Tag Archives: Pennines

DAY ONE OF THE CANAL CLOG.

JD’s wife drops us off on a frosty Moor Lane up Whalley Nab above the town. I know this is cheating, but it puts us directly onto on the route, saving 400 feet of climbing. And there is our first waymark: for the record, we are not wearing clogs!

A warm-up stroll along the lane brings us to a farm and a conversation with the lady farmer. She bemoans the recent theft of her quad bike, an essential tool on moorland farms. What she would do to the perpetrators is not printable. We can look back across to Longridge Fell and the Bowland Hills behind, but as usual in these parts, Pendle takes pride of place. All the snow from last week has amazingly disappeared. Once we leave the lane into rough fields, the walking becomes taxing for a mile or so. Waterlogged ground with the odd icy patch, undulating in and out of small valleys, awkward stiles, low blinding sunlight, navigational errors, and some thick gorse bushes to negotiate. I’m not complaining; just look at that blue sky.

When we reach the chain of reservoirs, things improve, and we meet other walkers. Some share our joy of the day, and others unhappy about the pending encroachment of urban areas into the scenery.

More awkward climbing brings us to a minor road on a ridge from which a misty Blackburn is seen down to the west and the distant sprawl of modern industrial sites and towns to the south and east in the M65 corridor. Other recognisable features, Darwen Tower and the Winter Hill mast, seem very distant. There are enough green spaces for our route to follow, and we have good views of the Hambleton Hills. Can you spot the canal?

We joined the Leeds-Liverpool Canal, 60 miles from Liverpool and 67 and a bit miles to Leeds, the longest canal in Britain. Starting in 1770, the canal took 50 years to construct, including the 91 locks. In the C19th, it became the main highway for industrial goods across the Pennines. A seat provided a good lunch spot after five miles of walking.

The towpath allowed much more relaxed strolling as we slowly circumvented Rishton, our first major mill town on the route. There was evidence of abandoned mills alongside the canal. Many have been demolished and replaced by modern housing; others are now used for different purposes.  Out of interest, here is an extract from Grace’s Guide to British Industrial History, listing mills once operating in Rishton. Can you imagine the conditions and pollution? And the noise of all those clogs on the flags in the morning.

  • Rishton Victoria Cotton Mill Co, Ltd., Victoria Mill; 50,000 spindles, 208/50° weft, 168/328 twist; 1,100 looms, shirtings, T cloths, domestics, sheetings and heavy bleaching cloth. Pay day 28th of each month, by remittance. William Wilson, manager; R. H. Place, secretary.

As it once was.

There is a cafe on the bridge, but it is closed, so we explore further along the High Street until Cafe 21 appears. This cosy spot is frequented mainly by locals having all-day breakfasts. Two cups of coffee cost £2.50. which may reflect their quality, but we appreciate the sit-down. Off-road cyclists are having problems with their electric bikes.

Back into the countryside for a while before crossing the M65 on the Dunkenhalgh Aqueduct, built in the 80s.

Rude Health. Copyright.

Once over, we leave the canal for now and take an optional bridleway heading towards Church, a district of Accrington. The church is visible from a distance, above the canal at Bridge 112. This is a ‘changeline’ bridge where the towpath moves to the opposite bank, but the horse’s tow rope stays attached to the barge. My camera has gone to sleep along here, so my photos are taken from the Geograph site, with the original credited. A useful source of information – http://www.geograph.org.uk

Peter McDermott. Copyright.

 

Ian Taylor. Copyright.

I now regret that we didn’t follow the canal loop in full.

A family of gorgeous ginger cats inhabit the canal-side farm.

Just over on the other towpath is the halfway point on the canal with a suitable line, milestone and surround. 63 5/8 miles either way.

Mat Fascione. Copyright.

On a nearby bench, a youth tends his feet. Carrying a fifty-pound rucksack and doing twenty-plus miles each day, camping out each night is taking its toll, but he still hopes to reach Leeds in three days, ready for work on Monday.

We clog on slowly. Emerging onto the busy A678 Burnley Road, we have half a mile to walk before turning into the tree-lined avenue leading to the Mercure Dunkenhalgh Hotel. A C19th Tudor-style house built on the site of a C13th hall. Despite our appearance, we are upgraded to an executive double room unfortunately about half a mile away from reception and bar.

It was a bit of a slog this morning, but the canal towpath gave easy walking. A rest up in our luxurious room, a hot soak in the bath, a couple of pints and a bar snack. Perfect. The resident ghosts didn’t disturb my sleep.

***

HYNBURN CANAL CLOG.

A search for likely walking routes in my area, Lancashire, on the Long Distance Walkers Association site, LDWA, produces an abundance of trails, long and short. To untangle that spaghetti, one can search for paths of a certain length within one’s area of interest. The forecast is suitable for a couple of days at the end of this week, so let’s see what comes up. A twenty-mile walk in the Hynburn district, that hilly industrial area between Blackburn and Burnley, The Canal Clog, would make a good two-day walk for this time of year. The reference to clogs links back to the area’s industrial heritage, cotton mills and canals. When I first moved to Longridge, another cotton town, way back in the early seventies, there was a clog maker trading there. The walk is apparently waymarked by a pair of clogs.

I download the route’s GPX file onto my phone and have a look at the description on the website, from which I print off the relevant parts.  https://ldwa.org.uk/ldp/downloads/HyndburnClog.pdf

The Canal Clog cuts the Hynburn Clog into a northern half and a southern circuit, which we will look at another time.

Dividing the trail into two roughly equal days with an overnight stop halfway takes some planning. A well-known hotel, The Dunkenhalgh, is just off-route but an ideal halfway point if we can begin at a suitable place. I pinpoint Whalley as the starting spot. Approximately 10 miles each day.

I enlist the help and good company of JD for this walk. He is willing and enthusiastic as always, and his wife is happy for him to be away for a couple of days.

Here is the route untangled.

And this is the Borough of Hynburn.

The hotel is booked, so let’s go.

THE DEARNE WAY – FOUR.

Broomhill to Mexborough.  The Dearne dawdling to the Don.

A shorter day, or so I thought, and I have time to enjoy a leisurely breakfast. Premier Inns do put on a good spread.

The TPT is busy with cyclists this morning; it is a Saturday. Underpasses have had murals painted on them by local schoolchildren, but unfortunately, the graffiti merchants have spoiled them.

Brisk marching for me on the good surface. I’m walking through an extensive nature reserve, but without binoculars, I don’t see much. A lot of these flooded areas have been caused by mining subsidence. At one point, the exposed surface resembled a slag heap, which it probably was.

As nature intended.

I suppose cycleways are designed for cyclists and a straight, hard surface that goes on and on eventually becomes tedious for walking.

As a distraction, I notice some of the wayside stones have been carved with a ‘nature’ theme, but they are not very obvious.

A flood relief channel and a regulator to restrict the flow were built at Bolton upon Dearne. During the 2007 floods, the washlands filled to capacity but the regulator could not be operated as it had been vandalised!

I was pleased to escape the hard surfaces and walk along the grassy banking of the floodplain after Bolton. Looking at the map now, perhaps I was on the wrong river bank but that is of no consequence. I am making quick time today as there is nothing of great interest to detain me.

The river is indeed dawdling as it approaches the River Don. I want to see the confluence, but thick undergrowth makes it difficult.

The Don is a much larger waterway and navigable from the Humber to Rotheram. Just downstream from where the Dearne joins in is a large lock, and I use its access road to walk into Mexborough.

The Miners Inn, dated 1904, is now a bathroom/kitchen salesroom.

The local motte and bailey is set in a park and fairly obvious even to me.

All looks fairly bleak as I enter the town.

Things improve a little at the centre where there is a market and more shops, but all a bit run down. The loss of mining still affecting Northern towns.

The station is close at hand. The girls are setting off for a night in Sheffield, lashing down the booze on the train. I leave them to it and change for Preston.

It’s been a good trip to Yorkshire. A satisfying route with a logical beginning and end; in between, I think I walked about 36 miles. As I have mentioned, the waymarking is variable, and the downloadable guide, although informative not detailed enough for navigation. The GPX file on my phone saved the day in several places.

I never did see that flash of turquoise. But by popular request, here is a photo of Seth back from his holiday. 

***

THE DEARNE WAY – THREE.

Barnsley to Broomhill.  Industrial wastelands

The morning starts with a mile downhill through Barnsley to negotiate the busy traffic at that large roundabout.

Barnsley Town Hall

Then I’m back on the line of the Barnsley Canal, still in an urban setting. The Barnsley area had rich seams of coal and was home to many collieries; the mass closures in the Eighties must have devastated the local economy and morale. I don’t think the rest of us understood the gravity of the situation. Most of today’s walk is through that landscape made bare and taken over by nature, either naturally or by the creation of Nature Reserves.

There is little water in the canal, mostly it is reeds or has been filled in.

The way crosses the river down below and enters a larger park area, more like the countryside now.

