, and I've got some good news to report too, as having reported its demise back in April it cheers me greatly to report that the Miner's Arms is open for business once more.<br />
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Next on the Slate: I'm not going to Mallerstang with FOSCL, but a ridge walk still awaits!<br />
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<br />
<strong>1,000 Miles Cumulative Total: 1366.4 miles</strong> <br />
(2014 total: 453.2 miles)<br />
<br />
(Up Country Total: 1270.8 miles)<br />
(Solo Total: 1139.4 miles)<br />
(Declared Total: 1158.2 miles) Christopher Wrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09743749271457169317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9035497799018938871.post-43342771109996736962014-10-21T20:33:00.000+01:002014-10-26T14:35:51.775+00:00Woodlesford to Wakefield 18/10/14If you cast your minds all the way back to the start of this year's walking season in February, you might recall that my trip from Morley to Wakefield took in a section of the old route of the Leeds Country Way, between West Ardsley and Alverthorpe, and so another section must remain of the 1980s route, unwalked to the east, discarded when the route was sensibly re-directed entirely with Leeds district. Helpfully, this section between Fleet Bridge and Alverthorpe doesn't come into too much contact with tracks already walked in the Leeds - Wakefield hinterland, and I need a reason to stroll in this quarter after spending so many weeks in the grip of Kirklees. Also, if you recall this time last year I was owing Kirklees an apology for having neglected it so badly in 2013, and now I find myself owing an apology to Wakefield for letting it drop from my schedule so comprehensively in 2014, especially as we got out to such a good start before it only made one appearance in the second half of the year, I guess that the Wakefield Way and this land of coal and agriculture will have to wait until 2015, it's good to have something to look forward to, I guess.<br />
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<strong>Woodlesford to Wakefield, via Bottom Boat & Stanley 10.5 miles</strong><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVEAcOGXXx0B4GedK0kF95z2YakCzuXEIisVy4J7Iwewwnn3gbq2_5dd2YGLB4o0afJbTJWLMHXBuYHS38L36JsGVIsSPmqVqhi_tFXLxkCZm6N3Jpcy8qz6t7z21HOUIGWG6J-Xv1flM/s1600/DSCF9095.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVEAcOGXXx0B4GedK0kF95z2YakCzuXEIisVy4J7Iwewwnn3gbq2_5dd2YGLB4o0afJbTJWLMHXBuYHS38L36JsGVIsSPmqVqhi_tFXLxkCZm6N3Jpcy8qz6t7z21HOUIGWG6J-Xv1flM/s1600/DSCF9095.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Aire & Calder Navigation <br />
at Fleet Bridge</td></tr>
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Fail to get an early start, as my body wants an extra hour in bed after another tough week at work, so ride the mid-morning rails out to Woodlesford to my start line, and I've mentioned before that this station is an empire of footbridges, and it's 10.45am by the time I have made the correct path selection to get me across the bridge down onto the A642 Aberford Road. I make for the river alignment, and you'd think that having been down the Aire and the Navigation channel on previous visits, that steps would have to be retraced but not so, I've not walked the north side of the canal, the official route of the Trans Pennine Trail, and that feels like most of the first mils as I plough on under milky skies, struck by the lack of breeze and the surprisingly warm temperatures. It's straight drag all the way to Fleet Marina. and my late start has ensured that the cycling clubs are all out in force by now, tearing down from the direction of Leeds and being extremely polite an courteous as I regularly dive out of their way, making my way around the oil depot and looking out across the Aire to St Aiden's Country Park, still closed to the public and wanting to be loved. Over Fleet Bridge to bid these familiar tracks goodbye, until the TPT calls me again, I suppose, and join the old route of the Leeds Country Way as it makes its way along the edge of Fleet Lane, where initial points of interest are the huge concrete abutments that hold up very modestly scaled railway bridge on the line to Castleford, and the spread of buildings around Water Haigh farm, but it soon turns into a very dull plod in a rather flat landscape. It mostly travels back in the direction that has already been walked, among fields that you know some developer would like to get his paws on, passing the Woodlesford sports fields and focusing attention on the distant spire of Oulton church, before meeting the end of Eshald Lane, which would have been the shortcut for the day if hadn't wanted to walk the old LCW route for completisms sake. Anyway, our route south finally starts here, hitting the field boundary and bringing all the muddiness of autumn with it, heading across the field to pass over Oulton Beck and up the sticky track beyond up to the A639 Methley Road. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL1FeII_bTQwaM-6VBIN8F-N9hBm-ylcglvYEj_cvBcZzSK04RBI0n5HHeHE9LzDSdvjufsVOXu1GidVhHn0HIiEKXDI0KzAS1TYeW6Y7ovHtz507rwahvbf8nkRdVJRc6WDW685BPcrI/s1600/DSCF9148.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL1FeII_bTQwaM-6VBIN8F-N9hBm-ylcglvYEj_cvBcZzSK04RBI0n5HHeHE9LzDSdvjufsVOXu1GidVhHn0HIiEKXDI0KzAS1TYeW6Y7ovHtz507rwahvbf8nkRdVJRc6WDW685BPcrI/s1600/DSCF9148.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Mysterious Construction </td></tr>
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The fields beyond belong to Rothwell sports centre and various rugby games seem to be going on at once, the kids game having the largest and most voluble crowds, whilst the adults play on largely ignored, and I feel like I'm trespassing on a school playing field so make my way south, partly obscured by banks of trees at the field edge to slip out of sight behind the nearby estate of houses. Beyond there, we enter a small wood, where local kids seem to have carved out their own off road cycling circuit, which makes for some uneven going before emerging into the enclosed path beyond, coming up on the junction with the current route of the Leeds Country Way almost unexpectedly, as this is not a corner that immediately springs from the memory. Follow the rutted track south, taking the LCW previously walked in reverse, rising between the hedges to the top of the Aire - Calder watershed, admittedly not that far apart at this quarter, and take in the view to the south, still looking much the same as it did 2 years ago, with the panorama from Cas to Wakey still much the same, but I do have to wonder about the huge metal framework being assembled somewhere near junction 30 on the M62 as it looks more like giant scaffold than the beginnings of a high rise building, and it's in such an inexplicable location too. None the wiser to my pondering, I continue south, hugging the field edge along the perimeter of Moss Carr Wood, all the way down to the familiar yellow building at Elm Farm, and depart the current LCW as I swing west along Hungate, down the roadside to meet the edge of the M62, dropping out onto Newmarket Lane and passing beneath the motorway to enter Wakefield district. The clues of the industrial past of this rural landscape can be found in the terrace of miners cottages alongside the road, once convenient for the collieries but now pretty far from anywhere in particular, and my path south must be somewhere along here, near Savile farm and Methley Lanes, and the gate from the road prominently displays its old Leeds Country Way notice, which I'm sure nobody would mind if I pinched it as a souvenir, even if I might struggle to get it into my bag.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZOO6LqPmAsO9UvIBEpsyWsFpa7KN9IzcCZGJUwTISN_3UBQZBcIEcfG77FXdtC8Xrlgj9CDjOYrEILjCEXtcYrYLbu-hQJdDrbod5bc8C6wJmEeJkOyrCXzrHOBgqS6XmHsvsJ5ICzAc/s1600/DSCF9174.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZOO6LqPmAsO9UvIBEpsyWsFpa7KN9IzcCZGJUwTISN_3UBQZBcIEcfG77FXdtC8Xrlgj9CDjOYrEILjCEXtcYrYLbu-hQJdDrbod5bc8C6wJmEeJkOyrCXzrHOBgqS6XmHsvsJ5ICzAc/s1600/DSCF9174.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Missing Bridge, Methley Joint Line</td></tr>
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South we go down the muddy track, still looking over to the metal framework under construction, as if constant attention to it might yield clues, and a familiar path soon crosses mine, meeting the Methley Joint Line and its greenway as it slips around the missing bridge over my track, and I'll head down between the abutments and onwards to take a westward turn to parallel the old railway line deep into the heart of the post-coal landscape. Rough grass and spindly trees cover the landscape to the south, and a distinct grey hue stains the soil as I pace the track to the west, being surprised by a number of dog walkers along the way, on what is another path that seems to be more popular than you would expect, and as you pace west, you keep expecting to get a view of the river Calder, until you realise that a large flood embankment keeps it hidden from view, and the first bungalow met on the lane has its own steps and terrace on the riverside. Going gets cleaner as it the track gains a hard surface, and becomes Bottom Boat road, and as it enters the village, some narrow gauge rails slip across it, and I'm left to ponder where these might have come from an go to as once railway formations pass below a certain scale, it seems that accessible history has a habit of forgetting about them. Pass along through the village, still an equal mix of post-industrial terraces and rural suburbia, where the pub, the Rising Sun, endures, and the Working Men's Institute does not. As the hoses end on the south side of the road, the path shifts to meet a raised field boundary that runs parallel to the river and the Calder finally appears below as I look out towards Altofts and wonder if I'm going to get much action south of the river before the season runs out. Press on muddily, passing behind a high hedge and the backs of a rather plush terrace of houses at the bottom of Lake Yard, clearly an expensive property and one of Stanley's better house from back in the day, another thing for which the internet can find particularly little provenance. Back on the river bank, I pause for watering, sitting on the embankment to lament the fact that I didn't bring any lunch with me, foolishly thinking this would be a rapid stroll, all done in time for me to press on home for lunch at 2pm, but my late start has done for that, leaving me hungry.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy4mtJiRZCuMj6yic4S32hWqkv_BL4GDHllibt6Yhy2YDEO1TNZdaLrxRlC0SwmEbnQRkS2_-OJDsi74VeQ1gxstHMrzQvOLyO3zOme68EAaNF1capS-yoWPgPwwDXa0tANNHCiyHzShQ/s1600/DSCF9220.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy4mtJiRZCuMj6yic4S32hWqkv_BL4GDHllibt6Yhy2YDEO1TNZdaLrxRlC0SwmEbnQRkS2_-OJDsi74VeQ1gxstHMrzQvOLyO3zOme68EAaNF1capS-yoWPgPwwDXa0tANNHCiyHzShQ/s1600/DSCF9220.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The River Calder, near Stanley</td></tr>
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Continue along the riverside, as the path rises and falls, even more muddily, rising quite high above the water's edge, with only a heavy growth of reeds protecting you in the event of a stumble, which is very possible in these conditions, so relief comes once the path abandons the riverside and cuts away to the south as the channel snakes away in a different direction, passing alongside the sewage works that provides the most unpleasant smells encountered on the trail this year. The access road leads me back to the A642 Aberford Road, and into the edge of Stanley, moving along by the council estate on Oak lane, and over to Lime Pit lane to meet the track that shares the path of the old narrow gauge railway from Lofthouse Gate to Stanley Ferry, and I'm not retracing this path for the sake of some trackbed exploration, I'm just coming this way because the Leeds Country Way used to. Appear on Rook's Nest Road, where fields spread to the south and the suburban estates which have caused Stanley and Outwood to merge spread to the north, a pavement walk eventually leading to the field boundary walk which leads down to the edge of Normanton Gold Course, another one which continues the tradition of being located nowhere near the town which lends it its name. Apparently there's another path around here which follows an old mineral railway, but my location senses fail to spot it, instead rising between the high hedges to meet the hard track that rises pretty sharply across the course, a rare occasion where the ROW coincides with the best surface. Avoid the glares of the golfers as I pause to admire the view north, one that I haven't seen enough of this year, before exiting the course to cross Ouchthorpe Lane, and following the path around the perimeter of Fieldhead Hospital, which is well hidden from view as I go, pushing attention to the east as Ossett parish church makes another appearance and the view over Wakefield finally appears. A straight route could be taken through the new housing development to the south, but lacking a up to date map might make that confusing, and so I pass on down towards Newton Hill and abandon the old LCW before it reaches Alverthorpe, leaving a mile or so of that track for another day, and I pass down the alleyways between the old houses and the new, to come to the link road between the A61 and A642 which doesn't seem to have a name, as far as I can tell.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgOuXK84oiLHKHwglCWaXahhYdaApk4NB60iBpSBITClArOChICZqqUmbJb1Hl4ev6_hSz-eYLVzGK3aImYlt1uzffpl_cNhrUS2TzgQS-Pge8SlyuOIkkviO11drrEVgIgZ15fzOwIjM/s1600/DSCF9322.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgOuXK84oiLHKHwglCWaXahhYdaApk4NB60iBpSBITClArOChICZqqUmbJb1Hl4ev6_hSz-eYLVzGK3aImYlt1uzffpl_cNhrUS2TzgQS-Pge8SlyuOIkkviO11drrEVgIgZ15fzOwIjM/s1600/DSCF9322.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St John's, Wakefield</td></tr>
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The track into Wakefield heads down a narrow path between two expanses of sports fields, including running track and courts but doesn't seem to be a public park, or attached to a school and looks good enough to belong to a university, though I don't think this town has one, so I can only assume it is private, and looking underpopulated as the day tries to warm through and the clouds finally break apart. Moving on along a slick, flagged path behind the large Victorian villas (one of which has s tree/summerhouse perched above the path), we meet more mysterious buildings along the west side, featuring tower blocks and an array of buildings that have a vintage police feel to them and signage eventually reveals them to belong to West Yorkshire constabulary, even though there seem to be a distinct absence of people among them. Just being off Leeds Road means I'm only a short walk from the St John's district, where big and bold Georgian Terraces were constructed in the late 18th century, along with St John's church in the centre of a square to give the area an architectural unity that isn't seen much in West Yorkshire. The North terrace is all offices these days, whilst the Square is still residential and I'd venture one of the most desirable corners of this town, and I'm sure that if this was somewhere other than Wakefield it would be much better known and regarded, as it is, it's a location to appeal to me as I get me my historical transportation to a century that isn't the 19th, and I'll be cheered that the sun comes out for my visit. Tour the square and move on down Wentworth Street, where some substantial buildings remain bafflingly out of use, rolling down to Bond Street and Bell Street, the heart of the municipal district, past the Registry of Deeds, Wakefield College and the Old County Hall, and onwards down to the finish line on Mulberry Way, passing Wakefield One, the home of the district council, a recent building that might actually called attractive. Huge development is going up on the old site of the Wakefield goods yard, and it seems that Westgate station has migrated north, away from Westgate itself and next to the multi storey car park, making it the third iteration on the site, and looking like a 21st century take on 1980s styling to me. Still that's the end of the day, longer than I was anticipating, all done at 2.35pm with plenty of time for a photographic poke around the new and old sites, before enjoying the benefits of ending at a mainline station and being able to ride a proper express train on my way home.<br />
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Next on the Slate: A big church lingers on the horizon.<br />
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<br />
<strong>1,000 Miles Cumulative Total: 1357.1 miles</strong> <br /> (2014 total: 443.9 miles)<br /><br />
<div class="western">
(Up Country Total: 12615 miles)</div>
<div class="western">
(Solo Total: 1130.1 miles)</div>
<div class="western">
(Declared Total: 118.9 miles) </div>
Christopher Wrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09743749271457169317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9035497799018938871.post-7467427200296204642014-10-15T21:37:00.000+01:002014-10-24T22:02:31.215+01:00Huddersfield to Halifax 12/10/14I'm not going to ruminate on running out of steam as my third walking season runs into Autumn, that would involve even more writing when my enthusiasm for this blog is already at an all time low, so let's just admit that once October rolled around, I was desperate for a weekend off to have a couple of long mornings in bed and to look forwards to running down the season with some more modest exploits. That means there will be no attempt on Black Hill this year, and a late season jaunt to Mallerstang shifts to the improbable side of unlikely, and filling in the blanks on the map starts to look like the plan for the remainder of the year, as once the three years of lines have been overlaid on Google Maps, there are still a few distinct holes where my feet have failed to fall. So after the third celebration of a 40th Birthday this year, for my best friend IH whose distaste for birthdays is unmatched among all the people I know, has gone by on the Friday evening (Thai food and Ales in Hebden Bridge, if you are wondering), I've still got most a weekend to use, and going out for a Sunday morning exercise seems to be the best course, and to make a return trip to Calderdale after claiming that I would only make it out there the one time, and the plan for the day is Colne to Hebble, or out through the north of Huddersfield, and into Halifax from the south, both routes which I have not taken on my travels around the county.<br />
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<strong>Huddersfield to Halifax, via Lindley, West Vale and the Halifax Arm. 10.4 miles</strong><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Greenhead Park War Memorial,<br />
Huddersfield</td></tr>
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The day had promised sunshine from the outset, but a distinct pall of fog hangs over Huddersfield as I exit the station at 9.35am, and with the distinct temperature of Autumn, and I depart St George's Square via the cobbled road that leads in the direction of the bus station, leading onto Trinity Street, where the Catholic Centre is built in the 1960s version of Gothic, facing one of my favourite pub names in the county, the Old Hatte, and I pass out across the A62 ring road, and head past the old buildings of Huddersfield College and a couple of well concealed old factory buildings to hit the rising pavement of the A640. This could easily be the way out of town for the whole jaunt, but I like to pick my route according to the desire for green spaces, and soon depart form the Victorian terraces, which gradually improve in quality as you move away from the town centre, and detour into Greenhead Park, the sort of municipal recreation area which Huddersfield should extract great amounts of civic pride. Whilst many city centre parks look well-used and slightly run-down, this one is still immaculate, with well manicured lawns and most of its Victorian features still intact, including, bandstand, grotto, split level walkways, miniature railway and tennis courts. It is dominated by the wide boulevard leading up the town war memorial, a vast semi-circular colonnade around a memorial cross, standing atop balustraded terraces which from a sort of bastion around it, the sort of monument which puts most others in the shade, especially that in Leeds, and I'll walk all the way up it, despite the slippery going on the steps to admire the whole of this space. Moving on out of the park to the northern entrance, I'm seriously happy that this park has exceeded my expectations, and am glad that so many people come out to utilise it, even on a grimy morning like this one, and I leave knowing that this town has a park to be proud of, and from there it's over a couple of tenuous road crossings, back over the A640, and down the attractive terrace on Glebe Street. This trip over to the A629, and the leafier part of Huddersfield, is essential in order to see the Edgerton Road Tram Shelter, a wooden octagonal gazebo with a conical roof that has recently been restored to 1896 condition and repainted in the old town corporation livery of vermillion and cream, and now provides the sort of relic to a disappeared age of transport that really appeals to the wanderer such as myself, as you should all be aware by now.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnkjMVVKRDoJjuVMJ6jdP_dxaR7B-UZnYYl9lxWg048AktgUHq8BGSZ4v5B6tOgzYzr3wTHV1-zjMS4YguoXsg_x4UbNOH64JlNoBBwa5Or9tv90CVh39jH8ooC52xbsCWJsp3uRZIU-8/s1600/DSCF8661.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnkjMVVKRDoJjuVMJ6jdP_dxaR7B-UZnYYl9lxWg048AktgUHq8BGSZ4v5B6tOgzYzr3wTHV1-zjMS4YguoXsg_x4UbNOH64JlNoBBwa5Or9tv90CVh39jH8ooC52xbsCWJsp3uRZIU-8/s1600/DSCF8661.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lindley Clock Tower</td></tr>
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Leafy alleyways are the draw for the ongoing route to the north, descending from the road to cross Birkby Brook and then rising to the path around St Patrick's Primary school, which has an impressive mural of dinosaurs on an exterior wall, before continuing along the fenced footpath at the perimeter which eventually becomes a track walled on both sides, offering no perspective as to your whereabouts behind the various back gardens and offers no solace for the claustrophobics as the tree roots cause the walls to bulge alarmingly in places. Pop out onto Birkby Hall Road, in an altogether more expensive corner of suburbia before slipping onto another secluded footpath back over to the A640, this one being altogether more spacious and overgrown, crossing over Halifax Road and along Daisy Lea Lane, which feels even more exclusive and claims to be a private road, complete with an ornate gate half way down to prevent the oi-polloi driving down it, but it's not an obstacle to deter the walker. Moving on into the district of Lindley, and passing the playing fields the sun starts to peek through the fog and the feeling of the day improving comes on as I emerge onto Lidget Street, where the parish church of St Stephen and the Arts & Crafts styled clock tower of 1902 stand on opposite sides of the road, another echo to the days of the Edwardian benefactor who loved their town so much that they donated something completely impractical. Onwards up the lane, where the shopping parade suggests further that this is one of the swankier parts of town, an impression that lasts until you meet the low rise estate in dark brick at the top on West Street, which is followed as we start the move out of town near the edge of Birchencliffe, where I have a route plotted across the fields from Weatherhill Road, but the path is impeded by a new housing development, which post-dates the Google Earth map, and whilst a tarmacked path leads midway through the houses, it stops dead at a fence and mess of buildings works, so I have to backtrack and along the way tell the 12 year old site agent that I am not lost, or a weirdo. So on up the lane to eschew following the Kirklees Way paths as a dense fog settles on the top of the Colne - Calder watershed, and I feel safest sticking to where there are pavements to keep me away from traffic as visibility dwindles as I move along to the A643 with only headlights, walls and pylons providing any visual frame of reference. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4JrPP6ad1-5XOPWFQLNFaYAAzCW1dBiNhxNQT6Z77f7lNR28cV1arqRdm_dLKXqNsPmNDE7fgxmCufjxBbhXgT3NrBE4wFqMS6hCm0P8N6X7a4L-pvhwQ6nPESxpvd056Xtd-a-_9sRw/s1600/DSCF8744.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4JrPP6ad1-5XOPWFQLNFaYAAzCW1dBiNhxNQT6Z77f7lNR28cV1arqRdm_dLKXqNsPmNDE7fgxmCufjxBbhXgT3NrBE4wFqMS6hCm0P8N6X7a4L-pvhwQ6nPESxpvd056Xtd-a-_9sRw/s1600/DSCF8744.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Holywell Green Viaduct</td></tr>
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No view into Calderdale as I cross the M62 at Haigh House Hill on this occasion, and a steep field walk downhill on the shortest possible route seems like a good way to get lost, but a right of way does exist to get down to Hollins Hey Road, and only the slightest of visual references are needed to come down to the correct corner of the field, but there's no way across the fence, or any appearance of there having ever been for that matter, so I have to get my best limboing on to get around the barbed wire and back onto a hard surface, convinced that this is one of those ROWs that no-one uses at all. The lane is the much easier way to descent, rapidly dropping from the hill crest, which looms behind you as you try to make landscape identifications through the mist, and quite a way has gone down before you start to pick out the distant shapes of buildings that must form the edge of the village of Holywell Green. Visibility starts to improve once I pass around Hollins Hey farm, with it's distinctly vintage outbuildings, and the lane rises slightly to meet the road at Broad Carr, finally getting us off the foggy hills, and this is followed until I can slip onto the bridleway that departs northwards next to the house with a very good view, a track which my ancient E288 still lists as being a road, bafflingly, as its too narrow and muddy for most traffic. Good views across to Holywell Green are gained before we meet a raised edge around the hillside that sits above the woodlands that rise above the mills on the village's edge, where some industry still endures, out of the sight of the passing world, and along the way we meet some rather ornate gateposts, which might challenge those seen near Gargrave all the way back on Day 1, and just like those ones, these ones don't appear to lead anywhere obvious. At the end of Rawroyd Wood, a slippery path leads from the works access road down to the stream, and my reason for coming this way is revealed, as the path drops below Holywell Green viaduct, on the L&Y's North Dean branch of 1875, built to service the textile mills of this village and nearby Stainland, and really heavily engineered for a branch not much over a mile in length, with two long viaducts on its route, and again the age of enterprise strikes me with just how ambitious it could be to drop huge amounts of capital on projects that might never have covered their investment. Still, it's always good to uncover another railway relic, when I'd thought Wheatley viaduct might have proved to be my last, and this is graceful beast, curving gently, but I can't be too sure of its length due to the surrounding tree growth, and the beck beneath is a riot of soap suds, apparently due to a leak at the works upstream.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwBhgiRqLDqtWLI6SL8f3U14w60IADMkyLyJZFgkS5GaYkpZOkVfZ4aGr_0cpUJPPrvZy0y04DIeubh2ES3r0j6HcaMHIYWjdOj51Z6BzgDjuuov9QhTSuWFEJVyWga6YaEXSlssXkdOo/s1600/DSCF8792.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwBhgiRqLDqtWLI6SL8f3U14w60IADMkyLyJZFgkS5GaYkpZOkVfZ4aGr_0cpUJPPrvZy0y04DIeubh2ES3r0j6HcaMHIYWjdOj51Z6BzgDjuuov9QhTSuWFEJVyWga6YaEXSlssXkdOo/s1600/DSCF8792.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">West Vale Viaduct</td></tr>
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I can't get a good view when I look back from the north either as the low sun has finally emerged, dropping it into contrast, but as I move out through the muddy field to Stainland Road, among the wary-looking cows, the view forwards illuminates the village of Greetland, spread across its elevated hillside, a place which I have had only the slightest of interactions with on my travels. From the road, where the signage for another works is quite hilariously multi-lingual, attention moves forward to the distant bridge over it, West Vale viaduct and me pondering the possibility of the old railway getting a second life as a cycle path, which as far as I had know had been put to bed because of to many NIMBYs, so as I move into West Vale, I'm positively overjoyed to see the heads of cyclists riding over the it, and I look to walk over the viaduct myself, but unfortunately have no idea how to get onto it from the southern end. So my passage takes me along Stainland Road, under the viaduct to find there are few good angles to photograph it from between the terraces, before losing sight if it altogether as I pass around the huge mill in the centre of the town, then hairpinning back on Saddleworth Road to finally get a good view of it along most of its length and to be gladdened that the structure endured since ending its life in 1959. A cycle path, a tiny stretch of Route 69 (dude) leads up the embankment beyond to link to Rochdale Road, but the trackbed southwards is now open to use, after a construction that ultimately took 6 years to get it open earlier in 2014, and I wander my way across the bridge, adding some extra miles to my day and offering some superb views up and down the valley of Black Brook, with Greetland looming above the valley to the north, another one with a good curve too, but hard to hang over the edge to capture with the camera. Roll off past the heavy fencing to keep me out of the eye line of the residents, and drop out on Green Lane, where a ridiculously large house has become a residential care home amongst the suburbia. Back down to Stainland Road, but don't retrace steps., instead take the path that leads along the edge of Black Brook, still looking like the piddly little stream it was up near Scammonden Water, from where no good views are gained down the valley, before arriving up on Saddleworth Road again, and ploughing on down among the terraces to close the loop and get back on track towards Halifax.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioiIACAPFGDQ8QP4KT2Op-QZSH82YsA9a7GeaI-rIDlHoO0MTTpVW-zsg80vVEdxUJMy1xthtSTQQrDjXMxJAlZc5C9sYjOyVWejnTxZzANGId-dcHxvARvXXe6QYzvZhMTG3GuMbIsts/s1600/DSCF8866.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioiIACAPFGDQ8QP4KT2Op-QZSH82YsA9a7GeaI-rIDlHoO0MTTpVW-zsg80vVEdxUJMy1xthtSTQQrDjXMxJAlZc5C9sYjOyVWejnTxZzANGId-dcHxvARvXXe6QYzvZhMTG3GuMbIsts/s1600/DSCF8866.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clay House, Greetland</td></tr>
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Up to the trackbed once again, and continue northwards along the remaining stretch of the North Dean branch, down the heavily shaded and quiet cutting down to Rochdale Road, a fine bit of reuse for a couple of hundred yards of old railway line, and who knows, it may one day get all the way back to Holywell Green and I'll hopefully be around to walk it again. The bridge over the B6113 is now missing, so descend to the pavement for a short stretch, and then slip into the lane that leads up to Clay House, almost seen when I walked the Calderdale Way, but now to get a visit properly, at least once I've observed the Sunday league game on the football field below and admired the collection of parish boundary stones inlaid into the retaining wall along the roadside. Clay House is to be admired for certain, built in the 1650s and still in the ownership of the Clay family after all these years, it now mostly serves as a wedding venue, which makes it this district's stylistic and cultural counterpart to Oakwell Hall, a gem in blackened stone that could easily be a fantasy nuptials venue if the realities of my life are ignored. I'd happily linger in its heavily shaded parklands if it wasn't for the business of having to keep going, so I'll return to a familiar track and pavement as I walk along the side of the B6112, Stainland Road, passing under the Calder Valley Line and over the River Calder, doing my Calderdale way retracing all the way up to the guillotine lock on the Calder & Hebble Navigation. Then it's re-treading the footfalls of my canal walking as I wander my way around Salterhebble marina and up by the pair of locks with the gorgeous little lock-keeper's cottage adjacent, looking altogether more appealing in the light of today than it did two years ago. Set course northwards from there, and onto a fresh track as I make my way along the towpath of the Halifax Arm, the only section of the Navigation which passed out of use, closing in 1942 as the 14 locks along its 2 mile route rendered it deeply impractical, especially in a wartime economy, and whilst only a third of a mile of it endures in water, it's a pleasing little glade with a popular path for both strollers and cyclists, sitting slightly elevated above the silvery Hebble Brook, another of West Yorkshire's rivers that never quite asserts itself into major stature despite the size of its valley. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-rbgKDHDZvYoUC2XiWyblGTK9LPhrZ7Is-TGJIFUjB6FFUdd6ID7G55J-7_tPZQ9C6ZikJ8_YJQwASfbOCal70Qg9X4XTColp65rhkIUlS-orfXd6-DiBFuUBrVq3hHr6-RETnduiTmM/s1600/DSCF8906.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-rbgKDHDZvYoUC2XiWyblGTK9LPhrZ7Is-TGJIFUjB6FFUdd6ID7G55J-7_tPZQ9C6ZikJ8_YJQwASfbOCal70Qg9X4XTColp65rhkIUlS-orfXd6-DiBFuUBrVq3hHr6-RETnduiTmM/s1600/DSCF8906.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exley Wharf, the Halifax Arm</td></tr>
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The only enduring feature along this remnant of canal is the Exley Wharf, where it now terminates, providing a watery backdrop for the local Premier Inn, probably one of the better situated ones in this land, and it would be really nice to have a towpath walk all the way into Halifax, but building and redevelopment have rendered that impossible, but the cycleway continues following the canal route as closely as possible. This is quite literally true as it passes from the wharf under the Salterhebble Hill bridge, beneath the A629, and passing through the clear remains of the stonework of a lock chamber before sitting on a ledge along the edge of the brook, then around the edge of the housing block at Millside Way and passing over the aqueduct over Hebble Brook to continue the rise up the valley. The former channel gets vaguer as we go, each rise encouraging the walker to look for more forgotten lock stonework, and the dead giveaway is a former overbridge to nowhere hidden away beneath the cover of trees, whilst the remainder of the path is more of a fitness trail these days, and still busy on a Sunday lunchtime. The path runs out at the Phoebe Lane mill complex, where the road snakes among the factories to guide me onto the cobbled track that leads to the cobbled Shaw Lane, another one of the roads in this town that could easily transport the imagination back to the 19th century. This even more the case as it passes above the Shears Inn, and between the buildings of the Shaw Lane and Boys Lane mills, which only a lack of grime prevent them from looking like are still in the grip of the industrial age, this is probably the thing that I love most about this town, and we head back into the 21st century as I move over the railway and down the slick surface of Gaukroger Lane to get onto Shaw Syke and the fast track to the finish line. One short detour is needed though away from the pubs, terraces and warehouses and that's across the old iron footbridge over the former railway goods yard, from where the best views of the old GNR goods shed can be gained, but unfortunately this ROW doesn't drop you into the yard of Eureka! and passes under the railway to the wrong side of the tracks instead , so steps are retraced back to the road to roll up to the railway station, on the edge of the town and below the many elevated hills that surround Halifax. All done at 1.35pm, and that was an awful lot to see in a 4 hour stretch, with the good and bad sides of Autumn coming down during it too, so let's hope this end of season period proves as rewarding as this day did.<br />
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Next on the Slate: Taking the old alignment of the Leeds Country Way to Wakefield (again!).<br />
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<br />
<strong>1,000 Miles Cumulative Total: 1346.6 miles</strong> <br /> (2014 total: 433.4 miles)<br /><br />
<div class="western">
(Up Country Total: 1251 miles)</div>
<div class="western">
(Solo Total: 1119.6 miles)</div>
<div class="western">
(Declared Total: 1138.4 miles) </div>
Christopher Wrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09743749271457169317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9035497799018938871.post-46451087712325778232014-09-30T22:45:00.000+01:002014-10-19T16:50:56.380+01:00Egerton to Ramsbottom (successful!) 28/09/14I had imagined that the trip to Pendle Hill would have had a much greater mileage than it did, somewhere in the region of 6 miles, so only putting down 4 miles seems a bit low for the journey to the other side of the Pennines. So, we look to a bonus stroll for Sunday, to get some miles down quickly before I head homewards, and I'm not fancying any hills after yesterday's escapade and the girls would rather play with Lego or take a trip to the park rather than tag along again, and we have to get it in before lunchtime too, which means options are naturally limited. Rivington Park is the obvious port of call but we've done that too many times already, and my idea of walking down the valley into Bolton won't take us anywhere near Moss Bank park, so that doesn't wash either, and the third choice comes together eventually to keep everyone happy, Dr G takes the girls to Nuttall Park, whilst My Sister and I make another attempt to do Egerton to Ramsbottom in under 3 hours.<br />
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<strong>Egerton to Ramsbottom (successful) 7.3 miles</strong><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ascending Cheetham Close</td></tr>
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Start out from Blackburn Road and the Thomas Egerton at 9.50am, with initial steps to the east follow a similar path to coming this way two years ago, winding up through the housing estate to Cox Green Road, but instead of making for Torra Barn, we hit the rising path that leads up to New Butterworth's Farm and beyond to rise onto the moorland of Cheetham Close, the hill that separates the valleys of Eagley and Bradshaw brooks. It's always slightly amazing that the outer perimeter of Bolton's suburbs are so close to the wild moorland, and I'm sure it's a prize reason for My Sister's family staying in Edgerton, where the views and other rewards of the wild country are right on your doorstep, indeed that view over Winter Hill will always be one for the scrapbook. I'm feeling in better condition than yesterday, thankfully, so pounding it out onto the marginal lands and stickiness among the long grass is not proving to be nearly as challenging as it might have done, and we can lament that even from a more elevated viewpoint, the panorama over Bolton is still lost in haze, as we've never managed to be out on a cool and clear day to see it, today brings overcast skies but virtually no breeze to break it up, ensuring warmth. We're not going to get to the top of Cheetham Close either, as our path swing around its breast, and that particular top will have to wait for that distant day when we finally get to the Witton Weavers Way, and so our view just above the 300m contour, offering the slab of Holcombe moor off to the east with the Ramsbottom Peel tower peeking above the distant nab of Harcles Hill, and despite the early gaining of elevation on this trip, we'll not be taking the high road to Rammy this time, instead taking the more direct low route, demanding actual map navigation for a change, starting with losing 100m of elevation as we plough downhill via a small woodland and a lot of long wet grass towards the settlement of Chapeltown, which will always be an outlying district of Sheffield or a less than salubrious corner of Leeds in our minds. Our track takes us on down to cross over the Bolton - Blackburn railway line, where the rough remnants of a station endure, and my theory of any mill on my OS maps now being a housing estate proves true here, as a new build has recently gone up, completely failing to match the local vernacular and hopefully better suited to the capricious environment than many of the late 20th century developments in this wild corner of Lancashire.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ3-yzdWvQsszyLuz49zJMlbAwnw82631nXmjSuh8ANcc_5i9sGSIq2Q_YawdxODxOAoxJmC41M4XG6z75bFmTQMEmEXFC0R9aIIrgWDUM8rTA5bu3bZQnMTPgf8NTBfi_mq-bn4qAR-k/s1600/DSCF8349.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ3-yzdWvQsszyLuz49zJMlbAwnw82631nXmjSuh8ANcc_5i9sGSIq2Q_YawdxODxOAoxJmC41M4XG6z75bFmTQMEmEXFC0R9aIIrgWDUM8rTA5bu3bZQnMTPgf8NTBfi_mq-bn4qAR-k/s1600/DSCF8349.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Turton Bottoms</td></tr>
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A cobbled lane leads us into Chapeltown itself, looking like a mix of Victorian villas and modern houses that have at least tried to blend in with the local stylings, and beyond the impressively spired church, it's not a village of much size, so it's a surprise to find it used to have a bank, housed in a building that would not look out of place on a small town high street, but seems to be the entirely wrong scale for here. Across the B6391 we follow the terraces down Wellington Road to look down on the houses recently developed in the valley bottom along Bradshaw Brook, a poor location which wants for sunlight and already suffers from bad moss problems on the roofs, but they still command high prices, we'd guess. A slippery path takes us from the road down to the stream crossing and into the most delightful collection of weavers cottages at Turton Bottoms, illustrating just well how the 19th century could do some things right, and as we navigate our way onto the enclosed bridleway that leads up from the valley, My Sister has to admit that this is a corner that she has never managed to visit before at any point in the last decade, which surprises me, but is probably surprises her even more. The track rises, muddily, to Birches Farm, where we gain a hard surface and bucolic smells, as we tramp on to cross the minor road and wander among the anglers who are taking their places on the shore of Walves reservoir, one of the most minor bodies of water in the West Pennines, another locale that could claim the name of the 'Reservoir District'. Approaching Quarlton Heights farm, My Sister indicates the view back up the valley, to show how low Wayoh reservoir looks, a far cry from the overflowing Entwistle Reservoir back in February, and our ongoing track gets vague beyond the farm, heading across the uneven fields of rough grass, feeling like moorland fringe despite being at only 250m elevation. Drop through the woods beyond, finding men doing wood cutting by the path, and descend to the path that goes around Lower House farm, where a bit of path redirection makes spotting the correct route difficult, our mistake is only noticed when we are two-thirds of the way down the driveway, and not walking in the direction of Holcolme Clough, so we detour down to the A676 on the edge of Hawkshaw, opposite the Red Lion pub (featured in Jane Horrocks's episode of 'Who Do You Think You Are?', apparently) before rising back up Hawkshaw brook to get back on track, at least once we've had a watering and cookie break.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoUWRQqB18utb9__vMGAUI8k-TFIccvn08JQRVYlchQSMwBBfVv3NLItJd6xAthQZIaBSknFV8prkd0uzLgfSBjbKdC76KRrN-MCteLlHFl2_f5f3Q67VwAPj1gIcN_Z_bHIy_6m6J-Zg/s1600/DSCF8430.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoUWRQqB18utb9__vMGAUI8k-TFIccvn08JQRVYlchQSMwBBfVv3NLItJd6xAthQZIaBSknFV8prkd0uzLgfSBjbKdC76KRrN-MCteLlHFl2_f5f3Q67VwAPj1gIcN_Z_bHIy_6m6J-Zg/s1600/DSCF8430.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Holcombe Clough</td></tr>
