Hebden Bridge to Nelson 04/09/21

15.2 miles, via Calder Holme Park, Wood End, Lee Mills Bridge, Midgehole, Shackleton, 

 Walshaw, New Laithe Moor, Alcomden Bridge, Greave Pasture, Greave Clough, The Sod, 

  Hey Slacks, Boulsworth Hill (Lad Law & Abbott Stone), Bedding Hill Moor, Will Moor, 

   Deerstones Moor, Upper & Lower Coldwell reservoirs, Walton's Monument, Castercliff, 

    Marsden Park, and Netherfield. 

August Bank Holiday Monday also gets dropped from my walking schedule, not solely because of the mediocre weather, but due to the fact of being laid up in bed for 10 hours of Sunday with an absolute bastard of a headache behind my eyes, as if all the experience of the preceding day out overwhelmed me completely, completely blowing the already busted flush that was August 2021, and so as we head into the final third of this year, we have to start looking to force in the walking long walking days on the High Moors, regardless of the conditions, just to get them paced before the days get too short. That's where we find ourselves as September starts, alighting at Hebden Bridge at 8.15am, and setting out northbound, trying to find footfalls that haven't been made through this town already, which means passing through Calder Holmes park on the north side path and rising over the canal via the bridge into the formal garden by the Picture house, and thence crossing the A646 New Road to head up Bridge Gate, where the marketeers are already breakfasting in the many cafes and our path takes us over Hebden Water via St George's Bridge, the 1510 packhorse bridge that's one of the most enduring structures in the valley. Take a left onto Hanging Royd Lane, behind the town hall complex to trek on among the terraces and factory units that occupy the only significant area of flat ground in the town, which leads us up to another crossing of Hebden Water via the Victoria Road bridge, and another twisting turn or two among th terraced streets that start to stack up on the hillside, feeling puzzled that a riverside path in the town does not exist, only located at the end of Spring Grove where the Foster Mill packhorse bridge leads us across again and into the green passage upstream. The local cricket field is hidden in this riverside glade, as are some allotment gardens and the village bowling club, all crammed onto whatever flat ground they can find upstream from the town, alongside the river that churns away over the riffles and pools that have been contained by built-up walls along both banks, clearly trying to manage the flow of the many valleys that feed water into this single channel and into the Calder, a feat to be admired as we we move our way up to the Lee Mill bridge, where a suburban enclave has been developed on the mill site.

St George's Bridge, Hebden Bridge.

Foster Mill Bridge, and Spring Grove.

Hebden Water at Lee Mill Bridge.

With no more upstream path to follow, instinct believes that there ought to be a footway uphill to the rough track that passes up the valley below Midgehole Road, which there is up a flight of steps between two cottage gardens, and then we can press onwards beneath the cover of the tree canopy perched above the river as it wanders away and we emerge out by Raw Holme House and trace the lane through the lower reaches of Spring Wood before emerging into the open valley, and on into the hamlet of Midgehole, where a mill and dye works brought industry into this quiet idyll in the 19th century. Beyond the perched terrace we drop to Horse Bridge, crossing over the throat of Crimsworth Dean and entering the NT Hardcastle Crags estate, and we split from the lane here to trace a footpath that leads uphill, between the car parks at the lowest extreme of the dale, and up the north side of valley, up through the tree cover to emerge between walls that give a clear way ahead, initially aided by the National Trust having trail markers indicating routes in all direction, directing us until we split off behind the enclosure walls of an old covered reservoir site. This has a house developed within it now, as does every viable site in this corner of Calderdale, to be looked over as we hit the steep stretch of the day, under the conifers and zig-zagging back and forth on the ascent up through the bracken undergrowth and among some rocky outcrops at the plantation's top edge, before we emerge onto another walled path, sending us up to the high lane on the north side of Hebden Dale, landing by Stony Holt farm and taking in the damp haze that hangs in the air over the valley and downstream. Despite promises of limited rain risk, we've definitely gotten another of those Pennines white cloud days coming on, where the mist hangs in the air around the 400m limit, which means things could get challenging later on if this persists, but for now at least we have miles of clear track at a steady contour along the agricultural apron above the valley, starting out through the farm hamlet of Shackleton and progressing on a trajectory that matches our path on the south side from a couple of weeks back.