The downloaded information sheets are not detailed enough to follow the route, and waymarks have been lacking. Hence, I’ve used my phone’s GPS far more than usual. But I do come across this lone wooden post in the park.

Some interpretation boards are less useful than others.

Crossing a road, I come across the Transpennine Cycle Trail for the first time. But what’s that building hiding behind the trees?

This is the site of Monk Bretton Priory and is worth a diversion.

Founded in about 1154,  it was a daughter house of the rich Cluniac priory at Pontefract. But it wasn’t an easy partnership, and in 1281, Monk Bretton became a Benedictine house. The Priory owned properties in South Yorkshire had rights over five parish churches, and worked ironstone and coal.  After the Dissolution of the Monasteries in 1538, the priory was swiftly plundered for building materials. The priory site changed hands several times before coming under state ownership in 1932. The ruins are now managed by English Heritage.

The arched entrance was up a side street, the Priory now surrounded by housing.

Most is in ruins, but the gatehouse is mainly intact, as is the separate administrative block. Little remains of the church, but the cloisters are evident with the monks’ refectory. Uniquely, much of the drainage system is preserved; running water from the Dearne flushed the latrines and kitchen area.

Administrative building.

Site of the Church.

One advantage of keeping the mileage down is one is free to explore more, But I’m now back on track, literally, as I follow old rail tracks down the valley. I should look into the history of where these rails went and for what purpose. I assume,  perhaps erroneously, that coal transport was involved.  I leave one abandoned line to use another.  This one is heading to a prominent arched viaduct across the valley.

Leaving the railway, the path becomes indistinct in rough fields alongside the Dearne; concrete barriers have been constructed to keep the quad bikes out. To my right in the trees is the line of the Barnsley Canal again. I’m sitting on one of the barriers having a snack when a couple appears, the first I’ve seen. This is their regular walk, but they are worried about the cattle in the next fields. They are a friendly pair with much knowledge of the area and its wildlife. We walk on together, there are no cows. The canal is mainly empty, but he, being a fisherman, is keen to show me an area where it is flooded and a frequent haunt of his. I would have walked past without knowing it was there. He fishes for carp here and often sees a kingfisher perched nearby. Today, he doesn’t have his rod but has brought some bait to scatter.

I loved their Yorkshire accents; the further east one goes, the longer the vowels become. The lady reminded me of Lucy Beaumont, the comedienne from Hull.

@comedystans

#lucybeaumont #taskmaster #jonrichardson #meettherichardsons #hull #northsouthdivide #northerncomic #standupcomedy #standup #netflixisajoke

♬ original sound – comedystans

I leave them to their peace and walk on to brave the cattle. The frisky bullocks were all down by the river, so I passed safely. Still on the abandoned railway, the river appears below and down there somewhere is an old packhorse bridge.

Time is passing, so when I reach Storrs Mill Lane, I follow it for about a mile rather than the wandering field paths. For the whole length of that mile, the verges were covered in litter. I have never seen so much on a country lane. Why here?  Do people make a special journey to throw away their cans and takeaways? I leave the lane at Edderthorpe and walk across newly hoed fields to rejoin the river where it puts on a bit of a spurt to loop around Middlewood Hall.

A diversion up the hill into the village of Darfield, and then I am back down on the Dearne flood plain, managed along here as a nature reserve.

As the light is fading I  emerge onto the Trans Pennine Trail, virtually on the doorstep of my Premier Inn for the night. Déjà vu.

Why is my room always at the far end of the corridor?

***

THE DEARNE WAY – TWO.

West Clayton to Barnsley.  Artful dodging.

The Dearne Way website has this information for following the river through Bretton Country Park –

MARCH 2023:It has been reported that the gated entry point to Yorkshire Sculpture Park off Huddersfield Road (SE 295123), at the eastern end of Bretton Country Park, is now locked, with walkers asked to pay the ticket price of 9 pounds to make use of the previously permissive paths through the Park.

The YSP website says:
 “You are free to walk along the public bridleway between West Bretton and High Hoyland. Exiting this path and entering YSP Grounds will require an admissions ticket. Ticket checks take place across the Parkland, including at Cascade Bridge, where the bridleway passes through YSP.”

Our GPX file for this LDP has been changed to make use of only the two Right of Way (the Public Bridleway and the Footpath from Haigh to Litherop Road) through the Park. (Should YSP change their policy, the original route may be reinstated.)

 The OS map clearly still shows the Way staying close to the river on the permissive path to exit at the eastern gate. The situation hasn’t been resolved, and the up-to-date GPX  follows a public footpath through the fields south of the river thus denying the walker a highlight of the valley. Whilst technically correct it seems churlish of YSP to penalise the infrequent Dearne Way walker. 

*

An early breakfast at my luxurious hotel lets me catch the scheduled X1 bus to where I finished yesterday. This should mean I won’t be walking in the dark tonight. The day’s weather looks promising.

I cross the River Dearne by the packhorse bridge, as folks have been doing since the 1400s.

Nondescript lanes head away from the industrialised valley taking me towards the sewage farm, where I drop into conversation with a local man and his dog on subjects far and wide. Most of it is of no relevance to this post, you know how sometimes one strikes up an instant ‘friendship’ with a total stranger. What is of relevance is that he tells me of a scheme to create reedbeds alongside the Dearne for environmental and conservation measures. He proudly takes me to view the workings which stretch for acres. Diggers and other unidentifiable machines are busy preparing the ground. It all looks chaotic and a mess, but let’s return in a year or so when the reeds are established.

The footpath through the area is clearly signed and well-surfaced. This makes my mind up as to my onward strategy. I still hadn’t decided which route to take through Bretton Park, but now that I have passed the works, I am more or less committed to following the original way on the Bridleway into the YSP. I dispense with the GPX version for now. Didn’t you just know I would?

Waymarking hasn’t been consistent and disappears altogether in the neglected fields rising to the park.

The signage on the bridleway at the entrance is rather misleading. I ignore it and march toward the bridge; workmen appear surprised to see me, as the park probably hasn’t opened officially, but say nothing. Work is being carried out on the Cascade Bridge, but I don’t need to cross it.

I follow the course of the Dearne downstream. There are no other visitors, as it has just turned 10 am when the park opens. Another walker with a rucksack appears; he, like me, has entered on a PRoW, following a walk in a book by well-known outdoor author Paul Hannon. We compare experiences; he walked The Dearne Way several years ago using a now out-of-print booklet. 

Strolling past the Caro installations and into the Henry Moore field. The sunshine highlights the curves and colours. Today I’m not rushing about trying to see everything, just absorbing the space’s ambience. Sculptures like these are so much better seen in a large natural arena.

On past the lower bridge, Damien Hurst dominates with his oversized figures. I’m not really a fan of his, but I do appreciate his interpretation of the girl who, for years, represented the Spastics Society ( now Scope) with her collection box ransacked. Society broken.

Do you remember this?

I’ve never been as far as the Weston at the eastern gate of the park. A light and airy building. It’s coffee time, so I visit their café or should I call it a restaurant. It has built up a reputation for fine dining, reflected by the clientele this morning. My small cup of coffee costs over £4, and it doesn’t even come with a token biscuit.

But a fantastic bonus, well worth the price of the coffee, the adjacent gallery is just opening with an exhibition of  Elisabeth Frink’s paintings and statues. The space is so beautiful with a ‘slotted’ ceiling letting in a pale light complementing the natural colours of the walls.

Her work is well represented, with a group of her trademark heads centre stage.  Beautiful animal prints, plaster dogs, weird bird bronzes, and more. Despite being in the middle of a long walk, I spend much time enjoying the exhibits. (on until February) It was only recently that I visited another Frink collection in Swindon. I could fill a full post on this gallery alone; maybe I will when I get home; here is a selection.

In contrast, the next half mile next to a busy dual carriageway and roundabouts to the motorway is mad. I am relieved to reach the fields alongside the Dearne. Easy walking with once again the Autumn colours taking my attention. A seat appears on cue for my lunch break.

As Darton comes closer, the dog walkers appear from everywhere, all have a friendly Yorkshire disposition. For a small place, Darton seems full of cafes, restaurants and takeaways. I settle on the friendly gluten-free cafe, where my coffee costs only £2 this time, and I catch up on all the local gossip.

I still have a fair way to go. 

Suburbian streets dominate for a while until I reach an abandoned railway heading east through former colliery sites. Crossing the Dearne once more, I share fields for some time with lots of ponies. Are they descendants of the pit ponies?

I become disorientated and quarter the compass before finding my way out of the fields and onto what was once the towpath of the Barnsley Canal, built to transport coal from the area.

As I approach the town, the tarmac takes over, with all its detritus.


I wonder why the route doesn’t visit the Fleets, a large lake. So I divert to see a large fishing lake.