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The route passes through some marshy ground around the stream, and I'm sure that the cones sitting among the reeds are there to guide us, which they do and that makes me feel clever, and then I'm made to feel stupid as I recognise an isolated standing stone as a megalith, which my Sister correctly indicates is actually a gatepost. Hawkshaw Lane, complete with unexpected traffic, takes us to Higher House farm, and we strike off through their equestrian fields to find our way onto the Holcolme Rifle Range and Territorials base, where no flags are flying again, but a group of Army cadets are having their Sunday Morning ruined with a hard dose of square bashing, and others are out having an exercise of pack drill. It feels wrong to wander through a military facility, and you feel like you are being particularly sneaky by taking pics as you go, though the Krypton Factor worthy obstacle course is definitely worthy of admiration. Our path take us right along the perimeter of the rifle range, before slipping down the slope among the trees that surround Red Beck before rising again on a sharp incline to get a great panorama of the moorland hills rising around you, and navigating our way around a building that has been so comprehensively ruined you wonder why it is still worth inclusion on the OS map. My Sister, being the older sibling, has already decided that we are going to make a deviation from our planned route and will be taking in the Peel Tower as she feels it needs an inclusion on my 1,000 mile jaunt, and so we drop down to cross another beck before starting up the valley side to get to the high path at the 300m contour around Holcombe clough. The angled path though the woods is surprisingly easy going, and when it hits a switchback it seems like the right way to go, as the map might be vague as to its location, and it is easy progress again until we get to about 10 metres from the top of the wood, where it vanishes completely and the top can only be achieved by clutching our way up through bracken and heather. I'm sure that this wasn't the right path, and the route along the edge of the wood goes on for a long way before we meet the actual route coming up, so I'll put that down as a navigation failure for the both of us there, I'll also curse the off-road cyclists we meet on their way down, as I'll keep banging on how the footpaths are not their for their use, and I how I have no desire to get mown down by someone on two wheels, thank you very much.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBO3CShoDXxC3CBNsXyOiy9SruT7zCqlRsL875pAMXUx_Ep8eliTbkphps-3hURLTrYWM945s1XAwr7iK-Hh45TC8ddnKtLm8QB5LHJoGeOxUsj0hlJ05Wj9fb_IhMngzBroNLdG-m5rE/s1600/DSCF8484.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBO3CShoDXxC3CBNsXyOiy9SruT7zCqlRsL875pAMXUx_Ep8eliTbkphps-3hURLTrYWM945s1XAwr7iK-Hh45TC8ddnKtLm8QB5LHJoGeOxUsj0hlJ05Wj9fb_IhMngzBroNLdG-m5rE/s1600/DSCF8484.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ramsbottom Peel Tower</td></tr>
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Hit the high path, and as it gradually moves downhill, revealing the Irwell valley and the view that suggests that Manchester must be easily within a day's walk from My Sister's house, we meet the easiest route up to the Peel tower, a sharply rising track for about 60m of ascent, which my stamina doesn't want to take on right now, but My Sister easily burns off as I lag behind heavily as I have a flashback to Pendle hill, but keep on going because fortitude in adversity and all that. Progress reports and selfies are made once the ascent is done, and we take the well made route on the path that gains many casual walkers as we rise to the tower that celebrates Sir Robert Peel, the local boy who became PM twice in the early 19th century and was one of the founders of the modern British political system too, Conservative, in his case, unfortunately. One day I'll start stitching all these hill towers and pinnacles of the Pennines together, but this is a good one to get in now before the season is done, and it's actually open to be ascended today, but only if you are willing to participate in abseiling down it, which I am not, but many others are, judging by the crowds. We continue along the hard track, which seems to not coincide with the right of way at all, before finding the field path that starts our rapid descent towards Ramsbottom, dropping us onto the twisting alleyways above Emmanuel Church, where my Sister has to point out Chapel Lane as being one of the few hills that has defeated her when cycling, and we'll avoid it too, too steep, narrow and busy with traffic for the walker, instead going down through the churchyard and wood below to descend to Dundee Lane, where the villas have a fine view over the Irwell Valley. Descend further among the terraces on Tanners Street and Rostron Road to find the path that sneaks round the back of the Library and Adult education centre and from there it's only a short walk down Carr Street to meet the Market Place and the ewer, which forms part of the Irwell Sculpture trail, which marks the centre of Ramsbottom to me, and whilst we missed the 3 hour target, completing at 1.05pm, it's good to finally get this destination down after failing two years ago. Family arrives for lunch at the Chocolate Café, a well earned baked spud and chilli for me, and I can ponder the maps to show there is only a relatively short distance from Rammy to Todmorden, which would have completed an unbroken line from Morley to My Sister's place, but sadly, there probably isn't season enough to get that in, that'll have to be another one for 2015, I suppose.<br />
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Next on the Slate: No more major excursions, but the map still has plenty of blanks to be filled in!<br />
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<br />
<strong>1,000 Miles Cumulative Total: 1336.2 miles</strong> <br /> (2014 total: 423 miles)<br />
<br />
<div class="western">
(Up Country Total: 1240.6 miles)</div>
<div class="western">
(Solo Total: 1109.2 miles)</div>
<div class="western">
(Declared Total: 1128 miles) </div>
Christopher Wrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09743749271457169317noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9035497799018938871.post-68020485825167608682014-09-29T20:10:00.000+01:002014-10-18T21:20:19.977+01:00Pendle Hill 27/09/14If I hadn't planned to head over into Lancashire for this weekend, I'd almost certainly have spent all of it in bed, as my activities last weekend left me feeling like my battery was almost completely flat after 5 days of work, and mix that in with far too many nights of restless sleep and agonising pains in my neck, and heading to Bolton for a weekend with My Sister's family seems like a very poor idea. However, September is Completion Month, and I had planned for this visit for nearly two months so such considerations need to be cast aside as this is the last opportunity for the weather to still look decent as I make for the hill that has been on my target list for all of the last two seasons, always proving an elusive goal. Younger Niece needs to get up a hill under her own power too, as Elder got out with us last year, and whilst they have both done more physical activity in the intervening time than I managed in my entire childhood, Younger is still to achieve a summit without being carried and she's now at a similar age to when Elder topped the Coniston Old Man. So cast aside the physical problems, gather yourself some fortitude and let's get on the shortest of trails for a Saturday afternoon, not walking a recognised long distance path for the first time since July, and that means the first trip in nine without the reader having to look at my grinning mug as they read of my exploits here.<br />
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<strong>Pendle Hill, from Barley 4.2 miles</strong><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw5TCgpUYmUKaMUc7fBoEbPyu2lk2cytzXnqUJjyl9fVxFrMDvEOYD3pFozEWf1wAX0ZnKjb2mxfpqR307YgN0Ce0O25hQ6WYGJRsrA6XFCRcDl50gM4nOnGNRWWPqX0z4G3J8QPw-3OY/s1600/DSCF8086.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw5TCgpUYmUKaMUc7fBoEbPyu2lk2cytzXnqUJjyl9fVxFrMDvEOYD3pFozEWf1wAX0ZnKjb2mxfpqR307YgN0Ce0O25hQ6WYGJRsrA6XFCRcDl50gM4nOnGNRWWPqX0z4G3J8QPw-3OY/s1600/DSCF8086.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pendle Hill, from Barley</td></tr>
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The immediately discovered truth is that Pendle Hill, and our start point in Barley, is not really that local to Bolton at all, being closer to Skipton, Keighley and Todmorden, but it's hill to associate with Lancashire rather than as an appendage to the Aire & Calder moors, so it makes sense to start out from that side, even if you have to drive out of the West Pennines and across the East Lancs valley to get there, and did you know that if you back translated its name of Old English, it would be called 'Hill Hill Hill'? That's one to digest as the five of us head out for a post lunch outing, my Sister having assured me that we would not need an early start on this one, and we arrive at the deeply secluded outdoor activities hotspot of Barley to get a start out from the Cabin at 1.10pm, with my Nieces heading off into the village at a pace, showing an enthusiasm for the fray that is rarely seen when discussing plans back home. Pass the Pendle Inn, proudly displaying the fact that we are in the heart of Witch Country, the infamy of the outbreak of cultural mass hysteria in the 17th century still being the major claim of this district, and the village is soon left behind, as the Pendle Way path is met and followed out towards the bulk of the hill which rises some 300m above, already looking a challenging prospect, and naturally it has been decided that we will be going up the sharp end for the steepest possible ascent. Early going is good, ideal for me in my uninspiring condition, following a stream up to the lane that runs to Ing End farm, with a rising path beyond which finally displays the full mass of the hill, a huge, isolated outcrop of gritstone rearing up to make the unsteady walker feel overawed, which doesn't bode well for me, whilst my nieces are still tearing up a pace, not feeling put off by the gloom or light drizzle that starts to fall on us as takes us around Brown House and Ing Head farm, and on above the 300m contour.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBQXXlL-h-a5mTkbFchtOG29TNJwh7s6UfqHniQLu0xOWyJor6oofgNIXNA9m4S1ta6-Dw5tg3zjOUWoPx0o92C9yRfZKU_7-Heah3VH3-mJoKCh2IFM98kPoJ0nb9mmzEHqHxWSNewdA/s1600/DSCF8124.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBQXXlL-h-a5mTkbFchtOG29TNJwh7s6UfqHniQLu0xOWyJor6oofgNIXNA9m4S1ta6-Dw5tg3zjOUWoPx0o92C9yRfZKU_7-Heah3VH3-mJoKCh2IFM98kPoJ0nb9mmzEHqHxWSNewdA/s1600/DSCF8124.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Slogging the Ascent</td></tr>
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Gaining altitude gives us a good panorama as we ascend, but there's enough haze in the air to make the views all the way back to the Aire valley particularly indistinct, not helped by the lump of Wheathead height being the dominant landscape feature in the foreground, and once the path meets the edge of a Christmas tree plantation on the rise to Pendle House Farm, I feel my pace dropping off as the rest of the folks power on ahead of me. After a break for Scooby Snacks, needed more by me than anyone else, the serious ascent starts, angling across the rough fields and passing to high moorland altitude before we hit the steep path that rises at what feels like a 40 degree angle all the way to the north east tip of the hill. It's not the sort of angle that is easy on the ankles, and the stone steps make it particularly hard to put weight on the heels as you go, I'm soon dropped again as younger and more well tuned legs bound off without restraint, whilst I toil as me heart leaps into my throat and my legs flush with lactic acid, every step is a test and I start to wonder if I'm going to make it to the top at all, clearly I've got a post-illness, or post Kirklees Way, fatigue issue weighing me down. I try to keep the spirits up with landscape spotting, but I'm struck by just how little I know the East Lancs valley and how unfamiliar the western face of the Pennines looks, the Boulsworth Hill - Lad Law upland is obvious, but the rest of it is easily misidentified, and this is an area that I would have to holiday in to get familiar with, as it's too damned inconvenient to visit from Yorkshire. What seems like hours of toil later, I finally catch up to the rest of the family, sat chilling out having done 90% of the climb already, and they are all right as rain, with an 8 and 6 year old looking much better than their 1,000 mile walking uncle.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Attaining the Summit</td></tr>
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It's a great feeling when the sun starts to break through, and before the last push, this is where I should be able to regale the girls with tales of my exploits in all the distant hills to the north, but unfortunately, the rain and gloom has headed off in that direction, so there's not a single point on the Aire valley or Dales fringe that I could point out with any certainty. The boundless energy of the little ones carries them on swiftly to the moorland plateau, followed by me a few minutes later, as the sharp tip of the hill is met, revealing a spectacular view over the Forest of Bowland, the remote and population free wilderness that I have never visited at all (also, not a forest, all lit up like I'd hoped the Yorkshire view might be, and as we are at 540m up, the wind bites pretty hard, the first significant breeze that I have felt since I was on the Whin Sill a month ago. It's only another 17m to the summit, distant across the dark flat moor top, which my sister's family attains long before me as Younger Niece tears it up to be first to the top of the hill, completely unprompted just like Elder did on her hill walk last year, and its a huge relief to get there myself, finally striking it from the list after too many months of waiting, and just making it at all after the agony I experienced myself a mere quarter hour previously. It's not a spot where we are going to linger though, as the wind stings cold, so we don't even stop for a celebratory snack or watering, only pausing long enough to stitch together a cloud shrouded panorama before starting on the route back to base. I guess we'll have to try to hit it early on a winter morning so that all the distant hills and ridges can be shown up in sharp relief, the sort of trip that often gets planned for but never gets done, and we've had that particular experience before anyway, on Scout Scar, near Kendal, on Christmas Day 2000, but I do get the feeling I will be coming this way again, as this hill deserves to feature on a longer walk,<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfUwDA8F_lqHz_A9ujDwSY9ng_XGMl6tXUiFmCIoOgy9cCy3uuuh-QXDd7TpcLjsOuhJlPEdxdMq7LQcpyAg2OuwGgRe0Ly_wJeE6BA1YjYVN6L2pSB64cB-xKrCldV5XZR8pZy_dn0xw/s1600/DSCF8205.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfUwDA8F_lqHz_A9ujDwSY9ng_XGMl6tXUiFmCIoOgy9cCy3uuuh-QXDd7TpcLjsOuhJlPEdxdMq7LQcpyAg2OuwGgRe0Ly_wJeE6BA1YjYVN6L2pSB64cB-xKrCldV5XZR8pZy_dn0xw/s1600/DSCF8205.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Running the Descent</td></tr>
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The route back sets off along the eastern edge of the hill, keeping the familiar side in view at all times, and this long steep edge could easily distract you from the fact that there is a lot more moorland up here than you would think when viewing the hill from its eastern face, definitely big enough to get lost on with various cloughs dividing it up a ways that could be confusing to the uninitiated. The long descent from the summit cap takes a while to get below the 450m contour, taking us past the short route back down to Pendle House and also missing the Pendle Way route that descends via Boar Clough, and this gives the girls a fine opportunity to do some fell running, they are both ridiculously energetic and can hit the jets at a moments notice, tearing down the hillside and not even getting fearful as the path steepens. Consider that I rarely get above a pace of brisk walk and kill the speed when ever the ground starts to get uneven, and I guess that their fearlessness must come with being much closer to the ground, and being more or less impervious to bumps and falls, or maybe it's due to them having a fair share of Dr G's genes? It certainly ensures that the descent is swift, racing towards the cleft of Ogden clough with the pair of reservoirs cut into it, coming off the access land at about 380m and ploughing on down through the long grass behind a farmstead that my map claims is called 'Buttock', finally coming to a stop at the access road that runs up to the top of the dam at Upper Ogden Clough reservoir, and that's the place for round of snacks #2, which the girls seem to need more than me this time as their energy supply starts to run low, whilst I feel good as the adrenaline has finally started to kick in.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-V_2UsIvL55V1w8HhNd-czzHv_Dx4IRCY1h_Vc8merlvLe9goOYnABa-hlAxcWdHmbtgdJy9Sf1EB5D4w4ZmP7R__O96VWrQsYjbz4VnFxjakLiCuXtFm_oaf_hQ2eiqurgTpd_Jx-3k/s1600/DSCF8254.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-V_2UsIvL55V1w8HhNd-czzHv_Dx4IRCY1h_Vc8merlvLe9goOYnABa-hlAxcWdHmbtgdJy9Sf1EB5D4w4ZmP7R__O96VWrQsYjbz4VnFxjakLiCuXtFm_oaf_hQ2eiqurgTpd_Jx-3k/s1600/DSCF8254.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lower Ogden Clough Reservoir</td></tr>
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It's a hard surface trek all the way back to Barley from here, and there are few views back to Pendle hill as the road descends, proving that this would not be the best way to go up the hill as you'd never get a really good impression of it until way up it's shallower sloped sides, and the reservoir walk along the perimeter of Lower Ogden Clough reservoir is a nicely quiet spot, largely free of the crowds that filled out the ascending path. We start to speculate on the next major targets that I should be looking to for 2015's trips to Lancashire, and I'm starting to feel a bit short of plans that the girls could do, as I'm starting to think about burning the miles on a variety of canal paths in Greater Manchester, surely these environs have more hills to tempt my nieces? Still that's for another day, as we start to rejoin civilisation among the outlying cottages and the conversion work on the building which used to be the Nelson waterworks, rolling back into Barley to find it looking a whole lot brighter in the afternoon sun, and we return to The Cabin, for a 3.15pm finish just in time to get the brews in before the café shuts at an unreasonably early hour, and I'll savour my tea, just as the girls enjoy their lolly or crisps (there's an illustration of different temperaments if you ever needed one), and I'm sure they are already deciding which reward they are going to claim when they head out to Toys-R-Us (>gag<). I'm just grateful that my Sister was happy to bring us all out here, and she's always a useful person to have around when I need to be reminded that I still haven't gotten healthy despite all the walking that I have done in the last three years, she'll always bring the reminder that it is diet and strenuous exercise that'll keep the weight off, and so I'll declare it here, More Hills in 2015!<br />
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Next on the Slate: This Lancastrian jaunt requires more mileage!<br />
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<br />
<strong>1,000 Miles Cumulative Total: 1328.9 miles</strong> <br /> (2014 total: 415.7 miles)<br />
<div class="western">
(Up Country Total: 1233.3 miles)</div>
<div class="western">
(Solo Total: 1109.2 miles)</div>
<div class="western">
(Declared Total: 1120.7 miles) </div>
Christopher Wrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09743749271457169317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9035497799018938871.post-85416096005121814992014-09-23T19:23:00.000+01:002014-10-13T22:39:57.461+01:00Kirklees Way #6: Hepworth to Marsden 20/09/14<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Self at Hepworth</td></tr>
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Moving into the third day of a head cold is not the way to be going when you have the last day of a major trail on your schedule, but I'm not feeling too bad all things considered, there's certainly no restriction being felt in my lungs, so I feel that I need to get a move on as this is notionally the last weekend of Summer, and this isn't something I need loitering on my schedule any further into Autumn. Indeed, i am otherwise occupied for two of the coming three weekends, and if this day doesn't get walked soon, it could still be on my un-walked as the third week of October rolls around and who knows how the weather or my physical condition might be holding up by then? Anyway, I'm dubbing September as Completion Month, as I aim to get this trail done and another major walking target off the slate before Autumn brings the short and cold days that do not inspire me to putting down the miles with alacrity. So take an early start and onwards, for the 100 minute ride by rail and road to Hepworth and its distant corner of Kirklees, beneath skies that don't suggest the slightest possibility of sunshine, but also carry a forecast of no rain, still feeling brave enough to don only the gilet and to see if my dodgy respiratory system can handle the moisture laden air that will be hanging heavy today.<br />
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<strong>Kirklees Way #6: Hepworth to Marsden 12.7 miles</strong><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morton Wood & Dean Dike</td></tr>
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Head up to the Butchers Arms for a 9.40am start, and speed will probably not be of the essences today as my body is unlikely to feel spurred to it, and for the first time since starting out on the way, the route guide and I will be on the exact same page as legs 11 and 12 combine to form my day 6. Depart the village, among the farms and cottages along Upper Gate, looking like expensive commuter homes despite the distance from other towns, and you do have to wonder how somewhere so remote could be so soot blackened, and the village is left behind as I slither down a path to one of those horrible vertical stiles, which always seem to be encountered going down for some reason. This leads us out to the lane down to Dean Bridge, looking back to see the bus I rode in on still parked in its reversing space, before tramping the road down to the hairpin where it takes the steep route out towards Scholes, and I depart it to follow the path into Morton Wood to follow the hidden glade that rises around Dean Dike. Every one of these concealed woodland walks always comes as a surprise to me, regardless of where they might be, despite having found them all over the country, and the length of this one immediately raises it to the top rank, even though its is slick and sticky in equal measure after general wetness in the preceding week, and I'm sure some proper autumn rains could render it heavy going as the track rises and falls, in its initial stages, crossing the stream multiple times via stepping stones and footbridges. Good walking terrain, despite the legs already feeling wobbly, and the slickness on the wooden boards of the bridges proves more challenging than any of the natural going, eventually rising away from the stream, and being teased with apparent exits from the wood as the path follows the western branch up to the ruins of an old woollen mill, long lost to history before finally re-emerging to country civilisation among the cottages around Upper House farm, and rise to the road beyond once one local has had to restrain his dog that is ridiculously exited to find a visitor to its locale. Leave Upper Hose Lane to head over to Scholes Moor Road, via the field boundaries and tracks by Spring Head farm, taking in the oddly level farm land that dwells at this elevation, right on the edge of moorland altitude, before heading south with Boshaw Whams reservoir filling the depression off to the east, the first of many on today's trail, and the village of Hade Edge being our next target.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Holme Styes Reservoir</td></tr>
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A look back sees the high hillsides above Hepworth already disappearing in the cloudy haze, and so I feel that the high hills of the district are unlikely to be forming a dramatic backdrop for this last day of the Kirklees Way, and once across Penistone Road, I can ponder the oddness of Hade Edge, surely one of the highest villages in the county, remote from anywhere in particular (and only a couple of miles from the Don Valley too) but still having its own suburban growth, chicken farms that ensure the smell can linger in the throat, and a village hall that hosts its own brass band, it is indeed true that as a city boy, I really do have no idea of what motivates country folk. No more steps will be taken towards the Holme - Don watershed, instead taking the lane out of the village and onto the field path that leads down through the grazing cattle towards Holme Styes Reservoir, the second one on the day and well hidden from view as the confers on the opposite banks hides the reflection of the sky until you are almost upon it. The path follow the track around its southern edge, and brings out other people onto the trail, despite the lack of obvious rights of way around it, and its a nicely quiet corner, where the fungi can grow to immense size without being trodden upon, and you could be forgive for heading off on a circuit of it as the departing path of the way is well hidden beneath the foliage. Even then, I'm not sure if the right path up the edge of Reynard clough is taken, and the sudden gaining of elevation gives the lungs and legs a stiff workout as I rise through a lot of damp heather to find another of the wayside art projects, though 'Three Arches' is largely obscured by an overgrowth of grass and could easily have been missed. The way meets a broad track, taking an obvious route out of the plantation above the reservoir casting a direct line towards Elysium farm, which the route guide declare derelict, but seem pretty well occupied to my eyes, and the wide and stony farm tracks provide relatively good and level going, but they strike me as dismally boring as they right angle out towards Copthurst Moor plantation and White Gate Road. Angling onto Ramsden Road, another track provides a bit more enthusiasm as a look to the north reveals the main body of the Holme Valley emerging, but little can be made out among the white haze and I start to feel that this day might need to be walked again as I am not getting the dramatic views that I should be seeing. The Crow Hill viewpoint confirms this as the way ahead appears through the mist, but he views towards Holfirth and Holmbridge are completely lost, and off to the south the shroud of clouds conceals the outcropping rocks at the top of Ramsden Cough, on the edge of Holme Moss, with only the merest suggestions of their dramatic appearance.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Underhill, Holme</td></tr>
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Having hugged the boundary of it, the route enters the Peak District National Park, bringing a reminder that it is much closer to home than the distant corners of Derbyshire, and the stony path settles into a groove as it starts to descend again, gently but still providing a surface that is uneven enough to be challenging, angling again at the edge of Riding Wood before slipping onto a grassy track, leaving you wondering what might have gouged up the track so badly. The path eases as it drops down to the car park and lane above Ramsden Reservoir, #3 on the day, and you start to get the impression that none of the water supply has to travel very far to get to its destination in Kirklees, and as the path moves to cross the dam of the reservoir, we can look right to have the length of Brownhill Reservoir stretched out below us, and that's #4. Rising through the perimeter wood, you start to wonder just how many arms the Holme valley actually has, as we have been on the up hill and down dale since entering it, and attention is drawn to the west as the clouds attempt to hide Holme Moss from view, and even though very little of it can be seen, you get the feeling of something very big and remote being concealed. The track drops to cross Rake Dike, branching off from the reservoir and providing another of those secret waterfalls that is very hard to photograph, before rising out from the tree cover to rise along the field edges towards Holme, and the first thing to grasp you as the village appears is the house to your left, named Underhill and almost completely beneath the ground, I'm pretty certain that I recognise it from an appearance on Blue Peter or Tomorrow's World at some point in the early 1980s. The only way into the village is along the A6024, Woodhead Road, thankfully free of traffic, and this is the last outpost of civilisation at this end of the valley before the bulk of Holme Moss takes over to the west, now feeling much more apparent above the collection of farmsteads and cottages that sit up here, surely a village for only the hardiest of souls. One that has been here for quite a while though, judging by the gates preserved by the small playground, featuring stonework dated back to Norman Times, it also marks the last viable point to beat a retreat, as the moors await me on the trail, and I'm thankfully still feeling pretty good, so I pass the end of leg 11 and head onto the final stretch, focusing attention towards Digley reservoir (#5), cover feature of my ancient E288, and distant across many fields divided by too many squeeze stiles that were not designed to be used by folk of my short stature.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Digley & Bilberry Reservoirs</td></tr>
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Eventually meet the perimeter path that is still some distance from the actual shore, encountering a large walking group coming the other way, which isn't something I've seen a lot of outside of the Dales, and a nicely located bench gives me a good spot to lunch and to look out over the surface of the youngest of the local reservoirs, constructed in 1952, and also admiring the exposed rock strata on the far bank as I consume all of the food in my bag to charge me up for the final push. Set off on the perimeter path, taking careful steps as it descends down stepped rocks towards the shore level, avoiding many dog walkers on the ascending path, running down to the massive stone dam of Bilberry Reservoir (#6), probably built so large to contain a relatively small body of water as it had previously been breached in 1852 and 1944, and it fits neatly into Marsden clough, which stretches westward, deep into the Pennine moors, with the Black Hill end of Holme Moss rising beyond it. The moorland walk awaits once the sharply turning path out of the clough has been ascended, and I'm thankful that a decent rural track it underfoot, walled on both sides as it rises parallel to the valley below, and the weather starts to feel like it might close in, but the watering holds off, and I'm thankful that I am down here and not 500+m up on Black Hill, which looks like it is suffering whiteout conditions. This is one of those tracks that elevates you over 150m without you really noticing, only looks back to the receding reservoirs illustrating the height gain, and its not a moor that feels too remote, as the A635 Greenfield Road rumbles away high up the hillside, and three groups of farm buildings along the way could provide shelter in a worst case scenario, and whilst the first pair are predictably derelict, Goodbent Lodge looks positively inviting with its bay windows and tidy paintwork, despite its proximity to the 400m contour. The good track is left behind above the point where Marsden clough divides and the path rises above the northern fork, Reap Hill Clough, following a grass track as it runs along the perimeter of the woods above the valley, muddily crossing the streams running into it, and thankfully avoiding the moorland groove through which the Way once ran as a new route has been cut through the drier ground amongst the oceans of bracken. The only real stretch of moorland walking comes after that, following a wall and then ascending the last 50m or so over rough grass to the crossing of the A635, and the Holme - Colne watershed, coming up to the roadside where a refreshment van dwells in the lay by, and I'm not sure if they can really make a living from passing traffic in this location, and don't aid them any by not grabbing a bacon roll and a mug of sweet tea whilst my body is feeling like it could really use them.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wessenden Head Reservoir</td></tr>
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So summit of the trail met at 451m, and the white fuzzy cloud which shrouded the Holme Valley and Black Hill is left behind, and altogether better conditions sit above the Colne valley, the cloud still thick but keeping well off the hillsides to give a much clearer aspect, and as we start off along Wessenden Head Road, for brief moment the high point of Meltham Moor, West Nab, rears into view before the whole bulk of that high hill is lost as the track follows the Pennine way into the valley of Wessenden Brook, and a wholly unfamiliar bunch of hills rise in the west, comprising the large area of Marsden moor into which I have never ventured. More reservoirs are the tale of most of the remainder of the day, the first of which Wessenden Head (#7) is small but can be artistically framed by the installation feature at the top of the valley, and it's a long walk down to it's edge, and the brain starts to go to the pub as it thinks 'all downhill from here' when it should know that river valleys and reservoirs rarely present the easiest of going, and also be aware that it is still a solid 4 miles to the finish line. The path takes a rollercoaster route in the long gap down to the next body of water, rising and falling as the path slips into a couple of interceding cloughs, and I'm surprised how quiet it is out here, as I'd have expected to find a few more people out to have a stretch from Marsden or sampling a stretch of the Pennine Way, and arriving above Wessenden Reservoir (#8) has the view mostly obscured by a wall of bracken as I take the long drop down to the level of the dam, but enough can be seen to confirm that this batch of reservoirs are being maintained well below capacity. The yellowing moorland grass passes as the track becomes firmer as the route continues down the valley, with trees erupting down by the stream, and rocky gashes are cut into the valley sides by more streams pouring in off the increasingly purple moorlands, and if you pause, the only sound on the air is the sound of these various cascades, with no wind or human noises to interrupt them. The Pennine Way departs on its crazy path northwards, and the valley narrows to accommodate Blakeley Reservoir (#9), and it has pretty dramatic aspect as the path rides high above its sides, clad in bracken and trees, and I find a bench next to a rocky promontory where I can stop for watering, feeling like my battery is starting to discharge, happy that I've gotten this far and the route isn't going to offer any more evil surprises, but also feeling that coming out was clearly a mistake as I'm going to be at about 50% once today is done.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHWSkQyBilv40wWyRdtrMAji_YXGQrmPqUuCLmwIFug1nG6E6HdVasDkj65tIemej5DNu6KifpiZKmWVEEdEwXMjUl-KhCb8cxED21vzwldvNyMnIsrLCC4HDD2l0o3otAFMpx9o4aL4c/s1600/DSCF8061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHWSkQyBilv40wWyRdtrMAji_YXGQrmPqUuCLmwIFug1nG6E6HdVasDkj65tIemej5DNu6KifpiZKmWVEEdEwXMjUl-KhCb8cxED21vzwldvNyMnIsrLCC4HDD2l0o3otAFMpx9o4aL4c/s1600/DSCF8061.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marsden Mechanics Hall</td></tr>
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A good feeling comes on as I set off again, though, as the next turn in the valley reveals the hills on the other side of the Colne valley, so the finish line isn't too far away, and it's taken a long time to appear too, so paces quicken slightly as I drop past the dam and roll out onto the long walled track alongside Butterley Reservoir (#10), the last and largest of the bodies down the Wessenden Valley, where the outer edges of Marsden reveal themselves above the dam, and a dramatic view emerges behind me, looking so much better than it did when viewed from afar two months ago. Voices travelling on the breeze startle me for a moment, until I locate them as belonging to local kids down on the reservoir shore, out to enjoy their own alone time and the path hits its only really worrisome spot, as it slides below a rough rock face, just opposite the dam, the valve tower and the hugely scaled run off channel, which make you realise that a relatively small river catchment can still acquire a huge amount of water in the right conditions. Finally arrive on the road again, and Binns Lane is to be followed to the town, when it looks like the descending path down to the stream and mills might be the more interesting route, but as I move along by the stone terraces, the other end of Meltham moor, Deer Hill, rises above us, giving warning that that particular upland is going to be a pretty challenging task for the future. Take right by the ground of Marsden FC, where the team are receiving particularly profane encouragement from the side-lines, and I pace on among the newer houses in the best imitation of the local vernacular as the skies seem to gather ever more threateningly, taking left onto Peel Street by the park and crossing the A62 next the New Inn (not to be confused with the Old New Inn) and down onto the main drag of the town, where the crowds of shoppers and revellers come as a bit of a surprise, and the building to draw attention is the Mechanics Hall, with its clock tower. There are many pubs to draw the attention if I were to be seeking a pint to celebrate closing the loop, but the town seems to crawling with stag groups and folks out on the lash, and it seems that few places would cater for a tired and stinky walker on an occasion like this, so cross over the Colne, just to prove that it does run through this town, and up the final pull along Station Road, the mild sting in the day's tale to roll up to Marsden station and close the circle at 3.40pm. That's been a slow day, but a good one seeing is it feels like my battery is flat, and I've missed the targeted train, but it won't be a long wait for the bus, even though the rain finally comes on minutes after my arrival, and despite my poor condition, 2014 self looks back to the trepidatious 2012 version who though the Kirklees Way might be a bit too challenging and to say '75 miles o'er hill and dale? A Doddle.'<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpsMS_4Zd-n7gXEllHRUQsly0q_AqWC9nkhKpURv4VuVe4kc83ICXPnGshmXn5LXcPkZGox_vApa1Dsr5guYZvvV-SvyFBMLNP8b0pZMn3qJLrDJoIZ4o6axgzQJd3tuEaEr9vVxJWDH4/s1600/DSCF8074.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpsMS_4Zd-n7gXEllHRUQsly0q_AqWC9nkhKpURv4VuVe4kc83ICXPnGshmXn5LXcPkZGox_vApa1Dsr5guYZvvV-SvyFBMLNP8b0pZMn3qJLrDJoIZ4o6axgzQJd3tuEaEr9vVxJWDH4/s1600/DSCF8074.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Self at Marsden, again.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Next on the Slate: Over the top to finally make a claim on Pendle Hill.<br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>1,000 Miles Cumulative Total: 1324.7 miles</strong> <br />
(2014 total: 411.5 miles)<br />
<br />
<div class="western">
(Up Country Total: 1229.1 miles)</div>
<div class="western">
(Solo Total: 1109.2 miles)</div>
<div class="western">
(Declared Total: 1116.5 miles) </div>
<img height="72" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj8oqY0KepzH6Gbptxd4N5LrfY3csnKG6H_ZChFaT6XwzCo6-U5Fc2XLS5m5YOmcRO2d7KGYhnAslL9ALz7jjZ0Q5Nli_i_lhINtczL6eTBqzGzVQveZPOOawToQaMUmTLkstbBWOVd5Y/s1600/DSCF7636.JPG" style="left: 620.11px; opacity: 0.3; position: absolute; top: 670.17px;" width="96" />
<!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://images-blogger-opensocial.googleusercontent.com/gadgets/proxy?url=http%3A%2F%2F2.bp.blogspot.com%2F-u-Eavz-YKpc%2FVDxDi0EqKPI%2FAAAAAAAACis%2FM54mRtYx6Ik%2Fs1600%2FDSCF7636.JPG&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" with "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj8oqY0KepzH6Gbptxd4N5LrfY3csnKG6H_ZChFaT6XwzCo6-U5Fc2XLS5m5YOmcRO2d7KGYhnAslL9ALz7jjZ0Q5Nli_i_lhINtczL6eTBqzGzVQveZPOOawToQaMUmTLkstbBWOVd5Y/s1600/DSCF7636.JPG" -->Christopher Wrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09743749271457169317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9035497799018938871.post-1064108651268580412014-09-16T22:54:00.000+01:002014-10-11T15:15:12.392+01:00Kirklees Way #5: Clayton West to Hepworth 13/09/14<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH2TCubp6qrWBE5TYj9rOM05u6VyRtZoI1D57I9nt9S-vkaWG0qMy2YPqmqwdJwTzaRKCaMWSpZC5sqoYrE-FMhy2wVzxsl7mKc6aMwRKmWH_FuKxX2maRBG7wmVEDMe3HZQmz7joRdN8/s1600/DSCF7022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH2TCubp6qrWBE5TYj9rOM05u6VyRtZoI1D57I9nt9S-vkaWG0qMy2YPqmqwdJwTzaRKCaMWSpZC5sqoYrE-FMhy2wVzxsl7mKc6aMwRKmWH_FuKxX2maRBG7wmVEDMe3HZQmz7joRdN8/s1600/DSCF7022.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Self at Clayton West</td></tr>
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As a brief post script to me Summer Jollies, I ought to mention that on the evening after my completion of the Hadrian's Wall Path, my Mum suffered a fall at our holiday home, injuring both her feet quite severely, so our last day was spent getting her checked out at Cumberland Royal Infirmary, and my Dad was compelled to do all 270 miles of driving homeward afterwards. I'm happy to report that she is going to be fine, though, having only suffered bruising and the slightest of breaks, with mostly swelling to endure in its wake, indeed she's off on a week of rail touring around Scotland right now, demonstrating that she still a trooper as she heads on into her 70s. Still, it makes me realise that I owe my parents a huge debt of gratitude for how they put themselves out for me so that I can tour remoter parts of the country, and I think I need to emphasise that and thank them here, because the truth is that, ultimately, none of this would have been possible without them. Still as the End of Summer comes on, it's back to West Yorkshire to get the Kirklees Way back on the schedule as the days of summer pass on, loading up to walk against the clock again, as it's going to be last Night of the Proms with my pals in Mytholmroyd in the evening, the clear indicator that the decline of the year has finally arrived. So the backpack is weighed down with a change of togs, the heaviest load I've taken on since striking out on the Dales Way and I've got a 5 and a half hour window to make my way around this distant corner of the county, largely because the shortest possible trip to my start line is on a 90 minute bus ride via Wakefield.<br />
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<strong>Kirklees Way #5: Clayton West to Hepworth 12.4 miles</strong><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFTgbQ-SEgsiuZimByQthDss5346RqTI2PtVcOJM3GulJoIvApGajIHlTMh8AkO-PA0yuLI2ElXXIhldZgZbNv20kukY-dkCsx2WOq00aG4Pf5aaolSLf6fuiK-9B0cFXR6sWuwPW8nMg/s1600/DSCF7052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFTgbQ-SEgsiuZimByQthDss5346RqTI2PtVcOJM3GulJoIvApGajIHlTMh8AkO-PA0yuLI2ElXXIhldZgZbNv20kukY-dkCsx2WOq00aG4Pf5aaolSLf6fuiK-9B0cFXR6sWuwPW8nMg/s1600/DSCF7052.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bucolic scenes above Clayton West</td></tr>