Hebden Dale at Midgehole.

Ascending among the NT Hardcastle Crags car parks.

The woodland footpath out of Hebden Dale.

Shackleton farm hamlet.

Progressing round the indistinct upland of Hamlet, which lacks the prominence that it seems to need as it rises between the valleys below, so interest is allowed to wander across the valley, through the haze towards Slack and Acre, and up the hillside to Knoll Top and the expanse of Heptonstall Moor, while we progress among the farms on this side, making our way past Owlers and the Mansfield Houses as the road drifts northwards with the kink of the valley, giving us an even hazier view of the hills upstream, which we plough on towards despite the weather. Coming up to the Lady Royd farmsteads, we possibly get our best view down into Hebden Dale, with the trees being lowered just enough to give us another view of the top of Hardcastle Crags, where anyone summitting their rock climb might get a panoramic view from the top, ahead of our drift downhill towards Rowshaw Clough, with the path though the woods, previously traced in 2013, drifting up to the high path along with the trees, before a reveal upstream to the west, and the low cloud obscuring the hilltops rising above the Gorple and Widdop reservoir. Take the turn of the lane to an westwards course as we meet Walshaw farm hamlet, with the Lodge being one of the more awkwardly accessible holiday lets to be found in the valley, not really obviously approached from either end of the high road, with our lane taking us above the transition of wooded Hebden Dale to the barren sides of Black Dean, cut deep into the landscape ahead of us as we pass below the New Hey farm, tending the narrow strip of viable fields to the south of the rise of the wild moorlands of High Rakes, at the western corner of Wadsworth Moor. Pass over the cattle grid by New Laithe barn that marks our arrival on New Laithe Moor, where sheep can freely roam and make themselves at home to their hearts content, as we track the Widdop Road down to Blake Dean bridge in the valley below and make absolutely no sighting of the remnants of the temporary railway that ran from Heptonstall and over the clough to the Walshaw dean reservoirs, which we shall start to drift towards as the path shadows the turn of Alcomden Dean northwestwards.

The Mansfield Houses, above Hebden Dale.

The turn of Hebden Dale from Cow Hey Lane.

Walshaw Lodge.

New Laithe Moor, and the combining deans.

Our relatively steady altitude of the last hour rapidly fades as we are forced into a valley crossing, dropping down to the old bridge and its cattle grid decked replacement over Alcomden Water by Holme End cottage, the last house on the lane that we'll be seeing today, ahead of the climb uphill, below Walshaw Dean and it reservoirs, towards the Pennine Way route north by the plantations on the rise up from Clough Foot, which will be our last point to contact other walkers for a while, the ideal place to be as dampness fills the air, following the track up the valley until the hard path over Greave Pasture is met. This rising track, only used by grouse shooters these days, used to service the farms in this concealed quarter, now lost to history as only sheep roam these moorland pastures, who seem startled by my presence as we hit the elevated crest into Greave Clough, looking around to see damp haze on all the hilltops that I'd assumed would be clear today, looking across to the rear of the Dove Stones ridge before we start to drop down towards the pair of mature trees in the middle of the moorland, where the path kinks downhill at the site of what was once Springs farm. We are thus led down to the stream of Greave Clough, finding ourselves in the heart of another hidden valley in the northwestern high lands, where a wooden shooting hut sits beside the water, and below more incongruous trees, at the foot of a firm and wide path that continues up the valley to the north, tracing the beck side as it rises, a path that I'd never have approached without my guide book on walking the open moors, clear going on the ground but still warranting a donning of my new red waterproof to ensure maximum visibility as the damp air gets that bit more oppressive and challenging. It's a good path for getting paranoid about being stalked by moorland ghosts as a distant sapling can easily be mistaken for a larger than life humanoid, and for making random path decisions as an unacknowledged track leads off towards Dove Stones, and the track that you'd though keeps to one side of the stream switches sides for stretch via a couple of slick fords as it turns west, while also introducing the stone grouse butts that are its actual purpose into the landscape  before a third ford, over the rocks at Hole Sike, is bypassed to use a shooters footbridge that looks like the safest passage option.