Asda superstore has to be circumnavigated; even though I need to pick up food for later I can’t face the scramble in there. I catch a bus up into town. I must say I am impressed with Barnsley town centre. The bus and rail station are integrated, and when you exit you are into the main pedestrianised shopping plaza. A permanent memorial to those who have died with Covid-19 and the unsung workers of the pandemic has been unveiled in Barnsley.

My bed for the night is in the Premier Inn, which happens to be at the highest point of the town. The only entrance I find is through a multistorey carpark. A friendly welcome. My room is on a higher floor with good views over the town.

***

THE DEARNE WAY – ONE.

Birdsedge to Clayton West.   “Nobbut a trickle”

The day doesn’t start well. I have planned a short day’s walking as I have first to cross the Pennines. The usual bus to Preston, then trains to Huddersfield, followed by another bus journey to the walk’s start. It’s all a little complicated, but I had figured on the 8.50 train to Huddersfield, changing at Wigan and Manchester Victoria. This would have me on a bus to the start at lunchtime. While having my coffee at home, an email informs me that the train has been cancelled. Any later, I would struggle to connect with the bus, leaving me short of time in the afternoon; it’s getting dark by four. I need to catch an earlier train, but time is passing. I skip breakfast, run for a bus, and arrive at Preston station with two minutes to spare. The rest of the journey goes more or less to plan despite Northern Rail at Victoria verging on the chaotic.

A familiar figure outside Huddersfield Station.

When we arrive at Birdsedge, I’m the only one left on the bus, a few houses and an old spinning mill. 
There is a faded but encouraging waymark for The Dearne Way on the FP sign from the road. The path wanders through the trees, skirting the mill’s lodge. The infant Dearne River, feeding the dam, is barely a trickle, and yet, in the past, it spawned all the industries down its course. 
I’m on my way, and the weather is perfect, sun and blue sky, as promised. A few higher fields and walled lanes before I drop back down to the valley, here a woodland nature reserve. The autumn colours and the chirping birds are a joy. The path is hidden by the fallen leaves, and I swoosh through them like a young child. The water of the Dearne is barely visible. The way is proving more up and down than expected, but aren’t they all nowadays?

As I drop into Denby Dale, the many arched viaduct dominates the valley, header photo. The village came to prominence in the Industrial Revolution with mills and collieries. The railway arrived at the end of the C19th.

I join the village Pie Trail on cobbled paths. They have a strange history of giant pie-making here.

I’m content with a pot of tea in a friendly, high-street cafe. I learn how to pronounce Dearne – it’s Durn.

The route climbs out of the valley and traverses fields and woods with views over to the landmark Argiva transmission tower on Emley Moor. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emley_Moor_transmitting_station 
Somewhere up here, I walk into the grounds of Bagden Hall; I am staying in the hotel here tonight, but I see the opportunity of walking a little farther, thus reducing tomorrow’s mileage. I am trusting that I will be able to catch a bus back.

Down below is the village of Scissett, which, like everywhere around here, was previously dominated by worsted mills. I arrive at the main road by Spring Grove mill, which has survived, minus its chimney, manufacturing mats and carpets.

Spring Grove Mill   Early C20th.

Paths lead through new housing estates and a long railway tunnel to meet with the Dearne again – time for a photo.

I broke my camera last week, so I am making do with my phone this trip; there will be no zooming. What with using it for navigation and pictures the battery is getting low, but sufficient to seek out a bus stop in Clayton West just in time for the X1 to arrive and take me back past Scissett to Nortonthorpe Mill. I find a sneaky, unofficial way into the grounds of Bagden Hall.


The hotel looks impressive with its extensive gardens, now a ‘Wedding Venue’ like many country hotels trying to survive. The price is reasonable and they give me a free upgrade. Bagden Hall was originally built in the 1860s for Charles Norton, a wealthy mill owner who made his fortune running Nortonthorpe’s weaving mills in the valley, which supplied quality yarn to weavers for ‘fancy waistcoat goods’.

It was quite a busy day in one way and another.

***

THE DEARNE WAY.

A 32-mile route following the River Dearne from its source in the Pennines to its confluence with the River Don.

No, I hadn’t heard of it either.

We seem to be in a settled period of weather so my mind starts wandering and thinking of a few days away walking. I prefer a place-to-place walk over a one-centered one. I hesitate to call them long-distance walks as I have recently chosen a medium distance of 50 miles or so, giving me an average of about 10 miles per day. Cicerone Press is a good source of likely routes with new titles coming out every month; it’s worth subscribing to their newsletters.

This month, I noticed a new guide to a Pilgrim Route in Fife from Edinburgh to St. Andrews. It seemed to fit the bill perfectly. A little research showed no transport or accommodation problems. My medical appointments are hopefully now dwindling and I was free until past the middle of the month. I started to book it when a nagging doubt came into my brain. Something is happening on the 12th, of course, a standing arrangement with a friend, which I was looking forward to and wouldn’t want to change. I wonder why I didn’t write it on the calendar in the first place. Phew. (That day went well and Sir Hugh has written it up, I have reblogged it with his permission)

 My window of opportunity has now narrowed, but undaunted, I look for a possible shorter alternative. Fife can wait till later. The website of the LDWA has a search facility. I type in Yorkshire 25 – 35 miles. Hey, presto, The Duerne Way appears. There are links to downloadable maps, directions and background information, all sounding interesting. It is marked on OS mapping and I believe it has been waymarked at some stage, depicting a miner’s lamp. Start thinking coal, mills, canals, and rail.

Booking.com comes into action for the first night, but I must revert to Premier Inns for the next two. Seth is booked into his favourite cattery and a train ticket purchased to Huddersfield. Getting to the start of the walk from Huddersfield may be challenging, but I’ve planned a short afternoon for that day.

Here is where I’m heading. Time to get the flat cap out.

CICERONE’S LANCASHIRE – GREAT HILL FROM ANGLESARKE.

P1060801

Walk number 30 from Mark Sutcliffe’s walking guide. 9 miles.

I’m sat in the shelter at the top of Great Hill having a lunch time snack. There is a cheeky cool wind from the north.  I’m chatting to a bloke who has come up from Rivington the opposite way round to me. My hard work is over and I’m confident about the next couple of miles on the flagged path across Redmond’s Edge which I walked a month ago. Once again there are no distant views, Longridge Fell can just about be made out in the distance, but no hope of photographing it.

The day started badly with half an hour looking for my camera back at base. It was hidden in a shopping bag in the car yesterday whilst I visited Sainsburys. I know I shouldn’t hide things these days as I never remember where. I end up like a demented squirrel searching for his nuts.

Calm restored and another coffee drunk before I venture out onto the motorways. I’m soon through Chorley, past The Black Horse, the Bay Horse and The Yew Tree. Funny how you remember an area, all pubs we used to drink in after climbing in Anglesarke Quarry.  I park on the road just above the quarry but there is no sign of anybody climbing there today. How the trees have grown and obscured the buttresses. P1060733

Dropping back down the road I take the obvious way alongside Anglesarke Reservoir and onto High Bullough Reservoir. I don’t seem to recognise the way at all despite countless traverses before. P1060735P1060738

A random photo appears at Bullough Reservoir with no explanation. Here is what I found later. “John Frederick La Trobe Bateman FRSE FRS MICE FRGS FGS FSA  (30 May 1810 – 10 June 1889) was an English civil engineer whose work formed the basis of the modern United Kingdom water supply industry. For more than 50 years from 1835 he designed and constructed reservoirs and waterworks.” There is a lot more about him on Wikipedia, he had an amazing career. P1060736

A chance encounter with a walker in a group, extolling the virtues of ‘Trekking Poles’. I concur with him, having used them for forty or more years, ignoring the comments back then – “where is the snow”. But this chap is serious, having attached heavy weights to his poles to give him a full body workout. I’d never heard of that before. Impressed or perplexed I continue with my feather light poles.

There are some lovely trees along this stretch, I like the way those three have gown as one – Entangled Life. P1060742P1060743P1060739

I recognise the road near Waterman’s Cottage nestled between the trees at the end of the reservoir.  I popped out here once to see Bradley Wiggins flying past on a training run, remember him?

I hesitate my way forwards, but a lady points me across fields in the right direction to White Coppice. We fall into step, she explains that she is six weeks after a new knee operation. You would hardly know as she keeps up a good pace whilst waiting for her husband, freshly retired, to catch up. I relate to her my friend Sir Hugh’s first knee operation and the thousands of miles he covered and even after his second new knee he was still averaging 10 miles a day. I hope I have given her encouragement to eventually go beyond what her specialist has mentioned. We part company at White Coppice as they head for lunch in Brinscall. I don’t get to take a photo of the iconic cricket pitch as I keep to the right hand fell side of the Goit.  P1060745

This is then the steep bit. Up from the sign, which at first looked like one of those erected by Peak and Northern Footpath Association, but no, this is a Ramblers copy. A surprising number of people are climbing up this way. Can you see the white Mormon tower in the top centre?P1060747P1060746P1060751

At the end of the steep bit are the scattered ruins of Coppice Farm with an excellent information board including a map of the abandoned farms to the north of Great Hill. Can you imagine farming only 5 acres up here? They presumably would have been largely self-sufficient with the occasional trip down to market to sell and to buy.