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Hop off the Yorkshire Tiger at 10.05 in Clayton West, wondering if there is an Eastern variant to be its companion, as the only other West Yorkshire Clayton that I can think of is far north of here near Bradford, and also noting that this appears to be one of the few towns in the district that hasn't been stained black with soot in the past, maybe they've always had a good cleaning budget despite growing as a coal town. Head off up Newlands Avenue, the most prosaic of suburban streets and out of the village around the back of the block of parking garages to slip around the edge of Cliffe Wood park. Not a completely remote woodland, as the local bowls club dwells within it, and by the car park there's wooden sculpture carved into a tree trunk that looks a man being assaulted by a giant owl, and I don't think that's quite the image that it was meant to be going for. Head south, down the declining path down the edge of the woodland, before dropping to field boundary down to the beck in Riding wood, rising to the field on the other side and guessing that there's going to be a lot of up and down on today's trail, long before we actually reach the higher lands towards its end. It's shame we've got no sunshine to speak of, as the freshly mown fields would glow golden to provide glorious bucolic scenery, but instead we've got that high thick cloud that keeps the air temperature high despite the lack of sunlight. Rising to meet a vague path across a bare field, we get the feeling that Clayton West is a lot bigger than had been thought, but the village below is actually Scissett, merging in from the west, with its distinctive church at its heart, and I slip from the fields to Lower Common Lane, dropping down a narrow squeeze between the bungalows before rising away from the settlement above the local substation, quite the oddest of detours when a simple route could easily be blazed straight from the fields. The lane rises away for quite a while, eventually reaching a crossroads and turning to dirt track to descend down the boundary of Bagden Wood, eventually bottoming out and not following the lane as no right of way follows it, and the route guide directs me across the golf course that surrounds Bagden Hall, which transpires to me wild and heavily overgrown, and it turns out to be that rarest of things, an abandoned golf course, which makes me happy for some reason but could easily confuse anyone trying to follow the guide book to the letter.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMiJ46sQ6sHndJgnxY5lHpcV7gxoS1g_-KWgIUev047PIQF0jVEHrzFbAxBVeWIxH2yuqWgpb6NWSZy48hkQKWcLi_wv6LgZaMcI9Imfd2SDpBlS7v8x2kQwXlI6VCwX3_0kDwc8VkNiI/s1600/DSCF7115.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMiJ46sQ6sHndJgnxY5lHpcV7gxoS1g_-KWgIUev047PIQF0jVEHrzFbAxBVeWIxH2yuqWgpb6NWSZy48hkQKWcLi_wv6LgZaMcI9Imfd2SDpBlS7v8x2kQwXlI6VCwX3_0kDwc8VkNiI/s1600/DSCF7115.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deffer Wood & Cawthorne parish</td></tr>
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At the lodge house, associated to the hall, the path starts on a strange detour, heading east again, back into Bagden wood and I start to hope that this journey against our prevailing direction is going to provide a view else I am going to be deeply irritable, and initial; going isn't favourable as the path snakes downhill to land in a puddle of slurry covering the track from source unknown. Rising again, with filthy boots, we arrive below the site of Hay Royds Colliery, only a modest site and closed relatively recently, and crudely bulldozed and fenced off since, and now free to be visited by any scrap metal thief who might want to come this way. Heading onto the field path above Wheatley Hill farm, we plough south again through the damp grass, and would have a great perspective towards Emley Moor and across the district if we didn't have so much cloud in the air, and as the path crests and drops down towards Bagden Lane we get a good view to the south, a completely fresh perspective. First instincts suggest we are looking into the Don Valley, but we are too far east for that, instead we can see deffer wood and the valley of Cawthorne Dike, a branch of the Dearne, which means that Barugh and Barnsley aren't too far off in the haze towards the south east. Tramp the lane and the rolling terrain offers views to north and south, as well as a new housing development around upper Bagden farm, a bit remote along this lane for an executive development methinks, and as I go, the sight lines offer a view to the ridge and wind farms above the Don valley, looking tantalisingly close but lacking the transport links to easily drop it onto my walking schedule. Along the roadside, one wood really looks like it has become home to a group of survivalists, and the houses around Exley Gate would offer a nicely vintage aspect if it wasn't for all the awful Velux doors and windows. Common Lane takes us northwards once more, tramping along to the hairpin down to Stubbin House, subject of another good make over and then meeting the steep wooded track that leads us tantalisingly close to the edge of Denby Dale, but continues away down to meet the river Dearne once more before rising amongst the outermost houses of the village to cross the A636, almost within spitting distance of Bagden park, and I'm happy that the views were worth the detour, despite the cloud.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyBhYpfdPiy8f-w7sUjEvqyf6a3QEnv3axcQCu_G7jZRu0ogwqTOtevmxd1NSxHwbjleNAqZSJIoZ5WWxHjWHkW1sS34pXq1xM3W3kFhhhxBd-gTVWWYiq3SF0cXjQOS-ty1FOekcnWe8/s1600/DSCF7230.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyBhYpfdPiy8f-w7sUjEvqyf6a3QEnv3axcQCu_G7jZRu0ogwqTOtevmxd1NSxHwbjleNAqZSJIoZ5WWxHjWHkW1sS34pXq1xM3W3kFhhhxBd-gTVWWYiq3SF0cXjQOS-ty1FOekcnWe8/s1600/DSCF7230.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lower Cumberworth</td></tr>
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The way resumes on the westward trend, rising up the track to Perch house farm, crossing a field and entering an enclosed track above High Bridge wood, an oddly well-made track that seems to lack any other obvious purpose, before moving onto another of those excellent flagged paths hidden beneath the trees that could be treacherous in wet weather but provides some cooler going on a day like this. It fizzles out into undergrowth just before Skelmanthorpe recreation ground, and going around the perimeter of the football field is as close as I'll be getting to that particular town whilst on my travels, soon swinging away through a trio of the smallest arable fields that could possibly exist, soon hitting the track towards Lower Cumberworth which looks like it will be a straight lane but actually has all kinds of kinks along the field boundaries before hitting the straight run on to Lane Hackings Green, which has farming and an elevated water (or sewer) pipe off its north side, and a quite unexpected group of council houses on its south. I don't know why this surprises me, as I already know that they can be found everywhere, but Lower Cumberworth seems to have been little more than a crossroads with a pub and chapel in the past, but has now grown some suburbia of its own, spread along Top Lane, where its elevation makes it all feel a bit exposed to the elements (and has you feeling that that Upper Cumberworth couldn't be that much higher up, but it is, some 50m more elevated off to the southwest). Exiting the village, and the end of the guide's leg 9, the track skirts around the edge of the local cricket club, where art installations have been created behind the pavilion, and a stage for a concert is being assembled (or dismantled, it's hard to tell) in front of it. Skirting around the workmen, the view forwards starts to look familiar as Shelley and the path to Emley Moor mast emerge into the landscape, the transmitter itself now slipping away to the east as the path crosses more recently mown fields and slips around the portal of Cumberworth Tunnel on the Penistone line, but there's no line of sight down into the cutting. More fields are to be walked, and the stubble rips at the boots as I go, so a brief break from it through Brogg Wood is welcome before we see a bit of train action on the railway line, and detour around the grounds of Long road, farm, which convinces me that the people who do over farm buildings must be the same people who do holiday homes. <br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVIvB34kxjXdND9c0MKcZSysDorzS7MwbW_Zip94cCZn34Xir2kaLsieG8mFd81bQo79VSR2YCFLRcJrtkbJ1httQqWS2E7VdYnPHrYtQer4GqiC-MxC6ANUANj81x_D1j0KsP1Lkz2pA/s1600/DSCF7315.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVIvB34kxjXdND9c0MKcZSysDorzS7MwbW_Zip94cCZn34Xir2kaLsieG8mFd81bQo79VSR2YCFLRcJrtkbJ1httQqWS2E7VdYnPHrYtQer4GqiC-MxC6ANUANj81x_D1j0KsP1Lkz2pA/s1600/DSCF7315.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shepley Old Hall</td></tr>
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The lanes beyond have plenty of heavy gates on them, as if the passer by wasn't welcome around these properties, and whilst the view forwards to Shelley gets even more familiar, the sounds of train whistles on the air suggests that we still haven't got that foe away as the Kirklees Light Railway is still well within earshot. Across Birk House Lane, we meet High Moor lane, another ancient tracks according to the guide book, and nowadays forming part of a cycling link to the Trans Pennine Trail, one which I wasn't aware of on my maps, but the signage can't lie, surely? It ensures a decent rideable surface, albeit one that gets a bit narrow in places, not that that would deter many cyclists and you do wonder how bad a path has to get before the off-roading type would deem it a bit too difficult, the sticky patch at the bottom of Yew Tree wood would probably be the bit to put me off, but then again, I've never felt that secure on two wheels. Having passed the Shelley - Shepley boundary stone, we meet the edge of Shepley proper, or at least that how it feels as a cluster of farm buildings and Victorian houses are met, but this seems to be cluster slightly separated from the village itself, with suburbia still to fill in the blanks, and along The Knowle an old mill and a number of factory buildings do their bit to advertise the relative largeness of Shepley. Roll out to meet the A629 Abbey Road, and my path crosses it to follow up Yew Tree Road, and the historical collisions of this village come thick and fast, with contemporary suburbia nestling in between Victorian stone terraces and a number of late 17th Century farmhouses (indeed, every old farm house in the north seems to be of this period, as if everyone went building crazy, post-Restoration). A little further along, on Station Road, we meet the ancienct gem of the village, Shepley Old Hall of 1608, looking slightly incongruous facing the early 20th century semis, and I wish I had a nicer day to photograph it, so move on along Jos Lane, where the council estate dwells on its south side, with a good view over to the cleft of Thunder Bridge Dike wending its way north towards the Colne valley. There's also a lot of migrant birds gathering atop a pair of houses, giving the scene an ominous Daphne du Maurier / Alfred Hitchcock feel, and despite this, we find the first available bench in along while, so I'll plonk myself here to look north across the valley and realise that there is a lot more of Shelley over there than I had thought, as if suburbia has spread like a contagion to every corner of Kirklees.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi33z9Dfy3Ja5wYjJG3T1JydOt8Wbgkcw5YTTLg1CKIRIuZ1UwJBoxfIVKhaCIgwz9tp1LSNJFzTqnHGXx8WUzv7G0qvI9FiERLRk1_Vgqaa1CHGZNOObijBIL-B_bBmrZL6T3cNUerg6Y/s1600/DSCF7365.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi33z9Dfy3Ja5wYjJG3T1JydOt8Wbgkcw5YTTLg1CKIRIuZ1UwJBoxfIVKhaCIgwz9tp1LSNJFzTqnHGXx8WUzv7G0qvI9FiERLRk1_Vgqaa1CHGZNOObijBIL-B_bBmrZL6T3cNUerg6Y/s1600/DSCF7365.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Holme Valley</td></tr>
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Post feeding, Shepley is left behind as I strike onto Jenkyn lane, to meet an ornately wrought metal gate, that is yet another artistic feature that the council has put on the route to keep the walker engaged, and at this late stage I start to wish that I had paid more attention to them as the route guide attempts to bring them to your attention, whilst my brain is more focused on getting the miles down. A field walk starts out, mostly hugging the boundaries as attention wanders to the higher hills to the south knowing that your path is due to take you up there, but you are not certain where, and you start to feel like you are entering that corner of the district where the terrain gets a bit wilder and the elevations that bit more pronounced, and that feels like a good thing, as all the farmland since Thornhill edge has been a bit of a drag. Pass Shepley cricket ground, where a match progresses despite the bad light, and then habitation is left behind as I pace the grass to Wood End lane, rising to meet a distinct watershed, beyond which the Holme valley is revealed, as well as the distant high hills beyond, and as they've been mostly hiding since the third day on this trail, it feels good to see them again, indicating that the conclusion isn't so far away now. The path hangs at the top edge of the steep valley side, just above the wiry trees and feeling more like a heavily ground groove than a proper path, so careful steps are needed as the view evolves and attention can wander to the distant farmsteads and a slightly improving surface as the southward trend continues, and you need to be super alert to spot the turn to the field boundary up the covered reservoir as it is well hidden, as you keep on looking towards the track that descend towards New Mill. Next point of contact is the A635 Penistone Road, and slipping through a ginnel between the few houses at the roadside, beyond where the lung busting walk starts, along a field boundary and then up through some marginal land to meet Gate Foot Lane, where we can meet the High Moors again, and switch back onto Hirst lane, a rough and stony track that feels like it never became a proper road, with only quarry and farm traffic having used it in the last few decades. Level going is welcome after that ascent, and I start to watch the clock as I try to gather my pace. looking up the equestrianism going on on the rough fields above, and looking down to spot the slow moving traffic descending on the main road into the Holme valley far below, and for the first time in a while, I feel miles from anywhere.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHC_C-w3yom6wRI-OoZvdARgQZv63DuHOtJmB5rRz1zOKvqGodrt0QJuGnDk2cGtS156kdl0N1X6Qzf6UVEp9-i_PlvaMEZ9cgTOxzfs4yhVZGJ1YwWj0iSZ2ZnFEtcy8Vh1ht-vwmjok/s1600/DSCF7440.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHC_C-w3yom6wRI-OoZvdARgQZv63DuHOtJmB5rRz1zOKvqGodrt0QJuGnDk2cGtS156kdl0N1X6Qzf6UVEp9-i_PlvaMEZ9cgTOxzfs4yhVZGJ1YwWj0iSZ2ZnFEtcy8Vh1ht-vwmjok/s1600/DSCF7440.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hepworth</td></tr>
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There's llama farming up here too, as well as the constantly evolving view over the wrinkles of the Holme Valley, and as the track hits its descent from the edge of Hurst Brow, a last look back to Emley Moor can be had before getting sight of our destination, while the air is so still up here, the sound of a football match in the distant village of Scholes (not the one from day #2, btw) can be heard as clear as day. A nice clear route down to Hepworth feels like it should be easily obtainable, but the day feels like it has a sting in its tale, having dropped more than 40m down below Hullock Bank, the path then decides to head up again to the top of Scar End Lane, forcing an ascent when your brain is ready to get on the bus. Still, Hepworth looks pretty considerable from up here, larger than it does on the map, and there's little to indicate what the folly tower and ornamental lake might be associated to either, and despite going in the 'wrong' direction the sight of the finish line isn't lost, which keeps the spirits up. At the top of the clough, the path wanders among a variety of farmsteads and its an odd place to find families out on a stroll, and soon the high lane can be left behind and the real descent can start, down the edge of the hill that I really hope is called Cheese Gate Nab, hitting that pitch that is actually hard to do quickly and even as it zig-zags down to meet Meal Hill lane and the back of that most-puzzling garden, your brain is thinking 'all downhill from here'. The lane drops down to the A616 Sheffield road, and into the woods beyond, descending further to the bottom of Hall Acre wood, where a thick carpet of beech kernels covers the ground and much fungi can be found (and knowledge gleaned that Usbourne spotters book 30+ years ago hasn't gone to waste), and the path slips across the footbridge over rakes Dike before the path moves to make its arrival in Hepworth. Unfortunately it's up a narrow field, ruled by a horse that isn't getting out of your way, behind the 20th century suburbia that has developed below the older village above, and an uphill grind at the end of the day is not what you want, which the lady at the back of the four-storreyed house at the top acknowledges, as well as warning me that the steps up to Town Gate are the worst part of it, and my late-season wobbly legs would be inclined to agree. So here's another charming village of blackened cottages, nestling in its valley seemingly far from the wider world, but even here suburbs have grown to become a commuter village, and my brain just cannot process how that might happen. Anyway, roll up to the pleasingly cosmopolitan Butcher's Arms at 3.15pm, just in time to miss the bus leaving the village one minute later, feeling no immediate need for beer but heppily having enough time before the next bus to finish lunch before starting the long rides to the Calder Valley and the Last Night, happy that I have a change of clothes in my bag, as for the third time this year (but the first time on the trail), I have suffered a catastrophic trousers failure.<br />
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Next on the Slate: Onward among the high hills of Kirklees to the end of the trail.<br />
<br />
<strong>1,000 Miles Cumulative Total: 1312 miles</strong> <br />
(2014 total: 398.8 miles)<br />
<br />
<div class="western">
(Up Country Total: 1216.4 miles)</div>
<div class="western">
(Solo Total: 1096.5 miles)</div>
<div class="western">
(Declared Total: 1103.8 miles) </div>
Christopher Wrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09743749271457169317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9035497799018938871.post-23266105025896888212014-09-05T19:03:00.000+01:002014-09-08T21:53:52.586+01:00Hadrian's Wall Path #6: Eden Bridge to Bowness on Solway 04/09/14<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1JKfcRWDPhyphenhyphen1naaDn6-yhXrivc_MXCN41oHH3MsE6AAl_3se7DsgtaEcsSncuyeJ-eE0pNN0AbK5k1Em00IVN6APu8_ROs0SZg0M87wBqxN8crxPnK05uQJTiM5paeCX0wJFpwYAHR2s/s1600/DSCF6457.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1JKfcRWDPhyphenhyphen1naaDn6-yhXrivc_MXCN41oHH3MsE6AAl_3se7DsgtaEcsSncuyeJ-eE0pNN0AbK5k1Em00IVN6APu8_ROs0SZg0M87wBqxN8crxPnK05uQJTiM5paeCX0wJFpwYAHR2s/s1600/DSCF6457.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Self at Eden Bridge</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As a brief aside from
the Wall Path, I feel it my responsibility to report that Scotland <i>is</i>
open for business, having last come this close to the Scottish Border
back in 2010 and visited Coldstream, a military town that you might
expect to have a low hum of activity vibrating around it, only to
find it mostly closed with only the pub and the memorial gardens
having about half a dozen total people in them. So it's with some joy
to report that Gretna positively buzzes with activity, at least the
Outlet Village and the tourist trap around the Gretna Green
Smithy do, as when you are that close to a venue for reduced cost
clothing and entertaining local produce, it demands that you pay a visit,
though I'm sure it's only there to tempt English tourists' pounds
into the Scottish Economy. It does make you wonder how this sort of
thing might work out in the wake of Scottish independence, which side
of the border would be good for the cheap goods and which side would
be dealing the moneyed tourists? Crossing over also gives you a
chance to see how the architecture changes, visualising the
differences that make it all feel actually Scottish, demonstrating
that a line on the ground can effect building styles just as much as
it would accents, but there's surely some cross-pollination to the
styles on both side of the Solway Firth, and there are indeed,
especially those low square windows closer to the wall angle than the
central door, the long, low one-storeyed cottages, and that taste for
whitewash with black window frames and details. Anyway, I digress
again, the last day on the trail beckons, through a landscape quite
dissimilar to that encountered in all my travels, heading for an end
that seemed such a long ways away when in Wallsend last May.<br />
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<strong>Hadrian's Wall Path:
Eden Bridge to Bowness on Solway 14.8 miles</strong></div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBgoPC5RZHdNCL57SDk7YaGW3ENuk_12gZV-z-d4ORiprBQQRXFdgDjkfxwNuvxYx3h-l5wSr6buT8dLK3pN_bNCQg3HLJUuVd-1sOM-nKX2L7JGWlIqvELXuvrAmCxCk-1pGrOnNPx2w/s1600/DSCF6466.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBgoPC5RZHdNCL57SDk7YaGW3ENuk_12gZV-z-d4ORiprBQQRXFdgDjkfxwNuvxYx3h-l5wSr6buT8dLK3pN_bNCQg3HLJUuVd-1sOM-nKX2L7JGWlIqvELXuvrAmCxCk-1pGrOnNPx2w/s1600/DSCF6466.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carlisle Castle & Bitts Park</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Get dropped off at the
Sands Centre for a slightly earlier start, scurrying down to Eden
Bridge for a 9.30am jump onto the trail, passing under the Eden
Bridges, as the locals would have them after the many river channels
they used to cross, and for the fact that it is actually two
structures of 1816 and 1932, melded together without it being obvious
which is the original. The path follows an obvious metalled path down
through Bitts Park, the municipal park to serve Carlisle town centre,
bringing together a mesh of formal gardens, ancient playing fields,
sporting and recreational facilities, and wild riverside woodlands in
almost equal measure, over which looms the massive bulk of Carlisle
Castle, one of the few which should be described as a fortress, as it
really looks like it was built to withstand a siege. A small element
of Wall interest is to be found at the top corner of the park, an
enclosure of Roman stones from the ancient crossing of the Eden,
down from <em>Uxelodunum</em>, dredged from the riverbed in 1952 and presented without
interpretation, so that you can fire your imagination as the wall
line is crossed as you pass on over the outflow of the river Caldew
and around the perimeter of the Sheepmount sports fields along the
riverside path, with the Eden well concealed by a wall of vegetation.
This is the trail that I had my first stretch of 2012 down, long
before the idea of conceiving a 1,000 mile odyssey, and one dog
walker immediately recognises me as someone on the final push to
Bowness, and gives me encouragement and early congratulations,
recommending that this is a trail that should be walked by everybody,
to which I concur, before pushing on to Eden Viaduct, under the West
Coast mainline, and it was a riot of rail traffic up there back in
that distant February, replaced with total silence today. Beyond we
wander on, largely under tree cover until the view over the churning
river opens out next to the site of Carlisle's main electricity
generating plant, where only few remains of the old brick buildings
of the first power station endure, and further along the river the
Border Union viaduct sits, and I feel lucky to have come this way
before as the path beneath it has been fenced off and workmen are
busy with some remedial work (you'd hope to open it to public use,
but I'm not holding my breath) and the path climbs up the embankment
to lead across its throat and then onward along the elevated
riverbank.</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3gOT4DqA0QsLw5Q6RXPY031_RlnnDd-PXaOYlyETW-FLc64duWYv2NG5q_Uq4u2ZR4y-OYznwUCRZREEBd1T4Mfp_Rzb0cjtyfhiFmreqOgRAE4xbodeZxEZqmbaNRr1Gdxb_3oTKiOI/s1600/DSCF6580.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3gOT4DqA0QsLw5Q6RXPY031_RlnnDd-PXaOYlyETW-FLc64duWYv2NG5q_Uq4u2ZR4y-OYznwUCRZREEBd1T4Mfp_Rzb0cjtyfhiFmreqOgRAE4xbodeZxEZqmbaNRr1Gdxb_3oTKiOI/s1600/DSCF6580.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Natural rampart, near Grinsdale</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The guide book claims
that we are again on the wall line, but there's nothing at all to
see, making you wonder how conjectural the route might be, and you
start to tease yourself that the raised grassy line running across
the field beneath a forest of pylons might be stretch if vallum ditch
that the archaeologists might have missed. Carrying on along the high
bank of the river, I wonder why I had trailed this a day without the
interaction of contour lines, as the path makes three sharp drops and
climbs to pass through the wooded gills of interceding streams, as
well as heading under the Carlisle Western Relief Road, with a neatly
dressed arch in red sandstone, marking the last crossing point on the
Eden, before eventually dropping close to the river level as we
approach the village of Grinsdale. I'd hoped to get a shot of the
parish church on its bluff, above the curve of the river but it hides
behind many trees and St Kerntigan's will have to go un-phtographed,
and I'll rise into the village that seems to be little more than a
collection of farmsteads, for the briefest of watering sessions
before taking the path around to the back of Park farm and striking
out along the track that leads onto a raised mount on which the wall
line followed, and a bit of retaining walls beneath the clump of
trees is enough to tease as to the possibility of Roman remains. This
leads to a seriously over-engineered style, and the track follows a
hollowed track down the side of corn fields before encountering the
stone Sourmilk footbridge that is almost as odd as the preceding
stile, eventually rising to meet what counts for an escarpment in
these low lands, another ridge that only stands 10m above the
surroundings but would have provided a commanding outlook for the
Roman wall in the direction of Caledonia. Drop from this elevated
view all too quickly, descending through fields of duck ponds which
contain no ducks, to find warning that the path along the Eden
riverbank towards Beaumont has suffered a landslip, and a detour is
in force, so we have to deviate off Dollies Lane to take the sticky
and overgrown path to the edge of Kirkandrews on Eden, which has a
graveyard but no church, and follow the lane past the parish hall and
above the river, with no decent views offered and a surface covered
in the results of a horrible farm produce spillage.</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbecJ2hOg4pF8kbzQuWD_f-uGQZP-R8bxuvgnbCbD-wfYyYTapb-UTPMap1PjcQxwmw3HegPP1UAdbjDGDFngdbHMHtU2Q0Gm1z8gOFI6jp-VPEVqhCe0JP1WbiQWIhjMH8MBzipUafRI/s1600/DSCF6645.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbecJ2hOg4pF8kbzQuWD_f-uGQZP-R8bxuvgnbCbD-wfYyYTapb-UTPMap1PjcQxwmw3HegPP1UAdbjDGDFngdbHMHtU2Q0Gm1z8gOFI6jp-VPEVqhCe0JP1WbiQWIhjMH8MBzipUafRI/s1600/DSCF6645.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wall Line, near Burgh by Sands</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Beaumont has a little
more to it, several lanes converging on the green in front of the
neat little church of St Mary, with enough activity to give the
impression that it's farm are still living, a good spot to water
again and to admire the finger-post, in the style that is to be found
all over Cumberland, with this being the first that I have gotten
close to in three days of walking. Depart onto the farm tracks that
leads from one of the most Solway-styled houses in Cumbria, following
this enclosed path as it gradually rises to probably the highest
point for the entire day, a whopping 25+m of elevation, once again
following the wall line and offering the most limited of views, back
to the North Pennines and forward to the Solway Firth, and also over
towards Lakeland, which I had expected to loom much larger on today's
trail, but the Northern Fell might just be that bit too far away to
be more than distant lumps in the haze. The track declines very
slowly, as I catch up towards a quartet of walkers who passed me in
Beaumont and approaching the coast road, I burn them off, and as the
track slips back to a field walk, a look back up the hill show what
will probably be the clearest look at the wall line enduring in the
landscape that we will see all day. Soon we meet the road again,
leading us into Burgh-by-Sands, where a wander through the churchyard
of St Michael's gives us a chance to admire this low and bulky
church, one almost certainly built in Roman Stone, and to arrive at
the end of the village where <i>Aballava</i> fort once stood,
probably under the spot where Fort House now resides. On the whole,
this village, strung out along the road like a ribbon, has to be one
of the most picturesque in the county (which includes Lakeland, I
might add) a real collection of building displaying the best of
Cumbrian styles, where even the late 20th century arrivals
have been well-styled to fit in perfectly, the sort of place where
you could easily lose count of the number of fantasy retirement homes
that you could imagine for yourself. It's also a place that has a
claim to history, since it was a mile or so north of here that King
Edward I died in 1307, of dysentery on Burgh Marsh whilst waiting for
a favourable tide so he could engage in his favourite pastime,
invading Scotland, a statue now stands next to the Greyhound Inn, a
testament to an English King whose actions have proved very hard to
admire.</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMNyCl9IWdGIw5TMVqGXsCZkvYuc1JChySLyERTVGgKb-KeOOKCDLPCth5ZuPjyrtwEPTfNQo_dJF3HUbwehwACRIe-G2ngcBGgezIXnygQ0F659JbMxSKhjemtEaMT4ehpwDLWqdRihU/s1600/DSCF6708.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMNyCl9IWdGIw5TMVqGXsCZkvYuc1JChySLyERTVGgKb-KeOOKCDLPCth5ZuPjyrtwEPTfNQo_dJF3HUbwehwACRIe-G2ngcBGgezIXnygQ0F659JbMxSKhjemtEaMT4ehpwDLWqdRihU/s1600/DSCF6708.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Burgh Marsh</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Leave the dream
retirement community behind and start pounding the lane to the west,
completely exposed to traffic but along a trail thankfully lacking
maniacs, where wits are still needed to avoid the deliveries of
Scottish beer and those odd people who would still drive a Robin
Reliant, rolling up to Dykesfield farm, the last place to pick an
alternative route before you hit the long drag across Burgh Marsh.
Further deterrent is provided by the tidal tables and the photograph
of a half-submerged bus next to the cattle grid, warning that a high
tide could inundate the coast road as it crosses the marshland. No
such risk today, as the tide is wa-aaay out, and much greater risk is
posed by the cattle who graze on the marshland (for extra-salty beef,
maybe?), a half dozen of them seeming to be fearless/suicidal when
presented with on-coming traffic and cyclists, and even though the
path follows the road, I'll detour onto the flood embankment for less
risky progress, where many feet have trod before me, virtually
ensuring that a right of way will one day exist up here, where a
better view to the Solway Firth can be had without dodging the
traffic. Pause mid-way along, to chow on my pizza and be frustrated
that the haze is spoiling my view into Scotland, but also feeling
thankful that the high, dense cloud is keeping off some heat, when
there is enough warm and motionless air already floating around.
Boustead Hill teases as being the end of the marsh, being a
collection of farmsteads and houses on a knoll above the marshland,
when it is less than halfway across, and is surely the lowest
settlement int the land with 'Hill' in its name, but it still has its own
finger-post and bus stop, so it isn't nowhere. Carrying on, with a
hawthorn hedge to my south, the walk along the embankment seems to go
on and on, hitting the boring marker at about the time that I meet
the flood measurement gauge, a distinctly Heath-Robinson looking
construction, as I try to divert myself by watching the antics of the
even larger herds of cows at this end of the marsh, and by startling
the sheep who are hiding beneath the hedge. The end thankfully come
past the road to Easton, gradually pulling up onto higher land and
looking back to again get another tease as to the whereabouts of the
wall line, is it hiding beneath that long, straight ridge across the
marsh, having survived 1600 years of tidal forces, or is it just the
spoil from a drainage ditch, grassed over and looking much more
ancient?</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhXZg_TF0DG4ArFDL_PHe9hw-n9YRNr2yIX_2tBhzYZuPquU7LY66ouoeR83EZ34sG1c0r7tpQLupTJl0iZycMKB3t0ojv6Ie0_AdRvpKREK2GuPu3zL5dtofsFdPY7dq6PTsAG-V9wJ4/s1600/DSCF6776.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhXZg_TF0DG4ArFDL_PHe9hw-n9YRNr2yIX_2tBhzYZuPquU7LY66ouoeR83EZ34sG1c0r7tpQLupTJl0iZycMKB3t0ojv6Ie0_AdRvpKREK2GuPu3zL5dtofsFdPY7dq6PTsAG-V9wJ4/s1600/DSCF6776.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drumburgh Castle</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
All told, including
lunch breaks, the marsh crossing absorbed more than an hour, and the
rise into Drumburgh feels like a return to civilisation, even though
it is little more than a hamlet, but it is rendered immediately
interesting as the site of Roman <em>Congabata</em>, and by the presence of
its Castle, not really a castle at all, or even a fortified manor,
but what's known as a Solway bastle, a farm house built on a huge
scale and heavily reinforced to withstand whatever Scottish raiders
might throw at it. It's surely the best piece of Border architecture
to be seen along the trail, and the Roman altars parked at the top of
its entrance steps gives us another link to the distant past in a
landscape where there are so few, it utterly dominates its settlement
and I'd admire it for longer if it wasn't for the clock starting to
count down on my expected conclusion time. The path departs
completely from the wall line, to use the ROWs away from the coast
road, and beyond Low Farm, that become something of a regrettable
decision as the trail hits just the dullest and viewless section of
gravel track heading south west towards Moss Cottage, where heavy
farm machinery has to be avoided, and then swinging north west
towards Walker House, where even a few moments of sunshine can't stop
the boredom trigger firing again. There's an ominous amount of noise
beyond the farm, which turns out to be a combine harvester doing its
business, at the distant end of the field along which the flagged
path I am following runs, leading to a rising track through a sheep
pasture, dropping us eventually on the edge of the hamlet of Glasson.
More Solway architecture to enjoy here, showing a lot of rubble
construction and heavy edging stones, but no sight of the miniature
bastle teased by Pevsner, instead turn attention to the the pub and
wonder why it is named the Highland Laddie, and why it has a crudely
Scotchified version of the Laughing Cavalier by Frans Hals as its logo, and I'd
also ponder what Haaf-Netting was, if my guide book hadn't explained
for me. Set a return to the Roman age, as the path meets a track
along the Vallum line, and you can ponder if the recently cut
drainage ditch might have a base that is a lot more ancient, and as
we draw up by Glendale caravan park, we get our sole view towards the
Anthorn VLF array, a bunch of masts used to communicate with nuclear
submarines, apparently.
</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_s2NJNswm3mTKdFPf_Nv_0odnWmNSJABvipn7URH6YG0w3OrqMYVOEqyMYsRO49LoCvJeNhgb5MErp3kl2ovlcVff3ciRNwuKBHStFVcbjG8TpCoKK393O76h2SvqvjYvLJbrh2ZBcb8/s1600/DSCF6868.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_s2NJNswm3mTKdFPf_Nv_0odnWmNSJABvipn7URH6YG0w3OrqMYVOEqyMYsRO49LoCvJeNhgb5MErp3kl2ovlcVff3ciRNwuKBHStFVcbjG8TpCoKK393O76h2SvqvjYvLJbrh2ZBcb8/s1600/DSCF6868.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Solway Canal Sea Lock, Port Carlisle</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Meet the coast road
once again, and cross over to meet the shore line, well we would it
the growth of hardy plants hadn't taken over to all but completely
obscure the view, so shrouded progress is made as we follow along the
channel of the Solway Canal, a doomed 19th century
enterprise that intended to link the Irish and North seas, but only
operated to Carlisle from 1821 to 1853, its fortunes ruined by the
shifting sands of the Solway and the emergence of the railways,
eventually being converted to a railway line that never prospered but
endures a a horse-drawn tramway until 1914, the last such enterprise
in the country. The hopes of the enterprising age can be seen in the
firth as the stone remains of the never completed floating dock
gradually crumble away just off the shore line, and the channel still
shows signs of dampness, despite 150 years having passed since its
days of canalisation, and the reeds grow healthily still, whilst
autumn fruits flourish all along the path, Blackberries, Rosehips and
whatever the berries on Hawthorn might be called (Haws?). Soon enough
we roll up at Port Carlisle, a hopeful name for a settlement that
never grew to fill its name, cut off by the building of the Solway
Viaduct in 1869 (demolished 1934), these days a selection of town
houses stretched along the coast road, with the small warehouse and
the customs house giving away its original usage, at least until you
meet the sea lock and the remaining fragments of the wooden pier at
the shore line. Set course for the end of the trail past the end of
the village, rejoining the road and knowing that the house above the
bend of the lane couldn't possibly be the edge of Bowness, tramping
the verge and avoiding the cyclists and traffic, sure that there
should be a diversion along the edge of the marshland, but stay on
firmer going as the signs warn that this is another corner that
presents risks of tidal flooding. Sure enough, the elevated house is
not the end, and it's called the Grey Havens for all you Tolkien
fans, but the road beyond looks like the home stretch, and that Fiat
turning around in the distance is surely my parents, seeking a place
in Bowness to park up. It's selfie time as I meet the sign at the
edge of the village, and I'm sure the substantial field wall beyond
has been put in place to give hope to the tired walker that there
might be some Roman rubble beneath it, having been starved of ancient
stones since leaving the high lands.</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyYBQrL6dkeAGxCfA_0aIOl-B7uJH_6wMgFzRJnvAb3QIor1uh97PTPNEYCynEkPtG5SeVLN8pcgI4Sdul84zpo2kLH2teIwTayKpRzOLZvr2Cm8wxJL_fFQrHvSUU5FOUxbiE3U1B31U/s1600/DSCF6909.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyYBQrL6dkeAGxCfA_0aIOl-B7uJH_6wMgFzRJnvAb3QIor1uh97PTPNEYCynEkPtG5SeVLN8pcgI4Sdul84zpo2kLH2teIwTayKpRzOLZvr2Cm8wxJL_fFQrHvSUU5FOUxbiE3U1B31U/s1600/DSCF6909.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bowness on Solway</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Meet the village edge
and the finger-post directing me to Banks Promenade, suddenly aware
that I'm not entirely sure where it is located, rising into the
village that seems to be much more compact that the others in these
parts as if some force has prevented any gaps from being left between
any of the buildings, and it so small a place that it seems to lack
an obvious centre, even though the road runs directly along the
east-west alignment of <em>Maia</em> fort, the last one on the wall. An
alleyway directs me to the promenade, decently high above the Firth
of Solway, and the small wooden pavilion greets the walker in English and Latin at
the conclusion of their 84 mile journey from Wallsend, a whole other
world away from here, all done at 3.15pm and right on schedule,
adding stamp #7 to my passport for the greatest feeling of
satisfaction. Such a shame that there is no one here to greet me,
having arrived 5 minutes before my parents, and you think that one of
those Roman re-enactment types could linger here through the
afternoons to congratulate the arrivals as they roll in, I'll just
pause to absorb the fact that I have just finished my first National
Trail, and have also done my first coast to coast walk as well,
though I won't be wandering out into the firth to wet my boots in the
distant channel where the Eden and Esk merge. I'll just watch the
haaf-netters carrying their goalpost nets out into the water far, far
away before my parents turn up, for patted backs and shaken hands and
more posed pictures to prove that I have finished the Hadrian's Wall
Path, meanwhile resisting the urge to plot my way along the further stretches
of the Cumbrian Coast Path to the Roman remains at Maryport and
Ravenglass. A celebratory beverage feels in order, but it seems like
the Kings Arms (featuring Patrick McGoohan as Edward I on its
signage) is not open for business, which seem like a mistake, I'll
assume that we are too early and they will be open past 4pm, in fact
Bowness seems a little unwilling to make a big noise about its status
as the destination on one of the most popular National Trails. Let's
not let that sour the occasion though, another personal triumph has
been achieved, and celebrations can be continued later in Cumwhinton,
with a pint of Landlord at our place, and Steak & Ale pie with
Jennings Bitter for dinner at the Lowther Arms.<br />
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjue24L0M9wjJ0fuAATlgSiOP1XPDz1Bi_mD-kJgHaI3PIPYVPdzYfvQrsKuzKvwFNhR2ekPtsctgvT4MqjPiymO5WqQy05xU5Mv1YXqHsmga3RhtP1aHoJq4a5tHFF5awkkkhhSv86Z-A/s1600/DSCF6917.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjue24L0M9wjJ0fuAATlgSiOP1XPDz1Bi_mD-kJgHaI3PIPYVPdzYfvQrsKuzKvwFNhR2ekPtsctgvT4MqjPiymO5WqQy05xU5Mv1YXqHsmga3RhtP1aHoJq4a5tHFF5awkkkhhSv86Z-A/s1600/DSCF6917.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Hadrian's Wall Path Completed, at Banks Pavilion, Bowness on Solway</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Next on the Slate: Back
to Kirklees, where un-walked paths still remain.</div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<strong>1,000 Miles Cumulative Total: 1299.6 miles</strong> <br />
<br />
<div class="western">
(2014 total: 386.4 miles)<br />
</div>
<div class="western">
(Up Country Total: 1204 miles)</div>
<div class="western">
(Solo Total: 1084.1 miles)</div>
<div class="western">
(Declared Total: 1091.4 miles) </div>
</div>
Christopher Wrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09743749271457169317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9035497799018938871.post-75414294589898155442014-09-03T21:01:00.000+01:002014-09-08T21:01:47.213+01:00Hadrian's Wall Path #5: Banks Turret to Eden Bridge 02/09/14<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN8sBGUkaeghRs_4BMmaM3oAck2CrIxKuVRWNnJe42O4kJr4GecWENFgJAO7Gl087NOCxWjehmMffZRuhQrw45q94TgGjwRQYnc0lQbXKDW_740ovz6MdCPI5udmETpbn10nO36myB2t0/s1600/DSCF5908.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN8sBGUkaeghRs_4BMmaM3oAck2CrIxKuVRWNnJe42O4kJr4GecWENFgJAO7Gl087NOCxWjehmMffZRuhQrw45q94TgGjwRQYnc0lQbXKDW_740ovz6MdCPI5udmETpbn10nO36myB2t0/s1600/DSCF5908.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Self at Banks Turret</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The End of Summer has
definitely been delayed, judging by the harsh reddening that the left
side of my face and neck has suffered, and whilst that should be the
primary source of my moans, the reality of my situation has me
wondering just how we managed to live in the 20th Century.