Alcomden Bridge.

Baiting House, Greaves Pasture.

Cresting into Greaves Clough.

The shooting track by Greaves Clough.

The track leads a little further up Greaves Clough before ending, with the stream offering two descending channels which could be traced forwards onto the moorland top, and the right, or northernmost one is taken, as that's where the guide book directs me, initially tracing a line of grouse butts at a short remove from the cleft of the clough, pacing across the heather that has been mown for ease of access, feeling hopeful that we might have a trod this good to follow as we alight in the open moorland of The Sod, where stakes and mounds indicate the proximity of the Lancashire border. The mist levels up here are not good for navigation as we meet New Hey Slacks, though we do get a apparent hillside rise to err towards, though when we find ourselves among eastwards flowing streamlets among the damp turf, we can feel like we are tracking too far north, in the direction of Little Saucer Stones, and we need to make a course correction, drawing closer to Peacock Hill and hoping that the top of Boulsworth Hill will make an appearance, which is does, emerging from a bank of low cloud that had been concealing it from view on the western horizon. We can feel sensible to have done our reconnaissance up here last week, as the point on the Lad Law top that we need to attain can be aimed towards, squelching our way across the red moorland grasses until we land by the strange channel that runs along the ridge between Peacock and Boulsworth, which carries us along the English Watershed until we land on the wire fence that reaches along most of Boulsworth's cap, tracing it above New Hey Clough and not getting any of the view quality that we had seven days ago as all of the hills to the south and east vanish in the haze. It's a good feeling to have gotten away from the damp grass as we cross over the style to summit Boulsworth again, rising directly to the 517m trig pillar and to find no surprise at all in the fact that we have the Lad Law cap to ourselves, aside from the sheep who shoo themselves away, and we'll pause here to refuel, admiring the view despite so much of it being lost beneath low cloud, and feeling happy at having managed another open moorland traversal in spite of the conditions and the fact that I have trouser legs that are damp up to my knees.

Grouse Butts by Greave Clough, The Sod.

The Boulsworth Hill summit cap from New Hey Clough.

Weather Stones from the Moorland Fence.

The Lad Law Trig Pillar, again.

Once up, it's time to go down again, with no lengthy faffing around on the length of the hilltop this time, as we immediately join the southernmost of the permissive paths off the western flank of Boulsworth Hill, tracing a way down alongside a rough channel that seems to in the process of being managed to prevent peat erosion, which brings us down above the Abbott Stone, where the same sheep from summit have retreated, and they couldn't have been posing harder above the view downhill if they'd had their hips kicked out and a hoof behind their heads. From below it's clear this rock takes its name from its mitre shape, and it's a clear destination point for anyone ascending this way, which would be a pretty testing walk as the steepest stretch of all is found directly below, as 100m worth of contours tighten over a very short distance down over Bedding Hill Moor, which we head down with the valley cleft that conceals Trawden village directly ahead, with the high fields reaching out on either side of it, while taking particular interest in looking south easterly into the terrain that we'll be traversing later. Eventually, we're off the steep descent though the rough turf, but the lower reach, down to the enclosure wall that reaches up from the Pennine Bridleway doesn't allow for speeding up by much, as we're presented with much nastier mud, and that horrible long reedy grass that obscures the path as it wanders among uncharted streamlets in the rough pasture, one of which conceals a boggy patch which we step right into, sinking to my right leg into it up to my knee before we propel ourselves out of it, dirtying up my new boots something proper for the first time. So it's gonna be a bit squelchy and bog-mud malodorous for the remainder of the trek, back on hard surfaces once we land on the Bronte Way path again, a route we'll trace again to fit in the features we want to see before we hit the valley far below, pacing the bridleway down to Will Moor clough where we can paddle in the stream in an attempt to get the boots cleaner (while not aiding the dampness problem any), and then rising away from the catchment of streams flowing off Boulsworth Hill and up towards that plantation that sits on the edge of Deerstones Moor, still unmarked on any map.

The Abbott Stone, and the way to come.

The steep descent over Bedding Hill moor.

Finding the hidden bog on the descent path.