P1060756

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Screenshot 2024-06-03 170433

P1060777

Onwards. I’m envious of the runners who effortlessly pass me and disappear into the distance. Distant memories in deed for me.  

P1060760

At a cross roads of paths another Ramblers sign appears. What is the Thomas Lockerby Footpath Fund?  “It uses the income from the assets of the Fund to preserve, maintain or improve public footpaths and bridleways located not more than 50 miles from Manchester Town Hall.” Do we need this proliferation of signs on the already well used paths? Would the funds not be better spent on gaining more access to the countryside within 50 miles of Manchester?P1060766

Onwards I pass another abandoned farmstead, Drinkwaters. I should nave looked for their spring water supply.P1060771

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Onwards the summit comes into sight but it still feels a long way off. P1060786

I’m passed by a youth running bare chested with no spare clothing. He does however have his head phones on so has missed the sound of the wind and the skylarks. Of course he stops at the summit for a selfie and then disappears back down. Make of that what you want. Off road cyclists are looking more and more like trail motor cyclists, which is in fact what many of them realistically are. Old age grumpiness over. P1060793P1060794

The way across the ridge is indeed easy with all those flagstones. Everywhere around me is bleak moorland enriched in parts by the nodding white cotton grass. All I have to do is find the path going west downhill 300m before the Belmont Road. Did I pass it just then, I backtrack but am not convinced. I come back and there within 5m it is. Obvious. P1060802P1060803P1060804

Pleasantly downhill towards more abandoned farms, Higher and Lower Hempshaw’s. Not much left standing. P1060808P1060812P1060815

I cross a stream onto a track and then take the wrong “grassy track by a tumbledown wall” There are tumbledown walls everywhere. All is not lost as I do a longer loop on a land rover track above the Yarrow Valley. Another ruin is passed, Simms. The scenery is changing from the bleak uplands to green fields and wooded cloughs with Rivington reservoirs in the background. One forgets how close to Bolton and Manchester we are. P1060817P1060818

Not concentrating I miss a faint path going right into trees and find myself at junction of paths in Lead Mines Clough which I recognise. I need to be farther north so I head up the stepped track leading to the Wellington Bomber Memorial, remembering a 1943 aircraft crash nearby. For a detailed description and more information I recommend reading – Bomber Zulu – Anglezarke.net

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By now I’m well lost, there are paths everywhere and I end up getting my phone out to plot a way back Jepson’s Gate. A final stroll down the road and I’m back at the viewpoint carpark.  P1060729

Todays walk felt like stepping back in time with the ancient tracks, mine workings and abandoned farms.  I have a book which paints an intimate picture of those lives only a hundred years ago.  Lost Farms of Brinscall Moors – Carnegie Publishing  What will the scenery look like in another hundred years?

***

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CICERONE’S LANCASHIRE. Great Hill, Belmont and beyond.

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I keep dipping into Mark Sutcliffe’s Cicerone guidebook. I almost didn’t today, I am late up having not slept at all well (nothing unusual there), the day’s sunny start was changing and the forecast suggested rain later. But a sudden spurt of enthusiasm has me breakfasted and in the car by 10.30. I know that’s late by most peoples standards but what does it matter, there is plenty of daylight since the clocks changed. A little rain won’t hurt me.  A quick whiz around the motorways and I’m parked on the Tockholes road and starting the walk by 11.30.

I nearly came to do this walk a couple of weeks ago but the route description “a boggy indistinct path” and “the going is much tougher than it looks” were a warning especially after all this year’s rain. but some drier days have come along and my impatience gets the better of me.

All starts off well with a stony land rover track heading somewhere into the hills. I’m guided out of a noisy lapwing’s territory. The grasses have that dead yellow colour to them after the winter. The track turns a corner and becomes a boggy path which I soon manage to lose. Before long I’m staggering around amongst tussocky mounds, how can things go wrong so quickly? P1050517

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Looking back to the carpark with Cartridge Hill to the left. 

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Going…

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going…

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gone!

I can see groups coming off Great Hill over to my left but the guide says cross a gully before joining the main track. I find a way down. I pass the  ‘trial shaft’ marked on the map and come close to the long abandoned farmhouse of Pimm’s, its location next to the trees.  Four coming the other way are on a professional navigation course. Others are D of E out training, map cases attempting to strangle them in the breeze. And then I’m left to myself for the slow trudge to the top. There are 360 degree views but all a little dull for photography. When was I last up here?  November 2014 with Al “The Plastic Bag Man” – I am going to his funeral this week. Is that coincidence I am here or is some hidden agenda guiding me? P1050545

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Looking back to Darwen Tower.

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The well constructed summit shelter is tempting for an early lunch but I’ve not enough miles under my belt yet. One of those lovely Peak and Northern Footpath Society signs has me on my way southwards along Redmond’s Edge with the masts of Winter Hill beckoning from afar. It was never like this before – a paved way becomes a veritable King’s Highway across the morass. Hundreds, probably thousands, of gritstone flags ripped out of old cotton mills line the route. Lancashire had more mills than most other places in the industrial era. Some flags bear the scars of the machinery embedded into them. This modern paving is to prevent erosion, I can’t imagine how much this two mile stretch must have cost. It gives effortless strolling, is quite creative in parts but doesn’t compare with the worn flags of the packhorse trails across the Pennines. Must be great for the Mountain Bikers though. In some places the peat is fighting back. Those dry stone walls up here must have also taken some constructing. P1050571

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Onwards over Spitlers, the highest point, now on gravel and the road coming up from Belmont is reached, masts towering above us. I never realised that the River Yarrow started up here. A cyclist pulls in after her steep road ascent and we get into all things cycling, talk of electric bikes which we both eschew, for now.

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Strangely I didn’t meet many people on that last two mile stretch but those I do have dogs and bar one not on a lead. The ground bird nesting season is in full swing, Curlews, Meadow Pipits, Skylarks and Lapwings are all around. What makes dog owners ignorant of the effects of their dogs running loose across the moor? There are signs everywhere saying control your dog. Starting to get grumpy. P1050606

And then it was the noisy motor bikes hurtling past on the road. I shouldn’t get grumpy on a lovely day like this, but I do.  Fortunately after 200m I escape onto an old footpath, possibly the original way, past Hoar Stones down into Belmont.  The path is well contoured and drained, a delight to walk.  A quarry is passed with strange strata of overhanging slabs of rock. Fell ponies are cropping the grass and take very little notice of me. I arrive into the linear village far too high to consider a diversion to the Black Dog. I now in retrospect wish I had done as it was on one of our irregular meet-ups in November that I last saw Al. I irreverently call him “The Plastic Bag Man” because of his trade promoting and selling plastic packaging. Hopefully he won’t he won’t be vilified for all that environmentally damaging plastic.  So many good outings with him. P1050636P1050642P1050655

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My way onwards involves crossing the dam of Belmont Reservoir to link up with the Witton Weavers Way on the east side of the valley. But, no the way is closed for ongoing reservoir works. I had no intension of walking back up the busy A675 road. Drawing a discreet veil over my progress I find myself on the other side and on the lane up to Pasture House Farms. I share the way with a Labrador walker who’s daily route has been disrupted by the dam works. We admire the spring lambs but up ahead are cows that she is scared of, I sympathise, but then lead on to the open rough pasture where the herd. is grazing. They take no notice of us, I go north  she heads south. Yet another of those brief encounters. P1050664P1050666P1050674P1050679

Easy going on a good level track, past Lower Pasture Barn Farm, which has had several reincarnations since it was a ruin. My camera has started taking square pictures and multiple exposures, it is too fiddly to sort out on the move. Another of those P&NFS signs points up to Darwen Moor which I resist, my car park is almost insight. A hidden little path through the trees off the road takes me directly there. P1050683P1050713P1050710

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An afterword. I’ve mentioned my late friend Al (the plastic bag man) too many times in the last couple of weeks with his name and memory cropping up all over the place. Tonight on NW TV news there was a segment on a chap with the same ‘fibrosing lung disease’ waiting for a transplant. Al unfortunately wasn’t fit enough to be considered for that.

  ***

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THE FINAL STANZA?

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It never used to be so busy at the Cow and Calf Rocks’ carpark  A bright Saturday has brought crowds up here above an equally busy Ilkley. We are here to find the last of Simon Armitage and Pipa Hall’s  Stanza Stone Poems, Beck, hidden in Backstone Beck where the latter comes down at speed towards the town. I have downloaded some ‘simple’ directions but am afraid I may get distracted by the nearby climbing crags.

Ilkley Quarry, the Cow and Calf and the Rocky Valley were favourite haunts of my early climbing days. There was plenty of traditional excitement to be had on the rounded gritstone. But no let’s find the poetry stone first.