Sure it wasn't really that different from now, but once you have
gotten used to having mobile communications and wi-fi you start to
forget what it is like to live without them, and I'm hardly one who
is umbilically attached to my mobile device, but things do certainly
get a bit more complicated when sending a message when out on the
trail becomes a task in itself. Similarly, having no wi-fi means
getting an accurate weather forecast requires a trip to the nearest
available coffee shop to piggy-back on their free service, and any
query about facilities in the locality or the accessibility of sites
in Carlisle has you rooting through leaflets and maps in your holiday
house. Such are the risks of staying in a location as mobile
unfriendly as the Eden Valley, I suppose, and it's a real shame
because I got myself a laptop for the purpose of live blogging when
away from home and haven't managed to get it done on either of trips
away this year, and I'm in the writing form of my life too, hammering
out the paragraphs at the clip, when shorn of distractions my writing
can proceed at a pace, it seems, so maybe that's a reason to <i>not
</i>want wi-fi?<br />
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<strong>Hadrian's Wall Path #5:
Banks Turret to Eden Bridge 14.6 miles</strong></div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhAiKbrKFTS1nHSQifYKeXbpQYsgLnOqKMgZ6I4U8FtJUsbOWz-8aw1n3DeTEnJewjvyWwX0tLYoMJNTGp6uNYhWg0FRmMCcqYfTBoblwubR84lf0GK_mO7IVU_Yfrsjb7HyHpoyOtwK0/s1600/DSCF5935.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhAiKbrKFTS1nHSQifYKeXbpQYsgLnOqKMgZ6I4U8FtJUsbOWz-8aw1n3DeTEnJewjvyWwX0tLYoMJNTGp6uNYhWg0FRmMCcqYfTBoblwubR84lf0GK_mO7IVU_Yfrsjb7HyHpoyOtwK0/s1600/DSCF5935.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hare Hill Wall</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It's a slightly later
start than I'd wanted from Banks Turret, not getting going until 10.15am,
having got stuck behind slow moving heavy plant and German
camper-vans between Brampton and Lanercost, and setting out with
another 6 hour window, pausing to admire the remains of Turret 52a
and the associated stretch of wall along the roadside. Soak it in, as
that's going to be the last significant stretch of wall we will be
seeing, lapsing back into a landscape of fragments and earthwork
features, giving us a virtual mirror of day#2, and the track starts
to descend, taking its leave from the higher lands of the previous
days on this trail, passing along the roadside through the hamlet of
Banks, dressed to look appealing now, but largely composed of those
low-rise cottages which suggest an aspect that is far more Scottish
Borders than Northern England. The road walk descends down a leafy
glade to cross Banks Burn, rising on a track beyond, above the site
of Milecastle 53 to find the Hare Hill wall, not very long but
standing at eighteen courses tall, regarded as the highest section of
wall remaining though it's true nature is that of an 18th
century garden folly, a romantic reconstruction that can still excite
the mind of the 21st century observer. Rise to Hare Hill
farm and follow the wall line as it hugs the field boundary, hitting
a plateau at over 130m up, beyond which the upper Eden Valley and the
catchment of the Esk opens out, illustrating that it will be all
downhill from here (not quite literally of course, as I'll curse
every 20m elevation to come), and the path drops down sharply
following a rubble foundation beneath the farm wall to Haytongate
farm, and then continues down to the crossing of Burtholme Beck,
following a broad stretch of the North Ditch as we go. Ascend along
another stretch of rubble rigg at the field boundary, and over a
rough field to top out over 75m, clearly illustrating our arrival in
the midst of traditional farmland, and a jaunt via a short lane leads
us over a field to descend into a damp depression above Howgill farm,
where a pine tree grows out of the rubble of Turret 54b.</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2LCCQxLTqK8lMaSe9UPHSdWgSwCxNbSjK5iq3LAhujVsQpIJxR26dPMSLEz0wzG-yi0HTwb7CuuhqOOA2DfHuAnWhqJqN0uOzvXCnY0-Mn-M5rr9y1zXrC32ZZgKLNknPQgp0q6jiJps/s1600/DSCF6017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2LCCQxLTqK8lMaSe9UPHSdWgSwCxNbSjK5iq3LAhujVsQpIJxR26dPMSLEz0wzG-yi0HTwb7CuuhqOOA2DfHuAnWhqJqN0uOzvXCnY0-Mn-M5rr9y1zXrC32ZZgKLNknPQgp0q6jiJps/s1600/DSCF6017.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dovecote Bridge Wall</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Over the farm track and
along the next field boundaries, where the going gets sticky through
the fenced-in section by the equestrian fields, and if you've lost
your boots in this morass in recent days, someone has thoughtfully
retrieved them and hung them to dry on a fence post. We meet the road
near the prettily turned out Holly Bush Cottage, and we are compelled
to follow the road if we are to get to Walton, my 2010 guide book
suggesting an alternative is imminent and my map suggesting one
already exists, but it does not in 2014, and I'll hug the verge as I
head down the lane toward Dovecote bridge, thankful that this is not
a crazy road for drivers. The view offers us a look towards the old
bridge, visible above the snaking hedges concealing the road, and up
the parish church in Walton, a Victorian monster in Red Sandstone,
that looks like it might be bigger than the village that it serves,
and plenty of pedestrian warning notices are in place as the route
slips down to the river crossing, passing across the stone bridge
over King Water, and the eyes have to be alert to spot the next
antiquity. Hidden behind the hedge and under an embankment is the
Dovecote Bridge wall, the only remaining section of wall build in the Eden
Valley Sandstone, buried in 2003 after only 20 years of exposure as
it was not weathering well, and now this inauspicious lump is the
last authenticated wall remnant on the trail, all that endures from
here is rubble and earthworks, with another 25 miles to go. Rise up
the lane to Walton itself, mostly a cluster of farm and cottages, one
no longer able to support its pub, The Centurion, it seems, and with
a tea shop that closes for half the summer too, so I won't be
lingering here, instead following the path out to the south-west,
close to the wall line before being forced to detour through the
woods that surround Sandysike farm, and then getting dropped on the
lane to Swainsteads farm, before following the wall line back to the
descent to the crossing of Cam Beck, where another good ditch remnant
comes down the hill with us. Passing over this tributary of the
Irthing, I look off to the woods to the south, knowing that somewhere
in the grounds of Castlesteads house, the remnants of <i>Camboglanna</i>
fort can be found, and even with at least nine fort sites on my
itinerary so far, it frustrates me that this one, pre-dating the wall
establishment like <i>Magna,</i> should be off limits to the
traveller.</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnFKanjUfPbHnWWXefMikoRvGYUekaY9IQFslmseC3tQlrbzbm29ycLOBZ3iD7QzBj7502HsMVLNeschm-lY6WW0u4j8K7vzCs4cNPb74Or47lRrcqhO9aq4VKhJJkXxjOWvmC5umbCA/s1600/DSCF6074.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnFKanjUfPbHnWWXefMikoRvGYUekaY9IQFslmseC3tQlrbzbm29ycLOBZ3iD7QzBj7502HsMVLNeschm-lY6WW0u4j8K7vzCs4cNPb74Or47lRrcqhO9aq4VKhJJkXxjOWvmC5umbCA/s1600/DSCF6074.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heads Wood farm embankment</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The path sets a clear
course forwards, along the edge of freshly mown hay fields and
through the flocks of docile sheep to pass through the yard of
Cambeckhill farm, which fair reeks of cattle, before pressing on to
find more sheep, sheltering beneath the hedges on the wall line, and
finding that the path snakes its way around The Beck farm, which has
been constructed right across the alignment. The way beyond, in a
field dominated by only three horses couldn't be more obvious, as the
ground beyond rises, modestly in comparison to some of the elevations
previously encountered, but the earthworks that rise up to it seem
quite gargantuan, maybe that's an overstatement, but they have put in
great resistance to 16 centuries of agricultural use, and would be
highly regarded ancient features if located in another part of the country. The rise
beyond Heads Wood farm offers us a view for the first time in a
while, and the top end of the North Pennine ridge is still our close
companion, but its profile has shifted once again, giving us a look
at the hidden valley of Geltsdale, and to the profile of Castle
Carrock Fell to the west, which got a visit during our 2011 jaunt in
these parts. The next village on the wall shows up quickly and
surprisingly, as I find myself in the back garden of Laburnum cottage
in Newtown, and I try to not make myself too conspicuous to the
holiday-makers as I examine the rough foundations of the wall of the
adjacent farm, looking all for the world like Roman work to me, and
even if this is just re-used stone put back at a later, it is
mistaken for authentic by these eyes. Slip into the village and
across the A6071, and it seems to mostly consist of the farm, a green
and a long string of cottages that have developed along the wall
alignment, mostly in the low rise style previously encountered and
all with south facing gardens, also quite a number of newer
developments too, which suggests there's little of antiquity around
the site of Milecastle 58 left to disturb, I wonder if this is the
place where my Mum found a holiday let 'right on Hadrian's
Wall', because it would be, very literally.</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLBJfNzTFPPZll942uKzHiobZ34H8J-XzvZYv5cpIW_Q0tlBiTR4l6dDZYWqBFv14pK9LrkKBAHDTUtZ5ui0RuJmB-NJDQBDtyYLr5fLrjuXXckMoL2GxbmLPWwZ2RfIPjQjvvhQiQiOE/s1600/DSCF6197.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLBJfNzTFPPZll942uKzHiobZ34H8J-XzvZYv5cpIW_Q0tlBiTR4l6dDZYWqBFv14pK9LrkKBAHDTUtZ5ui0RuJmB-NJDQBDtyYLr5fLrjuXXckMoL2GxbmLPWwZ2RfIPjQjvvhQiQiOE/s1600/DSCF6197.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bleatarn Park causeway</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Out of the village and
onto a track along field boundaries that surely can't all have wall
rubble at their bases as they don't align properly, and the track
rise to a pasture edge along an impressively deep cleft where the
North Ditch ran, and a look to the west gives us a first sight of
Kriffell in an absolute age, the distant Scottish hill in
Dumfriesshire, which appears to be close by, but would actually
require a 100 mile round trip to visit from Carlisle. Buzzing
aircraft indicate that we are near the site of Carlisle airport, a
modest aerodrome that seems to be mostly a stationing point for car
transporters from the angle at which I can see it, and despite 10+
miles of walking since first getting a view of the Lakeland panorama,
it doesn't seem to have changed much since I first saw it. The path
enters a track enclosed by hawthorns bushes, giving it a nicely
ancient feel, as the upper edge follows the wall line with the north
ditch above it, and if more recent military facilities are your
thing, three WWII era supply depots associated to the airfield are
visible to the north too, and this rolls us up to Old Wall farm,
where no wall can be found, but it is convenient for a bus stop, where
the local service drops off as I emerge at the roadside. Press on in
search of a shady spot, and the trail leads on towards Bleatarn Park,
the north ditch still persisting enclosed by hedges on both sides for
a solid half mile before the path drops into the lane at the back of
the farm, with wall rubble evident in the retaining walls, maybe (?),
and the secluded enclosure beyond seems an ideal spot to grab lunch.
Unfortunately, I've done that trick of leaving in the fridge again,
so I'll have to be fuelled by snack bars and liquids instead, helpfully
augmented with crisps and a chocolate bar from the honesty box
conveniently located by the farm gate. After my rest up, move on to see
the extensively renovated Bleatarn farm, now made over as a holiday
village, with the actual tarn below being largely weed-choked, but
still just about in water, and the track elevates onto an impressive
earthwork which once carried the wall alignment and the Roman
Military Way, with the north ditch on one side and remains of ancient
quarry workings on the other, altogether a fine last hurrah for the
Roman wall, again one only to be seen by the trail walker and by the
local cows. The wall line continues to the west above White Moss wood
and past Wall Head farm, with a minor road following it all the way
to Walby, but we are now compelled to leave the ancient alignment
which we have been on for most of the last four legs on the trail,
forced from it by a lack of paths that would lead us on to Stanwix
and Roman <i>Uxelodunum</i> (or <em>Petriana</em> if you prefer).</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRfBbsQSrnudY9NJg4D2iQrGdSlPNqWRVSD6dE-5EDADBhlsBODTVALw6HenW6C3aVDg1hXQIMaEFKbvc48g9lLqyiE7PHP1Qy9yCSpB7agYvPDfA6PM80aVqNa_bUSvZr5ETu6xfY8W4/s1600/DSCF6240.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRfBbsQSrnudY9NJg4D2iQrGdSlPNqWRVSD6dE-5EDADBhlsBODTVALw6HenW6C3aVDg1hXQIMaEFKbvc48g9lLqyiE7PHP1Qy9yCSpB7agYvPDfA6PM80aVqNa_bUSvZr5ETu6xfY8W4/s1600/DSCF6240.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stanegate (?), near Crosby on Eden</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Sandy Lane is the track
that takes us due south, lined with bracken and overgrowth, and
taking some more hardcore walkers of the Wall path towards the much
more interesting scenery to the east, as I descend between fields of
corn, and along the boundary of a wood that seems to be littered with
old agricultural equipment, before rising to the bridge over the
arrow-straight A689, a final hello to the 18th century
Military Road, our long time companion to the high lands of the Whin
Sill. Passing through the bucolic splendour around High Crosby Farm,
and drop to the road to Crosby on Eden, and this road, or maybe the
enclosed hollow beneath the trees on the south side, was perhaps the
route of Roman <i>Stanegate</i>, and have I actually mentioned that
on all my travels so far, the pre-Wall road which ran from
<i>Corstopitum</i> (Corbridge) to <i>Luguvalium</i> (Carlisle) on a
route that is still largely conjectural? The footway leads along to
the village of Crosby, greeting us initially with the eccentric
church of St John the Evangelist, and the state school of 1844 still
in use next door, and onwards into a village that does quaint and
expensive in equal measure, with a mash of red sandstone and white
stucco on one side and a whole bunch of villas in an Italianate
styling taking prime locations with the back gardens facing the
river. Contemporary development has also landed in the village, but
most of the prime sites are already taken and you wouldn't think that
Carlisle would have that much of an executive commuter belt, but what
do I know? And the houses are left behind as the footpath drops me past the
last riverside development, leaving me the enjoy the long flat banks
of the Eden in peace. It feels odd to be so low down after all the
high land, getting a much reduced perspective of the elevations of
the North Pennines and Lakeland, pacing the meadow alongside the
river's flood plain before diverting away from the bank to cross an
intermediate stream and to walk right up to the edge of the grounds
of the very attractive Eden Grove house. Step back to close to the
water's edge, mostly hidden behind a wall of nettles, thistles and
pink balsam, but still offering a few graceful curve here and there,
as attention is drawn inland towards the hay mowing and the potential
whereabouts of the path that leads away from the river, it comes
later than I'd expected, striking inland onto a farm track where
heavy machinery needs to be avoided before I can press on.</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsm8MgTMwwljhpcvQJEBlm5kk500W-jI7K4yuo9UBELyoSkl_vgmNnQHChuIZKE7Jqswn6EKew_FIYY_YL3xoMZe5Ga82jij-7qHyJiCZbfrMA_Ojt235lyUbIqroEnR_oxoLg6ZHFbOg/s1600/DSCF6385.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsm8MgTMwwljhpcvQJEBlm5kk500W-jI7K4yuo9UBELyoSkl_vgmNnQHChuIZKE7Jqswn6EKew_FIYY_YL3xoMZe5Ga82jij-7qHyJiCZbfrMA_Ojt235lyUbIqroEnR_oxoLg6ZHFbOg/s1600/DSCF6385.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Memorial Bridge, Rickerby Park</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Past Linstock Castle
farm, where the notable feature is the tower, a converted Peel tower,
which has proved to be a relative rarity along my travels when I had
thought there might be more to be seen, and the track leads through
Linstock village, which seems to have evolved from a collection of
farmsteads around a green to another commuter village, all looking
very pricey and my camera and interest are directed to all of the
older buildings before I pop out onto the lane leading over the M6.
There's no footway to use along here, but thankfully it's not too
busy traffic-wise and only cyclists need to be avoided, as the Wall
path finds itself sharing a road with National Route 72, the way to
do the wall if you wish to do it on two wheels, and the pacing starts
to feel heavy and dull as it goes on and on, even once you hit the
dedicated cycleway it starts to feel like a drag. Spirits pick up as
I approach the Greek styled Rickerby House, which seems to have
acquired an unusual selection of buildings around it, many in the
Tudor style, but also having a farmhouse with a battlemented tower in
its yard, a former school looking like a small chapel, an octagonal
folly tower in the fields opposite and a gatehouse with a Doric
portico in the fashion of a temple. It's the kind of grouping that
gets a good write up in Pevsner, but the route guide goes as far to
describe the contemporary development of the site as 'bijou', an
analysis that won't get disagreement from me. This all leads to the
way into Rickerby Park, the park left to the city of Carlisle as the
home to the War Memorial, impressively scaled off to the west, and
feeling wild with untrimmed grass and herds of cows still wandering
the fields, a little different from most municipal parks, and our
route leads all the way down a finger of land that the Eden weaves
around, which we finally need to cross via the Memorial bridge, a
cantilevered iron structure of 1922, again falling into the Great War
memorialisation bracket. Good to see folks out here as the day has
stayed warm, and I'm not at risk of burning up today as the sunblock
got slathered on, and the riverside walk to the finish feels like
it's going to take an age after teasing me with some school buildings
that I mistake for the Sands Centre, taking me all the way around The Swifts
nine hole golf course to eventually get sight of Eden Bridge, and
popping up by the artistic interpretation of the Roman Wall behind
the leisure centre, just as my Mum wanders out of the back of the
canteen to call me and check my whereabouts. Only a few more steps to
make on the edge of Carlisle to end at Eden Bridge at 4.15pm, and
then return to the Sands to get in a properly cold drink with my parents and stamp #6
onto my passport, and to share the mild amazement I'm feeling right
now, only one more trip to go!</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Next on the Slate: The
Wall Path comes to its end, with barely a contour line to be seen.</div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<strong>1,000 Miles Cumulative Total: 1284.8 miles</strong> <br />
<br />
<div class="western">
(2014 total: 371.6 miles)<br />
</div>
<div class="western">
(Up Country Total: 1189.2 miles)</div>
<div class="western">
(Solo Total: 1069.3 miles)</div>
<div class="western">
(Declared Total: 1076.6 miles) </div>
</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Christopher Wrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09743749271457169317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9035497799018938871.post-40789498065135022662014-09-01T21:44:00.000+01:002014-09-07T19:26:46.381+01:00Hadrian's Wall Path #4: Steel Rigg to Banks Turret 31/08/14<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjgHhG3SRRHj74SK4m7IetnFXqy1Uav1p54Lsuzu6Llcih96Ks-GTfG19dU-KJQLGbrE7hSz6qCp7NSaLOCPX0HISnZF6TqsPnqLgl0JxSjjLZXFX6Bkd5DnbEGFopruqLUsrOOEd9tXs/s1600/DSCF5242.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjgHhG3SRRHj74SK4m7IetnFXqy1Uav1p54Lsuzu6Llcih96Ks-GTfG19dU-KJQLGbrE7hSz6qCp7NSaLOCPX0HISnZF6TqsPnqLgl0JxSjjLZXFX6Bkd5DnbEGFopruqLUsrOOEd9tXs/s1600/DSCF5242.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Self at Steel Rigg</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Five hours on the trail
without feeling any need for sunblock last weekend, followed by an
August bank holiday Monday that is regarded as having been the coldest and
wettest in over 50 years suggest that the End of Summer is upon us
and that is the surely the cue for me to go on my late summer jollies. So
it's time to get Kirklees out of my system for a week and refocus my
attention to the far north once again, time to get the services of my
Parental taxi service and head out for seven days staying in
Cumwhinton, at the top of the Eden Valley, just shy of Carlisle, to
make my attempt on the last three legs of the Hadrian's Wall Path,
resuming in the high lands atop the Whin Sill and heading for the
Irish Sea coast. So cast away from your mind the environs of Huddersfield and
Dewsbury, and the views across to the Colne valley and the Emley Moor
transmitter, and return your view to the sights from May time, and say
Hello again to the A69 and the Military Road, Hello to Northunbria National park and the
escarpments of Dolerite, and Hello once more to tramping through 2,000
years of history, in the footsteps of the Romans, and Britons of all
ages.<br />
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<strong>Hadrian's Wall Path #4:
Steel Rigg to Banks Turret 13.1 miles</strong></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a name='more'></a> </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNlNtoM4xFsI1O51rA6Y-fuf-UuGQ1Pm6OXl9cF8UR7TI7OVnbIBF7RHg3nlU3qCELf75C3MICj7YlGNCtnLgjgBycPRVXz50ffPTPGUUOEl77HFQzMf_mfyRULtRc0CxMJJSbjqiiGto/s1600/DSCF5267.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNlNtoM4xFsI1O51rA6Y-fuf-UuGQ1Pm6OXl9cF8UR7TI7OVnbIBF7RHg3nlU3qCELf75C3MICj7YlGNCtnLgjgBycPRVXz50ffPTPGUUOEl77HFQzMf_mfyRULtRc0CxMJJSbjqiiGto/s1600/DSCF5267.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Winshields Crag</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I've no real idea what
the weather is going to be doing as we ride back out to Steel Rigg,
so I clad myself light with the possibility of weather coming on, and
I get my start at 9.55am, walking to the Steel Rigg viewpoint with my
parents to view the many crags or the Whin Sill, stretching to the east as far as
Sewingshields Crag, which gets my memory back on track before bidding
them farewell with a promise of seeing them again in 6 hours time.
Heading out alongside the Clayton Wall and over the road, the ascent
starts immediately, feeling like a bit of a cheat as the highest
point on the trail is the first objective of the day and I have
started most of the way up it already. It's not half a mile up to the
top but it's slow going over moorland turf as the blood gets pumping,
focusing attention of the distant horizons to Wark forest and the
North Pennines, with the cloud cover being high and broken despite
the chilling wind, and the only feature obscured is the summit of
Cross Fell, way off the south, still holding onto its own weather
system on an otherwise promising day. 20 minutes in and the top of
the trail is attained, 345m up at the top of Winshields Crag, with
consolidated wall rising alongside much of the path, offering a
viewpoint to get the brain excited, showing the route travelled over
the previous days on the Northumberland moors and drawing attention to
the many rises and fall along the Whin Sill to come as the day
progresses, as well as getting a look down to the Twice Brewed Inn
alongside the arrow straight Military road to the south and to the
many farmsteads eking out a living in the rough land to the north.
Departing the trig point the junction down to Windshields Farm is
passed (having not had its D blown away by the wind, as the guide
book would waggishly have it), following a robust field wall along
the escarpment line, before dropping to the cleft of Lodhams Slack
before rising again, setting the pattern for the early part of today's
trail. The elevated platform stretches onward, declining slightly to
meet the rubble base of Milecastle 41, still hidden away beneath the
turf, and my pace overtakes an old couple out on a morning stroll,
whilst a much younger pair burn me off as we pass the declivity at
Caw Gap and the rise to Turret 41A is made. A look back along the
consolidated wall already has it looking like I have had a good day
on the roller-coaster and I know that there is much more to come, as
I progress along to the curve at Thorney Doors, where the wall still
stands 14 course high, and an excellent view of the Vallum trenches
far below stands out against the turf, almost looking more
structurally impressive from this elevated viewpoint.</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUs_tFJnsrbgZOYmZ5SZ2ERfRX1cmq1e19Xl_jvPeSFcWYgxxF7pV24YA3k-E5HJTmG54GJeVJPciGrhBtKdTFSz2yfq66NqQO46UGOUi5DHLlxgBnSKSg-ViUhukdFYqv-AWzMmf4IWE/s1600/DSCF5370.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUs_tFJnsrbgZOYmZ5SZ2ERfRX1cmq1e19Xl_jvPeSFcWYgxxF7pV24YA3k-E5HJTmG54GJeVJPciGrhBtKdTFSz2yfq66NqQO46UGOUi5DHLlxgBnSKSg-ViUhukdFYqv-AWzMmf4IWE/s1600/DSCF5370.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Milecastle 42</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The path along
Cawfields Crag slips down towards Milecastle 42, which appears
suddenly, as your attention is focused on the steep crag remnant
above the former quarry, and it stands at an angle that could be
described as jaunty, but was deliberately placed by the Romans just
uphill from the natural depression where the burn crosses the wall
line to exercise great control over the local population using the
border post, showing some political viewpoints never change. It's
well preserved, as are the crossings point on the Vallum, and it's
worth taking the detour up to the top of the crag to get the look
back to it from the west, as the wall rising to the top stops
abruptly as the Cawfields quarry site gouged the Dolerite away from
under the wall, an exercise in historical vandalism that ended in
1944, leaving the site to be reclaimed by man and nature, creating a
quiet pool that is a fine spot to stop for elevenses and to note that
the day is coming on much hotter than I had expected it to. Meeting the
road and the crossing of Haltwhistle Burn has me back on a previously
walked path, visited back in 2011 in my casual walking days, when I
did Walltown to Cawfields in 2 hours on a glum July day, I'm not
going to be testing myself against that pace, not least because I'm
travelling in the opposite direction, but I'm looking to get a different
perspective as this day is a whole lot brighter. Rise along the field
boundary past the guest house and you could be left feeling cheated
as you appear to have entered some rather dull pastures as both
the Wall and the Whin Sill disappear, but a peer over the wall will
have you getting sight of the North ditch, still present to keep you
in antiquities as you make the rise to Great Chesters farm, the front
yard of which contains the remains of <i> Aesica </i><span style="font-style: normal;">fort</span>.
The boundary walls still stand on most sides, and a few notable Roman
remains endure within, notably the only altar in situ along the entire
length of the wall, a crude carving of a soldier with shield on a
nearby stone, and the arch of the strongroom fenced off in the middle
of the enclosure, also several remnants of rooms remain along the
western wall and a curious double ditch stretches around that
boundary. Altogether a remarkable bunch of survivals when you
consider that farm animals are free to roam amongst it all, and I
depart via the west gate, trying to not startle the cows as I
re-engage the rubble wall and press on up to Cockmount farm, then
passing through one of the few forest plantations which have dropped
on the wall line. A point of interest beyond is the Roman mile post
from the ancient military way reused as a gatepost, and that's the
most significant remnant for a while as the track becomes strewn with
bracken, obscuring the sites of Turret 43b and Milecastle 44 as field
wall sits on the wall line until moorland grass and a ladder stile
indicate the return of the Whin Sill as the Dolerite rears up once
again.</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGeHodxHQnc2MnSmFYSYikQaMWnBvcH0ZzBe9UH0PwIEayG-04GOK10Zywk8fgyGG-W-aioUvWe5kfAuDC_fhMN8n8F1QIICVFQHilvnRb-PlOcEpmSb79SjJi3Dii8OjpQ2wRbw5Fndg/s1600/DSCF5476.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGeHodxHQnc2MnSmFYSYikQaMWnBvcH0ZzBe9UH0PwIEayG-04GOK10Zywk8fgyGG-W-aioUvWe5kfAuDC_fhMN8n8F1QIICVFQHilvnRb-PlOcEpmSb79SjJi3Dii8OjpQ2wRbw5Fndg/s1600/DSCF5476.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Turret 44b</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Beyond the first rise,
having suddenly gained elevation, we enter the Nine Nicks of
Thirwall, and the terrain becomes a roller-coaster ride once
more, falling and rising sharply as the rubble rigg slips around the
contours of the multiple gaps, and despite having been this way
before, any familiarity of the geography has waned so much that I am
surprised by running up on Turret 44b after having topped Mucklebank
Crag. The view today is the one I had hoped for three years ago, with
the turret standing its lonely watch above the Walltown Gap as the
wall angles around it, I'll still vouch for it as the most
dramatically placed of all the turrets, especially when bathed in
sunshine. I'll drop down via the flagstoned path to the bottom of the
gap, but don't ascend to the top of Walltown Crag, instead favouring
the lower path that keeps away from the high edge, as this is the one
place where the edge doesn't feel safe, enclosed by a fence of only a
single string of barbed wire, and catching a breeze across there with
a sheer drop to one side of you is an alarming feeling. I'll resume
on the wall line as the high edge drops and the consolidated wall
resumes, gaining my only view down to Walltown Lough before rising
to turret 45a, offering another dramatic aspect to north and south,
and the day must be clearing up as Cross Fell is now showing its
whole face to the world, and I'll press on taking the slightly more elevated
path on the crags, away from the wall itself, in order to get some better shots of
the wall, including the view that is seen on the cover of my
impression of OL43. The consolidated wall ends abruptly at Walltown
Quarry, another huge gash dug into the edge of the Whin Sill, which
claimed many tons of hard and resistant Dolerite until as recently as 1983,
and since nature has started to reclaim the bare rock at the base,
complete with obligatory lake. It's a good spot for a short stroll,
judging by the number of people coming up the angled path from the
quarry base, with one very North-Eastern family wondering if they are
'nearly there yet?'. Drop to the bowl of the quarry, finding a spot
to grab lunch and startle the ducks hiding in the shade of the picnic
table, and to try to send a message to my parents to give them my 1pm
progress update, but no connections can be made out here, so I'll
have to get the hurry up to get 7 miles down in 3 hours, so there
will again be no opportunity to visit the Roman Army museum at <i>Magna,</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
just south of the wall,</span><i> </i><span style="font-style: normal;">a
fort site that has an English name, Carvoran, that seems just as
Latin as its original one.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLCQVDKl5SZfMT5cB6LPMW2Rb8ma1U5Xks-Vzwb6mr0yVwN3LXewTv1XCIIfwlU7qRVdsYv1su4c-DOfOqkIOICgfikPm9Q6oVedxrejkw-LVTQfy-k6zW-xQVWyebW4-4tfY3WcQCDTI/s1600/DSCF5585.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLCQVDKl5SZfMT5cB6LPMW2Rb8ma1U5Xks-Vzwb6mr0yVwN3LXewTv1XCIIfwlU7qRVdsYv1su4c-DOfOqkIOICgfikPm9Q6oVedxrejkw-LVTQfy-k6zW-xQVWyebW4-4tfY3WcQCDTI/s1600/DSCF5585.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thirwall Castle</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-style: normal;">Leave
Walltown Quarry and pass up the road, leaving the alignment south of
the wall where we have been on the trail for many hours, rising into
the field to descend away from the Whin Sill along the outer edge of
the North Ditch once again, losing nearly 90m of elevation through
fields of sheep and cattle, some of whom take no interest at all in
moving out of your way, and I have no interest in fighting any cows,
even those docile rust-coloured ones. Train sounds in the distance
indicate the presence of a railway, and from my vantage point, I
manage to see the Newcastle & Carlisle services passing in both
directions before I drop into the trees above the path that snakes
down to Holmhead farm, a notable guest house on the route, and
crossing over Tipal Burn before rising through the farmsteads of
Duffenfoot to find myself by Thirwall Castle, a medieval establishment
in the 'hole in the wall', one almost entirely built of Roman stone
and a major frontier post right through to the time of the Border
Reivers. No time for a visit, sadly, pressing on alongside the burn
before crossing Pow Charney Burn and rising over the old NER line to
meet a line of colliery cottages a short way north of Greenhead,
where we can say goodbye (or hello) to the Pennine Way as it follows
the Vallum line eastward up the hill whilst our route takes us along
the B6318, no longer in it's guise as the Military Road, towards
Longbyre, where the wall line is regained where a stretch of wall
rises from the roadside like a bridge abutment. Beyond the field walk
to Wall End House, a confusing mass of earthworks fills the
landscape, where the north ditch has retained the spoil dug out by
the Roman engineers, making it all feel a bit more Iron Age, and the
path drifts up close to the wall line as the north ditch has flooded
from a nearby stream which eventually renders the ditch entirely
superfluous to the defensive formation, and as we cross over before
Chapel House Farm, that is the last engagement we will be making with
an eastward flowing watercourse. Both wall and ditch disappear for
the next couple of fields, and attention is drawn to the big house
hiding in the landscape off to the north, the Gilsland Spa hotel,
once a health resort to rival those at Bath and Harrogate, but
ultimately done in by the fact that it is in the middle of nowhere. </span>
</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXPXpsXxvMkR4BkYaHPlCH7avn9VVSZH_-L0_yhQAzB7JrIP75efLtwrkf-1Cez64uPVn9wm_ArERH_XnGqARMM2XqsTSh_yLndN5yZGmi-PFQ7AKqXeyYM_jAc8iRZdEQTdtvjYrt3IA/s1600/DSCF5733.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXPXpsXxvMkR4BkYaHPlCH7avn9VVSZH_-L0_yhQAzB7JrIP75efLtwrkf-1Cez64uPVn9wm_ArERH_XnGqARMM2XqsTSh_yLndN5yZGmi-PFQ7AKqXeyYM_jAc8iRZdEQTdtvjYrt3IA/s1600/DSCF5733.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Willowford Bridge Abutment</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As
the path meets another farm, and passes through the flowery front
garden of the adjacent house, we cross the English watershed, and the
rise through the next field returns the earthworks to the landscape
and the path slips into the North Ditch for a stretch as it passes
into the lower edge of Gilsland, passing over the road behind the pub
where we lunched in 2011, the Samson, and the ditch slips downhill as
the path moves over to the side of the railway, by the site of
Gilsland station, dropping steeply downhill to the footbridge over
Poltross Burn. Rising high above the burn is a ridiculously high
railway bridge, with very high flood warning markers way above the
waterline, and moving to the west bank arrives us in Cumbria, much
later in the day than I had anticipated, and just above the river
channel we find Milecastle 48, the most complete of all the
way-stations along the wall, showing many of the internal divisions
and illustrating how 30 Roman soldiers could have been stationed in
such a small site, even some remains of the steps to the upper floor
are in situ too suggest the scale of the building. Seeing as the
railway embankment cuts right through the wall on the other side of
the fence, the survival is remarkable, and apparently it was even
more substantial before the NER built its line, and the path follows
the railway line until a foot-crossing passes over it, and a long
stretch of consolidated wall rises away up hill in front of the derelict
Gilsland vicarage, a building that cries out for the Grand Designs
treatment, one to add to the list, I guess. Pass some hardcore
walkers pass the other way as I ascend away past the primary school
beyond the rough land and another train passes by before I meet the
road, beyond which another stretch of consolidated wall endures,
stretching high above the River Irthing, passing Turret 48A and a
farm track in the North ditch before we roll up at Willowford farm.
The long wall continues downhill towards the river bank, a steep
descent which concludes with the remains of the abutment of the Roman
bridge which once spanned the Irthing, which archaeology suggests
might have been an ancient structure and engineering marvel to rival
the Pont du Gard aqueduct. The river has certainly changed since
Roman times, being much wider 19 centuries ago, but the channel
profile suggests that the Willowford bridge rose high above its
heavily wooded banks, and once across the Millennium Footbridge, the
necessity of the high level bridge is illustrated by the hard pull of
60m up the north-west bank of the Irthing.</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinf8oIlCf6SExgAYVXlS_VtvYF_VRnEa3BREo-LmakuDiOrEXEfjROcDJKGH_KvrDCCkUqkaG5CNRARN0we_wmtzAQSgS4DOTO540wenvCyHtzjruCW9f23DE9epVskFe9iwH0HwUx82k/s1600/DSCF5811.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinf8oIlCf6SExgAYVXlS_VtvYF_VRnEa3BREo-LmakuDiOrEXEfjROcDJKGH_KvrDCCkUqkaG5CNRARN0we_wmtzAQSgS4DOTO540wenvCyHtzjruCW9f23DE9epVskFe9iwH0HwUx82k/s1600/DSCF5811.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Turf Wall</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The
wall line is met with another abutment supporting the remains above
the farm track, and the path immediately slips into the midst of the
site of Milecastle 49, seeming to be larger than its compatriots,
maybe in its relationship to the Willowford bridge it needed a larger
site for customs or garrison, nowadays at risk from the crumbling
high banks of the Irthing, and it deserves a proper poke around but
my schedule has slipped and I need to press on. I join the track that
heads along the northern side of the wall, outside the ditch, which
isn't the right way because I am too busy not paying attention, and
once I've discovered my mistake I've gone too far to warrant turning
back. The opposite side of the long stretch of consolidated wall is
definitely appearing busy, and that's because we are approaching
Birdoswald Fort (Roman <i>Banna</i>), the most notable surviving fort
in Cumbria, already visited back in 2011 and notable for the size of
its <i>vicus</i>, the civilian settlement, and the evidence of
extensive use in the post-Roman period. I'll move up the road and
past the odd medieval bread oven cut into the boundary wall, to drop
in to the reception desk to snare stamp #5 for my HWP passport, and
pause, as 3pm has already arrived, for emergency watering and to try
to get word to my folks that I am still 3 miles distant from the
finish line, but this age of instantaneous communication scuppers my
attempts once again. So push on, to try for 3mph in the last hour of
the day, moving westwards along the consolidated wall, passing Turret
49b and taking a look north to a fresh forest landscape that we will
only be able to see for a short while, namely Spadeadam forest, home
to the not entirely secret RAF base where the Blue Streak rocket was
tested in the 1950s, one of the most successfully tested
mid-range rockets ever built, foolishly cancelled by the British
government when they figured it would be cheaper to buy from abroad.
Focus attention back 18 centuries as the path drifts from the
roadside and the stone wall line to find the remaining stretch of the
original wall built in the early 2nd century AD, the sole
extent stretch of the Turf Wall, which was the created as per the
initial plan to stretch from the Irthing to the Solway Firth, along a
stretch where building stone was in short supply, it's replacement
with a later stone wall suggesting that the first plan was
inadequate, but it was clearly a formidable structure when the
enduring earthworks are examined, as two millennia of farming have
failed to grind it back into the landscape.</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWWuSqwldZpe5fF8cWdFhrDrIIKephTxFByvUAKtNn7Gegw7xvwnPfJsXq5fXbfWcfK93x_EWBE5ifNP3AkBqfxdFxRLcc1cfdCO8iNvHc70L7xYpaCkRi0cImw1XDDrQU4X17zMG2Obo/s1600/DSCF5876.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWWuSqwldZpe5fF8cWdFhrDrIIKephTxFByvUAKtNn7Gegw7xvwnPfJsXq5fXbfWcfK93x_EWBE5ifNP3AkBqfxdFxRLcc1cfdCO8iNvHc70L7xYpaCkRi0cImw1XDDrQU4X17zMG2Obo/s1600/DSCF5876.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pike Hill Signal Station</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The
landscape rise gives us our first view to the south since Thirlwall
as well, the profile of the North Pennines having changed completely,
with Cold Fell standing at the apex of the ridge, and beyond we get
our first appearance of the Northern Fells of Lakeland, and even a
casual student like myself can immediately pick out Blencathra and
Skiddaw as the distant high points (I'm pretty sure that Helvellyn
makes a late appearance too). Passing from the bulk of the Turf Wall
as it slips back to share an alignment with the stone wall, the path
shifts for a while to reacquaint us with the Vallum, not visited up
close since day 2, and the southern edge is passed as views into the
valley of the Irthing emerge and idling cows to their level best to
ignore your presence before we slip though Combcrag woods, home to a
notable Roman Quarry that would deserve attention if it wasn't for my
late running. Beyond the wood, we get deposited on the road, which
seem profoundly insulting after having had so many fields to enjoy,
but it might quicken the pace a bit, and also illustrate that the
metalled surface consumed much of the wall alignment, so it comes as
a bit of a surprise to find the base of Turret 51a intact by the
roadside. Past Craig Cottage we get back onto the field edge, but
still cleaving close enough to the road to note Turret 51b also
remains next to Leahill Farm, whilst stiles slow my progress as
attention wanders to distant Lakeland and the hazy emergence the
Eastern Fells, before we are forced onto the road once again to get
around the pair of farms which both call themselves Bankhead. Put the
hammer down through the rises and falls of the last few fields, to roll
up on the Pike Hill Signal station, one of the few surviving outposts
erected solely for the purpose of signalling along the wall and to
the encampments above the border line in Caledonia, its unique identity
indicated by being built at the oblique angle to the wall and having
much deeper foundations than the other turrets. It's here that I find
my parents out to greet the intrepid wanderer, still having fun
trying to get pictures on the iPad, and they will accompany me on to
the car park by Banks Turret, a popular drop off for wall explorers,
with me landing nearly half an hour late at 4.20pm, and all thoughts
about the End of Summer slip away after a blisteringly hot afternoon,
and my decision to travel without sunblock is going to feel
regrettable within hours of getting back to base.</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Next
on the Slate: Getting down from the high lands and heading for the
Big City.</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<strong>1,000 Miles Cumulative Total: 1270.2 miles</strong> <br />
<br />
<div class="western">
(2014 total: 357 miles)<br />
</div>
<div class="western">
(Up Country Total: 1174.6 miles)</div>
<div class="western">
(Solo Total: 1054.7 miles)</div>
<div class="western">
(Declared Total: 1062 miles) </div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Christopher Wrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09743749271457169317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9035497799018938871.post-36963714274102090432014-08-25T21:42:00.000+01:002014-10-26T16:51:59.058+00:00Kirklees Way #4: Dewsbury to Clayton West 23/08/14<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilS8J7lVEHL8bJ1ARRYPjFUqWkYXVrpAnShb-TwlKcf_pZRVnLRASFSJIv9D7fO-bUlY7zXg7R8stoPh-FoQ1Fsn7sdNh5_pnchJR2mFFUcmqXT0SI2G237S9Fwt3o75EmYzIdz8PhqbY/s1600/DSCF4748.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilS8J7lVEHL8bJ1ARRYPjFUqWkYXVrpAnShb-TwlKcf_pZRVnLRASFSJIv9D7fO-bUlY7zXg7R8stoPh-FoQ1Fsn7sdNh5_pnchJR2mFFUcmqXT0SI2G237S9Fwt3o75EmYzIdz8PhqbY/s1600/DSCF4748.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Self at Dewsbury</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
August has been going well so far, so I think this is a cue to go against the clock again, not because I'm feeling like i should be going at a healthier clip, but more because I've got a hot date in the late afternoon (or that's how I've been teasing it on Facebook, more prosaically it's a barbecue at my supervisor's house in Garforth, scheduled in whilst we can still claim Summer is in the air). I've realistically got one bus ride from my destination that will get me home in time, and that's due at 2pm, so a very early start is in order, rolling through Dewsbury town centre as the low sun glowers down into my eyes, long before the citizens emerge to hit the shops and the only people about are busy setting up the urban beach around the town hall for August bank holiday weekend. One thing to ponder at this early hour, however, regarding the statue of two figures in the town hall square, notionally titled 'The Good Samaritan', it actually looks like someone tending their drunk friend after a heavy chundering session and ought to be titled something like 'I think that's the last of it' or 'That curry was a <em>really</em> bad idea'. Also, I'm not the only person on the internet to have made this observation, so look it up, but anyway, I think I'm starting to digress, so onward...<br />
<br />
<strong>Kirklees Way #4: Dewsbury to Clayton West 12.6 miles</strong><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="western">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjldOJcy2-mYDhOQOmGDpZ7lULPLeMm5NWyJ1Js1RY87SnJ6JTj-wz3Y4_qWvKQH7u-1yynCFJXCXpRVBm6GF-92BHrMSomcgxw0Q3b3mJW48OqTphXEP_zxTrFWRj9n-rKy4Ee7n3w-88/s1600/DSCF4771.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjldOJcy2-mYDhOQOmGDpZ7lULPLeMm5NWyJ1Js1RY87SnJ6JTj-wz3Y4_qWvKQH7u-1yynCFJXCXpRVBm6GF-92BHrMSomcgxw0Q3b3mJW48OqTphXEP_zxTrFWRj9n-rKy4Ee7n3w-88/s1600/DSCF4771.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Earlsheaton Tunnel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Depart from the Dewsbury ring road at 8.25am,
which might be my earliest start in all my up country wanderings,
heading off down Ridings Road and through the yard that is home to
the fairground folks and their kit, wondering how many of them are
making busy in the town hall square this morning. Thence onward down
the old GNR Dewsbury Loop line, still shrouded in much greenery and
not looking like a decent surface will be coming this way anytime
soon, even though it would be an obvious link to the cycleways that
run out by the Calder, the junctions of which are soon met, and I'll
be heading in the direction of the relatively new path towards
Ossett, which offers a good look back in the direction of Headfield
viaduct, the stonework of which is lit up beautifully by the low
morning sun. The route of the Kirklees Way does not officially take
in my next feature, but it would be foolish to avoid it just for
fidelity to the path, and I'd be certain that a future adjustment
would surely want to send the route through Earlsheaton Tunnel, not
the longest of tunnels but gracefully curving to cut through the edge
of the upland on which its district namesake sits, supposedly
illuminated by LED lights which don't actually shed that much light
on the surroundings, and already well used even at this hour, making
a straightforward link to the eastern fringes of Dewsbury and to the
settlements beyond. On through the cutting to the junction of paths
to Earlsheaton and Chickenley, also re-engaging the Kirklees Way
official route, with the more obvious path being not the correct one,
instead following the snaking route uphill to the east to meet the
level path along the old railway formation to Ossett, of which only
the slightest hint of the parish church spire can be seen, so much
nearer by than it was from the high moor land three days on the trail
ago. The way's route into the fields is at a distinctly well hidden
junction, and it's a pity to abandon the greenway so soon, but many
more steps will have us heading into Wakefield district, and thus the
long walk down to the river starts, hugging the field boundaries,
between fields of corn and stubble before meeting a new plantation of
trees where the path swings east again along a muddy track before
hair-pinning south once more along the margins as far as a sewage
farm. Then eastward again, as the path heads into some rough ground
to emerge behind Healey Old Mills, which don't have an appearance
that requires that name, but for an active industrial site, they are
wise enough to give you clear indication of where the right of way
lies, providing a yellow line to walk behind through the whole length
of the site.</div>
<br />
<div class="western">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3lan9i3BGTHqYSyJ7PP5XJ91_r750R8rX46Q3rYE_bFSlSI4TxW6oXDH-vERvrQyE7auToO-y7iOWIl9KBPIf3sgwpeL5dPg-S6RK6-Rot5_0nyGTVDus-B30mALvT0WTG7pCo8v8E48/s1600/DSCF4833.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3lan9i3BGTHqYSyJ7PP5XJ91_r750R8rX46Q3rYE_bFSlSI4TxW6oXDH-vERvrQyE7auToO-y7iOWIl9KBPIf3sgwpeL5dPg-S6RK6-Rot5_0nyGTVDus-B30mALvT0WTG7pCo8v8E48/s1600/DSCF4833.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Calder at Healey Mills</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Not much opportunity to see much of Healey itself,
or the award winning Brewer's Pride public house, instead heading
south to cross the footbridge over the Calder, opposite the bridges
that carry the railway lines around the western throat of the former
Healey Mills yard, the eldest of which is the one that I get a view
of as I cross over. The path then wends its way beneath the railway
line, three bridges in all, with the third of them much further along
than the route guide would suggest, still enduring despite the rail
yard ceasing to exist in the 1980s, and the Calder throws in a
dramatic curve too before we take our leave of it, rising to meet the
towpath of the Calder and Hebble Navigation, for some familiar
footfalls for a distance before crossing over at Lady Anne's Bridge
and continuing south. The broad farm track rises away from the river,
beneath many pylons and never quite offering the view towards Ossett
that it promised, but it does cross over two overbridges, passing across
the Thornhill spur and the main line of the Midland Railway's
ill-fated route into Dewsbury, neither offers a good trackbed view,
sadly. Meeting the lower edge of Thornhill itself, I make the
immediate discovery that it is much larger than I would have thought,
passing the old farm buildings and lodges associated to the the
grounds of Thornhill Hall, and a little further along the road the
buildings of Combs Hill Hall primary school are boarded up and
abandoned, looking inviting for the adventurous urb-ex types. Pass
into the hall's parkland, a little off piste to get sight of the moat
which once surrounded the hall itself, destroyed in the wake of the
English Civil war after the Savile family backed the Royalist cause,
and the way rises vaguely up through the park, nicely landscaped and
again much more extensive than I'd expected, finally meeting a
metalled surface and rising to exit the park onto Church Lane. This
corner calls itself Four Lanes End, and four lanes do indeed end at
this spot, and I'll take the route up Valley Road, where suburbia has
bloomed in recent years to show that this is a settlement of many
faces, and the east facing houses along here have at least got a view
to appreciate, looking across the lower Calder valley in the
direction of Ossett and Horbury, to go with their morning sun-traps.