Will Moor Clough.

Crest onto the shoulder of Will Moor, and pause to take our last close up look back over the flank of Boulsworth Hill as it rises sharply out of the landscape, before we can focus the attention forwards to the hilltop that lies ahead on our trail, and to the bulk of Pendle Hill, which is finally shedding its shroud of clouds as we find ourselves 200m down from the summit of the day, and it's even starting to feel milder as we rock into the afternoon, meeting the rest spot on the moorland track where we can feed and give the boots another dousing. The split of the paths this time takes us over Deerstones Moor towards Upper Coldwell reservoir, tracing the Pendle Way route as it gives us a view to the proximity of the Halifax Road pillbox over the roughly worked grounds at the heel of the water's surface, which we trace around to the dam while not getting that much of a decent view thanks to the evergreen hedges that enclose much of it, before we drop out onto Back Lane and finally make our re-association with the idea of being where other people are, as cars tootle past. Track around the Lower Coldwell reservoir with the lane but don't get the good views over its surface, thanks to the tall and bulky walls that surround it, and only get a look across the dam as there needs to be an access point for the local angling club, a location which we find opposite the Coldwell Activity Centre, an outward bounds facility in the old Cold Well inn on the corner, beyond which we start to shift among the fields rising again to gain the Pennine flank on our rear horizon, and looking over the landscape that we saw none of this time last week. We're heading generally up rather than consistently down this time around, with our path angling its way uphill towards the actually unnatural highest field in this quarter, along a lane that the local boy-racers do seem to enjoy using, namely Walton's Monument (as the maps all identify it) which appears to be a spire cross on an elevated hillside, but is actually a 9th century menhir atop a potentially much more ancient tumulus mound, unfortunately rendered by the eponymous Rev Wroe-Walton into something of a folly in the 19th century.

The Way ahead, from Deerstones Moor.

Upper Coldwell reservoir, and the disturbed grounds.

Lower Coldwell reservoir dam.

Walton's Monument.

The route we take, across the Shelfield Road crossroads has us on the wrong side of the hill to see the spire cross up close, and it's not permissively accessible either, with a herd of cattle filling the field as if to discourage trespass, and if it appears close to the edge of the East Lancs valley, there's a wide apron of fields beyond it too, giving us some time to ruminate on our location as the shifting cloud crispens the horizon, revealing a sight line directly to distant Earl Crag on the northern horizon, and forward attention lands on Pendle Hill once more. That will linger ahead for our long descent of Back Lane, where the lack of villages or farm hamlets feels apparent once again, as if the indusrty of the valley below stripped every from these hillsdies, and we'll peer north to see what else we can make out from the view above the head of valley, beyond the rooftops of Colne before we focus interest on the lump in the landscape on the edge of rise ahead, which calls itself Castercliff and renders itself on the map like an ancient hillfort in such a way that is guaranteed to draw my walking attention while we are up here. It heritage is debatable, recorded in many accounts as Romano-British, but probably much older, though excavation has shown no evidence of it having ever been permanently occupied at any point, though its roughness gives it a clear vintage, with what looks like a rampart and ditch passing around the south and west of the hillside as we wander into the field, notionally using the public right of way while avoiding the local cows and carefully picking a circular route around in the sea of thistles and nettles on the face overlooking Colne and Nelson in the valley below. Footpaths will be the way to get down from here, retracing a path down to the cottage terrace on the Southfield Lane corner, and taking the field track down below the rising motte, which leads us into a field where highland cattle, sheep and sole roe deer graze, with a deepening footpath track falling away to the west, leading us down among some wild vegetation and beside a bold stone boundary wall of no immediate significance which drops us onto the track that cuts across the Marsden Park Golf Course, and leads us to finally touching base with Nelson by Walton Lane nursery school.

The view to Earl Crag, and nearby Airedale.

Castercliff Iron Age-Roman-British fort.

Pendel Hill from Castercliff.

The descending path from Castercliff.