‘Take the path out of the car park’ was an obvious start, we could manage that. The paths are more well used than I remember them, were they even here back then? But there are lots of them going off in all directions. And there are people in all directions too. Some coming up from Ilkley by way of the tarn, most like us wandering from the Cow and Calf and others from over the moor. Dogs, in all shapes and sizes, are everywhere, which gives Zola plenty of canine interactions, Clare is on hand to call her in when things are starting to get out of hand. I am amazed that she can bound off into the distance (Zola, not Clare), in a place she has never set foot in, and keep reappearing at our heels. The bracken is dead which helps us find the narrower paths. All the time we have a panoramic view of Ilkley down below in the Aire valley. P1020983P1020984

‘Head towards a plantation’ was the next  instruction, yes, but which one? A solitary Stanza Poem fingerpost then takes some of the adventure away. The sound of the beck meant we were close. ‘Scramble up alongside the beck’ was our instruction – but steps have been provided recently. ‘Squeeze through between a gorse bush and a boulder’  the guide says. But someone has cut the gorse bush back. Is this all down to the YouTube/Instagram/what three words phenomena creating honey pots in our wild countryside? I’m beginning to feel a little cheated, this was to be the climax of our poetry trail with the most difficult stone to find. Zola obviously finds it for us, but then in the end we have it completely to ourselves. P1020990P1020995P1020996

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False trail 

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Is this what you are looking for?

What a spot, a wild tumbling beck with the brown bracken clinging to the hillside. Water is splashing around the rocks and there in the centre of it all is the Stanza Stone. A proud boulder sitting in the flow as was Pipa Hall when she carved out the letters. We ask ourselves how did they find this elysian place?  P1030027

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It is all one chase.
Trace it back the source
might be nothing more than a teardrop
squeezed from a Curlew’s eye,
then follow it down to the full-throated roar
at its mouth – a dipper strolls the river
dressed for dinner in a white bib.
The unbroken thread of the beck
with its nose for the sea
all flux and flex, soft-soaping a pebble
for thousands of years, or here
after hard rain, sawing the hillside in half
with its chain. Or here, where water unbinds
and hangs at the waterfall’s face, and
just for that one, stretched white moment
becomes lace.
©Simon Armitage 2010

A bit of precarious scrambling had us up close to the poem which is slowly taking on the patina of all the other water splashed rocks. What will it be like in another ten, twenty or fifty years? all a very short period of time for the stones up here on the moor. The references to the curlew and the dipper are perfect for the situation. If you have read any of Simon Armitage’s poems you will recognise his acute observation, engagement and ability to weave his words. If you haven’t, a good start would be an anthology of his writings – Paper Aeroplane, 1989 – 2014. The title poem at the very end is one of my favourites, a self-effacing offering worlds apart from Tennyson, Simon is no stuffy Poet Laureate.

Where next? Well I had suggested we explore the wild moor looking for those thousand years old markings in the rocks up here. Cup and ring marks and geometric carvings. I won’t bore you with our subsequent wanderings. Zola probably derived the most benefit from the open moorland obstacle course. Did we find any? I can’t say for certain, lets just leave it there. I don’t know who C Clark and Crackety Jack are.P1030074P1030048P1030051P1030053P1030062P1030111P1030094P1030100P1030120

Our only trophy was stumbling across a ‘poetry seat’ constructed in line with the poems. The sign said Marsden 451/4 miles, where we had started with Snow up in the quarries at Pule Hill in October. We have not walked the whole trail but picked off the stones on the way – Rain, Mist, Dew, Puddle and now Beck. Whichever way you approach it this gives a wonderful feeling for the Pennine scenery, the vagrancies of its weather and the talent and inspiration of the poetry team.

Going with the flow Clare posts a poem into the letter box. I wonder when it will next emerge.P1030088P1030087P1030083P1030080

On our way back to the car I indulge in some reminiscing of those carefree climbing days long ago. P1030103P1030109P1030123

There was no congratulatory drink in the nearby Cow and Calf Inn, a quick toilet stop and I was happy to be on my way home before all those high intensity car headlights had chance to confuse me. How the mighty have fallen.

***

There is however a post script. Our journey is not yet done.

The final Stanza?  Armitage and Hall spoke about a seventh, hidden Stanza Stone. Although they disputed its size, both agreed it was fairly small and had been placed within either a “wooden casket” or “hollowed-out log”.  Armitage added: “We took it to a place above Hebden Bridge, where the Ted Hughes poem ‘Six Young Men’ is set, and placed it under the riverbank there.” Shortly afterwards the valley was flooded, “so we’ve no idea where it is now. It’s either in the Atlantic, or in the North Sea – or lying in someone’s cellar in Todmorden”.

Let me know if you come across it.

***

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SCULPTURES DOWN THE EDEN.

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 Eden Benchmarks are a series of ten contemporary stone sculptures located at intervals along the length of the river Eden between its source above the Mallerstang valley and Rockliffe, north of Carlisle, where it runs into the Solway Firth.
 “Each sculptor worked in residence for six weeks and this enabled them to formulate their ideas by familiarising themselves with the locations and talking with local people, including schools, who were encouraged to visit their workshops to see the sculptures taking shape. The artists’ brief allowed as much creative freedom as possible to produce site-specific sculpture, which harmonises with the landscape and captures the essence of each unique locality.
 Collectively the sculptures give visual expression to our awareness of the river’s ecology and the need to look after it; individually they foster a profound sense of place, their capacity as seats accommodating an interactive focus for quiet reflection.”

These sculptures were funded and commissioned by the East Cumbria Countryside Project group in 1996. It disbanded in 2008 when funding dried up, but the sculptures are still there even if not officially cared for.

I have already discovered the first two in the last couple of days, ‘WATER CUT’ in Mallerstang and ‘PASSAGE’ in Stenkrith Park, Kirkby Stephen. Today I intended to visit as many of the remaining eight before I ran out of daylight. It would mean more driving than walking, I had plotted a route down the Eden between all the village sites. The satnav on my new phone proved invaluable.

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I’d enjoyed my two nights at the Black Bull in Nateby and they sent me off with a hearty breakfast, I didn’t eat again until I was back home in the evening. I stopped briefly in Kirby Stephen to take that photo of Lady Anne Clifford’s statue which I used yesterday. I noticed this seat with its friendly notice, I didn’t have time for chatting but what a good idea. As the benchmarks have all been sculptured to provide a seat to sit and contemplate this was a good start to the day.P1010658

A mad dash up the scary A66 and I was taking the road into Appleby. A little side lane, Bongate, lead down to an old ford over the Eden by a derelict mill and a small carpark. At the edge of the carpark was a rough looking boulder – could this be the benchmark? It was only when I walked around the other side of it that I could see fully the carved flower. I brushed the leaves aside and sat in it for awhile watching the river flow by. Stunning.

‘THE PRIMROSE STONE’ by Joss Smith at Bongate near Appleby.

“Shaped from a nine ton block of St Bees Sandstone, the Primrose Stone magnifies the ‘inscape’ of the much loved first rose of spring. As you approach the sculpture from behind it looks like a rough erratic boulder and the carved petals of the flower at the front come as a surprise. It envelops the sitter in a bowl shape that is positively seductive and, like a primeval satellite dish, amplifies the sights, sounds and smells of the river”.

 Joss Smith lives in London. His work is mainly studio based and traditionally figurative but has recently been making accessible sculptures for public places.

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*

 I needed more time to explore Appleby but I was soon on the way farther north. I found a bit of roadside parking by the cricket pitch on the outskirts of Temple Sowerby and strode across muddy fields towards the river. You can see the state of the ground after all the heavy rain. The sculpture came as a surprise with the spheres scattered over the surface ripples. There was a distinct feeling of motion as the spheres ran into the river. I loved the ripple effects she had created around each grain.

‘Red River’ by Victoria Brailsford at Temple Sowerby.