The road peters out to track and to path rapidly, disappearing into a
shroud of trees and swinging westward, and the only route instruction
that needs to be retained is keep taking the uphill paths, as we are
now setting course for Thornhill Edge.
</div>
<br />
<div class="western">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKSq7XPc8DJf6GbYkteZjrAqteQdLTM6lDQ8i_4VhAi7frfH2UBFtk7j6o6PH0-NynB5KqgJAO-9qVoMKHfrOv9_LjwtTT_QJNoSWACehTVwGlN-APjl-ZjBNKbBy5jSQW1tvhtZubqig/s1600/DSCF4945.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKSq7XPc8DJf6GbYkteZjrAqteQdLTM6lDQ8i_4VhAi7frfH2UBFtk7j6o6PH0-NynB5KqgJAO-9qVoMKHfrOv9_LjwtTT_QJNoSWACehTVwGlN-APjl-ZjBNKbBy5jSQW1tvhtZubqig/s1600/DSCF4945.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thornhill Edge</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The steep southern edge of Thorn Hill (surely)
falls away sharply as the path rises and you don't seem to have
ascended for very long before a great deal of altitude seems to have
been gained, and the wide valley around Smithy Brook and the fields
of Emroyd Common spread out below you, with the villages of Overton
and Middletown standing atop the hills on the other side. It's mostly
bracken, brambles and gorse for company along the path edge as it
rises to the top, behind the houses that you actually get little
sense of, hiding behind their walls, as all your attention is drawn to the
bucolic landscapes below, recognising the view over towards Emley
Moor mast and acknowledging that it will be a focal point for the
entirety of today's walk (it's visible from everywhere in Kirklees,
of course, but today it will be at its most prominent). Emerge behind
the Flatt Top inn, and pass across Albion Road, then rising to the
second half of the edge walk, meeting the artistic seat which would
be a prime spot for lunch if it wasn't far too early in the day, and
the path continues concealing the nearby council estate behind a
grassy bank, and I do wonder what sort of 20th century
brain though this high hill would be an ideal spot for social
housing. The bank takes an a grassier aspect, and also gains a
railing as its drop gets steeper, with little more than foot of bank
before dropping into the void, at one point a recent rock fall has
left the path feeling just a little precarious, and you wonder if
those nice suburban houses below are sure that they are safe,
originally conceived for the views without thinking of the risks
posed by the landscape above. The rail disappears as the slope eases
off, making the path feel safer as the last stretch of bracken and
grass is traversed before disappearing behind a fence as the houses
below claim the last stretch of the slope for their back gardens, and
a short route down steps to High Street is indicated, and this most
certainly isn't the main strip of the village, or even a particularly
elevated road either, but it is a landscape of suburbia conceived in
yellow-brown stone and slate. The way further down the hill passes
down a steep path between the garden fences, steep and slick with far
too many incursions by brambles, and it's very slow going downhill
for a stupidly short distance, resisting the temptation to stop for
blackberries as I pass, and then it's back to the fields down to
Howroyd Beck, where I can startle the only dog walker on the trail as
I pause at the field corner to check on my directions.</div>
<br />
<div class="western">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvDd-TlH6cZLMFryqp26YhnJbwthcWyTn-Pja7fjZfUcJ3RcCCRrNj-bwxew1Y85-6XB_ql9uxqEbQyfHRW6lSQ-PPyDvp3Yl-BmgrY1ePnOqPKytFz9hTZtrwVkNL61DpX_JwAO6T9Kw/s1600/DSCF5027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvDd-TlH6cZLMFryqp26YhnJbwthcWyTn-Pja7fjZfUcJ3RcCCRrNj-bwxew1Y85-6XB_ql9uxqEbQyfHRW6lSQ-PPyDvp3Yl-BmgrY1ePnOqPKytFz9hTZtrwVkNL61DpX_JwAO6T9Kw/s1600/DSCF5027.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Denby / Grange Wood</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The rise to Carr Lane is through a field of mixed
livestock and is the first in a string of elevations followed by
drops as the landscape is roughened up by a variety of becks feeding
into the distant Calder, and elevenses are taken at the top of the
rise as my timekeeping is checked and a look back reveals the full
extent of Thornhill Edge behind me, and even with the drawbacks, a
residence here would be most desirable. All height gained is lost as
field walk drops me down to Breastfield beck, and the rise beyond
leads to Sowood Lane for some relatively level going along the farm
tracks beneath the power lines, before swinging around the head of
another beck and rising to the hamlet at Woodlands Farm, which still
looks like a holiday village to me (one of the big house being
currently vacant and yours if you've got over 350K to drop on it, I'm
sure). Depart the path back to Thornhill and swing down the edge of a
trotting field to enter Denby / Grange Wood, for another beck
crossing and a rise up through the trees, a real empire of spindly
trunks where the only other pair of serious walkers on the trail will
be found, indicating that this corner of the Way is probably the
least engaging, and engaged. The field walk beyond is along a number
of stubbly fields, horrible and potentially painful going among those short, sharp stems of
harvested wheat, but the view back to Thornhill is a good one, and
the spires of Ossett and Wakefield appear proud in the landscape as
the eastward view really opens up, and that's pretty much the last of
it we'll be seeing in that direction as the way leads past Fish Pond
Plantation and through the iron turnstile at the back of Rookery
farm. Cross over the A642 Wakefield Road, the oldest turnpike in the
district, and the rising field of wheat leads us quickly over to the
back of Flockton, where the path descends into the village behind a
lot more brick terraces than I would have anticipated in this
quarter, and that has us looking towards Emley Moor mast once more as
the path sends us through the eastern edge of the village, along the
A637 Barnsley Road. Descend down the farm track of Mill Lane towards
Mill Beck, where a house has done its best to hide the path that
passes through its yard, and the route continues along the beck
through the next couple of fields and for the first time since
starting out on this trail, we are out of the landscape that feeds
into the Calder, as despite being still within West Yorkshire, we
have now entered the Dearne valley, definably one of the major rivers
of South Yorkshire.</div>
<br />
<div class="western">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSdxWmENpmgbJf9BZ16BaRsy7sxxP4U1l-JZDEdnXn7OMbbSN3vImjHnm1MN6FpE35o6Iu3HRlCa8Vx_yJ6y2pyUQ3-egMkSm9T0doVKoufmu-ZdIv3V7yumimE44hE6kUcoVwMh3U8ic/s1600/DSCF5177.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSdxWmENpmgbJf9BZ16BaRsy7sxxP4U1l-JZDEdnXn7OMbbSN3vImjHnm1MN6FpE35o6Iu3HRlCa8Vx_yJ6y2pyUQ3-egMkSm9T0doVKoufmu-ZdIv3V7yumimE44hE6kUcoVwMh3U8ic/s1600/DSCF5177.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emley Moor Mast, above Clayton West</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Field walking and clock watching governs my
progress for much of the rest of the day, as a stroll around Furnace
Grange farm leads me through wheat and stubble before dropping to
cross Clough Dike and then hitting a long field boundary walk along a
level track in the direction of Emley Woodhouse, wondering why the
trail has avoided Emley village itself, and just when I have gotten
used to the easy going on the ground, the passage across Little Dike,
and the final rise to the farm offer me slipperiness and overgrowth
that I could have done without when going at the hurry up. Over Ash
Lane, and the route is detoured around Woodhouse farm and its
associated detritus, with no indication of which side of the hedge
the path continues along, and I choose incorrectly, but the barbed
wire fence has been neatly mangled by other walkers to give me ease
of passage before crossing the stiles to pass through the fields of
the picturesque White Cross Farm, and site of my finish line in
Clayton West is finally gained. A hard track is met, leading me
around Gillcar Farm and past the dozing cattle as I work my way down
to the A636 Wakefield Road, where leg 8 ends according to my guide,
nowhere near a bus stop once again, and so I press on down the track
beyond to cross the River Dearne, not yet a major waterway at this
point, and the follow the lane sharply uphill to Clayton Hall farm,
from where a view is gained of High Hoyland church, far from its
village and surrounded by forest off to the south. Press back down
the hill westwards towards Clayton West, where the tooting whistles
of the Kirklees Light railway can be heard, and it would demand a visit
if I weren't against the clock, descending across the fields to enter
what the locals would call The Park, laid out in the 1890s by John
Kaye, the industrialist who fired the growth of the village in the
19th century, and since donated to the villagers in
perpetuity by the family as the Millennium Gardens, a nicely wild
and unkempt corner that seems well used and still watched over by the Kaye family
pile at the top of the parkland. Press on into the village, emerging
onto Scott Hill, which seems a bit too leafy to be part of a former
mining village, pressing on down Church lane, past the neat All
Saints church and rolling up to the bus stop outside the Shoulder of
Mutton pub at 1.25pm, with just enough time for a cheeky half, if it
wasn't for the pub not opening until 3pm. So a 40 minute wait for the
bus follows, with a late lunch being taken in the war memorial
garden, and my sister is proven right that it is sometimes good to
have a good burn followed by a rest rather than maintaining a slower
steady pace. I beat the weather too, looming ominously in the
north-east for the late part of the day, and all hopes for dryness
the remainder of the day are carried with me as I ride homeward, with
course set for an evening of food, booze and sing-songing at my
supervisor's place.</div>
<br />
<div class="western">
Next on the Slate: August bank Holiday promises
rain and low temperatures, so the following weekend will bring on my
late Summer Jollies and the second half of Hadrian's Wall Path.</div>
<br />
<div class="western">
</div>
<div class="western">
<strong>1,000 Miles Cumulative Total: 1257.1 miles</strong>
<br />
</div>
<div class="western">
(2014 total: 343.9 miles)<br />
</div>
<div class="western">
(Up Country Total: 1161.5 miles)</div>
<div class="western">
(Solo Total: 1041.7 miles)</div>
<div class="western">
(Declared Total: 1048.9 miles)
</div>
<br />
<div class="western">
</div>
Christopher Wrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09743749271457169317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9035497799018938871.post-76225617204360160082014-08-19T22:46:00.000+01:002014-08-25T21:41:49.236+01:00Kirklees Way #3: Oakenshaw to Dewsbury 16/08/14<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif2cViKeWvqjdCkuh0uBbmhWLxLHa7l2mScCEkhqtyOxb9_lCdnPUpuqkVllvkgNqTHB7rDG1XUg9j1dBNiQVzqxRxC3C-W1q-Mc7sBPpO08pUu5br1Nq7lBJ65bIAGMe_-Te23Igvvr8/s1600/DSCF4310.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif2cViKeWvqjdCkuh0uBbmhWLxLHa7l2mScCEkhqtyOxb9_lCdnPUpuqkVllvkgNqTHB7rDG1XUg9j1dBNiQVzqxRxC3C-W1q-Mc7sBPpO08pUu5br1Nq7lBJ65bIAGMe_-Te23Igvvr8/s1600/DSCF4310.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Self at Oakenshaw</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
On my wanderings this year, I have already discovered just how extensive Kirklees district seems to be, spreading into areas that i would have placed within other sections of West Yorkshire if you had directed me to do so. The start of today is within territory that I would have considered as being the outer suburban fringe of Bradford, and the course of today will lead us ridiculously close to home, and that shouldn't really come as a surprise as Morley sits at the bottom left corner of Leeds district, I clearly cannot get the my mind to accept the that the Dewsbury / Batley / Cleckmondegde agglomeration is a component of the same district as Huddersfield and all the rural land and the moors to the south. It comes so close to home, like the Leeds Country Way, that it could be met within a 10 minute of a bus ride from my flat, but after checking the route profile, there's really no way of breaking up the route to start from Howden Clough Road and get a satisfactory division of the route into five or six legs, as one day always turns out to be far too long, and so, we just come close to home for a while on part of a longer loop, and even when we will be finding paths previously walked, it'll also be good to find that there might still be some virgin territory right on my doorstep.<br />
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<strong>Kirklees Way #3: Oakenshaw to Dewsbury 11.1 miles</strong><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBHXN-TRYMbOi45Xo-PGBRLSB52JSnhKOHy_bn2tyKZNIZrM8ZYMRfz1PTs0CwAKbJTlckFJzG8HsJkTb3_TD2oJeh_FEtztmjGQhzfxBnR5vd8DA6QTX8yPRF6mRbC2bH7XywThKCOtc/s1600/DSCF4391.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBHXN-TRYMbOi45Xo-PGBRLSB52JSnhKOHy_bn2tyKZNIZrM8ZYMRfz1PTs0CwAKbJTlckFJzG8HsJkTb3_TD2oJeh_FEtztmjGQhzfxBnR5vd8DA6QTX8yPRF6mRbC2bH7XywThKCOtc/s1600/DSCF4391.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Birkenshaw</td></tr>
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Hop off the bus by St Andrew's church under glum skies at 9.30am, setting off past the Richardson Arms (former pub), one of the many buildings in Oakenshaw which have the Richardson arms (heraldry) upon them, taking a right down Mill Carr Lane to pass beneath the bridge of the M606, and confirm my belief that we are on the edge of Bradford district as the sign just up the road greets travellers into the borough. We're staying in Kirklees though, swinging up Cliff Hollins Lane, down to cross Hunsworth Beck at the top of the Spen valley and then uphill again to hammer it up to the mix of horse farms at the op of the lane and then descending into a filed crossing to get dew collecting on my boots for the first time this year. We continue, passing through Chatts Wood, and around the edge of a trotting field, to find more old woodlands surrounding Cockleshaw beck, a quiet glade with a very muddy ascent out of it, and the autumnal feelings seem to be coming on early this year. Rise to a field walk, ascending without a fix on my direction, and spending a lot of time looking back to place Oakenshaw and Scholes in the immediate landscape, before clocking the correct route towards Copley House farm, over more fields before ascending though what is best described as a vegetation-choked ditch. A hard surface is gratefully received as we rise towards Hunsworth Lane, and with the altitude gain from the start the panorama to the southwest emerges once again, and even when we are as far as the trail get get away from the highest points of the district, our attention is drawn towards it, and it remains in view as the path descends down a farm track before swinging around to cross Lodge Beck and pass right through the middle of a herd of cows before rising once more, crossing the contour hugging Navigation Bank, another mineral works tramway lost to history, before finding that this track ends passing through far too much overgrown vegetation too before slipping around the back of the suburbia that has grown along the edge of Bradford Road in Birkenshaw. Along the A651 we go as far as the old Co-operative store and the George IV inn, moving onto Town Street / Station Lane, and this looks like where many Bradford merchants escaped to, back in the day, to get the sort of view that isn't available on the other side of the hill to the north. Sububia and general expensiveness seem to have endured along here right up to this century, and we slip back to the fields via Sherburn Grove, around the back of a house whose gardens litter the path with apples and pears, just that too far away from home to journey to sneakily fill one's fruit basket.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUJPR8gNpT_SLxnjybJ6l03vL4IJL1ysSVU5edJyJAepRQ-yCkj8qelr5Ag_tewrpKjyukycPGd5mEeodmuRMxpbpafpo-SUGSo9w_WDoGpvFTvceIJMms0A5GardkWWvKQm1XhYMuoEs/s1600/DSCF4451.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUJPR8gNpT_SLxnjybJ6l03vL4IJL1ysSVU5edJyJAepRQ-yCkj8qelr5Ag_tewrpKjyukycPGd5mEeodmuRMxpbpafpo-SUGSo9w_WDoGpvFTvceIJMms0A5GardkWWvKQm1XhYMuoEs/s1600/DSCF4451.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Warrens Lane bridge, Oakwell Hall</td></tr>
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A field boundary walk passes the northern apex of the trail, leading us over to the dilapidated Springfield Farm, where the chained dogs do no seem to appreciate visitors, and we meet the bridleway that featured on my early season jaunt to Bradford, as well as dog walkers, and the old GNR railway embankments that still attract my interest despite having seen them before. The route follows the grotty access track to Hill Top farm, dropping out onto the A650 as it crosses the A58 at the start of the Drighlington bypass, and our stretch in local territory can start, in my mind at least, departing the roads around the back of a horse paddock and field of scrawny chickens, to meet a rough path along the edge of some rather marginal land alongside the A650. A fish pond below could easily be mistaken for the remains of canal, if you weren't paying attention, and whilst the immediate surroundings are somewhat unprepossessing, the view to the southwest captures the attention again, such a pity that it is hidden away below glum skies, but it is one I have now seen and photographed a thousand times. The path threatens to vanish entirely beneath thistles and long grass as it crests a rise before dropping down to meet Warrens Lane by Heightlands farm, and this enclosed track is followed all the way down towards the M62, because following the supposed shortcut will only get you lost very quickly, and from the passage beneath the motorway we enter the grounds of Oakwell Hall. This is a section that could easily have been dropped from the day's route, having been here on the way to Halifax, but it's worth it to find the bridge that crossed the L&NWR Leeds New Line, and seeing stretches of previously unwalked formation in both directions, before greeting the relative throng of folks out to enjoy the park and following the track down to the hall itself where elevenses can be consumed on a previously visited bench. Glum weather doesn't show the hall's best face, but it does invite a wedding party, it seems, complete with an Austin Princess limousine parked outside, not one of those awful 1970s British Leyland cars, mind you, but one of the good ones from the 50s, and as these grounds are being reserved for a dose of #hibernot in 2015, I move on back to the Way, looping around the west side of the hall to pass over railway and under motorway again to find the track that rises away to the east, just as the sun breaks through.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLv_0LpS5wFe9yF4y0I__uTx-7mWlBJUbRoanQlm_GaLW0_Y-BwF_fXpcEnr-NWJk6cjYfC6HLoS2qTQ2CSpv1gQSWAPYic-Cr9Xp06-uUyObZmrZ_Zj-jsl8tRCwipBUOvCG1IUhkE2w/s1600/DSCF4544.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLv_0LpS5wFe9yF4y0I__uTx-7mWlBJUbRoanQlm_GaLW0_Y-BwF_fXpcEnr-NWJk6cjYfC6HLoS2qTQ2CSpv1gQSWAPYic-Cr9Xp06-uUyObZmrZ_Zj-jsl8tRCwipBUOvCG1IUhkE2w/s1600/DSCF4544.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Birkby Brow Wood</td></tr>
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Follow the twisting field paths over to Fieldhead Lane, meeting a dog that seems deeply distressed by encountering this man with a stick, a deeply traumatised rescue case according to its new owner, passing over the M62 for the last time to the mix of stone terraces, old farm buildings and healthcare showroom which has developed by the house that claims the location of the 1733 birthplace of noted scientist and radical non-conformist preacher Joseph Priestley (a man claimed by many towns in these parts, and whilst recorded as the discoverer of Oxygen in 1772, he never really grasped the significance of his scientific breakthrough). We pace on along the shaded Owler Lane, which is followed to its end would drop you behind Ikea at Birstall retail park, and as it crests above the playing fields we get the only distant view for the day of our exciting elevated hillside walk that will conclude the day on Crakenedge. More prosaic walking must follow before that though, meeting the mixture of suburbia and factories which sit along dark lane, before descending to cross the A62 Gelderd Road and to rise up Nab Lane, sealed up at its main road junction at this end too, rising to meet the Birstall Industrial estate that has already featured on my travels, whilst the pleasant village square has yet to feature, for which I probably owe Birstall an apology. From Pennine View, it's down over the Leeds New Line bridge once again, and down the track to meet Moat Hill Farm Drive and the A643 Leeds Road, just adjacent to where the bus ride to Cleckheaton enters the council estate which always gets me disorientated. As the better part of the day's weather passes, I guess I'm good to pace down the right side of the road in the direction of Howden Clough, not realising that I'm going to run out of pavement by the Mann's Buildings terrace, and some jinking across the road is needed before I can find well hidden entrance to the steep and slick path that descends from the main road down to Howley Beck and the way into Birkby Brow Wood. It's my third time wandering in this corner and I am still to enter this wood via the entrance from Howden Clough Road, and as one of the times was on the Leeds Country Way, I know that the path has wandered out of Kirklees as there seems to be no other route down this valley, which seem odd for such a green space, and considering that there is the old GNR trackbed up on the other side that could have got the cyclepath treatment. Instead it's down through the woods, still looking like they did in 2012, with the rising LCW junction still showing up as vaguely as it did back then, and in places I still feel that the path really isn't suited to use by joggers, cycling kids or ambling lovers, despite its popularity. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH6Sqa3BCCYe5wxtFvFqQFtvNd_PW7Ly7THMUpoj5WgXFJMiYx4hZbo4kHkoqc1BBF5ZjQ9lXDUTRQCjF4gVk8SjYU1WMmH-2UXxHRBL24Lhbsv-3TziSZut39Smi3bXP_T8yiiyzhM-I/s1600/DSCF4599.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH6Sqa3BCCYe5wxtFvFqQFtvNd_PW7Ly7THMUpoj5WgXFJMiYx4hZbo4kHkoqc1BBF5ZjQ9lXDUTRQCjF4gVk8SjYU1WMmH-2UXxHRBL24Lhbsv-3TziSZut39Smi3bXP_T8yiiyzhM-I/s1600/DSCF4599.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hanging heaton & Crackenedge</td></tr>
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Openings in the woodland cover focus my attention in the direction of Batley, and the presence of a horsebox with a registration ending EAW amuses me no end (deliberate or coincidence?) as I walk down to meet Scotchman Lane, where I cross over to stay on the familiar tracks down Howley Mill lane, past the riding school and under the wonky rail bridge on the Huddersfield line, and joining the horribly muddy path down towards Lady Anne's Mills, where each view out down the valley is one previously seen when crossing Kirklees back in April. Change routes as I pass uphill along Broomsdale Road, away from the stone terraces and into the Soothill Council estate, for a mixture of low rise blocks and brick terraces, where that path never seems obvious as several road junctions lack names, and as we head uphill, along Grace Leather Road, the guide book keeps promising views down towards Batley but they never seem to emerge, even after the rise to Soothill Road has ended and we re-enter the land of stone terraces. Cross the B6124 and descend down Bridle Street, a suburban lane that gradually peters out to a track, complete with blackberry pickers among the undergrowth, but it does offer a new look towards Crackenedge again, which for such a sharply inclined hill does a good job of hiding in the landscape, and more views are gained as a rough path drops down over one unclaimed field among the terraces and factory units as the path bottoms out at the B6128, Grange Road. The way forward appears fenced off, but it's only an optical illusion, designed to deter cyclists I'd guess, and the rise up slips between the fences of several factories, with piles of bobbins in the yard indicating a link to the industries which made Batley and Dewsbury's fortune in the 19th century, before hitting a sharp incline that I knew was coming but that doesn't make it any easier, even in the latter stages of a short walking day. The view up to the north east feels like it should be familiar, but lacks immediate points of reference, and later checking identifies it as Easy Ardsley, convincing me further that Morley is a town that cannot be seen from afar, and it may have been only 60m, concluding on some stone steps up the edge of Hanging Heaton but |I felt every step of it, and across High Street the ascent isn't done, rising uop more steps and through a lot of nettle and weed growth to finally top out on Kirkgate, next to the estate that grew up on the hillside between the 1950s and 80s, and rising to the Fox & Hounds on the corner we finally start to get views into the valley, and I'll immediately lament the lack of sunshine that this location deserves.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmWxubaZYLK9UcWCIRA5PkOA5JsiTjs4VK5Ap1oHMtw011o23o3-ZDBAWmAieJipWbnO5S-TtxdNPZUT6BuEhVFBwmphlNHGnF0M6_Ig0xHH7EOE8hmzSuxW4uc8LHUY8S3WNZe_vlmw0/s1600/DSCF4681.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmWxubaZYLK9UcWCIRA5PkOA5JsiTjs4VK5Ap1oHMtw011o23o3-ZDBAWmAieJipWbnO5S-TtxdNPZUT6BuEhVFBwmphlNHGnF0M6_Ig0xHH7EOE8hmzSuxW4uc8LHUY8S3WNZe_vlmw0/s1600/DSCF4681.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dewsbury from Crackenedge</td></tr>
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The path skirts the edge of the hill on which Hanging Heaton sits, around the backs of gardens which hopefully have good weatherproofing as the wind whips across Crackenedge with enough force to have me tightening the fit on my hat, above the grassy and scrubby slopes of the hillside that has never had any development attempts of any kind made on it, oddly seeing that many streets have consumed slopes the seemed too steep for them. Initial views are over Batley, showing up the viaduct and the railway, with the wooded cleft of Howden Clough beyond, whilst the town itself, and much of the land to the west remains mysterious as I have never walked into it, and attention moves southwards to the mills at the valley floor, and the rugby ground and the tower of Holy Trinity, Batley Carr, higher up the hill. Thwacking sounds beyond the hedge to my left indicate the presence of Hanging Heaton golf course, the first one seen since day 2, and attention turns south as the Colne valley panorama returns, as well as the view to Emley Moor, visible from pretty much anywhere in Kirklees, whilst straight down the hill is that path that makes an apparent beeline straight towards dewsbury viaduct and the railway station, but I'm staying on the high path for as long as I can manage. Vague route marking and mapping means I'm not sure where the descent is supposed to start and it feels like I've missed a turn when I meet the 'dangerous path' above the former quarries at the southern end of Crackenedge, and a straight descent has me meeting a thicket of conifers that cannot be easily penetrated, and the path into Caulms wood doesn't feel like the one I should be taking. Not one to waste time finding the right path, i trust my tracking instinct to take me onward through the woodland, below the disused quarries where local lads can be heard larking around, as i head eastwards on a decent track to popout by the stone pyramid that marks the Leeds Road entrance to caulms wood, where I can get back on track. The A653 feels like it should be the end of the day, but we still have another short rise to go, up Sugar Lane and along Hollinroyd Lane, another of those rare urban tracks that never became actual roads, a leafy finale on the edge of Dewsbury before we descend down to meet Wakefield Road, but as I'm still fond of living, I'll err and use the crossing of the A638 to drop me by the ring road, just behind the Town hall for a 2.05pm finish. A little later than I had anticipated, think that I was going to do less than 10 miles (despite my rough plot telling me it was 11), and as I travelled without lunch it's a short hurry up across the town to be delighted that the train homeward which I was aiming for is running late 10 minutes late.<br />
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Next on the Slate: Half way around already, and the way back starts, out from the familiar and returning to the unknown once again.<br />
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<strong>1,000 Miles Cumulative Total: 1244.5 miles</strong> <br />
(2014 total: 331.3 miles)<br />
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(Up Country Total: 1148.9 miles)<br />
(Solo Total: 1029.1 miles)<br />
(Declared Total: 1036.3 miles) Christopher Wrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09743749271457169317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9035497799018938871.post-17506157552541878762014-08-13T20:44:00.000+01:002014-08-21T20:45:33.326+01:00Kirklees Way #2: Birchencliffe to Oakenshaw 09/08/14<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghfXSXKMMjqiJlJ3sDqNCjfwsPyZZTmiAnfDTsDb7t9U-MAQH_DuB5ea5FW7vS0wbGVaPMhBuhpHm6YZYvqgrMJchUoJkoLqNteOpQFJA_qr9Byhq35UPBeXY1uv2tFJY8ce6OG3g1W3c/s1600/DSCF3815.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghfXSXKMMjqiJlJ3sDqNCjfwsPyZZTmiAnfDTsDb7t9U-MAQH_DuB5ea5FW7vS0wbGVaPMhBuhpHm6YZYvqgrMJchUoJkoLqNteOpQFJA_qr9Byhq35UPBeXY1uv2tFJY8ce6OG3g1W3c/s1600/DSCF3815.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Self at Birchencliffe</td></tr>
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This is not a particularly original thought, but following circular trails is not usually a good way of getting from A to B and today is not going to be any sort of deviation from that idea, following a long s-curve for 14+ miles when a rapid dash along the M62 would have the whole day done in less than 9 miles. still, we should have learned that it's all about the journey and if I'd wanted to get places quickly I would have taken up jogging by now. It's also good feeling to be back onto the trail on a Saturday, this being my first trip out on the first day of the weekend in four weeks, it makes me feel like I'm getting myself back in order and taking charge of my walking life again, after all I did say that hitting a long trail was the best way to getting yourself focused once more. Also Saturday travel is the way to do it after all, no need to worry about irregular trains or getting stuck at remote bus stops, I can get from my front door to my start point on Halifax Road in just over an hour, and getting an early start means that the ride from Huddersfield today took less time than the trip in the opposite direction a week ago, despite being uphill all the way.<br />
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<strong>Kirklees Way #2 Birchencliffe to Oakenshaw 14.7 miles</strong><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkkBEJ3qPF9XLDGN7ID39vw-NJPjOottDatP7pVxcSxGjC1temE_SNUACKXP5uAlu2hAvXidvOWAC9c3GRgczvMm3-MdUe262paTQLfO3PlOToPPYAlVnskNDnr9ZJ0mMkHx3RYamBuBk/s1600/DSCF3830.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkkBEJ3qPF9XLDGN7ID39vw-NJPjOottDatP7pVxcSxGjC1temE_SNUACKXP5uAlu2hAvXidvOWAC9c3GRgczvMm3-MdUe262paTQLfO3PlOToPPYAlVnskNDnr9ZJ0mMkHx3RYamBuBk/s1600/DSCF3830.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grimescar Wood</td></tr>
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A 9.05am start for another day which projections say should be good but skies suggest constant changeability, and we set off as Yew Tree Road departs the urban greyness of Birchencliffe and soon we are back into the countryside as the road gradually lapses into a track that feels like the 20th century didn't want it as the tarmac surface disappears to be replaced by loose gravel, running toward the bottom of the valley of formed by Grimescar Dike, with dense wood rising on the northern side. Along the southern edge, the suburbs of Huddersfield gradually encroach, as the streets of Prince Royd gradually work their way out until the back gardens butt up against the track, and it seems that the residents are forming opposition to future development in the vicinity as the Thornhill estate, one of the major landowners in the district, seem to be looking to make a quick buck and I'd venture that this is a green space worthy of preservation, as there aren't many between the edge of Huddersfield and the M62. The path doglegs at Reep Hirst farm, and then returns to a completely rural feel, with plenty of dog walkers to suggest urban proximity, eventually dropping to the beck crossing, and then rising into Grimescar wood, on a track that feels as remote as any woodland walk yet experienced. Not that it is far from anywhere, as we soon pop out on Halifax Old Road, where the well-to-do Victorian and Edwardian retreated away from the town, hidden away by a landscape fold, now covered in semis, with Castle hill and the spire of Birkby church rising prominently beyond it. Our ascent continues steeply up South Cross Road, remote enough for use for depositing a stolen ice cream freezer, but still busy enough to have estate cars descending it from seemingly out of nowhere, and once the field walk up to Top of Cowcliffe is found, the view back has the panorama of the Colne valley re-emerging in full force, with Meltham Moor showing its saddle-shaped profile to indicate the distance travelled since leaving Marsden. At the top of the fence, higher still above the town, we meet the outer suburbs of Huddersfield once again, where the houses might have a commanding view from the 200m contour but will probably feel the full force of the weather when it comes on, and only one street needs to be crossed before we continue along the garden boundaries in a straight line due north, until we slip downhill among the plantations of trees which contain the houses.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fixby Hall</td></tr>
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The morning takes on a glum and drizzly aspect as we emerge onto Huddersfield golf course, occupying the former grounds of Fixby Hall, standing off the west and looking like one of the better club houses in the county, and I feel torn bout such a re-use of land for does the golf club represent the relative democratisation of a formerly noble estate, or does it still keep it exclusive in reality? Well, it can't be that exclusive as I'm walking here, on an exposed route between the fairways, where a straight line is cut all the way over to the woods on the northern boundary and a easterly view is had towards Dalton bank, and off to a distant spire and power station which are probably among the standard candles of the county. Beyond Gernhill Wood, we emerge into sunshine once more, an beneath a confusion of junctioning pylons and it takes a few moments to realise that I am supposed to be cutting a path through the field of golden wheat, rather than heading towards the nearby farm along the field boundary. The northward tacking ends as we find ourselves facing into Calderdale once more, looking over to some familiar wooded hills and distant moors, and it seems that Cote lane might be the place to get the best elevated view of Brighouse, the mill and flour silos in the town appearing obviously, and once the view has been taken in, we start east again, passing Upper Cote farm and its dozing cows, heading along one of those footpaths which claims a straight route on the map but the undulating terrain and field boundaries make such progress impossible. Meeting the holly lined path to Lower Cote makes for clearer going, and at the farm the path really does wander in between the cottages and midway down someones driveway before depositing you in the fields again to walk over to yet another suburban edge, this one being the district of Fixby. This looks like an older suburb than the others previously encountered judging by the housing styles and quantities of red brick used, and paths are made alongside the green by the A6107 before we depart to by the Nisa store to seek greenery once more, disappearing into Upper Fell Greave wood. The guide warns us that this wood is a confusing mess of criss-crossing tracks and instincts are to be kept sharp to stay on the right track, and they weren't fibbing about that either, despite the proximity of roads and houses that bound the wood, it would be far to easy to wander at random thinking that you are heading in the right sort of direction. Even among lofty deciduous trees, there's a lot of green leaves low down to scatter the light and confuse you so it's best to keep in sight of the northern edge of the wood, and remember the sun placement and the direction of the sound of traffic and without great difficulty you will soon pop out by the A641 Bradford Road.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7x7mHsEGw2jf0BKlykzMGFGT1rDgt46iKYNaYNs9TJhmDMNjxcexKgNCKuzSGKPUE-8PsvnbBIeh3p9QNf8wVPL7EHp3rKrgXYHXSQFBL0WxwIZQv7A0OZMeH6DB86F-4oZQPZi6tg7g/s1600/DSCF3949.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7x7mHsEGw2jf0BKlykzMGFGT1rDgt46iKYNaYNs9TJhmDMNjxcexKgNCKuzSGKPUE-8PsvnbBIeh3p9QNf8wVPL7EHp3rKrgXYHXSQFBL0WxwIZQv7A0OZMeH6DB86F-4oZQPZi6tg7g/s1600/DSCF3949.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lower Fell Greave Wood</td></tr>
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Over the dual carriageway and onto the track where a cat guides the path imperiously, leading onto to find an odd accumulation of buildings opposite a much older farm complex, looking half way between holiday accommodation and cottage hospital, so it makes sense that later research reveals it to be a children's hospice. Woodland walking soon resumes as the path enters Lower Fell Greave wood, which has the completely opposite problem to its predecessor, as this one has no obvious tracks within it, and it's not big enough to get lost in, with suburbia having reached its southern boundary, it does make you wonder why no one has bothered to plant any posts or paint any useful blue Ks on the trees. The path I take probably isn't the most direct but I find the footbridge that I should cross at its north east corner, below an office complex and burgeoning business park that has developed since my E288 was printed, and ill tramp up the gravelly and shaded old lane to meet the A6107 again, and the end of the third leg according to my guide book, the first place that has any useful bus stops for the traveller. I'm doing my own thing, of course, and the track beyond, popular with Bradley's dog walkers, leads towards Shepherds Thorn farm, before taking the path into Bradley Park Golf course, where stripy poles are laid out to guide the walkers, and the right of way has been moved to follow the gravelled tracks used by the golfers. Another bunch of fairways to be negotiated, and after brief interludes with many courses, we are going to be about this one for a while, despite exiting it guided by a wooden putter to follow the boundary track down the edge of the M62, just above Junction 25 and the bridge above the Calder, until the boundary fence of Bradley Park Quarry pushes us eastwards again, and at odd moments the path appears from under the cover of the trees, but more wooden clubs indicate where the golfers would rather have you progress unseen. These carved clubs are an odd public art project, and you wonder if there are enough to complete the full set, and the pair of woods (or drivers?) would make an ideal spot to pause for watering, if it wasn't just that bit too close to a tee and I don't fancy taking a golf ball to the earhole, frankly. Instead I'll stop under the shade of trees at the very eastern edge of the course, where the view down to Cooper Bridge is finally gained, and more than one dog getting walked can take far too much interest in what I might have in my bag, but they don't get a helping of my pizza, though I do receive a quantity of dog slobber in return.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cooper Bridge Mill & the River Calder</td></tr>
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Picking the path through the edge of suburban Bradley has me choosing incorrectly and taking a longer route than is necessary, but the track to Steep Lane is easily found, and lives up to its name too as steps are picked down this grassy and wooded path finally leaving the ridge of high ground as I descend to pace my way along Quarry Road, thankfully free of heavyweight traffic, to meet the stone terraces which cluster around Cooper Bridge mill, also passing over the line that links the lines to Huddersfield and Brighouse. I've observed before that the mill here is one of the better conversions in the county, and has a really dramatic placement parked next to the Calder and just down from the A62, and the houses around mark the last I'll be seeing of the outer edges of Huddersfield, where I seem to have been for quite a while, but my trajectory takes me along the main road, over the river and the C&H navigation, and onward through the empire of sewage farms that has developed in this quarter, for some reason. It's a longer walk by an A-road than any trail really deserves, to be honest but passing beneath the Calderdale line gives us a chance to spot the former entrance to Cooper Bridge railway station, an ornately carved stone arch, now blocked off with a stone wall. Where the road merges with the A644 we meet the Dumb Steeple, a gritstone column where sanctuary could be claimed for the nearby Kirklees Priory, back in Medieval times, but these days it's more renowned as the site of a Luddite meeting in April 1812, preceding an attack on Cartwright's Mill at Rawfolds near Cleckheaton, one of the most notable stories of Kirklees lore. The roads are left behind by the Three Nuns public house, which sounds like the intro to an off-colour joke, and we start the rise through the fields to the north of the Calder, meeting a girl with an overly excitable beagle which she feels might a bit too much for the nearby field of young cows, which are already milling around agitatedly. Our route takes us along the perimeter of the site of Kirklees Priory, from which the district is named, originally Cistercian and dissolved in 1539, and legend claims the grave of Robin Hood within the grounds, nowadays it doesn't show up much of interest among the private parkland, only the cottage of the last tenant of Kirklees Hall (itself hidden from view and actually within Calderdale district). The enclosed track between the golden hay fields that I follow up towards Hartshead has the Colne valley view re-emerging behind me, offering an excellent profile of Dalton Bank and Castle Hill, with us eventually reaching its summit via a mess of holly, bracken and nettles, as the sunshine makes its return to warm the remainder of the day.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9WvwQ4MltF3SGKk5kIwVzBccVVdrE-viqEGFvJZ0QIpGUClI5WU-CvaYc2ttRqbZXnfaFIvqirWK_UVO8S-H_negO_MGaQiicDEaOsZcHvVmOuJ-CKf8k6zBQI7cmIq9IIBPl63px8fQ/s1600/DSCF4109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9WvwQ4MltF3SGKk5kIwVzBccVVdrE-viqEGFvJZ0QIpGUClI5WU-CvaYc2ttRqbZXnfaFIvqirWK_UVO8S-H_negO_MGaQiicDEaOsZcHvVmOuJ-CKf8k6zBQI7cmIq9IIBPl63px8fQ/s1600/DSCF4109.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St Peter's, Hartshead</td></tr>
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At the top of the climb, we find the edge of the village of Hartshead, and along the roadside several villas have been planted to enjoy the excellent viewpoint, which this district seems to have more than its fair share of, again focusing the attention to the southwest, and there's even a bench planted by the roadside to memorialise someone who enjoyed the view, so it's a bit of a shame that it now faces a wall of conifers, recently planted on the rising edge of the hill. Following the lane uphill, we finally start to make our way into a landscape that isn't dominated by the Colne valley, rising to meet the church of St Peter, Hartshead, which has an superb aspect from its relatively low altitude, and this is a good spot to break for lunch and to admire the fabric which is dated back to Norman times, but was mostly remodelled in the Victorian era, and it's not short of history otherwise, notably one Patrick Bronte was curate here in the early 19th century, which explains why the Bronte way comes this way on its strange tour from Birstall to Padishaw. Move on, after the clock strikes 1pm, noting the stocks and mounting block outside the church gate, and also the large family vaults and the heavily overgrown northern side of the churchyard, taking the path between the cottages on Ladywell Lane and striking westwards out over the fields in the direction of the motorway. I won't be making a detour to see the remains of the Walton Cross over ill defined paths, and I do wonder why this Anglo-Saxon pillar wasn't included onto the route with only a small amount of tweaking, instead striking downhill on a tarmac surface to a gas facility and then striding over the M62 just below Hartshead Moor services, crossing with more purpose than on our previous trips last weekend. The path negotiates its way into another golf course, clearly a booming business in these parts, this being Willow Valley club, and we are kept on enclosed tracks with only occasional views across the fairways, and this seems like a better way to make your way around, where you pose little risk of inconveniencing the golfers. The track of Green Lane itself is fair riot of vegetation, bringing on that sweaty sort of humidity at the points when the wind drops, and various views across the course give it the look of a reclaimed colliery site, which my walking literature cannot confirm, but then again I might just be interpolating that into the landscape having encountered so many of them this year, and the next A-road is soon met, the A643, where my guide book tags the end of leg 4, inconveniently distant from the nearest bus stop half a mile down the road in Clifton.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWkhjF_4rzSdNaMiZrclQA7tsQVTtSkvWeNmf6YYB4R-G5xmWhgErmSEtghuTSVcNKSVF8Pu5typOY5msc1cHC29HeuYa36UcMJl_M_0vHJvsQsW6iiTL4qMfmVf2e7ZwCWVKoFFmV_so/s1600/DSCF4170.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWkhjF_4rzSdNaMiZrclQA7tsQVTtSkvWeNmf6YYB4R-G5xmWhgErmSEtghuTSVcNKSVF8Pu5typOY5msc1cHC29HeuYa36UcMJl_M_0vHJvsQsW6iiTL4qMfmVf2e7ZwCWVKoFFmV_so/s1600/DSCF4170.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mineral Tramway, Clifton</td></tr>