You'd not guess it from the suburban closes and redevelopment work going on Marsden Hall farm, but we've landed in one of the most ancient parts of Nelson, where Marsden Park has been formed out of the grounds of Marsden Old Hall, the longtime seat of the Walton family, which massively predates the growth of the town below, which now has a prime piece of parkland above it, with ornamental gardens, water features around Hendon Brook, and wild walks among the trees in a location that could easily be disregarded because of the bulk of council houses that bound it to the west and south. We'll enjoy the walk through the arbor along its promenade path, even if no one else will, as it leads us to the grey stucco-clad estate which we'll pass through along Marsden Hall Road, to meet Barkerhouse Road as it leads us into landscape that we'd expect of an East Lancashire town, past the cemetery of the former St John's church, settling in among the semis and terraces, more significantly, that face the lane and drop away with the hillside and down the side streets, through what we might identify as the Netherfield Ward. It shares a name with the next road we'll be pacing, after we've made a turn to spy a Wren Street and observed the level crossing over the railway line, which gives us a proximity to the finish line that can be approached by dropping down past the apartments that have apparently been built entirely of breeze blocks, opposite that terrace with the local Masjid in the middle of it, and ahead of the reveal of the urban spread up the hillside to the east, and our passage by the headquarters of Farmhouse Biscuits, oddly not the first biscuit factory that we've been past this year. Now far below the railway on its embankment, we can't get a good view of the three arched bridge over Sagar Street, and so our interest point will have to be found as we turn past the Job Centre onto Railway Street, where we pass below the wide and deep iron bridge which has Nelson railway station perched above it, which we'll approach without making a further drift towards the town centre, but will walk around the new(ish) bus station interchange that has been built in front of it, also noting the L&YR vintage Station hotel, all taken in before the trail ends at 3pm on the rise to the platforms.

Marsden Old Hall, Marsden Park.

Barkerhouse Road, Nelson.

Farmhouse Biscuits, not our first biscuit factory of the year!

The Station Hotel, Nelson.

& 0.6 miles, from Burnley Barracks to Burnley Manchester Road

Before we leave on the 1517 train, we have not two things about Nelson station, first and less significantly, the fact that its platform signage identities it in three ways as 'Interchange', 'Station' and plain old 'Nelson', and more pertinently the fact that its vintage canopy endures in place above its large island platform, something that could have easily been disposed of by British Rail back in the frugal 1970s, and I'm sire some local campaigners are due some applause for getting that properly preserved and it not being reduced to an embarrassment of a station like Colne at the line's terminus. As we're still not feeling bold about making the rapid connection at Rose Grove, we'll alight this service for another short walk across Burnley, having enjoyed the view from Bank Top viaduct and asked the conductor for a request stop at Burnley Barracks,where wee can start out , along with the few other people using this station at 3.30pm, rising to Padiham road and the side of the Westway, to cross over just shy of the Leeds & Liverpool canal, down the hill from Holy Trinity church and Gateway house, and joining Trafalgar Street by Woodfield Mill. Casually we process onwards, past the UCLan campus at Victoria Mill, and on along the recently relaid pavements past Waterloo works and Sandygate mills before meet the very old board school building that must be one of the oldest such establishments in town, before we settle into a more commercial landscape around Trafalgar Mill, where I'm sure there would be a grand view over the town and up the valley if it wasn't for all the building on the local horizon, which has you pondering if a view comes as optional from the McDonald's or KFC in the Trafalgar retail park. Past the Ministry of Ale inn, the rise up to Manchester Road station can be made, sealing another edge around the town at 3.50pm, ending a very leisurely stroll on tightening leg muscles, ready for a 30 minute wait that doesn't have our train delayed to get up out of Lancashire, but of course there's no easy rides when interacting with long train rides in this quarter as the delay comes at Hebden Bridge instead, as delays on the Manchester Victoria line bumps my connection wait from 35 minutes to an hour, so cue the gnashing of teeth, directed at Northern Fail, again...

Nelson station and its enduring canopy.

Gateway House and Holy Trinity church, Westway.

Sandygate Mill house and the old Board School, Trafalgar Road.

The Ministry of Ale, Trafalgar Road.