“The stepped slabs of Lazonby Sandstone in this sculpture represent the contours of the landscape and its light, shade, pattern, shape and form. The spheres, reminiscent of gigantic pebbles in a fast moving stream, are a powerful evocation of the river and its energy but also, like hugely enlarged grains of sand, recall the origins of sandstone in the shifting sand dunes of Triassic Cumbria”

 Victoria Brailsford’s  work relates to ecological issues and ranges from charcoal drawings to wood carving and large stone sculptures. P1010107P1010110P1010117P1010116P1010140P1010120

*

 Back across the boggy fields and reset the satnav for Edenhall, a tiny red sandstone hamlet across the river from Langwathby. I park in a small pull off and ask the couple on the adjoining garden if I’m OK there. They don’t see many strangers in the village and I explain my mission. They are proud of their nearby Benchmark and regale me with their favourites, they haven’t made it to the Water Cut in Mallerstang as yet. I leave them to their pond maintenance and walk down the lane towards the squat red sandstone C12th church. I turn off at the wheel headed cross, the base looks ancient but the shaft as is often the case much more modern, There used to be a manor house down here which explains the churches isolated position surrounded by parkland. It also explains the name of the river bank walk I was about to set of along – The Ladies Walk. Built for the manor house occupants, a level path above the river with old iron railings and stone seats at intervals, fit for a lady. Not sure how far along I would have to go, met a bloke walking the other way but he knew nothing of Benchmarks. Up some steps and there is the sculpture. Two curved pieces of red sandstone in juxtaposition. They have graceful curving lines and wonderfully detailed surface rippling. The low lying one is being gradually covered by green moss and for a moment I think of cleaning it to reveal the detail, but I stop myself in time. These sculptures were specifically envisaged to reflect the landscape and now I feel they are slowly becoming part of it. That is probably hidden praise for the sculptor’s skill in the first place. I was warned that the ongoing path was flooded so I turned tail  and followed the  ladies alongside the ever enlarging river.

‘South Rising’ by Vivien Mousdell on Ladies Walk at Edenhall.

“Made from Lazonby Sandstone, ‘South Rising’ pays tribute to a vigorous ecosystem, representing the river’s perpetual journey and the annually recurring movements of migrating fish and birds. The horizontal stone alludes to the river itself, flowing north, and the tall vertical stone, with perhaps a passing resemblance to Long Meg, inclines south toward the rivers distant source. Chiselled with a surface texture reminiscent of water reflected sunlight, both stones have been carved in sweeping curves like the surrounding landscape, creating a rhythmic energy passing from one to the other”

 Vivien Mousdell trained in ceramics but switched to wood and stone carving and letter cutting. A skilled and versatile artist she has specialised in public commissions such as the stone boundary markers on the Cleveland Way and a variety of wood carvings on the Whitehaven to Ennerdale cycle path. She is also a puppet maker and performer and video artist. Some people are just so talented.

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 *

 Straight up little lanes in picturesque scenery, through Great Salkeld, I need to visit Long Meg and her Daughters on the other side of the river some day. Down there by the river are Lacy’s caves, chambers carved into the soft sandstone, which I distinctly remember from my Eden Way walk all those years ago. There was also an excellent climbing crag which is unfortunately now banned. Public footpaths and access are at a premium along this stretch which is a disgrace. The Settle-Carlisle line comes through the middle of Lazonby, I duck under it and head for the riverside picnic area. The Eden is in full flow. In rather drab surroundings the next benchmark lies low in the grass, can you spot it? P1010747P1010724

This one really is becoming organic. Moss is taking over and obscuring most of the stones’  cyphers. I see the sun or is it moon at one end and that’s about it. I do like the view up to the graceful bridge though.

‘Cypher Piece’ by Frances Pelly at Lazonby.

“The sculptor presents us with a series of puzzles to be decoded. The combined stones mimic the river landscape and contain various references to human history. A sun and moon have been carved at one end of the sculpture representing the winter solstice and a variety of images are portrayed elsewhere, including a fish, a Roman 1996, a Celtic horses head’ a rams horn and decorations taken from a Norse tomb”

 Frances Pelly lives in Orkney. As well as carving stone she also works in bronze.  P1010738P1010732P1010733P1010740

 *

 Where next? A short drive along the valley to another delightful village, Armathwaite. This a spot I know well having climbed on the riverside crags many happy times. I parked at the bridge and walked through the grounds of the Fox and Pheasant and up into Coombe Woods on a carpet of leaves until quite high above the river and the crags. The path leveled out and there was the carved block in a ring of smaller stones. I could easily pick out the intricate carvings of discarded clothing from the bloke who has gone for a swim. What an imagination, the sculptor’s not mine. I found a lower way back closer to the roaring river. A magic stretch of water.

‘Vista’ by Graeme Mitcheson in Coombs Wood near Armathwaite.

“A solitary walker reaches a plateau in Coombs Wood where beneath him, between the trees, he can see the winding river Eden. Nine stones form an ellipse in clearing. It is a hot day and he removes his clothes and goes for a swim. This sculpture is about walking in the countryside and being at one with nature. The largest of the stones is carved with representations of various items of clothing and a map, which also functions as a sundial. A tiny face depicted on the cap is reference to a series of faces carved on the cliffs below in 1885 by William Mounsey who famously walked the length of the Eden”

 Graeme Mitcheson  lives in Derbyshire. His work is based in traditional stone masonry and he turns his hand to everything from commissions for bird baths and garden ornaments to architectural restoration and memorials.

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* 

 An easy drive and I was parked on the village green at Wetheral near the church. It was just after one o’clock and for the first time I thought I might make the Solway today. A steep little lane took me down to the river and there was the next sculpture on a flat piece of land. This was a large affair, a bench with angels’ wings, cushions and arched panels reflecting the nearby bridge.

‘Flight of Fancy’ by Tim Shutter at Wetheral.

“The steep scale of the wooded bank across the river and the soaring viaduct combine to give the feeling of an outdoor cathedral. ‘Flight of Fancy’ plays with this ecclesiastical sense of lifting the spirit with angel’s wings, church style masonry and very convincingly carved prayer cushions”

 Tim Shutter is a master stone mason in the classical tradition. He is based in London.

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Back on the village green I became distracted by some tiny yellow fungi hidden in the grass -possibly Golden Waxcaps? There’s beauty in the minutiae too. P1010844

 *

 I was apprehensive of my detour into the centre of Carlisle for my penultimate benchmark. I new there was some parking near the castle so I asked my phone to take me there. It was clever enough to warn me that “the castle may be close today” Despite the heavy traffic delays I eventually arrived in the car park but couldn’t understand how to operate the pay machine. Two ladies took pity on me and as they had just finished their shopping spree gave me there still in time ticket. I felt the day was slipping away with these delays. P1010850

I walked towards the river only to find another car park without charges, the dog walkers used this one. Somehow rivers either bring a city to life or become subjugated into the background. The river Eden in Carlisle is of the latter character – lost between rail, roads and industrial sites or maybe it was the dullness of the afternoon that prejudiced me. The four stones were set in a line in the parkland alongside the river. Strange angular carvings which didn’t relate easily to me, erosion usually produces smoother features. OK they are smooth on one side but I find the other angles jarring.

‘Toward the Sea’ by Hideo Furuta in Bitts Park at Carlisle.

“The four components of this sculpture are manifestations of the sculptor’s intense and mathematical explorations of the stone itself and, almost incidentally, describe a sequence of water eroded stone running parallel with the flow of the river nearby”

 Hideo Furuta sadly died in 2007 aged 57. He was an artist of international standing and was based at a granite quarry  in Dumfries and Galloway. P1010853P1010861P1010862

 *

 Maybe I was a bit harsh about Carlisle as I know from my trip on the Hadrian Wall path that the Eden is in magnificent form either side of the city. Anyhow I was pleased to find an easy way out of the city to my last destination, the village of Rockcliffe on the Eden before it slips into the Solway.

The clock had turned three and the light was fading and I couldn’t find anywhere to park. I eventually used the carpark of a nearby pub and walked on down past the church to a little red cliffed bay area next to the river. Flood debris showed that it is often underwater. At the end I could see my final benchmark and thankfully it was a thing of beauty reminding me bizarrely of the amoebae I used to study under the microscope. How does the sculptor achieve such smoothness and shapes out of a block of sandstone? My only thought is that it could have been positioned closer to the Solway estuary itself but there may have been practical reasons against that. Here I saw the river slipping around the corner into that unseen estuary. I found a place to sit inside it and watched the sun fading in the greyness over the flat marshlands.

‘Global Warming’ by Anthony Turner at Rockcliffe.

“The title of this sculpture is indicative of its global perspective. Situated where the river Eden flows out to sea there is an expanding awareness of the wider world. It could simply be a huge sea creature washed onto the shore but it conveys the sense of an even bigger scale. There is a mysterious pregnant silence about it and it resembles a planet earth held carefully in a hand. The term global warming is now ominously synonymous with the world overheating yet we would like it to mean a nurturing, life enhancing glow”

 Anthony Turner was born in Kenya. A self taught painter and sculptor.  Recalling his childhood in Africa his sculptures are organic, exotic and sensual.

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*

 What a journey. I didn’t expect to reach all the Benchmarks today but time just seemed to flow for me. You must admit these sculptures are so impressive and yet so diverse. At each one I felt a strong connection with the artist, the stone and the setting. It is too late for me to rewalk the Eden Way but wouldn’t that be a finer way to appreciate the river and take in these works of art.

I’m back home after an easy motorway journey from Carlisle and preparing to visit my cousin and her husband down in Derbyshire. In the past I have shared walks with him but now he has advanced dementia and is bed bound.  Maybe I’ll show him some pictures of the River Eden.

EDEN VALLEY, MALLERSTANG.