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Over the wall from the road could take me directly home, and we enter a landscape of sheep and cattle farming, but the guide book is eager to point out the coal industry which used to influence this landscape, in the days of more modest mining enterprises than the major collieries of the 19th century, and the path directs me to the top of a spoil heap, not exactly large but big enough to rise out of the fields distinctively, and having clambered down from there, and almost heading off in the wrong direction, we find an even more interesting relic. What easily could be mistaken for an embankment between fields turns out to be the remains of a mineral tramway, which used to run between various pits in the area down to the canal basin at Brighouse, looking clearly walked on despite the lack of a right of way, but it's impossible to judge its extent or to find much information about, so tracing this lost railway might be a challenge to be done with an old OS map. A field walk leads us to Jay House lane, and encountering my previously made path to Halifax, and some steps are to be retraced as I head uphill along the field wall towards Whitaker Pits wood, and a look back confirms this as on of my favourite viewpoints, where i can get a look deep into three of west Yorkshire's district, and hitting the woodland edge has me pondering how much of the coal workings might be hidden away in the undergrowth and if any trace of the tramway remains here. At least that is the suspicion of colliery origins confirmed to me, and the farmhouse is unusually built in brick as it was constructed a couple of centuries after most of the others in the region, all of which were built in stone. Pits lane takes us up to the A649 at Hartshead Moor Top, the quiet hamlet by the dual carriageway, and the trail leads us down a narrow ginnel to see some of the backs of this most pleasant of country villages, which has really earned its conservation area status, confirming that many places of the beaten track in this county are very nice indeed and you don't have to decamp to the Cotswolds for your expensive country pile. Cross Scholes Lane and take the path down by the unusually ornate Quaker meeting house, looking like a small Anglican chapel, funded by the owner of the sadly unseen Oldfieldnook house in the 1700s, Robert Crosland, one of the county's wealthiest and active Quakers, and our path wanders amid trees and fields to meet the edge of the M62 once again, but we are not heading under it again as we meet Wellands Lane, instead turning uphill towards Scholes.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvj-cBauMDJ8Scm0Z9qTWAOcXhiXx722rv65Mj7A-5JrX5C1zIAIKn7rjIGLLedf0sVBcA4tGVhvNNcM4nk2s_g_Y8qgaj4LbRkLekWl6jSvbYXfpNmUxbmeCt13zLNAKlPiRpUKQuLvM/s1600/DSCF4292.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvj-cBauMDJ8Scm0Z9qTWAOcXhiXx722rv65Mj7A-5JrX5C1zIAIKn7rjIGLLedf0sVBcA4tGVhvNNcM4nk2s_g_Y8qgaj4LbRkLekWl6jSvbYXfpNmUxbmeCt13zLNAKlPiRpUKQuLvM/s1600/DSCF4292.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oakenshaw Cross</td></tr>
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The lane rises and we enter a landscape of bamboo canes and hawthorn hedges, where a small dog has escaped into filed to worry animals, much the the frustration if its owner, rising to the edge of Scholes (one of at least three villages in the county sharing that name) where, from the suburban edge, a look south-eastwards gives us a new hill to regard, the ridge separating the Spen Valley from that of Howley Beck, with Batley parish church atop it, illustrating that we have slipped into a fresh landscape without really noticing. Scholes itself is another village proud of its conservation area status, with very pleasing cottages clustered around the village green, as well a nice conversion job done on Baden Powell hall,.and the Victorian parish church rising above the village thanks to the spire erected upon in in a 1960s style. It would be a good place to break the day, ensuring all six trips on the Way are of roughly equal length, but a bus ride home from here would get a bit too complicated, so I press on down the vergeless Branch Road, descending away from the village toward the A58, and getting site of our destination, with the factories and industrial units of Low Moor and Bierley rising beyond it, still over a mile distant. Across Whitehall Road we hit a farm track that has heavy growth along both sides and for quite a while I feel like we might be walking all the way to Oakenshaw without getting any kind of view at all, but eventually the track opens out and we have the Nufarm chemical works high above the green fields to the west, and the more familiar sight of Cleckheaton golf course to the east, and count 'em too, four feckin' golf courses on today's trail. The embankment of the Spen Valley Greenway emerges as we rise towards Wyke lane, and the track feels like it has suffered a slurry spill, providing bucolic smells and dirty boots for me for the first time in a long while. Arriving at Theaklands farm, i take an interest in peering into the cutting to see the portal of Oakenshaw tunnel, and whilst doing this two small dogs from the farm take loud and violent objection to my presence in their yard, and one of the actually bites me on the ankle, not badly but that terrier is lucky that I am an even tempered soul as I could have easily drop-kicked him onto the old trackbed below. The road leads down toward our finish point, and the ancient 15th century cross designated the village centre still stands in the road centre, providing an obstacle for drivers and an antiquity for the rest of us, and I roll up to finish outside St Andrew's church on Bradford Road at 3.20pm, in time for me to bag the shortest possible bus ride home via Cleckheaton, away from a village that would have sworn fell within Bradford's sphere of influence.<br />
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Next on the Slate: The trail wanders ridiculously close to home.<br />
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<strong>1,000 Miles Cumulative Total: 1233.4 miles</strong> <br />
(2014 total: 320.2 miles)<br />
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(Up Country Total: 1137.8 miles)<br />
(Solo Total: 1018 miles)<br />
(Declared Total: 1025.2 miles) Christopher Wrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09743749271457169317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9035497799018938871.post-77297751849194079492014-08-06T22:51:00.000+01:002014-08-16T23:26:23.668+01:00Kirklees Way #1: Marsden to Birchencliffe 03/08/14<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Self at Marsden</td></tr>
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August has to count, it's that simple, Summer has proved to be more climatically unpredictable than previous years and my motivation drop has had me having to reschedule most of the later part of the year, and what better way to focus yourself than to embark on a long trail, making sure that each coming weekend has another portion to draw you out, and so the Kirklees Way drops onto my schedule because I had wanted to see this district's high land and byways during the height of summer, rather than risking a conclusion during the seasonal turns of Autumn. Of course, I'd hoped to be on this 72 mile trail a month ago, and to be half way round by now, but there's not much point in further lamenting the failures of July, and we should instead look forward to this long tour of this district of marked contrasts, where the moors, towns and agricultural fields both pile up in close proximity and also spread out to provide a terrain that is both remote and crowded at the same time. Additionally, I'm on to Sunday walking again, not because I want to but because a Saturday that provides weather and moods that are distinctly uninspiring means my start has to get shunted so I can make hay whilst the sun shines, and with the trains landing right, the ride to Marsden is only 20 minutes longer via the crappy Sunday service on the Huddersfield Line, and I also get the bonus of a ride into platform 2 as well, the one that never seems to get used.<br />
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<strong>Kirklees Way #1: Marsden to Birchencliffe 12.2 miles</strong><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Above the Standedge Tunnels</td></tr>
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Armed with my £2 guide book, I arrive at the start of the Kirklees Way to make an overdue return to the land of OL21, and there's no obvious marker to indicate that we are at the start of the trail, so I'll just strike my pose by the fingerpost next to lock 42E, and start out at 9.30am along a very familiar path indeed, westwards along the Huddersfield Narrow Canal path to Standedge tunnel, and it's bit odd that one of the district's engineering marvels should show up with the first mile of the trail. Much of the early going of the day is going to be on familiar track, but at least the next section, elevating me up the north side of the Colne valley is new to me, rising past the Tunnel End Inn and right through the middle of someone's terraced garden, neatly crafted up the valley side before meeting the contour hugging path that heads east, offering views over Marsden and the Colne valley, as well as the various lumps which will be in the landscape for much of the day, Meltham Moor showing it's less familiar face, Black Hill rising beyond Butterley Reservoir, and the high points of Marsden Moor estate crying out for an explore. It's also the only spot where you can look down into the valley to observe all four of the Standedge tunnels, three for railway and one for canal, but the two single bores sitting disused but maybe wanting a future that was denied to the ones at Woodhead, and having taken in the views, it's onward as the track starts to rise to meet Huck Hill farm, and then it's onto the path previously travelled over Slaithwaite moor. Exactly the same High Moor track as last October, but in conditions that are so much better, no bogginess and puddling, just miles of springy turf to pound out on as i make my way over toward Cupwith reservoir and the A640, all looking so much greener for the summer, but still stretching on for a lot further than you'd expect on a second time around. There's a small moment of triumph to notch up as the NT Shaw Heys gate is met, as 1,000 miles have been walked since I made my decision to aim for the target in June 2012, so even if my first four active months had not been counted, the ultimate destination would still have been made, altogether a bit of a manufactured success but I'm claiming it anyway. The pace picks up, as I burn off the other two walkers on the track, heading on to the branch of the Colne valley circular trail, surely on the slate for 2015, and then off across the dam as the clouds start to darken in the west, and I guess that even on a sunny day the threat of rain hangs heavy when you are this close to the Pennines.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scammonden Water</td></tr>
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Meet New Hey Road as the darkness consumes the moors, whilst the view to distant Calderdale remains illuminated and it's on to Watermans House, still looking like an accumulation of farming debris with the owner doing some eccentis parking to add another horse trailer to the pile. Pause to absorb the view, one of the best in the district before striking the grassy and still sketchy descent into Deanhead Clough, again looking greener than last year but under skies that feel eerily similar. Down to cross the dam of Deanhead reservoir, still looking under-filled, but I finally peel away from the rollercoaster ride that headed north last year, to follow the way east, rising on the gravel track to meet New Lane, which descends steeply on a surface that feels like it was relaid only a day or so ago. People start to appear around the place again, clearly tempted by the lure of Scammonden Water, but you do wonder if many were aware that reservoir paths rarely present easy going to unexpecting legs, and at Black Burne Brook, the path swings its way past the picnic site to traverse down to the reservoir shore, a good point to stop for watering and to consider this monster among West Yokshire reservoirs. Completed in 1969 and consuming the village of Deanhead, whose church still sits incongruously up the valley side, it must surely have the largest dam by volume of all earth banks in the country, not a fact I can immediately confirm but it is wide enough to have the M62 running across its top. At almost a mile long and 0.16 of a square mile of surface area, contained by steeply wooded valley sides it presents as placid an aspect as you could want, and I'll need to come visit again, just to see it when the sun shines. Follow the shore as far as the sailing club, before starting the ascent out of the valley up to the road leading to the activity centre and then following the path that rises above it, meeting the enclosed track that snakes uphill steeply, offering excellent views across all of Deanhead Clough and down to the reservoir as the sun keeps threatening to break through. Meet the lane at Sledge Gate and press on as views actually start to improve further, and it's good spot to enjoy the landscape and the feats of engineering achieved within it before the path back into the moorland grass is met, rising sharply all the way to the A640 as the weather threatens to close in once more. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Slathwaite Wireless Station</td></tr>
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A moment of reorientation is needed before pushing on, as I stand among unfamiliar hills up here, and I wonder why the Kirklees Way seems to be picking out such an eccentric route across the Calder - Colne divide, and it soon becomes apparent that it is to give you a real insight into this landscape, rather than just leaving it as 'the hills above Slaithwaite'. The track rises from the road towards Worts Hill, and as the path starts to crest around 380m, Calderdale recedes from view and the reason for coming this way becomes apparent, as the path enters the empire of masts that resides up on the hillside, and after regarding them from afar it's now time to wander among them. So depart from the top of the ridge to descend the rough track down to Far Worts farm with it terrifyingly large slurry tank, and then continue down the Causeway, to meet the mess of converging country lanes from where we meet Crimea Lane, the only other one which has remained a rough track. This takes us along the high land, right next to the Slaithwaite wireless station, where a pair of guyed masts rise above the field and machinery below them hums distinctly, but I can't claim to know what purpose the serve, unfortunately, and whilst as nothing compared to Emley Moor, they are still damned tall up close. The lane is good for evolving views, looking out over the hills that rise in south Kirklees, and spotting the Whitley Park folly temple on a distant hillside gives me one of those moments where the landscape shrinks and distant routes suddenly feel a lot closer together, good for putting a spring in the step when slatey skies are threatening to spoil the day once more. Rise back to the roads below the other notable hill top in this quarter, Rocking Stone hill, rising sharply out of the moor like Worts Hill and showing a good profile, and I need to keep my wits sharp as I pace the edge of Rochdale Road (which probably doesn't ultimately go there) as I observe the erratic boulders which hang precariously on the edge of the hilltop, looking like they are taking a very slow slide down to the road below. Further along the road, past more farm conversions, the next pair of masts rise into view, forming the route's next target, and the path rises along a field boundary steeply to get to them, a suddenly nasty rise after a couple of miles of level going, which has me startling sheep from all corners of the fields. Actually a trio of lattice microwave towers rise from the edge of Round Hill, nowhere near as tall as the others but bulkier and just as distinctive, and sitting next to a field which claims to be the highest football field in the country, at 365m up, but it looks a while since the last match was played up here as moorland conditions appear to have returned to reclaim it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmxs8hMkSOxMIYfskXgfT9paHzUjrMpwBqBXlc1dQIrDI6wMypKOTdBCtv3NDvHkbCqFWxbJBwtW_sbk0es-Ro-GDYn8UYVBiqD15THAJZ3qPWvSenP4subQSQBL3oskRoIOMojn_OkA0/s1600/DSCF3561.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmxs8hMkSOxMIYfskXgfT9paHzUjrMpwBqBXlc1dQIrDI6wMypKOTdBCtv3NDvHkbCqFWxbJBwtW_sbk0es-Ro-GDYn8UYVBiqD15THAJZ3qPWvSenP4subQSQBL3oskRoIOMojn_OkA0/s1600/DSCF3561.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Longwood Common</td></tr>
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A moment of orientation places us above Golcar before we hit the track westwards, heading toward yet another mast that sits on the edge of the fields east of Halifax Road and the village of Scapegoat Hill, one of the highest in the county which means that there must have been a lot of hardy souls to farm out here in the past and hardier commuters who'd pick this as their country retreat. The trail avoids the village itself, but the large Non-Conformist chapel sits obviously in the landscape as the sun returns and we make our way onto Longwood Common, the last section of rough moorland on the high ground on the Calder - Colne divide, complete with a grassy ditch to traverse between the heather outcroppings, a challenging surface for trip hazards which is thankfully dry. I could all feel remote if it wasn't for the Pennine Manor hotel occupying a former farm a field distant, and benches are laid out for the walker to pause to enjoy the view at the end of the high ridge, a good spot to stop for lunch and to look to those few familiar high and distant points in the far east, and to ponder just how flat most of West Yorkshire looks when viewed from here. It's not of course, I've toiled along many trails with far too many ups and downs but when the 400+ metre hills that rise around the Colne valley are compared to it, the terrain towards Bradford, Leeds and Wakefield might as well be Cambridgeshire. Push off the moor and onto the lane down to Green Edge, where farms have clustered together to form a hamlet that has gradually developed into a cluster of executive getaways, and the path wanders among these until it finds a steep and green track that drops down the hillside rapidly, not offering the securest of footings as the high land is left behind. Once in the open, reorientation is needed again, finding ourselves above Longwood and its reservoirs as we move ever closer to Huddersfield, but our path swings us away from that direction, moving into Pighill Wood, following walled track down through it and loving the contrasts provided by the sunlight dropping down through the foliage, its enough to make me think that spring might not be the best time for woodland walking. Depart the wood, and enter Outland Golf course, where a particularly indistinct path crosses the middle of the fairways as I drop down to Hirst wood which surrounds Longwood beck, having lost 150m since leaving the moor, and of course a descent is immediately followed by an ascent back up the other side, just as the day starts to glum over again and the threat of rain returns from the west.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVNTrpPQvfgtZ_uaqgDxla3li9k8sIt6WhossbaF3kKSX2xwAgDA0YgarTLzp1v6ehZCcj1KZ-7hC_-72mrqI1Iop9CcZJwo4_gbJn1dhwXh_0TsFzoBh3-JE4pvTn8kjMfnbOUNw9hrQ/s1600/DSCF3654.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVNTrpPQvfgtZ_uaqgDxla3li9k8sIt6WhossbaF3kKSX2xwAgDA0YgarTLzp1v6ehZCcj1KZ-7hC_-72mrqI1Iop9CcZJwo4_gbJn1dhwXh_0TsFzoBh3-JE4pvTn8kjMfnbOUNw9hrQ/s1600/DSCF3654.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Halifax, from Turley Cote Lane<br />
& 1,000 Solo miles Achieved!</td></tr>
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It's 50m up to meet the track above lower Hirst farm, and the cold wind blowing in and the appearance of the M62 dominating the landscape makes this feel like one of the less inspiring sections of the walk, as we plough up a grassy and slightly precipitous track towards the motorway, eventually emerging onto New Hey Road, again, on the section truncated where the A640 was flexed to accommodate the cross country road of our nightmares. Pass a signpost telling us that it is both three miles to and from Huddersfield and the fun of the path diminishes further as we rise to cross the M62 and the follow the A640 down one of the least inspiring sections of A-road as far as the White Swan inn on the edge of Outlane. Swan Lane takes us north, clearly back into the vicinity of Calderdale as the sunshine returns once more as a bunch of views familiar from any traverse of the motorway, but to bee seen and absorbed at a human pace, a view which I have loved in passing many times, so it is odd that this is the first time that I have experienced it in person, having never walked in this vicinity before. The view also evolves as I go, revealing itself to the west initially, all the way across Sowood Green to the distant shape of Great Manshead, whilst to the north we see Holywell Green and Greetland, with the wind farm on Ovenden Moor beyond, but the real focus goes to the right as nestling in, and spreading out of, the Hebble valley, we have Halifax, unquestionably demonstrating itself as being the best of all of the county's towns to be viewed from above. Even at 4 miles distant, the spread of buildings gives you a feeling of how a town can develop, and it's at times like these that I wish I carried a pair of binoculars (too heavy to add to my baggage), or to have camera that did super-duper zoom and resolution (too expensive). Our path takes us onto the bridleway along Turley Cote Lane, and my guidebook give me a name for these ancient track that never quite became roads, 'Causey', derived from a French word and not a corruption of Causeway, apparently, and the landscape used to be littered with them before the road became the preferred method of transportation when carts replaced packhorses. This track is a beaut too, giving us a marvellous view beneath the sunshine, and it's kinda ironic that the best town view to be had along the whole of the Kirklees Way will probably be the main centre of Calderdale rather than anywhere actually within the district, but it's also worthy of note as it brings up my second 1,000 mile achievement of the day, and the last one for the year, 1,000 miles walked solo, on me lonesome, but are you ever really alone when you have a view to enjoy, I wonder, philosophically?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJI1uPmJ-ZR_M36rN3nFf9UEXw99q0mYKrW3CuLQycPAIekI7CiIDkPXZXmhsoF7aZ0C0_mg4dwH5uGKNgChYB_ObqTO-YApxWg_jQDzdQC_VGbWRq2OtqiWZyRaswQ1i2L4uLSx6-uT4/s1600/DSCF3733.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJI1uPmJ-ZR_M36rN3nFf9UEXw99q0mYKrW3CuLQycPAIekI7CiIDkPXZXmhsoF7aZ0C0_mg4dwH5uGKNgChYB_ObqTO-YApxWg_jQDzdQC_VGbWRq2OtqiWZyRaswQ1i2L4uLSx6-uT4/s1600/DSCF3733.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Birchencliffe</td></tr>
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Moving onto Old Lindley road, the feeling of being almost done comes on, and approaching the M62 underbridge, the sprint to the finish line feels like it is due to start, so it's odd that the path suddenly hairpins back onto track that sends us off downhill in completely the 'wrong' direction, descending down to startle more sheep and encounter a boggy field corner before having to reascend the hillside that I had just come off to approach the house at the top of Wapping Nick Lane. A field walk past easily spooked cows then proceeds at a pitch that doesn't allow for hurrying, and then the guidebook provides a route description that makes little sense on the map and even less in reality as I fail to find the path leading up to High Haigh farm, instead following over styles that attempt to injure me as I arrive at Middle Haigh and the have to follow the track and road back to the top of the hill to find little obvious evidence of the route from above either. The weather closes over once more as I pass across the M62 again, returning to the influence of the Colne Valley, and the rain arrives as I cross the A643 and tramp my way over the fields to Crosland Road, noting that this might be the first downpour that has landed on me this year, as I cannot immediately recall any others. I'm also apt to demonstrate that I will be doing my own thing on the trail and not be following the route divisions as outlined, as the Sunday transportation options on Lindley Moor road are distinctly limited, instead passing my latest fantasy fixer-upper on the Calder - Colne divide, and striking off onto the field path that leads its way over to a a conifer-lined ginnel behind the outermost houses of Birchencliffe, the northernmost of Huddersfield's suburbs. The houses along Weatherhill Road and Yew Tree Road are mostly semis clad in that ghastly grey pebbledash, maybe it's necessary when building at this altitude but it's so damned ugly when compared to the few stone terraces along the lane, it's enough to make you think that the planners of the past should offer an apology to the residents of the present. Still, the sunshine returns as we are rolling up at the A629 Halifax Road, just below Ainley Top, and this is my stop point for the day as a decent Sunday bus service can be guaranteed along here, the #503 running every 20 minutes, and completing my day at 2.50pm means there's going to be plenty of time to have have a photographic poke around at Huddersfield station before the two hourly (!) service to Morley departs.<br />
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Next on the Slate: The long walk down to the Calder and onwards to the top of Spenborough.<br />
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<strong>1,000 Miles Cumulative Total: 1218.7 miles</strong> <br />(2014 total: 305.5 miles)<br /><br />(Up Country Total: 1123.1 miles)<br /><strong>(Solo Total: 1003.3 miles)<br />(Declared Total: 1010.5 miles)</strong> <br />
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<span style="background-color: yellow;"></span><br />Christopher Wrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09743749271457169317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9035497799018938871.post-74060738504890653342014-07-29T21:19:00.000+01:002014-08-09T21:20:53.927+01:00Morley to Leeds (x4) 27/07/14Back at the top of the year, I had high hopes for the second half of my walking season, feeling like I could safely aim for 500 miles on the year and also manage to fit in all my major targets and have some weeks to spare as my 40th approached, but a month on and I'm feeling like the wheels have been spinning for the last few weeks with little progress being made. July isn't quite the time to declare the season beyond redemption, but it's looking unlikely that I will be able to fit in both of the Kirklees Way and Wakefield Way before November as it will take a total of 12 trips to complete them, and that would be three whole months of my schedule. I had really been hopeful to be half way around the Kirklees Way by now, but tiredness at the end of June and wanting to fit the the Tour de France at the start of the month lost me two weekends, with my weekend after my trip down country being a non-starter as the heatwave had had me turning into Freddie Flakeout and rain coming down on the Saturday was not the inspiring change I'd hoped for. Then my trip for yesterday failed as I made out early to catch the train to Marsden only for my plan to be scuppered by its non-appearance due to a lack of available train crew, the first time I've heard that be announced by the tannoy, by the way, and missing my connection up the line would mean a trip of over two hours before I could get going and a longer stretch of walking in the hottest part of the day, so I am shortly heading home to sulk. Still, heatwave feels over by Sunday morning, and July needs a conclusion, before moving on to hopefully make August count, and the reserve list has another route to the city on it...<br />
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<strong>Morley to Leeds, via Beeston Royds and Whitehall Road 6.9 miles</strong><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St Peter's, Morley</td></tr>
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Greet Morley Town hall for the traditional start at 9.00am, and I'm getting quite a portfolio of pics of it from all the starts I've made over these last couple of years, and I'm off northwards, down Queen Street to Morley Bottoms, this time taking a left to Brunswick Street and then hard right onto Bank Street, one of those roads to enjoy if you really like stone retaining walls, securing the foundations of the houses above, and feeling like one of those older road that the development of the town turned into something of a back street. Rising rapidly, a good and new perspective is gained towards St Mary in the Wood, and the back of the Cheapside parade of shops looks like an ordinary stone terrace in spite of its faintly neo-classical facade, and the low rise flats along Bank Avenue come as a bit of a surprise, figuring that I have ridden around this block on all side without ever venturing into it in the seven years I have lived in this town. Emerge past the Victoria Court office park and onto the A643, crossing by the Shell garage to take another look into the yard of St Peter's church and its Sunday school, also getting a close look at the Leeds & Elland road sign a little further along Victoria road, still wondering how many of these endure around the city and also puzzling as to why the old school yard next to the church has become a home for bed delivery vans. My fresh trail peels off from the main road onto Sandmead Close, the part of suburban Morley which sprung up in the late 70s and only recently stopped growing, the sort of land you don't normally venture into unless you have to, and all the way down to Woodcross and Westwood Side it's a mix of houses that I can't even consider wanting to live in, at least until the tree growth becomes more prominent and a view across the Beeston Royds hillside and beyond to the Aire valley emerges before being lost as I descend away from Morley's particular hill. From the road into the Churwell woods to trace part of the local nature trail, heading out towards the motorway along paths traced on the circular walk of last year, and looking a whole lot more lively in July than they did in February, and then it's under the M621 and along the field boundary path towards Rooms farm, finding it heavily overgrown and good for losing a small dog in, according to the lady met coming the other way.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The City of Leeds, from Beeston Royds</td></tr>
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Surer going beyond once the farm track is met, descending towards the A62 with the Beeston Royds hill rising into the landscape once again, and then passing beneath the bridge on the L&NWR Leeds New Line which has been observed remotely on previous occasions but has now been formally interacted with, and once on Gelderd Road, we cross over where the travellers caravan park sits opposite the UHC Jewish cemetery, hitting the path uphill towards Spring End farm. Striking out across the fields offers a view back towards the rising spires and towers of Morley, a view which evolves as I ascend, not sharply but challenging enough against the morning heat and breezes, and the next field is met beyond some extensive bank consolidation work, and it's too easy to follow the ground in path across the field and among the sheep rather than sticking to the right of way that hugs the boundary, but the two ladies walking out from the farm for their morning jog don't seem to be too concerned by this man wandering among their livestock. A stile and a gate lead to Wood lane, a farm track that leads to Farnley Wood farm, sitting atop the Beeston Royds ridge, and a fine panorama is gained as the top is attained, only 115m up but with an emerging view across Morley and Middleton to the city, and northwards across Farnley and Wortley to the Aire Valley, and Ferrybridge Power station even makes an appearance too. It's good than a large slab of rural land has endured as the city has consumed lands all around it, I'm going to guess that its sides were too steep for suburban development in the 60s and it is now protected as green belt, now offering another great viewpoint for the city of Leeds, the fourth on I have noted on my travels. The descent comes on pretty rapidly as I head for the the A58, passing what appears to be a bird viewing hide and meeting a heavily overgrown concrete path that slips down to the barns above Ochre House farm, and a good farm track emerges to take me to the farm itself, offering a lot of corrugated roofs and not much sight of actual farming. The lane leads out to Whitehall Road, and industry on my map has been replaced by residential development and a bit of imagination is required to spot the path of the former railway line that once crossed the A58 and led to Farnley Ironworks, and from there it's townward in front of the 1930s semis, where someone's flowering plants have escaped into the grass verges and have grown into one of the craziest patches of weeds that I have ever seen.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVQU9euaCQCwWsRAj-xX1N2NCvRrabxVkGuy1RAlKUIWmiqUF0J4N2ACI4bwMSGqEZvMUrKj8jWQ31ai-H7Dm0hnlXnDaugvA55jDUsnum77l6wWbDzyN5u178sGK4ehCfHzaY63s0vz8/s1600/DSCF3029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVQU9euaCQCwWsRAj-xX1N2NCvRrabxVkGuy1RAlKUIWmiqUF0J4N2ACI4bwMSGqEZvMUrKj8jWQ31ai-H7Dm0hnlXnDaugvA55jDUsnum77l6wWbDzyN5u178sGK4ehCfHzaY63s0vz8/s1600/DSCF3029.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Railway footbridge, Wortley</td></tr>
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Take a short, and direct, route across the A6110 Ring Road and continue along Whitehall Road, above a patch where industries have endured and every frontage along the roadside seems to be either a garage or a domestic wholesalers, some of the units look familiar from having passed them on the train and a look back offers a final perspective towards Beeston Royds, still looking like the over-sized hill that it really isn't. Approaching the railway, it's good to see that much of the former Farnley & Wortley station has remained, despite being closed in 1952, the brick station building as a carpet retailer and the wooden goods shed in the hands of a scrap merchant, and it's slightly puzzling that this is one that has never reappeared on the reopening plans, considering its location. The road dog-legs to cross the Huddersfield line, over the bridge that I have ridden under thousands of times, and past the Dragon Hotel, which seems to have sussed out the formula for enduring as a pub when its obvious constituency has passed on, and now the old Halifax turnpike offers me a straight route into the city, but I still have a couple of deviations in my plans. I'm mostly curious as to cross over the pair of footbridges which pass over the railway and the former goods yards alongside (still visible to the keen-eyed despite the redevelopment of industrial units and the yard full of portakabins), and I can't imagine that they get a lot of use these days, though the first of them, the more substantial of the pair, links to the Wortley playing fields and looks like it has factored into footpath developments as West Leeds looks to advertise its green spaces. The view from the recreation grounds towards the city, and to Elland Road and the south for that matter, a fresh perspectives for me, and I'm always happy to see a park that is well used and cared for, as the Wortley district is one I've never had reason to venture into, and thus had no idea as to its qualities, and beyond the terraces a good view towards my favourite church in the city opens out, to St Bartholomew's Armley, the finest over-sized and bonkers Victorian religious pile in a city that has a few. The second footbridge, returning me to the A58, is actually three bridges, one crossing the abandoned Wortley Curve, linking the GNR's lines to Wakefield and Bradford, and the second passes over the mainline to the south, both box girdered and enclosed, whilst the third, over the Huddersfield line and somewhat lower down, has ridiculously low sides, and the footpath is contained by wooden fences which would be more suited to a garden boundary. I can only guess that health and safety was a much smaller consideration in the 19th century, when the workers of Wortley tramped these paths to their work among the goods yards, cattle markets and other industries which once thrived along Whitehall Road, of which only forlorn fragments remain today.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-txV2s47wvHTXFm7AhDPC_uZP5ll9Ybyb8wD4gOa-f2J1vMySH4WrkzBlTukT9Zm0f9Olmko4uY4A2kI1ziKlPwiwpWo6n3p-cVAbgB_ZVRa1NlMVni7025BsE0FvatkFi1TrcSQ6YvA/s1600/DSCF3136.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-txV2s47wvHTXFm7AhDPC_uZP5ll9Ybyb8wD4gOa-f2J1vMySH4WrkzBlTukT9Zm0f9Olmko4uY4A2kI1ziKlPwiwpWo6n3p-cVAbgB_ZVRa1NlMVni7025BsE0FvatkFi1TrcSQ6YvA/s1600/DSCF3136.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Railway Roundhouses</td></tr>
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Press on along Whitehall Road, including the section now abandoned, to the point that the A58 and A62 converge, and wonder how the Adam's Court Victorian school on the corner endured to 21st century city council use, when it never seemed to have a populous district to service it, even on the 1906 OS map, and the it's over the Inner Ring road via the footbridge, which must be one of the longest on the country, taking a solid four minutes to cross along its many slopes. Carry on under the railway bridges which must cause a third of Leeds' total traffic congestion, as the various roads pile up at the Armley Gyratory, and the pedestrian path keeps you so well concealed from the traffic island that you almost feel like you've found a hidden green oasis in the city, it also makes that path leading into Holbeck via the very dark and long tunnel under the railway look rather more significant than it really is, as it doesn't really lead anywhere. Once having passed under the lines to the Aire valley, more railway relics can be found, my favourites in the city by a long shot, namely the Roundhouse, Half-Roundhouse and waggon works of 1847, built for the Leeds & Thirsk railway (one of the parent companies of the NER), and the most remarkable of survivors seeing that they passed out of railway use in 1904. All three buildings have retained most of their 19th century appearance, in spite of a century of re-use and contemporary conversion to commercial life as vehicle hire or wine merchants, and forming the most intact collection of steam age railway depots in the country, a testament to the enduring quality of Victorian engineering, and their builder, Thomas Grainger earns his name drop here. I love these buildings, and allow myself a good poke around as it's turned into the sunniest part of the day and there's no one around on a Sunday morning to get in the way of my photographing, and even spending a nicely long time on the site, it still takes extensive mental gymnastics to attach it to the railways, carried on an elevated section alongside it, and the absence of Leeds Central station from the landscape just makes things more confusing.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpo7LACkkjVLphnFPPWSRtYPaF41Q5EsQ_6TT5WgvSv7DvLPrysaeNX2zBUz-cIZjNHLCCGy9m156-ubjylAFYxPXE1V9k25Ab8hEEf_iksi8KRonqLR_kNkXefpXuu2WXHnyy5_LxKTc/s1600/DSCF3218.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpo7LACkkjVLphnFPPWSRtYPaF41Q5EsQ_6TT5WgvSv7DvLPrysaeNX2zBUz-cIZjNHLCCGy9m156-ubjylAFYxPXE1V9k25Ab8hEEf_iksi8KRonqLR_kNkXefpXuu2WXHnyy5_LxKTc/s1600/DSCF3218.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The LGI Gilbert Scott building</td></tr>
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Having had my fill of railway architecture, the path leads back to the city, over the Leeds & Liverpool canal, and over the Aire on the westernmost of the old river crossings, Wellington Bridge, now carrying the dual carriageway and barely recognisable as a river bridge at all, and on the north bank, we see the site of the soon to be former Yorkshire Post building, now in the grip of demolition when I had hoped it would still be intact when I came this way. It may have been a monstrosity and a Brutalist nightmare, but i feel we are at risk at demolishing so many of the bad 60s buildings that we have too few left to remind us of the mistakes in architecture made in the past, all that remains is the clock tower and there's no guarantee that it will survive and the building might one day be as lost as Benjamin Gott's Bean Ing woollen factory which preceded it on the site. Cross over Wellington Street and note that redevelopment hasn't come this way yet, unlike the nearby City Island complex or the new student flats along Burley Road, the buildings facing the Inner ring looking most forlorn and the site of the International Pool still being levelled and little more than a car park five years after its demolition, and Brotherton House, one of the better 60s buildings, is still in need of some love. Pop up at Westgate island, where Westgate Point is one one of the best examples of the 1990s 'Leeds Look' styling, imitating the use of brick and slate which dominates the old city, whilst across the road are two of the worst buildings in the city, the Magistrates court and the Crown court, which bot look like they were made of Lego, in different but equally awful ways. Press on up Park Street, to meet my place of employment, the Leeds General Infirmary, and the Gilbert Scott building of 1869 would be loved by me even if I didn't work there, it still looks like a dry run for the stylings of the Midland Hotel at St Pancras to my eyes, and my photo collage of it, made in 2003 before its abortive stonework cleaning, is still my proudest artistic achievement. Push on along Great George Street and up towards Millennium square, below the Portland stone clad Brotherton Wing, which still looks like the back end of a 1930s ocean going liner to me, and then it's across to Cuthbert Brodricks for my pint, even if it's 11.40am and turning towards a day that doesn't really require a drink on the terrace. That's another new root burned into the city, and a weekend not lost to walking, and I'm going to use being in town as an opportunity for shopping, as I need more OS maps for my next trip down country, and a pint of beer in my veins will aid a search for a new fleece in TK Maxx, as slight drunkenness will make that store just that bit more hilarious.<br />
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Next on the Slate: The Kirklees Way has to be next, no excuses, plus 1,000 miles is going to be achevied again, twice!<br />
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<strong>1,000 Miles Cumulative Total: 1206.5 miles</strong> <br />(2014 total: 293.3 miles)<br /><br />(Up Country Total: 1110.9 miles)<br />(Solo Total: 991.1 miles)<br />(Declared Total: 998.3 miles) Christopher Wrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09743749271457169317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9035497799018938871.post-27667592427862944512014-07-18T21:49:00.001+01:002014-07-26T18:03:05.236+01:00Cossington Mill to Kilby Bridge 16/07/14First summer break from work, and down country to enjoy my parents' hospitality, I need a walk that doesn't look too challenging as the season starts to warm up significantly, and as my Old Country walks so far have kept me well away from the City of Leicester, it's time to make amends for that and to plot a path along a stretch of the Grand Union Canal. As canal companies go, this one isn't particularly old, having only been founded in 1932, but actually being an agglomeration of several older canals, notably the Regent's canal and the Grand Junction, established to attempt to stay in business as the days of the canals passed in the 20th century, and to continue to provide a link between London and Birmingham, and the East Midlands into this century. The so called Leicester Line, the longest and most significant branch from the main route, reaches from Norton Junction, Northamptonshire, to Ratcliffe on Soar, on the Nottinghamshire border, where it feeds into the River Trent, and along the way it passes all the way through the city of my birth. There probably isn't a better way to traverse the city during this season, one that keeps away from the roads that can be walked once the season turns, and gives me some countryside to enjoy whilst the hot season comes down upon us.<br />
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<strong>Cossington Mill to Kilby Bridge, via the Grand Union Canal path 16.2 miles</strong><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5M9F8iwzoF7mxCAmTQymm8v5Rq8hXBSG0hXLoMHwfGwzrsMDLbWqFNZH3lDDRtEF-KZQxssmsPOVTalYvx_pH3LTsXUQptizyVwqqM4axzrxZwGv777QHYbTJC3DurXgKwHFS7QBD5Ms/s1600/DSCF2350.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5M9F8iwzoF7mxCAmTQymm8v5Rq8hXBSG0hXLoMHwfGwzrsMDLbWqFNZH3lDDRtEF-KZQxssmsPOVTalYvx_pH3LTsXUQptizyVwqqM4axzrxZwGv777QHYbTJC3DurXgKwHFS7QBD5Ms/s1600/DSCF2350.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cossington Lock</td></tr>