5,000 Miles Cumulative Total: 5141.3 miles
2021 Total: 399.2 miles
Up Country Total: 4678.3 miles
Solo Total: 4809.7 miles
5,000 in my 40s Total: 3739.1 miles

Next Up: Late Summer Jollies in Calderdale, and playing a game of 2021 Catch-Up.

~~~

Pandemic Thoughts: August 2021

This month isn't giving me quite as much to ponder as the one that preceded it, but I do want to ask if anyone else is completely knackered because that's how I'm feeling right now, not just in a way that suggests exhaustion coming from the continued endurance test that the pandemic has posed, but rather feeling like you may have been unwell in the past and are now feeling post-viral (a feeling that I am intimately familiar with, I might add), and the physical toll of your illness is now dragging around behind you, and has been doing so for several months? Talking to colleagues and acquaintances now has me convinced that every other person feels this way, having had no symptoms that would suggest having had a Covid infection and not returning a positive test, but nonetheless feeling that there's about a 40% percent chance of having been infected and are now dealing with the medium-term consequences, while the other portion of you brain, the 60% that's sensible and not paranoid, makes you think that the exhaustion is really all in the mind, and you are continuing to wait on a feeling of release that isn't actually going to arrives this Summer. I'm absolutely sure that I've been done no favours at all by the quality of the August that we have had, barely able to string even two nice days together, and forcing me to drop three walking days out of the five that were plausibly available because of the weather, and the brain fog that had descended over the last six weeks has really made working more of a toil than usual, and left me feeling that the mental energy that I do have isn't sufficient to cover my leisure and creative endeavours as well that, which is why blogging starts to feel more and more like a pastime that's had its day. Despite having kept my usual levels of alertness up, it's also why I seem to have so little impression of what's been going on during this last month, and why what is immediately recalled is tinged with another heavy dose of cynicism, which is why the news of 75% of the adult population of Britain having been given a second dosage of vaccine has me anxious about the stalling of the numbers of those are yet to receive any at all, and why the news of jabs being approved for 16-17 year olds is tempered by the continued dithering on the need for vaccine passports for social activities, despite their apparent necessity.

Once again, we find ourselves sitting on the sidelines and regarding the situation at something of a remove, seeing the daily covid infection rate sitting around 35,000 per day, which you can be pretty sure our Health Secretary would see as a success after the dire prognostications that he laid out last month, but one that still seems unnecessarily high, even after a whole month of kids being out of schools, while the national death rate runs at 100 covid-related fatalities daily, which is still shocking and not a number to be considered lightly at all. It's honestly pretty hard to draw much by way of positivity out of the world at the moment as 'things returning to normal' has us being witness to the USA ending it military intervention in Afghanistan and the government of the country collapsing immediately with the Taliban retaking control again, almost 20 years after being forced out of power, while elsewhere we have the sixth IPCC reporting that the harshest effects of global temperature rises could be felt as early as 2035, even if immediate actions were taken to combat them or put mitigating measures in place. So the world feels like a shit show as we plough on, still doing the best we can to self protect, keeping the mask on on the train at commuter times, as so many who worked through all the lockdowns are also doing I might note, maintaining the social distance in our working roles at the hospital (while being willing to learn the ward rounds on the LGI site after declining to do so last year) and continuing a quietly unsociable atmosphere in the remainder of my life, and doing the best to absorb the things I enjoy while my brain feels grey. I'm particularly happy to have the BBC Proms season back, after its enforced hiatus last year, and its replacement of archive recordings and audience-less concerts doing little to maintain my interest during 2020, so having the Royal Albert Hall filled again feels good, albeit with a reduction to only six weeks, and prommer numbers limited, coupled to distinct absences of international orchestras and soloists, though it has given greater scope for the World and Fusion performers who would have been shunted into the late night timeslots in any normal year (you'd still not find me in the live audience regardless of my enthusiasm, though).

(I've nought to say about the Tokyo Olympics though, as despite the way it's reported I 'm pretty sure that it's not actually a team event, just like I had nothing to report about Euro 2020, as we've all seen what became of the attitude of too many England fans after it failed to 'Come Home', and I've got nothing to say for the new football season either, for what is there to get enthusiastic about when you have witnessed Leicester City FC win all of the major domestic trophies available (as well as two other league divisions!) in the years since 1997?)