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Time to head into the hills. After a good breakfast I  was ready to be away fairly early from the pub. Interestingly the garage opposite had more farmers’ quad bikes in for servicing than cars. P1010656

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Refueling.

It was a short drive up the valley into Mallerstang proper. On the way I passed the ruins of Pendragon Castle. The early morning light was so clear that I made a quick photographic stop in case things were murkier when I returned, it starts getting dark between three and four.

There is a lot of legend associated with the castle. it was supposedly built by Uther Pendragon, the father of King Arthur. It is said he tried to divert the river to form a moat.

A well known local couplet goes –

    Let Uther Pendragon do what he can,                                                                                                     Eden will run where Eden ran.

 The castle was built during the reign of King Rufus in the 12th century by Ranulph de Meschines,  After attacks by Scottish raiders in 1541 it became uninhabitable until the C17th when Lady Anne Clifford inherited it. She rebuilt it and added to it in 1660. It remained one of the favourites among her many castles until her death in 1676 at the age of 86. She spent her time between Skipton Castle and here in Westmorland  becoming involved with local affairs and restoring several nearby churches. A long distance walk tracing her travels passes this way. There is a statue of her in Kirkby Stephen market place. P1010666

 Her successor, the Earl of Thanet, had no use for the castle and removed anything of value from it, By the 1770s much of the building had collapsed. It now stands as a romantic ruin with pointy Wild Boar Fell in the background. P1010185P1010188P1010189

Whilst wandering around the ruins I was treated to a flypast by a Lockheed Hercules. P1010205

I drove through Outhgill which I visited yesterday and parked up at The Thrang for a walk I had picked off the net. It would take me up to the first Eden Benchmark, Water Cut – before visiting Hell Gill and its waterfalls, and then wandering back past valley farms.P1010209

Quite a broad track headed away from the valley floor, an old bridleway to Hawes at the head of Wensleydale. All the rivulets coming down from Mallerstang Edge were in full flow and my feet were wet after the first ford crossing. P1010224P1010221

That dot on the horizon turned out to be the benchmark in its very prominent position – how come I have never spotted it before? After some steady walking and a few more fords it was reached at about 420m. P1010225

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Water Cut by Mary Bourne. 1996. 

“Water Cut is located a few miles from the source of the river Eden, high up on the eastern side of the Mallerstang valley. Like a huge milestone, it stands alongside the ancient green road known as Lady Anne Clifford’s Way. The space carved between the two vertical pillars creates the shape of a meandering river in the sky and provides a ‘window’ onto the real river in the valley below. It also symbolises the power of the river Eden cutting through the rock on its journey through East Cumbria and our own human journeys through the rural landscape and through life. Made from Salterwath Limestone, taken from a quarry near Shap, it also resembles the gate posts and stiles in drystone walls, which are so characteristic of the area, whilst it’s outer curve makes reference to the viaduct arches on the nearby Settle-Carlisle railway.”

Mary Bourne is an accomplished stone carver,  living in the North East Scotland. Her work explores forms of the landscape and her relationship with the natural environment.

I played about with various camera angles. The more I looked they resembled two salmon leaping, are there salmon in the Eden?

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From up here one has good views north along Mallerstang Edge and across the valley to Wild Boar Fell. The limestone lower layers contrasting with the overlying gritstone.

Not much farther I came to Hell Gill, I could hear it well before I reached the bridge over it. A deep rift in the limestone tearing down the hillside with thrashing waters in its depths. This was dramatic. I tried to get views down into the canyon but it was sensibly well fenced off. All was green mossy and ferny, I think there are fairies down there. P1010346P1010352P1010366P1010372P1010377P1010388P1010398P1010401

The water tumbled on down the hillside and I followed. It came to a welcome rest at a ford. P1010409P1010418P1010422P1010424P1010433

But what was that noise? A small steep detour and I could see the next and probably the best cataract. A video should have been taken. P1010440P1010451

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My boots were under water crossing the fast flowing ford.  P1010462

It must be all downhill from here but the next few miles tried my patience. I was basking in the beauty of Mallerstang and yet struggling to find the bridleway marked on the map on the ground. There was a lot more rough walking to come. It tended to keep above the top intake wall and hence involved tussocky grass and boggy areas. Few people use this way. P1010464P1010480P1010513P1010533

There were a few more waterfalls to admire and the light on the other side of the valley was beautiful. No steam on the Settle to Carlisle today.P1010550P1010472P1010477P1010466

Eventually I made my way to the valley bottom and along by the Eden back to my car just as the sun was going down behind Wild Boar Fell.P1010539P1010565P1010572P1010579

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I would highly recommend this walk, it packs a lot into those 6 miles without going onto the tops. I never saw another person.

Mallerstang-trail.pdf (edenriverstrust.org.uk)

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Capture

CaptureMallerstang

THE POETRY PATH. KIRKBY STEPHEN.

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 Twelve short poems, interpreting the hill farmer’s life throughout the year, written by Meg Peacocke, have been carved by lettering artist Pip Hall (0f Stanza Poems fame) on blocks of stone on a circular walk either side of the river Eden just outside Kirkby Stephen. Each stone also has an engraving depicting the month’s theme.  There was a handy car park at Stenkrith Bridge as this is also the start of another walk on the old rail track over three viaducts.  I was amazed at the flow of water through the little gorge below the bridge, a hidden thundering cataract. A little metal bridge took me over the water into the park.P1000777P1010052P1000791P1000785
 Alongside the path in the trees the first of the poems, well actually it was the ninth, October (Sheep Sales) as I had come into the trail half way round. Two stones, one of sandstone and the other Limestone. It was just possible to make out the poem.
 
 Sandstone. A desert wind, grain by grain, laid down these rocks. How did we trace a path through ancient dunes?
 Limestone. A million blanched and compacted shells. How did we swim through the drift and not perish?
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 The next poem, November (Tupping Time) was on a pair of upright stone slabs, again at the edge of the woods next to some spectacular rapids in the Eden.
 
 Through hazels and alders, softly or in spate, Eden moves in the valley it has hallowed  from Mallerstang to the shifting Solway sands.
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 I diverted from the poetry Path to try and find my first Eden Benchmark which was described after two of the poems. I could find no sign of it alongside the river and wondered whether it could have been washed away in the frequent floods. I was not entirely sure what I was looking for so I gave up and headed across the fields to the next poem, a Haiku.  December (Tree Planting)  I found them lying flat in the field.
 
  There sails the heron  drawing behind him  a long wake of solitude.P1000838P1000841
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 Next to Swingy Bridge was an upright stone commencing the year in January (Hedge Laying)
 
 The sky’s harsh crystal, wind a blade, trees stripped, grass dull with cold. Life is a kernel hidden in the stone of winter.
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A close up of the hedge laying motif showing how difficult they were to pick out.

 Having crossed the Eden I now followed an old sunken path through the woods on the other bank.
February’s (Cattle brought in for winter) poem was a stark tower of four blocks.
 
 Snowlight peers at the byre door. Neither day nor night, Four months ago we fetched the cattle in, safe from reiving wind and rain, months of standing shifting, burdened with patience. When will winter end?
Thin strakes of run on the byre door. Fork a load of silage out, straighten your back to watch them shove their muzzles in, and wonder if they crave the hazy nights when they can roam among tall summer grasses, sleek and sound and warm.  P1000862P1000877
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 The path crossed a small but lively stream and the March (Walling) poem’s block was in the water itself. Apparently when they were deciding where to place this stone it slipped from its cradle but landed perfectly in the water.
 
 From field and fell run cols run small. I am the rain tear in the eye blood in the vein I am the sea.  
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 April (Lambing) was built into the stone wall on the right. If the stone was already in the wall, which I assume it was, it is a sign of the walls antiquity.
 
 Coltsfoot, celandine, earliest daisies. Twin lambs race to the mother, baby cries, Mam! Mam! Jolt out of them and now they jostle the ragged ewe, boosting each split hoof high off the bitten turf. Pinching jaws and hard curled coats are braced against these April suns and sleets.  P1000904P1000908
 
 Farther on just before a bridge over the old railway line and again built into a wall was the larger May (Paling) poem. Another piece of ancient wall. Look at those lovely lichens growing on the rock.
 
 Penned in a huddle, the great tups are clints of panting stone. The shepherd lifts a sideways glance from the labour of dagging tails. His hands are seamed with muck and sweat runs into his eyes. Above us, a plane has needled the clear blue.  P1000914P1000915P1000917
 
 After the bridge June (Gathering and marking sheep) was found in the undergrowth on the right. The two blocks look as though they have come out of a mill floor.
 
 Light drops like honey from branch to branch. Elders balance their dishes of cream, while fledglings try small quivery leaps, testing buoyancy of the air.  P1000926P1000929P1000927
 
 I followed the path down to join the track of the old railway, part of the longer viaducts walk. July (Haymaking and silage) was soon encountered, a large rough block of limestone there on the left.
 