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My drop off point, on Cossington Lane, is about a quarter of the way down the Leicester line from Ratcliffe, and about 8 miles north of the city, chosen as a start point as is about the same distance from West Bridge as my finish point at Kilby Bridge, and also marking the start of the cut that marks out the Leicester section of the canal in my mind, originally part of the River Soar navigation, first cut in 1794 to make the river navigable from the city to the Trent. The mill that gives this location is well hidden from view, somewhere across the Soar beyond the weir that can be heard but also not seen, and is not to be mistaken with canal houses that stand at the merging point of the channels, and dropping down from the road at 9.20am to meet the first Lock of the day, I gain a small revelation to start my trip for this canal is broad, when I had got myself convinced that the canals in these parts were all narrow (the famous lock flight at Foxton is, and that must have confused me). Cross the Soar via footbridge and set off into the low lying Leicestershire fields, and heading upstream down the Soar naturally has us heading upstream on the River Wreake for the first mile, feeling like a proper riverside walk for a while, without trace of a towpath, horned cows to be avoided and large flocks of Canada geese floating by and resting on the banks. Canalisation resumes at Junction lock, and cyclists have to be dodged as the path makes up part of the local Route 1, a traffic free haul down into the city which shadows the route that I will be taking, so I have to stay alert as I cross the Wreake at Three Way Bridge, which only child could have named innocently, and meet the canal cut southwards past the moorings and marina, and beneath the distinctive red brick canal bridge that you'd expect to see a lot of , but this appears to be the only one north of the city. Past the boat DIYers, and on through the fields and beneath the A46 Leicester Western Bypass, and then on to the Hope and Anchor pub, sitting by a truncated stretch of Wanlip Road and staying in business with cheap meal deals, and a big playground and sandpit, I can recall a number of family outings here, back in the day, when we fancied a step up from the local Beefeater.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Watermead Country Park</td></tr>
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Cross to the western bank, and lose the cycle path for some grassy going along the towpath as the canal cuts straight through a land of flooded gravel pits, now flooded to for Watermead Country Park, as this land is only good as a wetland habitat and hopefully the recent years have finally silenced all the voices that might have wished residential development on these lands. The lakes, and toilet block, are visible via glances through the hawthorn hedges, and look nicely turned out, and it's odd that we never ventured out here in all my years, and the public sculpture is pretty good too, especially the one that looks like a whale skeleton. Passing off E246 and onto E233 has me checking that I'm not trying to cross the channel too early, and the upstream walk has me confused as I cross the weir that marks the end of the navigation channel, as the water seems to be going the wrong way, but we finally get a bit of boating action which cheers me up as folks are out to enjoy the water on goodly warm day like this one. Where wetlands don't surround the canals, it seems to be nettles that rule the day, which restricts the options for off piste wandering, though surroundings improve at Thurmaston marina and lock, where waterside development has encroached and a steel cut-out sculpture of bronze age hunters has been installed, mysteriously. I avoid the cycle path again, instead taking the grassy trod that has been cut down closer to the river's edge, probably not offering much by way of short cut but certainly offering greater peace and quite before meeting the park entrance on the stretch of Birstall's waterfront at Whiles Lane. As pleasing a suburban street as you could find, but it seem too close to potential disaster for my liking, though I guess that the Soar never rises enough to threaten these houses, with the wetlands taking the strain each year. Back to the path after watering in the shade, over bridges various to the east bank and Birstall lock, and then the signage gets me following Route 1 again, until I realise its pulling me away from the river and I need to take the path over the rather springy bridge above a dry weir, following the river bank south and not getting much sight of it as it hides behind a thick wall of aquatic plants.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB7aWCURv2QfBKTvuNQ_Pvfjqs6uvnhAkTA6B8QOST60kD_q1xBef7HurR5uoj1IkgUL6TaKfqzozilrWaVgPKSB-qptwSteauc978bOB-eTY66kV3SQKJM2_9NfNEcJbKwP4D8tf5v0I/s1600/DSCF2497.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB7aWCURv2QfBKTvuNQ_Pvfjqs6uvnhAkTA6B8QOST60kD_q1xBef7HurR5uoj1IkgUL6TaKfqzozilrWaVgPKSB-qptwSteauc978bOB-eTY66kV3SQKJM2_9NfNEcJbKwP4D8tf5v0I/s1600/DSCF2497.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thurcaston Road Bridge</td></tr>
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The sound of roads rear up as we meet the bridge carrying the A653, Leicester Ring road, across the river, and I couldn't start to count the times I've looked down from the bridge on Watermead Way prior to today, which is the first time I'm looking up at it. Avoid getting snared by Route 1 again (also National 6 apparently), and a little further on is the sign indicating the 1891 boundary of the jurisdiction of the City of Leicester and even though it has moved somewhat since then, I'm certain that the de facto boundary is still hereabouts and we are now out of the county. Pass the outdoor pursuits centre on the western side, and I still expect the dry ski slope to be next to, despite it having been gone for years now (it was a temporary structure planned to stand for a couple of seasons and ended up lasting for more than a decade) but they're still doing business with canoeing and the largest jungle Jim that I've seen recently. Under New Bridge, a high and sturdy five arches in brick of 1834, carrying Loughborough Road over the river and worthy of consideration as an old bridge until a short distance along, we meet the Old Bridge, carrying Thurcaston Road, a low six arched bridge of the kind that really haven't endured in major cities due to their lack of elevation, and this one is still here despite having the canal cutting its way though it. Odd that I should have never noticed it, despite being not all that far from where my Mum used to teach and the pub that we would lunch at when helping out during the summer holidays (The Talbot, if you're taking notes), we're moving into more familiar territory now, crossing back the west bank to traverse the edge of Belgrave Meadows and playing fields, before crossing back at Belgrave bridge (cable stayed and less than 20 years old), where the sea cadets have installed and anti-aircraft gun, to trot down the east bank to Belgrave lock, where good views over to Abbey Meadows, where the Victorian pumping station and the National Space Centre make odd bed fellows whilst jamming a lot of technological history into a small space. It also looks to be a good spot for teenagers to enjoy some alone time, judging by the amount of Holsten Pils cans and Doritos bags littered about the place.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Belgrave Cut</td></tr>
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Back on the west bank, and on the tip of the long island of land formed as the canal cut and river separate (or rather converge, when going in this direction), and the canal probably has the less pretty side of it, following the backs of the factories that remain in Belgrave, producing textiles 20 years back but no clue as to what they are producing now, and there are terraces too, one of the few bits of old dwelling still by the waterside, if the old maps are to be believed. The factory by Abbey Park Road is in the grip of a make over and refit, almost certainly for upscale or student living in the future, and under the road bridge we find a lot of boating going on at Abbey lock, and I have to wonder, does every narrowboat have to have a larger lady on their crew (not a criticism, just an observation)? The signs on the west bank are of post industrial desolation, as well as a number of inlets which must have been wharves in the 19th century, and further along some factories endure still, once part of the extensive Corah complex which produced the hosiery and footwear which mad the city's fortune. On the east side is Abbey Park, and the city's premier urban park certain lacks a good perimeter on this side, not like the ancient walls on its other sides, and I recall clambering over that fence more than once when reluctant to pay for, or attempting to smuggle beer bottles into festival occasions in the old abbey's grounds. Initial locating methods involve spotting the church towers and spires as they rise above the city, those of St Mark's and St Margaret's offering the first clues of my whereabouts before my attention turns to bridges, passing under the access bridge to the park which no one ever used, and then the dual carriageway of the A6 passes overhead. Then we move onto the tail end of the islet between river and canal, the unattractively named Frog Island, a corner of the town which seems to have remained resolutely industrial and under-attractive through all its years, an appearance that hasn't changed much as I view it today, though the A50 bridge is the first canal looking bridge seen since the start of the day, to give it an old time feel as I rise past the lock and over the millrace and footbridge above the weir as the channels feed each other once again.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Former Leicester Central Station</td></tr>
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The channels remain parallel as they run around the side of Soar island, a green space that was once home to mill workings but the east bank has no signs of wharfing that you would expect toward the end of the navigation channel, as Leicester seems to lack a major pool or marina, and the old OS maps don't show one either. A surprise feature is Soar bridge, an unusually ornate iron structure for a road which has only ever served the coal staithes from the Leicester and Swannington Railway, built in 1832 and the first railway in the county, terminating at West Bridge and closed in 1966, providing the engine that developed most of West Leicester, indeed the thought that none of Leicester west of the Soar existed before the 19th century, is one to make the head hurt. If you want to go further back in time, Soar Lane on the east side marks the northern perimeter of the forum of Roman <span dir="auto"><em>Ratae Corieltauvorum, </em>the complete boundary of which can still be traced along the streets of the city centre, and there aren't many industrial towns that can claim that at their heart. A long footbridge leads over Evan's Weir as the channels reunite completely for a short while, and the extra elevation offers a views over the Black Friars quarter of the town, which remained resolutely industrial even when the GCR's Leicester Central station stood at its heart, and it looks like the district hasn't really developed any since the station closed in 1969. There's a lot more of the station enduring than from the impression that you'd get from viewing it from Great Central Street, the arches and retaining walls in blue brick are still all in situ to provide a reminder of a main line lost when the 21st century could have put it to good use. Also along here is the Friar's Mill, an enduring textile mill that had been operational on the site since the 1730s, but now looks somewhat forlorn after a fire gutted in in 2012, but it will hopefully remain alongside is few Victorian companions once redevelopment comes this way, the apartment buildings marking the first new developments along the canalside that are sure to continue northwards.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">West Bridge</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Straight Mile Cut</td></tr>
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Just before hitting West Bridge, the channels divide (reunite) again, to form the Old Soar and New Soar, and sight to the major churches of the city is gained, namely the cathedral church of St Martin, and St Nicholas, one of the earliest consecrations in the county and one of the oldest continuously used religious sites in the world, and alongside the canal we find the 'Leicester 0' waymarker, indicating the end of the Navigation and the start of the abortive Leicester & Northampton canal, started on 1809 but never getting further than Market Harborough, eventually being obtained the Grand Junction canal in 1894. West Bridge is the ancient crossing point on the Soar, where the Roman Fosse Way started off to the southwest and the contemporary A47 rides over the pair of concrete and iron bridges that span the channel now. Beyond lies the straight mile cut, a channel good enough for rowing and home of most of the moorings for the Leicester wharf from back on the day, now redevelopment and waterfront living has taken over along most of its length, the Pex socks factory of 1840 being the largest industrial survivor in the city and probably the nicest redevelopment as well, because the contemporary styling of most apartment buildings doesn't do a lot for me. Castle gardens sits on the east bank, home to the Norman motte that I could never see as a child and still can't now, as well as the Medieval county court, hidden somewhere among the trees, and the spire of St Mary de Castro should rise high above the foliage, but all I can see is stub, later discovering that it was dismantled last year due to cracks rendering it dangerous, a serious ignominy for a 900 year old consecration to suffer. Under the Newarke bridge, the southern edge of Roman <em>Ratae</em> by the way, and past the pub wittily named the Soar Point, to report that the Western Boulevard tram terminus has at least endured, and across the river the main campus of De Montfort University has been developed with maximum eccentricity, for this city at least. At Mill Lane bridge I rise to the road to see what remains of the GCR goods yard on Bede's Island, not much it seems as student living has taken it over with only the electrical generating plant remaining as a branch of Tesco express, I doubt that any of the current residents would believe that a quarter century ago, Vic Berry's scrapyard occupied the site, with condemned railway locomotives and coaches stacked three high as they awaited the torch. Pound on, as leafy increases to hide the conversions and new builds, though the Summit, a tall cylindrical tower on the corner of Jarrom Street dominates from all angles, and is a far cry from the student accommodation of my youth and I'll rise from the riverside path again to see if the Upperton Road bridge over the old railway yard has endured, and find that it has not, another fragment from my past swept away by the tides of progress I suppose. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnoJXvWEeGUOWVYP840KLyioaSZsXrFv6vnDEKCOA67ZecunELw42UmxzXo9WoddjwaBF9iwG9WZThWdD4W3AWSkmaMuM3JNr6B4OnrXTVR6j7yTRiccu9WwkBt-gZ7fAASbtciCZNmxA/s1600/DSCF2655.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnoJXvWEeGUOWVYP840KLyioaSZsXrFv6vnDEKCOA67ZecunELw42UmxzXo9WoddjwaBF9iwG9WZThWdD4W3AWSkmaMuM3JNr6B4OnrXTVR6j7yTRiccu9WwkBt-gZ7fAASbtciCZNmxA/s1600/DSCF2655.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">King Power stadium</td></tr>
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Over the footbridge as the Old and New Soars reconnect (diverge), and across the river once stood the home of Leicester City FC, Filbert Street, now home to more car parking than the stadium ever provided when it was in use, whilst their new home is a little further down the riverside on Freemans Common, the King Power stadium (which I will still call the Walkers Bowl, its unused original name) where more than one season of Top Division football will be played in the coming year. The city centre has now lipped behind us, and we can feel like we are heading back into the countryside once more, despite the increasing development on the west bank, which feels far too close to the river and like a major flood risk, though a stone installed by Freemans lock and weir indicates that the flood level in 1912 was only four feet of so above the current water level so the plains to the south of the city clearly do their work well. Pass under the high bridge carrying the Leicester to Burton line, and the next available bench is a good spot to pause for lunch and to start checking distance remaining and time available, feeling like it might be a pinch to get this one done on schedule, so move on at the hurry up, past St Mary's Mills, the last notable collection of building on the west bank before the expanse of Aylestone meadows takes over. The meadows act as a huge flood plain that absorbs excess water south of the city, extending for several miles and forming the other notable wetland park for the city folk to enjoy, and the flooding doesn't come this way often as industry endures on the east bank, and developments on brown field sites run close to the waters edge, though the older houses clearly have ground floors well elevated above ground level. The return of the red brick bridges and the rising locks, three in relatively short succession also gives the canal its rural feel back, but you still have to be alert for traffic, especially cyclists wanting to ride speedily beneath the bridges when you have paused to take a photograph.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnvRu4dj8IEASKqiAl3jL2bfXhuixQIfB9em_7du0TTocXYcTCmrwyqUydx08RiY2HpKiwGPj8m3go2O0pBtCg6xqcefAoMbmt8LJGgVm4TEu8xdbcCGIzZDFnwu9ktq0z9y3LUif0Uuo/s1600/DSCF2723.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnvRu4dj8IEASKqiAl3jL2bfXhuixQIfB9em_7du0TTocXYcTCmrwyqUydx08RiY2HpKiwGPj8m3go2O0pBtCg6xqcefAoMbmt8LJGgVm4TEu8xdbcCGIzZDFnwu9ktq0z9y3LUif0Uuo/s1600/DSCF2723.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">GCR bridge, Aylestone Meadows</td></tr>
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A number of signifiers of the edge of the city pile up in short order, firstly the bridge on Braunstone Lane East, scene of one of my sister's funniest stories from her student days, quickly followed by passing under the GCR main line, the supremely innovative continental gauged line completed in 1899, either 40 years too late or 90 years too early, GCR chairman Edward Watkin being a man foreseeing the future of direct rail to Europe but unfortunately working in an age when the railway market was almost completely saturated. A cycle track runs that way theses days, and tag that for the future, and move on to see the canal and river finally disassociate (meet) near Packhorse Bridge, a particularly ancient track that crosses the Soar valley, but summer vegetation means the old bridge is virtually impossible to see, and beyond the King's lock and bridge, the next one along, we get indication of being 3 miles from West bridge and exiting the 1891 borough boundary, and if it's good enough for 1891, it's good enough for now! That's cue to get the pace up as a lot of canal path can start to look a bit samey, and it's not a huge distance along to the bridge carrying the A563 ring road over the canal, and we can consider ourselves definitely outside the city now, and just before we meet Blue Bank Lock, we find some workmen doing some serious bank consolidation work, and answering the question of what those tugs and barges that you might find about the canal network are for, transporting material and plant, it seems. Past 4 miles out and Gee's lock, the canal takes its crazy 90 degree turn, pulling away from the course of the Soar and following the upstream course of the River Sence, moving into the wide band of greenbelt that sits south of Leicester, almost certainly more land that it wouldn't be sensible to build on. Pass beneath the abutments of the former GCR line once more, as it makes its lonely path off towards Rugby, and indications of industry on the north bank on my old E233 means the presence of housing in 2014, as brown field development claims every bit of land it can, making a return to semi urban walking all the way along to Blaby Bridge and the A426, where a boatyard remains largely intact but no longer in use. Residents of Glen Parva have the first houses with proper waterfront docks on their back gardens seen along the day's route, some apt to actually receive boats, and the canal continues to rise as we pass our way under the skewed bridge of the Leicester to Nuneaton line, offering a good angle for railway photography, if there happened to be any trains passing. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhote_xx7OqzNDnJrA4laDtNcYMEvd0ZuXpWpmPDt_Y2nYIo_mJxDeszA3Kc5gcjd41sshK2GM5AxFDN4RN4aKCELU-nb-GfvD-NRewedBC-n6sYWBBc2F8L3cKHmhjV0A1ftvzpTCYPv8/s1600/DSCF2826.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhote_xx7OqzNDnJrA4laDtNcYMEvd0ZuXpWpmPDt_Y2nYIo_mJxDeszA3Kc5gcjd41sshK2GM5AxFDN4RN4aKCELU-nb-GfvD-NRewedBC-n6sYWBBc2F8L3cKHmhjV0A1ftvzpTCYPv8/s1600/DSCF2826.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vice's bridge, South Wigston</td></tr>
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Moving on, one of the bridges has a name to rather oversell this corner of South Wigston, namely Knight's bridge, suggesting South Kensington to the casual observer, and passing 6 miles out we get a good view of Blaby Mill, one of the few interesting buildings in the rather uninvolving landscape of South Leicestershire, and some interesting tree surgery going on in one back garden, featuring scaffold and a very large wood pile. Press on, and get the progress query from my parents, and I declare myself to be 40 minute plus a rest stop distant from the end on the day, and I stop for watering past Vice's bridge, where on the opposite, someone has created one of the manliest sheds imaginable, as if some very creative lads were give free reign to do over the back yard to their heart's content. Onward to find the abutments of the old Midland Line to Rugby, 1840 -1961, and the beginning of the long process of building the line to London, and it also seems that many of the houses of South Wigston have gone in for making the most of their back garden water feature, and the numerous terraces and summer houses behind the rather modest semis gives it a 'Keeping up with the Joneses' feel. Plough on as we slip into the open country for the final mile or so, with three more locks on the rising channel, and with a number of rather forlorn bridges rising over the channel, no longer used for agricultural passage and spalling badly, and not yet remote enough from civilisation to deter the graffiti artists. Trains passing on the East Midlands Main line indicate we are closing in on the finish, and the Kilby lock, the last of the day, has a gang of lads basking by it, obviously having had a dip in the canal earlier, and they clearly never saw the children's drama that I saw as a child where a boy drowned after diving in a lock, one of those TV traumas that ensured I always treated canals with a lot of respect. Hammer it on past 8 miles out to roll up around the wharf at Kilby Bridge, where the boating is active and the presence of a crane and a canal office gives it a time capsule image of which I approve, I rise from the path to cross Kilby Bridge, on the A5199, which will always be the A50 to me, to find my parents enjoying a cooling drink in the yard of the Navigation Inn On a day like this I will happily join them, and check my time keeping, a 3.25pm finish and seriously, you could set your watch by me!<br />
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Next on the Slate: <strike>Hot days promise to bring on the wet weather, so among the showers the Kirklees Way will finally make its appearance on my trail schedule.</strike> EDIT: Rain loses one day, tiredness another, and heat (and trains) a third, so I'm gonna wait out the hot season for more temperate times before the hills of kirklees come a-calling.<br />
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<strong>1,000 Miles Cumulative Total: 1199.7 miles</strong> <br />
(2014 total: 286.5 miles)<br />
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(Up Country Total: 1104.1 miles)<br />
(Solo Total: 984.3 miles)<br />
(Declared Total: 991.5 miles) Christopher Wrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09743749271457169317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9035497799018938871.post-61802102242294946082014-07-15T19:54:00.000+01:002014-08-10T15:57:13.631+01:00Wakefield to Barnsley 12/07/14So why walk to Barnsley, I keep promising it but it keeps on dropping from my schedule, so why does it need to be done? Well, I've never wandered that far into South Yorkshire in all my travels and only know the town from my rides through on the railway to Sheffield, and more pertinently, there's a canal walk to follow, one which I missed out on my travels in 2012 because a disused canal surely couldn't be as interesting as the six active waterways in West Yorkshire? As this year has taken a much greater interest in the trails of industry around the county, this seems as good a time as any to dive into the heart of coal country to see what's left of a canal that history seems to have completely forgotten, finally getting this off the slate of unwalked routes before the summer gets much older. Anyway the Barnsley Canal is too important a canal to ignore anyway, opened in 1799 and travelling 16 miles between Wakefield and Barugh, it was a booming route through much of the 19th century before the railways dominated the transportation of coal, providing a key link between the waterways of the Aire - Calder basin and the Dearne - Dove - Don basin to the south. It enjoyed a good 150 years of service before closure came in 1953, finally done in by declining traffic and the problem that has blighted South Yorkshire ever since the commencement of deep mining, subsidence, now a channel that has retreated far into the landscape, only to be rediscovered by the most intrepid of explorers.<br />
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<strong>Wakefield to Barnsley, via the Barnsley Canal and the Trans Pennine Trail 14.3 miles</strong><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Canal Toll House, Wakefield</td></tr>
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Start out from Wakefield Westgate station at 9.25am, still in the grip of redevelopment schemes and looking like it might look like someone cared for it once it's all done, and head out along a familiar looking route as the first mile is made out of waterside paths already traced, heading out over Chantry bridge and down the banks of the River Calder as the heat of Summer beats down even at this stage of the day, crossing over the throat of the Calder & Hebble at Fall Ing bridge, and finally getting sight of what's left of the inlet to the former Aire & Calder wharf on the bank opposite. Pass along under Foundry Shoal bridge, which looks disused but still carries the railway to Pontefract and Knottingley, as evidenced by the Grand Central train passing over it, London bound, and beyond we meet the edge of the site of Wakefield Power Station, active on the site from 1898 to 1991 and now a scene of post industrial desolation, where the cooling discharge channels could easily be mistaken for a canal inlet. The real canal inlet is hundred yards further on, well hidden away beneath a lot of greenery and only the railing angled away from the riverbank give the slightest hint as to its presence, whilst away from the river and under the cover of trees the channel of Oakenshaw beck could easily be mistaken for a canal remnant, but only served as the path of the waterway for five years before silting problems caused it to be rechannelled and the stream was returned to nature. The Barnsley canal is completely infilled here, with no traces at all to be seen from the footpath, and the shortest route over to Doncaster Road is to cut through the power station site, a complete trespass despite the routing of a well surfaced road, and a riot of ground up concrete and scrubby trees cover the site now, odd that redevelopment hasn't claimed this brown field yet or a right of way hasn't been blagged for the Trans Pennine Trail along this road. The gates remain by the main entrance but the surrounding fence offers no challenge whatsoever to the trespasser, and beyond we can wander down beneath the railway bridges over the A638 to see if there's a path down to the extent channel of canal towards Oakenshaw Lane, but there are no obvious access points, and far too much vegetation beyond so steps are retraced to cross back over where an unremarkable house sits by the roadside, rendered much more interesting when you find it was the cabal's toll house that stood at the top of the first sequence of locks that rose away from the Calder.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Restored Channel, Walton Colliery</td></tr>
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The shortest route to Oakenshaw lane is via a corner of Heath Common, only a couple of hundred metres in distance, but challenging going because of the shoulder high bracken growing all over it, which means cutting a circuitous route to avoid the worst of it, not the sort of going you expect on a canal walk. The road walking beyond is easier, joining the Trans Pennine Trail route southwards, passing over the Wakey - Ponty line, and the spur to the North Midland Main Line, and past Oakenshaw farm and between heavily weathered stone walls down to where the canal cut crosses the road, taking the path with despite no visible remnant of the channel by the road. The channel finally appears beneath the viaduct carrying the North Midland Main Line above it, active 1846 to 1976 (sort of) and obviously doubled at some point as iron girders and massive brick abutments have been added to the stone bridge, and as the cycle path goes on, the channel gradually turns from reed bed to ornamental pond to something that actually resembles a canal, hidden away by the shade of the trees. The path swings away from the canal to move through the edge of Walton Colliery Nature Park, which is the same mix of plant life as all the others, but provides tracks for riders and amblers of this quarter to enjoy, and the TPT swing on through it whilst I move to follow the canal more closely, passing over a nicely restored section, before it vanishes into a culvert and I pull up the road to Chevet Terrace, where some well kept former colliery houses endure close to the point where the NMML passes over the Wakey - Donny main line. Back on Oakenshaw lane to pass beneath another forgotten rail spur bridge and along the road past the various terrace of Walton, getting obviously smarter the further away they are from the colliery site. Pass under the tracks of the NMML again as I move on to School lane, heading into Walton proper, betwixt terraces and past the Victorian looking Walton Manor, passing over a hump backed bridge leading onto the track behind the allotments which requires a second look once I remember that is where the canal ran into Walton, midway up its lock flight and still faintly noticeable in the field boundaries to the north. I crack on around the local vegetable patch and around the sports fields to get up to Shay lane, being compelled to walk up the playing field because the right of way adjacent to it is severely overgrown, but I'm sure the folks at the sports and social club won't object.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhNhLEHJweESTr5Bdva4CDfif9mHqyN10eGZBiGHue-jXo24ibZzY8D_BtHRakHSnl5hRcDZtpXGTga98F1OmMaJNm2D5wVVsSKwnboxGoXEyxWzWKoTkfy86wlmMDOZX6qIF4_8FxpSs/s1600/DSCF2040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhNhLEHJweESTr5Bdva4CDfif9mHqyN10eGZBiGHue-jXo24ibZzY8D_BtHRakHSnl5hRcDZtpXGTga98F1OmMaJNm2D5wVVsSKwnboxGoXEyxWzWKoTkfy86wlmMDOZX6qIF4_8FxpSs/s1600/DSCF2040.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sike Lane bridge, Walton Hall Cut</td></tr>
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The cul-de-sac named Walton locks preserves the memory of the canal to the north of Shay Lane, and to the south the Trans Pennine Trail takes on the route of the lock flight up through the suburban sprawl of the village, a good track that seem to be enjoyed my many ambling locals but no cyclists to be obviously seen. It feels like an everyday suburban path as it rises and an eagle eye is needed to be alert for canal remnants, the bricks of a single wall of a lock chamber appearing to be the most substantial until the heavily overgrown chamber of the top lock is found, still intact along it full length and still looking relatively deep below the vegetation, and a mooring bollard remains in the stonework to let you know that this is definitely an aquatic remnant. The channel endures above it, as the path follows the original line of the towpath, finally with some cyclists on board, and it widens out to full width with a heavy bed of reeds as it passes the Waterton Park Golf Course clubhouse, and then passes beneath the unmistakeably shaped canal bridge that carries the road to leading to the hotel complex at Walton Hall. Beyond starts quite to most lovely and unexpected stretch of canal walking that I have encountered on all my trips, as the channel enters a heavily shaded cutting, hewn surprisingly deep into the rock, when I had expected little more than views across the rolling agricultural landscape. Cuttings on canal are rare, usually preferring to ascend above difficult terrain using locks, but here maybe it was to create a long top pound above the lands between the Calder and the Dearne, or maybe the folks at Walton Hall didn't want a canal interfering with their view back in the late 18th century? Who knows, it does give us the most pleasing and idyllic stretch, with water gradually filling out the channel as it emerges from beneath a covering of green weeds, and the path continues below heavy shading even once beyond the cutting, as cyclists start to emerge in much greater numbers, out to do their bit for British cycling after both Froome and Cavendish fell out of the Tour de France in the past week. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmYKNu_18UMnpCbdpyED3dusuA7BbBd2EACorGEGIzdb5DYdHlgoxSakLAqM2NRo5hZ1z1AiM3BorcZPqXUPGmCpgTx7xG1iovm5XVs-TUJTQcHDFzfcXpOWkB0SKyorQHIZd7w4hS8GM/s1600/DSCF2102.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmYKNu_18UMnpCbdpyED3dusuA7BbBd2EACorGEGIzdb5DYdHlgoxSakLAqM2NRo5hZ1z1AiM3BorcZPqXUPGmCpgTx7xG1iovm5XVs-TUJTQcHDFzfcXpOWkB0SKyorQHIZd7w4hS8GM/s1600/DSCF2102.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Navvy Bridge, Notton Cut</td></tr>
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The shading gets heavier still as the channel enters Haw Park Wood, taking a sharp right turn through 90 degrees and showing up one of the rope pulleys that were installed to aid passage of barges in the horsedrawn era, and the trail starts to feel remote as woods spread across the hillside on both sides of the channel. Below Haw Park bridge, the gouges made by towing ropes on the bridge abutment are clearly visible, even in the metal plating installed to reinforce and protect the stonework, providing a handy reminder of the bygone usage where the channel has dried up once more. Suddenly emerging onto the open edge of the dam of Cold Hiendley reservoir, the heat hit you hard, the shading having protected you from the radiant heat of the sun, and as you scurry out through the open, you can wonder how the canal used to fit into this landscape before this reservoir was built, and to look across the Heron action over the to the canal's feeder reservoir at Wintersett. Orientation is gained by spotting Wooley Edge to the north, the distinctive but not especially high point of Wakefield district, and as the track rejoins the channel beyond, I note that there are a lot of numbered cyclists out on the trail, all passing sequential order too, and I'm fascinated to know what they are all up to, but am far too timid to enquire. Cross Cold Hiendley Common Lane, which drivers seem to have mistaken for Silverstone, and continue along the channel as it moves out of another reedy phase and into a second rock cutting, not quite as dramatic as the one at Walton Hall, but the Notton cut has me again wondering at the prospects of this canal ever getting restored as these sections are to good to be enjoyed buy just cyclists and walkers, but the miles missing at the top and bottom probably render this one beyond the plans of even the most enthusiastic preservationists. I don't follow the approved TPT route as it rises out of the channel to cross Navvy Bridge, instead staying by the canal for as long as possible before it is culverted below the NMML, rising away from the cut to follow my homing instinct to find the way over the rails of the supposedly enduring railway and back onto the canal path, just shy of where the so-called Barnsley Coal Railway (1870-1961) passed over the railway and canal, the piers of the viaduct still sitting in the landscape cleft. That must mean we are close to the site of Royston shed, once one of the largest on the Midland railway, built to service both freight and passenger traffic throughout south Yorkshire, and now completely vanished from the landscape, hidden away somewhere deep in the forestry that has been grown extensively in this area. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhooEvCWmbOi30m_EEwPPxnYvjcQ26zdOWQwvt-BkG5Jc-7ubjoWO3G2wW8P7y3xL7KyhLyQ2NuljKADkZw88gPG_P4vz76zYS5Zlqg32ixUUmNRpF9-HwHW1aa5LUll2b01Rb3LnWs0Ek/s1600/DSCF2159.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhooEvCWmbOi30m_EEwPPxnYvjcQ26zdOWQwvt-BkG5Jc-7ubjoWO3G2wW8P7y3xL7KyhLyQ2NuljKADkZw88gPG_P4vz76zYS5Zlqg32ixUUmNRpF9-HwHW1aa5LUll2b01Rb3LnWs0Ek/s1600/DSCF2159.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Overgrown Channel, Royston</td></tr>
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The path remains high above both railway and canal for quite a distance, eventually descending to show that the canal has become quite the water feature, complete with shoals of large fish swimming just below the surface, and as the path continues it starts to look like this has become something of a minor reservoir, maybe something to do with the Monckton Coke works that stands a short distance away to the east, one of the few places in South Yorkshire where any visible evidence of the coal industry endures. The canal slips back into a reedy channel as its twists its way towards Royston, passing a former Inn in the lea below the embankment before petering out as houses and other buildings re-emerge into the landscape as the path meets Midland Road, back to civilisation and concluding one of the nicest passages of the year. Still plenty of going as the reedy channel continues southwards and the folks of Royston seem to be out in force to enjoy the path, all of them cheerful as you step out of the way of their buggies and bikes. I'm kinda surprised that the marshy and reed choked channel has endured through the town, you might have expected some officious health and safety bod to have insisted in be infilled, but clearly the resident of this former coal town know to treat it with respect. There's another canal house to spot by Church Hill, as the canal slips out into the countryside once more, not offering the same terrain as before, with far more grassed over spoil heaps lurking in the landscape, and the oddly outsized tower of Carlton Parish Church looming over the distant village, and as we pass another of those crossing paths that used to be a colliery branch, we need to find a spot for lunch in the shade as the heat is still pretty intense. A bench is found with relative ease after too many miles of finding none at all, and progress along the last stretch of visible canal requires keen wits as the path is not really wide enough to accommodate cyclists and walkers, and there's nowhere to hide either falling down the embankment on one side or into the water on the other. The canal channel then ends abruptly at Shaw Lane as the southward stretch disappears into the reclaimed land around Carlton colliery, and even with a map from the first half of the 20th century it would be hard to follow as the landscaped terrain offers no hints at all as where the channel may have once been.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMBb5tVl0deZo9geBTeNiJ_9BAykiFHGUdkvJqqVKWCfdZWyvHAEyS9Mf4LwlWpNrIl_ctZMptD2ewGQi6Hro19ZaOy2LqDSH4t4Y3JZVZFnKAmh_fg8grpNnkQAo6J625RDBjbgaYfGs/s1600/DSCF2233.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMBb5tVl0deZo9geBTeNiJ_9BAykiFHGUdkvJqqVKWCfdZWyvHAEyS9Mf4LwlWpNrIl_ctZMptD2ewGQi6Hro19ZaOy2LqDSH4t4Y3JZVZFnKAmh_fg8grpNnkQAo6J625RDBjbgaYfGs/s1600/DSCF2233.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not a Canal Bridge, Monk Bretton</td></tr>
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So the Trans Pennine trail is followed through it most prosaic of stretches, following the lane down to the boundary of the colliery site and down a path that feels unsuited to cyclists, running parallel to the NMML, still showing a single track that apparently still runs down to the sand works at Monk Bretton, and a look through the chain-link fence shows heavy plant still in place to grind up the physical remains of the old colliery before it enjoys its future as park for nature or business. Rising to landscaped fields beyond, we see that this is a leisure spot for the folks north of Barnsley to enjoy some outdoor activities as off-road bikers are tearing it up along the old railway track and a gang of model aeroplane enthusiasts are giving their machines a spin from higher up the hillside, and then the track drops to pass below a road that doesn't show up on my old E278, a new link road to keep traffic out of Monk Bretton and joining the A628 above Cudworth. Not sure why mounting block for horses have been installed down here but the graffiti that says 'Love Life' is a sentiment I can approve of, and we rise again to meet Far Field lane, running behind the Ardagh glassworks which dominates the scenery in this quarter, and experience seems to be showing that the heavy industry which endures in this country seems to be glass, I'm guessing because it's a tough one to transport half way around the world. Drop out on Fish Hill Lane, now on the very northern edge of Barnsley, and follow it down to the unappealing passageway that leads over to Burton Road, which is still good enough to be designated for walkers on the TPT. A bridge over an empty cutting looks like it might be the first canal remnant in a while, but a check on the map reveals it was railway, once a link to the NMML, but the canal wasn't too far distant from here, now hidden away somewhere below the reclaimed land south of Monk Terrace, another heavily landscaped area which once was home to Monk Bretton Colliery, and its passing probably ensured the canal disappearance just like it did at Carlton. I abandon the TPT to follow the cycle paths on the heavily darkened soil, which apparently trace the tow paths, but I can't be too sure about that as the cross the hill at weird angles, but don't get me lost despite the confusion they bring, and it was along here somewhere that the catastrophic breach of the canal in 1946 occurred, the incident which put the whole operation on the path to abandonment. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi6nngLt45fZZpTGNTctJqAOTzo2VSyEzsFHPhEZQhzfhk3zIi1xrzeRscLMxMI7PIN9_iZB6nHJxbOpT-cAm1nLQ6HnKTszN_64WLgQ6Z53dobp6OObj8iLSJUBZlPBbZ4cOv3vmlypA/s1600/DSCF2302.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi6nngLt45fZZpTGNTctJqAOTzo2VSyEzsFHPhEZQhzfhk3zIi1xrzeRscLMxMI7PIN9_iZB6nHJxbOpT-cAm1nLQ6HnKTszN_64WLgQ6Z53dobp6OObj8iLSJUBZlPBbZ4cOv3vmlypA/s1600/DSCF2302.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Restored Channel, Barnsley</td></tr>
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The path continues beyond Littleworth Lane as it descends behind the houses towards Rotherham Road, the A633 crossing over by the Hope Inn, and at the edge of the Dearne Valley Nature Park we get a brief view of Oakwell, Barnsley FC's ground on the other side of the valley. The path descends steeply, returning to the level of the canal, despite the apparent absence of lock on this valley side, and once a route that doesn't descend any further down the valley side is located we can march on through this surprisingly wild urban park along a broad grassy path which I can vouch for being the route of the canal. Admittedly it would be a hard sell to a casual observer, so it's good that a depression of the exact dimensions of the channel can be found in the landscape that confirms that the canal ran here. The path continues over a playing field and through more wild trees before descending to cross a light wooden footbridge that rises above the River Dearne, perched atop the remaining piers of the aqueduct over the valley, where another major leak closed the canal in 1911, and they show the cracks caused by subsidence which resulted in its demolition only a year after the closure of the canal in 1953. Rising to the south bank, we get a finale with the canal channel in water once again, the channel being restored in 1984 for a quarter mile section running to the west, though the celebrator plaque unfortunately claims it as a stretch of the Dearne and Dove canal, which actually junctioned off from here to east, another one looking to restoration in the future. This section is clearly the part of the park that the locals see more of, either taking their kids out for a stroll or pelting along on their bicycles, and the path follows on to the site of Harborough Hill bridge, where across the A61 and in the middle of the traffic island can be found the remains of Barnsley Wharf, the rear wall of which, complete with mooring rings, still stands at the back of the local branch of B&M Bargains, and I wonder how many shoppers would know that a major canal dockyard once stood here? That's the end of the canal walk for the day, the remaining miles will come when I follow the Dearne Valley Trail, and my destination lies at the end of a long pull away from the river valley alongside the A61, to spot the distinctive pile of Barnsley Town hall rising above the oddly colourful tower blocks of the town centre, and the walk to the railway station is lengthened by me missing the shortest route possible and having to detour through the car park of Gala Bingo to get onto Scwabish Gmund Way (?). All done at 2.50pm, which allows me enough time to choke at the cost of a ticket homeward, admire the steel artworks about the place and for me to finally obtain a picture of myself with all the letters of 'Barnsley Interchange' visible within the frame behind me.<br />
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Next on the Slate: NIW and Down Country for more Canal Walking.<br />
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<br />
<strong>1,000 Miles Cumulative Total: 1183.5 miles</strong> <br />
(2014 total: 270.3 miles)<br />
<br />
(Up Country Total: 1104.1 miles)<br />
(Solo Total: 968.1 miles)<br />
(Declared Total: 975.3 miles) Christopher Wrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09743749271457169317noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9035497799018938871.post-13566954567063920802014-07-08T21:12:00.000+01:002014-09-25T22:05:48.461+01:00Tour de Yorkshire: Le Grand Départ 05/07/14When Leeds and Yorkshire won the rights to host <em>Le Grand Départ</em> of the 2014 Tour de France, I thought is would be quite an event and provide a grand day out for fanatics and spectators of cycling throughout the north country, but my actual interest in going to see it myself were pretty limited. I've never been much of a cyclist, last riding regularly when there were 8s in the year, and as a fan my interest in Le Tour was strong during the Miguel Indurain years and lapsed hard due to the 'dominance' of Lance Armstrong, only to revive again when Great Britain hatched a scheme to dominate track cycling through the 2008 and 2012 Olympics. Having Bradley Wiggins and Chris Froome winning in consecutive years ensured that would never be a better occasion to have three days of racing in these isles, but my distaste for crowds and the chaos that comes with them had my mind entirely prepared to be heading in the completely opposite direction, for wandering alone where I could continue to enjoy the solitude. Only it was when less than a week until the curtain raiser did I find myself actually engaged by the prospect, thanks largely to my Sister's encouragement, and a scheme had to be hatched to get me to the roadside, in a spot that might be relatively quiet, and that would have to involve some outside the box thinking, and so on to Wharfedale, for my only visit for the entire year.<br />
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<strong>Le Grand Départ: Burley in Wharfedale to Guiseley 4.4 miles</strong><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rail Trauma at Morley</td></tr>
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An early start is essential when reports are suggesting that more then a Million people are expected to be lining the 118 miles of roads that the first day will be taking from Leeds to Harrogate via the Dales, but even starting out for the 7.56am train out of Morley seems to be a fool's errand as the crowd awaiting it is larger than any group of commuters that I have seen, even when trains have mysteriously disappeared from the schedule. When it does arrive, Northern Rail are not shown to be covering themselves in glory, as they've sent a 142 pacer on the service, a stupid little two carriage unit that barely has any capacity at the best of times and is completely rammed to the gills today. It departs having not let a single person on board, so I have to flex my ingenuity to cross to the westbound platform, to catch the train to Dewsbury instead, knowing that the promise of extra coaches has no been fulfilled and that extra services run by DRS are not going to provide any use to the irritable crowds waiting at Morley and Batley. At least the TPE services stop at Dewsbury to give the option of catching an opening, and the first to arrive has all the people who missed the local service cramming into it, fitting us all in by invading the first class compartment and I don't think there's a railman in the county who would challenge us in these circumstances. Slowly roll our way to Leeds, eventually, where the scenes are not as chaotic as they could be, but still exceed any regular travel scenario, but I'm glad to not be going anywhere near the barrier, figuring that few people will be travelling out to Wharfedale when the bike race is starting in the city. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The A65 gets taken over</td></tr>
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That analysis turns out to be completely wrong, and the 9.02am train to Ilkley is already filling up when I arrive and also squeezes in people to well past capacity point by the time it sets off, rolling very slowly out towards Wharfedale, enduring long stops at Menston and Guiseley as more crowds wonder why there are so many people travelling on their local trains. I'd feel bad for taking their spot if it wasn't for the fact that they really do live close enough to walk to one of the valley's spectator hubs, and I jump off when the third stop rolls up at 9.35am, Burley in Wharfedale, which I assume will be quieter than the major draws at Otley and Ilkley, but the crowds descending Station Road indicate that there are still plenty of locals and visitors in the area, and my perceived 'quiet' vantage point is going to be nothing of the sort. The crowds divide on Main Street, but only because there are three access points to the A65 bypass where the riders will be passing, and as I head for the western traffic island it becomes apparent that my planned destination at the section where the dual carriageway ends is not going to work out as a grandstand has been assembled upon it and stewards are shooing people away from the roundabout to prevent congestion. So a spot has to found along the bypass itself, where crowds are already filling up the central reservation, and I have to go a couple of hundred metres along before I can slot into a gap between two larger parties of folks, to gain my own spot by the crash barrier with a good sight line off to the east. The extended family to my right are good company, but the group to my left are less favourable, a group of post-grads, no less, all southern, all posh and with far too much braying laughter, extended vowel sounds and weird abbreviations, indeed when someone says '<em>Holibobs</em>', it's really hard to resist the urge to get punchy, not the sort of people I like in close proximity.. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Welcome to Yorkshire!</td></tr>
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But anyway, my attention is here to be turned to the cycling, still over 2 hours distant when I've set out my stall, though there is still enough happening on the westbound carriageway to grab the attention as it passes by. The road turns out to be a lot more open than you'd think, still open to every amateur and club cyclist that wants to have a moment in the spotlight, and the passing merchandise vans can garner a lot of attention, at least once the people have gained an understanding of their announcements, which they still insist in making in French. There's also the police, in ridiculously huge numbers, processing in their own motorcades, and it's puzzling as to why so many members of the<em> Gendarmerie</em> have been brought over to ride their motorcycles on the route, and I figure that most of West Yorkshire constabulary are out on these roads today, and I doubt they have ever felt so appreciated in their lives as every passing cavalcade garners applause and cheers. Real excitement starts when the <em>Caravanne</em> starts to pass around 10.20am, the promotional hoopla which allow the Tour's sponsors to get an excess of free promotion, and it's good to see that the Welcome to Yorkshire get prominent placement at the head of the convoy, just behind the Tour's lead vehicles, as the tourism organisation has really done themselves proud in their work to get the Tour de France in the county. Another notable winner has to be Skoda, as nearly every official race car and team vehicle is an Octavia, so it's good to see the company has become a picture of reliability and efficiency after decades of being perceived as a joke, the only French car to be seen is an ancient soft top Renault, complete with an strapped-in accordion playing man perched on its back seat, for extra Gallic flavour.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiohFrkM3f6aN87pkYO9Og9Qs6S6ol0SduoNWUW5CqaXELZLa0aE3UVl4MYFjeUj-5COMTTMr6Biul4TNmMFs3JmiB6oM5HwuMiuui4yEdBLMlDv5A5jVrLK2FOUYciLX6X5T7NL-JHckA/s1600/DSCF1508.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiohFrkM3f6aN87pkYO9Og9Qs6S6ol0SduoNWUW5CqaXELZLa0aE3UVl4MYFjeUj-5COMTTMr6Biul4TNmMFs3JmiB6oM5HwuMiuui4yEdBLMlDv5A5jVrLK2FOUYciLX6X5T7NL-JHckA/s1600/DSCF1508.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Soviet-inspired Fruit Shoot</td></tr>
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Floats are the major order of most of the<em> Caravanne</em>, so tour sponsors can get maximum exposure for their money, some designed in such a way that you wonder where the driver is supposed to fit into it, and others taking an extremely creative approach to design, with both Fruit Shoot and Cono Sur favouring a design with their outsize bottles displayed as if missiles on a Soviet military parade, mounted on the back of Hackney Carriages in the case of the latter. McCain's Oven Chips have bought their own mobile bags and a whole mock tractor mounted on a waggon, whilst Bic advertise both Biros and lighters in a grand scale. Carrefour have brought an entire mountain range on their trucks, but will it make enough English people aware of a mostly French brand? and the same could be thought for other products that haven't crossed the channel to my knowledge, like Krys, RAGT Semeneces or Teisseire, though Region Nord - Pas de Calais do bring a timely reminder of an important centennial anniversary that shouldn't be forgotten, namely the outbreak of the First World War. Those that just brought a fleet of promotional cars like P&O Ferries and Festina must feel like they should have made a better effort to be distinctive, but we do find out that Sheffield Hallam University had their own fleet of branded Land Rovers, indeed who knew? We even get some vans throwing free samples of their wares to the crowd, safe enough if it's a bag of Haribo, less so if it's a box of Yorkshire Tea, which hits one of our Hooray Henrys squarely in the head, to much hilarity. That's a solid 25 minutes of excitement<strong> </strong>before the road reverts to use by mostly police and club cyclists, and that's cue<strong> </strong>to grab an early lunch and watch for antics in the crowd, and many kids out playing and cycling ensure entertainment during the quiet minutes.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQE1SlwSWgZXeWQLy7RP4ypKsZ_GFBeGJaxhIqfiEmrGVtei2_oAOdlLsCHa35sjXW7z_r2U0wA2RmchBJrCy3Q0AWByp_uKjtMImGAG5BZrV-s26ifdNa_k6tiIRvIV1AFq-RqBJZmWQ/s1600/DSCF1649.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQE1SlwSWgZXeWQLy7RP4ypKsZ_GFBeGJaxhIqfiEmrGVtei2_oAOdlLsCHa35sjXW7z_r2U0wA2RmchBJrCy3Q0AWByp_uKjtMImGAG5BZrV-s26ifdNa_k6tiIRvIV1AFq-RqBJZmWQ/s1600/DSCF1649.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Early Breakaway</td></tr>
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Helicopter action starts to become apparent after 11am, as the riders have set out from Leeds for an hour of processional riding before the official start at Harewood House, and around 11.40am, the parade of team cars and police starts through, in such numbers that you wonder how so many people and vehicles are needed on the race, especially when those preceding it don't have an obvious support function. Discounting the<em> Caravanne</em>, I'm pretty sure that there must be well in excess of 200 cars, vans and motorcycles on the road, so even if you think that the race is done within a few minutes, there must be an hour's worth of traffic on the roads. Passing the official start at 12pm, the excitement starts to build, with the air so thick with helicopters that we could be in an outtake from Apocalypse Now, and every passing vehicle is thought to maybe herald the arrival of the race, even though a check on any mobile device would tell you that the race is still some minutes distant. The cue is thus taken from following the path of the helicopter that is obviously tracking the race, and recalling the priority of vehicles on the road, press preceding police, followed by the official car of the race director, and after that, at 12.21pm the early breakaway riders hurry through, already so far ahead of the field that some spectators assume that they are not actually part of the race at all. They are though, three of them, Benoit Jarrier and Nicholas Edet are a pair not recognisable to me, but I do know the name of Jens Voigt, the oldest man on the Tour and an inspiration to cyclists over the age of 40 everywhere, a cyclist noted for his combative style and bidding for a day of fame in what is probably his last racing season.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Team Sky</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe_EJAR57iBkOSa3oxmgteoJ-y_vJscBwOk0VdLYC4e7dQoiy0zewR5GBSTnJRYlwbMKwaQDu6Nq18qrVispXWX9TEYqe7b0T6d5tHWMVzxkfgCmODSCQItbxgxeOK46BkpYAndnYY89k/s1600/DSCF1679.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe_EJAR57iBkOSa3oxmgteoJ-y_vJscBwOk0VdLYC4e7dQoiy0zewR5GBSTnJRYlwbMKwaQDu6Nq18qrVispXWX9TEYqe7b0T6d5tHWMVzxkfgCmODSCQItbxgxeOK46BkpYAndnYY89k/s1600/DSCF1679.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Peloton</td></tr>
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More than 2 minutes pass before the <em>Peloton</em> comes into view, going at quite a speed on this level road, with a number of teams grouped at the front to keep the pace up and a far cry from the chaotic mess of colours that can come along later in the stage, I guess all the legs are feeling fresh only 25 minutes into the day. Team Sky has positioned itself right up close to the front, so the crowd can see and vociferously cheer on Chris Froome and Mark Cavendish, the Kenyan and Manxman who are now our local heroes, and the whole mass of riders is an immensely powerful sight, and I'm glad I've had plenty of practise photographing the prior traffic so the I've got my technique down once all the real riders come through. The whole bulk of the <em>Peloton</em> right down to the back marker (having already had a mechanical problem this early in the day!) has gone through in only a minute, but the procession of team cars and official vehicles takes three more to follow on, carrying more bicycles than could ever possibly needed, and just trying to absorb the logistics of the whole event makes my head hurt, and the race has officially passed once the<em> Fin de Course</em> van has moved on, leaving the road clear for club cyclists and amateurs to resume their dreams of glory, mere minutes behind the greatest bike race on earth. All done in six minutes, and many would wonder if it is worth it to see a bunch of cyclists race past you at speed, to which I can only say Hell Yes, it really is quite an experience, one that could almost be described as a carnival atmosphere, and Burley in Wharfedale really has pulled out all the stops to provide entertainment and sustenance for the thousands who have descended on the village, I'd be tempted to join in and linger if it wasn't for me feeling crowded out and somewhat sore after too many minutes of standing bent over a crash barrier at an awkward angle.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghOux96hN15uFdcWqiC7QM3MJqYtcDRcP6GHCCppBqm44ZbqYx6k1Dmj9OHlU2xIzE41V1Yxq8O_Za-xsYphPhYNVZCqMxpbpwbyiWNHkwWotZmhzkxdoHZk45gMyIr0GGfWdK3sTmD38/s1600/DSCF1773.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghOux96hN15uFdcWqiC7QM3MJqYtcDRcP6GHCCppBqm44ZbqYx6k1Dmj9OHlU2xIzE41V1Yxq8O_Za-xsYphPhYNVZCqMxpbpwbyiWNHkwWotZmhzkxdoHZk45gMyIr0GGfWdK3sTmD38/s1600/DSCF1773.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reclaiming the Streets</td></tr>
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I had hoped to tack on an additional walk to the day, heading over Burley Moor towards Baildon or Shipley, but I'm feeling a bit too tired for that, and I'm going to have to put some miles on anyway as there's no public transport in Wharfedale that isn't trains, and I don't fancy another rail trauma to add to the one that I endured in the morning. The walk was to be functional and necessary, so not really inclusive to my 1,000 mile trip, but I've decided to count them anyway as I'm not going to get another opportunity to include the A65 Burley bypass on a walking day, so they go on, and I'm going to need exercise to justify my lunch as well. Head east as the spectators and fans start to dissipate, or rather clog up the exit points along the bypass, and a keen eye and ear are needed to keep clear of the many two wheeled folks out on the road, and there may be no actual traffic on the A65, but that doesn't mean there's no risk of getting run down. It's almost a Reclaim the Streets atmosphere out on the bypass, part of you wishes it were possible to picnic out on the road as it will be some hours before the traffic is returned, but I cannot linger as I need to put down three miles in the coming hour, heading for the gap between Rombalds Moor and Otley Chevin , at least once the long mile of the bypass has ended and the Bradford Road - Burley Road section of the A65 is met and an ascent away from Wharfedale can start. It's a familiar bunch of profiles on the horizons, and suburbia next to the fields surrounding us as around a hundred other people make the walk towards Menston in the hope of improved transport prospects, but I'm going to press on to Guiseley as that is were the nearest available bus can be found, as well as lunch at the Wetherby Whaler, a satisfying fill up before catching the #33 for an hour+ trip back to the city.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4LOXpiKVhAgWga5DwMwIwz1y79Y8FALxf3iWAFQ3Lf5DoYSWoFQQgPT2Zl0MPAr9VLv6byfbQq2lZSU8P1r4izjrOGQlN84ejGTuNDLY_k_q8_LBh2SV2wCPju5Hp2uaOZ955Sf4F_n8/s1600/DSCF1849.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4LOXpiKVhAgWga5DwMwIwz1y79Y8FALxf3iWAFQ3Lf5DoYSWoFQQgPT2Zl0MPAr9VLv6byfbQq2lZSU8P1r4izjrOGQlN84ejGTuNDLY_k_q8_LBh2SV2wCPju5Hp2uaOZ955Sf4F_n8/s1600/DSCF1849.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leeds Town Hall</td></tr>
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I'm not going to make for home right away, instead getting off at the bus station to take a wander through Leeds city centre to take a proper look at the decoration of the city before it all moved on. There's banners along the length of Eastgate, still barricaded off and showing its symmetrical profile for the last time before the demolition of its southern side is completed so the city can have its sixth shopping centre, and the Headrow looks good quiet, with art works describing the cycling routes along various telephone junction boxes and adornments added to the front of a couple of pubs, whilst the people have all bee crowded onto Briggate to watch the unfolding race on the big screen, making that road's foot traffic problems even worse. The Light has been renamed<em> La Lumiere</em> for the occasion and the plan tub along the central reservation clad in yellow, green and polka dots, but missing out on white, disappointingly. The grandstands opposite the Art gallery have gone already, but the merch stands and hoopla remain, and a decent crowd remains outside the Town hall, which I can hope retains its dressing for the duration of the tour, as that would be a nice touch, and the Town hall tavern and Makin Dixon Solicitors win the awards for the best dressed establishments along the road, whilst even the vacant shops opposite the town hall have been yellowed up for the occasion. The other corner of the town to do well is City Square, and much has been made of the Yellow jerseys added to the statues of the Black Prince and Even, but despite looking like the works of pranksters, they were officially sanctioned, and my favourite Tour street art has to be the old red phone boxes repainted in the four tour colours and advertising cycling routes in difficulties ranging from today's Stage One to a short trip along the canal. I also wonder if the city has any second hand bikes left too, as so many have been sprayed yellow and deposited around the city, and it's also possible that some might linger in the landscape for a while, like the one hung on the Park Plaza hotel.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsLPBf3ZBOjRY9jt9c_7hO4L_DayFc042diaY5_RT_drpTJ_NPxo0Cmtih7mW7vpXuT_3kWYhOXKkyoA_iSP01iaXlIUD9szftVSOe046ql2qn7m4C791Ek1fv0Cv0SiEWFlXwbmVLbs8/s1600/DSCF1862.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsLPBf3ZBOjRY9jt9c_7hO4L_DayFc042diaY5_RT_drpTJ_NPxo0Cmtih7mW7vpXuT_3kWYhOXKkyoA_iSP01iaXlIUD9szftVSOe046ql2qn7m4C791Ek1fv0Cv0SiEWFlXwbmVLbs8/s1600/DSCF1862.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even dressed up in Yellow</td></tr>
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Homeward bound through the railway station, where normal Saturday service seems to have been resumed, much to the relief of Northern Rail's staff I'm sure, and I hope that the various colourful decals and cycle tracks stuck onto the walls and floor of the overbridge are allowed to stay there for a long time, as it would be as good a venue as any for a lasting memorial for the biggest day in Leeds sporting history, ever? Back to Morley just in time to see my video tape run out (yes I still use one of those) and to catch the last minutes of the cycling day as the Tour arrives in Harrogate, as my homeward trip has taken nearly as long as the entirety of Stage One, to see Marcel Kittel claim the stage win and to see Mark Cavendish crash out painfully in the race to the line. All told, a day in the North Country that maybe a million people out on the streets and roadsides won't be forgetting in a hurry, but sadly the only day of it that I will be catching in person, as my opportunity to see Stage two roll right past the front door of my friends in Mytholmroyd is passed up because I am feeling the need for sleep, and cannot honestly face another day of traumatic transport that might abandon me in Calderdale. Still, it's worth catching on the TV so that I can see the many places between York and Sheffield that my wandering has taken me along the route of Stage Two, as well as reacting with awe at the crowds that have accumulated on Blubberhouses Moor, Blackstone Edge and Holme Moss, as well as enjoying the presentation of long-time favourites, Gary Imlach, Phil Ligget and Paul Sherwen, and hoping that someone along the way might say to Ned Boulding 'Ey Up, Lad, are you Chris Boardman?'.<br />
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Next on the Slate: I am <em>definitely</em> walking to Barnsley.<br />
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<strong>1,000 Miles Cumulative Total: 1169.2 miles</strong> <br />
(2014 total: 256 miles)<br />
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(Up Country Total: 1089.8 miles)<br />
(Solo Total: 953.8 miles)<br />
(Declared Total: 961 miles) Christopher Wrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09743749271457169317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9035497799018938871.post-75116135106715142902014-06-24T22:25:00.001+01:002014-07-04T23:13:52.485+01:00Hadfield to Penistone 21/06/14Top of the year already, and I rarely get out to do anything with the longest day before the decline of Summer kicks in, so as we are entering the final corner of my three year odyssey this seems like a cue for a long day on the trail, aiming for the second most talked about route of all the paths that I have been considering over the last few years, namely the Woodhead Route, the late and lamented Manchester, Sheffiled & Lincolnshire Railway / Great Central Railway line from Hadfield to Penistone, now enduring as the central stretch of the Trans Pennine Trail. A big day also deserves company, and I request the company of my good friend MW, himself a keen walker and in the midst of his own voyage of experience in his 40th year, so that me might share a social expedition that the previous years have missed. Even before we have set out he has shown his value, acknowledging that a train ride from Leeds to Hadfield is unduly long and expensive, and that alighting at Stalybridge and getting a taxi will cut 40 mins of time and £10+ from travel costs. So onwards into virgin territory for the both of us, starting out on the very fringe of Greater Manchester, but actually with the High Peak District of Derbyshire, and it you'd like an alternative perspective on the day, hop over to <a href="http://backwardslion.wordpress.com/2014/06/24/going-for-a-stroll-in-the-countryside-and-ranting-about-cross-border-train-fares/" target="_blank">MW's blog</a> to enjoy a much brisker and more engaging writing style.<br />
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<strong>Hadfield to Penistone, via the Trans Pennine Trail 16.5 miles</strong><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Padfield Main Road bridge</td></tr>
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It's a 10.15am start from outside Hadfield station, setting off once MW has gotten his Garmin fired up, and this is another reason that he is useful walking company, as I have always relied on only a watch and dead reckoning for my time keeping, not yet having been tempted to allow technology to aid me on my travels, but in retrospect, it would have been useful to have had my own GPS to use throughout my 1,000 mile odyssey. A device will also give you a good reason to keep your pace up too, as it can give you constant feedback on your progress, making you feel like you should be putting in a lot more effort than having a mere dawdle, so whilst this is a long day in terms of mileage, out electronic motivator will ensure that this is far from the longest day on the trail. It's only a short walk from the station along Platt Street to the path up to the railway line, and we are soon off on the Longdendale Trail, passing the local walkers and riders of High Derbyshire, and the early going is relatively enclosed, with only Padfield Main Road bridge interrupting the tree lined cutting as we move into the Peak District national park, so chatter rules our early steps and I'll whiffle on about railway history for anyone who might be interested to listen. The original trans Pennine line was built in 1845, and absorbed into the into the MS&LR in 1847 (renamed as the GCR in 1897), it was the company's premiere route until the construction of the London extension, and it's lifeblood was always coal, and the heavy traffic from the South Yorkshire coalfield to Lancashire fuelled the need for innovation, making it the first electrified main line using overhead wires in 1953. Passenger service were controversially lost in 1970, redirected to the Hope Valley line, and all services ceased in 1981 due to the declining coal traffic and the cost of maintaining the non-standard 1,500 volt DC locomotives and power supply, a considerable loss when you consider that a third of a century later, thoughts are now turning back to high speed rail and transport improvements in the north of England. Still, a number of the line's locomotives had a second life working in the Netherlands, and it is worth going to see the Class 77 now preserved at MOSI, as <em>Ariadne</em> is one of the few electric locomotives that actually looks powerful, you really have got to love the practises of massive over-engineering which endured well into the 1950s. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Torside reservoir</td></tr>
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Once we've got some distance out from our start point, we can feel like we are now out on our own, far from settlement and the hills and valleys of Longdendale roll themselves out to give us an impressive amphitheatre to roam within, with wooded hillsides rising to the moorlands above, with reservoirs dwelling at the valley floor, five of them in total, the lower pair being Bottoms and Valehouse. This territory is new for both of us, and we spend quite some time pondering why we haven't come this was in all our travels, having preferred to head north to the wild hills and valleys of the Yorkshire Dales, and we figure it must be due to the relative expense of travelling into Lancashire, as the pounds per mile differential is much worse when heading west and crossing the border, it must surely be a conspiracy to keep Yorkshire folk in our place (even adopted ones like both of us). Relatively level going alongside Rhodeswood reservoir, mostly hidden by trees, has us pondering on the explosion of interest in cycling in recent years, and numerous riders pass us as we go, MW illustrating the poor technique which many possess, and I wonder why my desire to ride stopped when there were regularly 8s in the year, eating the pavement too many times is my best guess. Still, the Tour de France is only a couple of weeks distant from its Grand Depart in Leeds, and it's due out here on day 2 as well, and I've no idea how I'm going to fit in a trip to see it, whilst MW planned ahead and bagged a marshaling role, even if he has to be ready to work at 5am on a Saturday morning! A confusing moment comes as the path seems to disappear as it crosses the B6105 Woodhead Road, as it hairpins twice to prevent cyclists barrelling into the roadway, now realigned in the spot where it used to bridge the track, and then the trail goes quiet for a while as if this is as far as the non-hardcore trail lovers venture. It would be a mistake to not travel further though, as the next opened out view is a gem, as the waters of Torside reservoir spread below, complete with numerous boats, and the rolling hills to the north illustrate the route of the Pennine Way to the north, in the direction of Laddow rocks and Black Hill. To the south is Torside clough, a particularly massive gash into the gritstone, along the edge of which the Pennine Way drops into the valley, and the adventurous parts of our natures have us wondering if a visit to Bleaklow could be conceivable from this path. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGM3r2sPyWvKQc0bfY9GbqRDLhCsr4_Cce70NSua37_h7gB5jhyphenhyphenQ01fA65XWqeJC5AizqVq_P1J1MMzBxDkTmUBvhl-wr_5eggoDMnNLfPQ9CewDS75FblEZW7ImcWSgvu7-Zt0OxEFKQ/s1600/DSCF1172.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGM3r2sPyWvKQc0bfY9GbqRDLhCsr4_Cce70NSua37_h7gB5jhyphenhyphenQ01fA65XWqeJC5AizqVq_P1J1MMzBxDkTmUBvhl-wr_5eggoDMnNLfPQ9CewDS75FblEZW7ImcWSgvu7-Zt0OxEFKQ/s1600/DSCF1172.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Woodhead tunnels</td></tr>
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Push on to keep up the pace, as the track encloses again and the day starts to brighten somewhat, and we press on alongside the barely seen reservoir again, as the moorlands of the Dark Peak rise to the south, and part of the track along here seems to have become a water feature of some size, though I can't tell if it was by accident or design. Eventually the track rises to meet the road once more, as it crosses the dam of Woodhead Reservoir, and we keep to the south bank as we pass over the site of Crowden station, which never really served any settlement of note, and to this day the station houses are derelict and not redeemed as holiday homes, and conversations reveal that if money were to come our ways, a getaway in the country would be on both our priorities list. Parallel tracks exist along here for some reason, one of which exist for National Grid access purposes, I think, but we are sticking to the rougher of the tracks and MW is thrilled that his lightweight trail shoes are doing him proud whilst I'm hammering away in the usual heavy boots, and I find myself wishing that the TdF would be taking this track on 6th July, rather than giving the road racers and easier (relatively) time on the A6024 and A628. A glance to the descending road from the north east reveals a view up the cleft of Heyden Brook towards Holme Moss, with the transmitter appearing over the hillside to give you the feeling that you are quite close to home territory, even when it is some three miles distant from here, and pretty far from anywhere on the other side. Converging valley sides and gathering pylons indicate that we are approaching the top of Longdendale, and the site of Woodhead station appears surprisingly quickly, and beyond there is the engineering point of interest for the whole trail, namely the three Woodhead tunnels, much closer to the path than I anticipated but still hidden away by lots of industrial fencing. The first pair of single bores were completed in 1845 and 1853, and at 3 miles long were remarkable achievements when considered that the railway age was still in its infancy at the time, they were hellacious to work though, and were replaced by the double width Woodhead #3 tunnel in 1953 when the line was electrified. Now they are all in the hands of National Grid, and electrical cables are fed through them, completely precluding them from used for transport purposes for a generation or more, such a sad end when you know there could be a cycle track beneath the Pennines or a future High Speed line cut through these hills. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhisRa0Jv_EicFb_LHICUvkPsij0wL0_A8Zp2MUN3gxIjld0C91BF9ALEH8ibXK6YhdfFjWfio5NsuGTqEGvl6_jRpair2lzp4LRAtkNeodGjT4C0P7N7X22qonlbhzqKZVXFcoBroXdjs/s1600/DSCF1185.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhisRa0Jv_EicFb_LHICUvkPsij0wL0_A8Zp2MUN3gxIjld0C91BF9ALEH8ibXK6YhdfFjWfio5NsuGTqEGvl6_jRpair2lzp4LRAtkNeodGjT4C0P7N7X22qonlbhzqKZVXFcoBroXdjs/s1600/DSCF1185.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Longdendale</td></tr>
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Still, it's not fun and games for those who do work underground though, as signage adds to the usual risks of falls & trips, machines & noise, the much more dangerous prospect of Weil's disease, so the prospect of bacterial infection and kidney failure is perhaps a good reason to be staying above ground as we depart the railway alignment, having done the first 6.5 miles in 2 hours on the nose. According to MW's Garmin, we haven't just maintained a healthy 3+ mph, we have already burned enough calories to earn a pub lunch, but as we are in the middle of nowhere we will have to do with a light watering before heading uphill on the track to the path over the moorland. At the crossing of the A628, the view down Longdendale is one worthy of applause, despite the substation parked with in it and a look south along the continuing cleft of the River Etherow has us pondering the well made path heading high onto the moors of Bleaklow, as if it might create a future circular walk out from Hadfield. We ascend, meeting cyclists resting midway along their stretch, loving the ride but lamenting a surface that is destroying their tyres, and favouring a ride back along the road rather than hitting the moorland, for that is were we will be progressing, hammering it some 50m of rapid elevation to meet the old track across Woodhead Moor, and to meet some moorland cattle, who look about as wild as cows can get, clearly these are hardy beasts who do not need a lot of tending. The old road, since supplanted by the A628 provides good going, a nicely solid surface that the rules say you could drive a horse and buggy over, if you so wished, and we meet the only major walking party of the day as we traverse, heading over to Longdendale and probably out from a very early start in Penistone. Moorland grandeur rules for a while, again showing up the differing characters of gritstone country, with green grass spread over the hills to the north and the dark heather clad bogs to the south stretched across the mass of Bleaklow, the sort of territory that I have still managed to avoid in all my trails, because long miles over the moors still fail to appeal when no escape route is obvious. Chatter has exhausted our funds of walking stories as we cross the A628, and we're deep into the 'religion & politics' part of the day as we descend to cross Salter's Brook, above which the main road has a most impressive embankmented bridge, and that marks our transition out of Derbyshire, and back to Yorkshire, but this is the Southern quarter, and it's my first footfalls in these parts, so that's another new county onto the list at this late juncture.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYZbKkIuSXcU9Wa-7j6DOcnFAlASiDKDoT1a1tX_DP_eClJQtRh2of2vP5cDEJVoT0tBnJKnUH-Ey8-TbrTP1m12230UBYfI6kEpg0LxfP631J6_vjEjUp3DroM6_6rUxrGz12ANvulmw/s1600/DSCF1226.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYZbKkIuSXcU9Wa-7j6DOcnFAlASiDKDoT1a1tX_DP_eClJQtRh2of2vP5cDEJVoT0tBnJKnUH-Ey8-TbrTP1m12230UBYfI6kEpg0LxfP631J6_vjEjUp3DroM6_6rUxrGz12ANvulmw/s1600/DSCF1226.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Woodhead moor</td></tr>
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The track tacks back uphill, passing abandoned sherpherding shelters and exposed rock strata, as well as the only notable growth of trees on the Moor as we return to the road once again, and as MW is the first to spot the massive ventilation shaft of the tunnel, conversation turns to another topic which fascinates us both, Urban Exploration. We are so glad that we live in the internet age with this one, because we both lack the fearlessness needed to venture into the abandoned and sealed buildings and structures of the industrial age, and instead can appreciate the work of those who do at a remove without risk to health or well being, though Woodhead tunnel should be considered completely out of bounds these days, even to the boldest of adventurers. 2 miles of moorland track ends as we cross the A628 for one last time, and hit the surfaced old moorland road down towards Dunford Bridge, not busy enough to be dangerous but still having enough traffic to warrant single file walking, and it's only a short way along to meet the summit of the Trans Pennine Trail, at 435m. That's a good spot to stop for lunch, sitting in the tussocky grass and observing just how bold you have to be as a road cyclist when slowly ascending among the traffic on the A628, as well as looking east into South Yorkshire and realising that we are pretty stuck for land marks in this part of the world, neither of us able to identify anything on the distant horizon. It's a solid mile of downhill walking after food time, down Windle Edge, with the Windleden reservoirs lying in the clough below us and Winscar reservoir sitting high above the valley to the north, almost as if its dam sits directly above the eastern portals of Woodhead tunnel, and before us the Don Valley opens out, with numerous wind farms sat above it, and as this is Sheffield's major river, we can feel ourselves to really be in a different part of the world now. Pylons reappearing in the landscape must meas we are nearly upon Dunford Bridge, which is really little more than a hamlet with a pub, and two bridges, but a peer over the first of them gives us a look at the tunnel portals once more, and they may be lost to access but at least they are still visible, with impressively gouged rock cuttings leading up to them. A check of the Garmin confirms our slower speed over the top, even with the lunch break, but as it's 2pm on the nose, we are looking good to make the train that I had figured might be just beyond our range, and so the going keeps good as the legs keep going.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOT4OE0v2A7op-7hm_fMzImfwFy3ZgojlTiWta9js8Sq7EMq3A9uevulV_Nh7auhAlAS5C6XoxiFZ5mi4O4FgoYLzsiK1YjLJZ-5tuke_AXzMS5zMPwrES4ujlF1A5dvf_oVh_Kn6rH9U/s1600/DSCF1277.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOT4OE0v2A7op-7hm_fMzImfwFy3ZgojlTiWta9js8Sq7EMq3A9uevulV_Nh7auhAlAS5C6XoxiFZ5mi4O4FgoYLzsiK1YjLJZ-5tuke_AXzMS5zMPwrES4ujlF1A5dvf_oVh_Kn6rH9U/s1600/DSCF1277.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hazlehead station house</td></tr>
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Returning to the railway path, we now start down the Upper Don trail but we are not far through the car park and beyond the tracks of the old CEGB miniature railway when we meet fences and signage indicating that the trail is closed for resurfacing, but as the detour is pretty ridiculous (and I came here for railway walking, damnit) we chose to ignore it has who would close a path when in the height of the cycling season? If we meet plant or workman we can always claim we thought it was the picnic site that was fenced off, and any way we are far from the first people to come this way today, but it turns out that for the next 2 miles there are no signs of any work being done at all. A new hard surface has been laid, however, the type that is good for speed but less good for falling down on, so it looks like this is going to be the half for the budding Chris Froome's of the future, or that someone discovered a lot of cash in the district council kitty to be spent on getting South Yorkshire healthy. It's honestly a bit of a disappointing stretch on this side, offering no real views of the Don Valley as the tree density provides far too much cover, and the river hides well even when close by, and it's only the old railway buildings that prove to be interesting, one having no obvious access point to it, and another being the former house of Hazlehead station, and progress is measured by counting the half kilometre markers by the track, and we conclude that this is one trail that really is more suited to the cyclist than than the walker. Still, we are not getting too downhearted as we keep the pace up, and past the A616 bridge we find evidence of resurfacing that has been done very recently, possibly even that morning, and soon enough we meet workmen by the path side, completely disinterested in those travelling on their freshly laid surface, probably bored by trying to warn people off by now, and even the guys driving the roller and dumper truck will give you a sunny greeting rather than telling you to stop spoiling their handiwork. Moving on, other things to see include a flooded open cast pit that has turned the foulest colour imaginable, one of the prettiest overbridges on the whole trail, and a route guide map entirely made of wire, but lacking a key so it functions far better as a work of art.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ONBmNb9sNgLGmaH_03JFSzgnvaei9A8Tmg9sdlZeNzsrxF_08e64lZf56wu54mb8E0FX3B7Y76FxKBHlYaYRJksG6G8yX_xUU1MjU95PEQQo8B4LbGn7mgzW1JspBZujXi6IqVHkqqI/s1600/DSCF1309.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ONBmNb9sNgLGmaH_03JFSzgnvaei9A8Tmg9sdlZeNzsrxF_08e64lZf56wu54mb8E0FX3B7Y76FxKBHlYaYRJksG6G8yX_xUU1MjU95PEQQo8B4LbGn7mgzW1JspBZujXi6IqVHkqqI/s1600/DSCF1309.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ecklands bridge</td></tr>
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Beyond the A628 bridge, last turn for that road, we meet the track completely reopened to usage, and busier with locals out to stroll or ride, and the surface improves markedly, with a rubbery surface to offer a much more forgiving surface, which is just as well as my hip is starting to feel it after hammering for nearly 5 hours, so we start to slacken the pace a touch for the last couple of miles passing below Ecklands bridge and finally having the landscape view open out again to get a look back up the Don Valley to reveal that this is a pleasingly rural corner of the county too. We start to approach settlements once more, with Millhouse Green and Thurstonland hiding away on the north side of the valley, and a couple of minor road crossings show up rails still in situ in their surfaces, the only notable pieces of railway furniture left along the whole line, and I had really hoped to have a few gantries or markers left along the way, but it seems that everything went pretty rapidly after its closure in 1981 as scrap metal sold for a good price back then. Keeping our pace good, chatter turns to ageing, and looking to the future rather than looking back through the last couple of decades, both of us looking to be healthier than we are and acknowledging that whilst all this walking is good for us, I am eventually going to have to pick up the exercise pace and join MW in the business of running. Two bridges over and one under pass through the leafiness before we meet the playing fields and skate park on the edge of Penistone, just in time to see a local lad wipe out painfully, but in the nature of all skaters, he's okay! and then it's on past the old goods yard, where the cafe and cycle shop are not open for some reason, which feels like someone missed a trick for a good summer day like this one. The town and the Parish church appear off to the south and then the railway viaduct over the Don appears off to the north, so we are almost home but a peer over the B6462 bridge reveals that the station's pub is no more so we have no immediate prospect for beer when we finish. We'll just have to roll up on the station, where the old platforms still hide below the cover of trees to roll out to the concourse of Penistone station for a finish at 3.55pm, easily in time for the 4.18pm train, having done 16.6 miles according to the Garmin, once MW has remembered to switch it off. To think I'd originally thought this trip might have needed an overnight stay, an earlier start today and we might have been good to burn all the way to Barnsley, but I'm good to stop now, as MW is apt to point out, I smell like I'm going to need to burn the shirt I'm wearing, so we'll head Huddersfield bound for a celebratory pint in the Head of Steam, and I'll start thinking of Black Hill for my next social walk target, and you know what? so is MW!<br />
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Next on the Slate: <strike>One trip to South Yorkshire surely deserves another?</strike> EDIT: Not after a whole week of my body dedicating itself to snot production, it doesn't. Instead, an interlude with two wheels.<br />
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<strong>1,000 Miles Cumulative Total: 1164.8 miles</strong> <br />(2014 total: 251.6 miles)<br /><br />(Up Country Total: 1085.4miles)<br />(Solo Total: 949.9 miles)<br />(Declared Total: 956.6 miles) Christopher Wrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09743749271457169317noreply@blogger.com0