 Silage. Tractor incises the first green furrow. Skilful geometrician, the driver judges an arc of weather. P1000938P1000940P1000941P1000946
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Farther along August’s (Showing sheep at shows) poem is semi hidden in the trees to the right. A large weathering sandstone block with a white patina of lichens encroaching on the lettering.
 
 Crabapples tart on the tongue, Hazelnuts milky, Rosehips cool in the hand, Thistledown silky.  Squirrel is speaking his mind.
Knapweed purples the banks.
For touch, taste, smell, sight, hearing I give thanks.”
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 The last poem on my circuit was September (Farmer’s markets) a block of shaped red sandstone maybe reflecting the railway’s past. The bold lettering adding to the effect.
 
 Revetted banks, a concrete post. Rabbits tunnel the cinder waste. Angle iron, link of broken chain. Listen, and catch the hiss of steam again. P1000982P1000989
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I have transcribed the poems above as photographs don’t show them clear enough. As well as the poems, motifs reflecting the subjects were inscribed on the stones, I found it virtually impossible to make these out which is a shame but sculptures on natural rock exposed to the elements will suffer from corrosion. I really enjoyed this little walk, a great idea to highlight the area. The stones were well chosen and positioned. Meg’s poetic lines are to the point and very evocative – make sure you read them.
 
 I was back where I started, but smarting from not finding that benchmark, I rechecked  on my phone, ‘pocket computer’, It seemed to suggest it was after the first two poetry stones and gave a grid reference. But people often quote misread grid refences. Lets look again. I delved deeper into the undergrowth by the river after the second poetry stone and found nothing, the grid refence I was getting was different from the publicised one. I then followed my phone to the given grid reference and there stumbled upon the installation It was close to the river hidden by undergrowth, nearby the first poem which being composed of two stones could have caused the confusion.
 
 This, the second Benchmark down stream on the Eden was called ‘Passage’ by Laura White. 
“Evocative of the river’s passage through the gorge under Stenkrith Bridge, this sculpture is subtle and unobtrusive but exudes an inner strength that somehow gathers the special ambience of its location. The shapes carved into the stone are clearly derived from the shapes in the river bed rocks but have been refined to activate and compliment the space and provide a focal point for contemplation”  
 
 Laura White’s early work with stone explored organic themes but more recently she has used mixed media and video images. She lives in London and teaches at Goldsmiths College in London and Manchester Metropolitan University.
 
 Ah well, at least I found it. The stones were rather lost in the vegetation and are slowly naturally mossing over, not many people visit them or perhaps can’t find them. Whatever, it was a good excuse to spend some more time alongside the lively Eden and on the breccia bedrock. 
 
 
 
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Tomorrow I will head to the hills for the first of the Eden Benchmarks. 

GOLDSWORTHY PINFOLDS IN THE EDEN VALLEY.

 
 
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“People also leave presence in a place even when they are no longer there” 
 Andy Goldsworthy.
 
 I had two objectives today – The Poetry Path in Kirkby Stephen and Andy Goldsworthy’s six Pinfold Cones, from early this century, scattered around the area. As the day progresses an Eden Benchmark crept into my itinerary. It became a bit of a whirlwind day. Just warning you, in fact I have just decided to remove the poetry to another post.
It is difficult to write a post when virtually all of your six subjects, in this case the Pinfold Cones. are almost identical.
  A fairly early start and I found myself driving narrow lanes in the mist. This is limestone country. Through the village of Orton and onwards to Crosby Ravensworth to try and find my first pinfold. This was easy as it was next to the main street at the south end of the scattered village. A small square pinfold with one of Andy Goldsworthy’s stone cones in the centre. The cone shape is said to have been influenced by the Nine Standards Rigg above Kirkby Stephen. He has used it in installations in many places. He talks of the cone shape being warm and enveloping, a source of hope and also protection. They focus our attention on the environment and the history of man’s influences upon it.
 This cone is made from local limestone, looking quite black in this damp morning. The Pinfolds will have been around for a long time, a pen used for stray animals before they could be reunited with their owners. We have a good example on the outskirts of Longridge. I have found some reference for Goldsworthy’s pinfolds being rebuilt on the  original sites, there doesn’t seem to be any documentation for each one. I must assume at least that it will now guarantee their survival.P1000674
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 Back in Orton I stopped for a coffee in Kennedy’s Fine Chocolate shop. Maybe I should have stocked up on luxury Christmas presents, but I didn’t. Across the street is The George Hotel, we ended up there one afternoon after climbing at nearby Jackdaw Scar, Kings Meaburn, a crag where you start on a sandstone lower wall which morphs into limestone as you progress. The geology of this whole area is fascinating and one learns a lot from climbing on its cliffs. The bar staff had had a busy Sunday lunchtime and were wanting to rest before the evening’s trade. Being officially open, they happily accommodated us though, by locking us into one of the bars at the back with orders not to let anybody else in. We sipped our supplies of beer and played pool for an hour or so. P1000687P1000689
 I drove through the village of Raisbeck without realising and ended up on a single track road going nowhere. I had to backtrack and found the next Pinfold, a larger square with a gated entrance hidden away in the trees, the clue being Pinfold Bridge shown on the map. Another limestone construction. Judging by the vegetation few people bother to search it out. P1000696P1000698P1000703
 Not wanting to face that narrow lane again I retraced my way back through the few houses that make up Raisbeck. Something caught my eye as I passed a small building. Stopping for a closer look it turned out to be an old school house. The Dame School was built in 1780 by farmers of Raisbeck and repaired in 1857, probably closed by 1900. Dame schools were for young children of poor families providing only a basic education.  By the 1970s the old school building was in a bad condition. A poet named Michael Ffinch and local supporters fought to have it designated and restored. 
 The notice on the door said “COME IN”. There was a room downstairs with a fireplace and wooden floored room upstairs. There wouldn’t have been space for many children. How good that it has free access without any obvious funding. Ffinch wrote a poem about it and I wished I had photographed it in the room because I can’t find it now.
Outside was an unusual stone picnic table and 2 stone ‘flower beds’ one celebrating Queen Elizabeth’s reign, the other Charles coronation. They are quick off the mark up here.P1000717P1000732P1000739P1000758
  There was still mist about on the hills as I drove down to Kirkby Stephen. P1000767P1000770
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 My next stop just outside Kirkby Stephen – The Poetry Path. But I am leaving that for a separate post.
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 The day was still young or so I thought and therefore I decided to drive to find more Goldsworthy Pinfolds which were easily accessible by road in the area north of Kirkby Stephen. 
 I drove the short distance to Church Brough and parked under the shadow of the castle at the primary school. There was the circular Pinfold with its Cone – but slap bang in the middle of the school’s play field. I hesitated taking any photo of  this one due to its proximity to the school. P1010667
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 Up the fast and furious A66 to Warcop. All around are military training grounds with lots of warning signs. In fact as I got out of the car distant artillery bursts were audible. The little square pinfold was a haven of peace. We are now in sandstone country.
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 Farther up the A66 past Appleby I took to those narrow country lanes again to the small village of Bolton. The pinfold was easy to find right next to the road. New housing is going up all around and it is good that the Pinfold survived even though it is somewhat hemmed in. Not as sympathetic to the environment as Goldsworthy would have liked..P1010101P1010098
 
 
 Driving back to Kirkby Stephen there is still light enough to carry on to Outhgill, higher up the Eden at the start of Mallerstang, where the last of my pinfolds was situated. I have driven through this hamlet many times but never stopped to explore.  At one time Outhgill had an inn, a post office, a smithy, parish church and a Methodist chapel. Of these, only the church still functions. In the churchyard are the unmarked graves of 25 of the builders of the Mallerstang section of the Settle-Carlisle Railway who died or were killed during the construction. At the time the line was constructed (1869 to 1875) between Dent and Kirkby Stephen, six thousand navvies and there families were employed and housed in shanty towns in the valley. Can you imagine the squalor?

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 I noticed one property named Faraday Cottage, where the father of the scientist Michael Faraday was the blacksmith in the late 18th century. He in fact moved to London before Michael was born so the link is tenuous.  P1010616P1010615
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Faraday Cottage.

    The Outhgill pinfold was up a little lane and was the smallest I had come across.  P1010614P1010611P1010608
 
 Quite a busy day. The Black Bull in Nateby proved a very friendly place with good food and beer. I slept much better than I do at home.  P1010648P1010651P1010650
 
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ARTY THINGS IN THE EDEN VALLEY.

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It must be 40 years since I walked  ‘The Eden Way’, which as the name suggests follows the River Eden from its source in the fells above Mallerstang, through Kirkby Stephen and Appleby, past Carlisle to the Solway Firth. I remember I only took a bivy bag for lightness and ended up quite damp several mornings.

It’s an area a little out of comfortable reach from Lancashire and I have neglected it over the years. Some recent climbing nearby has brought it back to my attention and it so happens that one of the many books I have read in this month or so of poor weather was ‘The Stream Invites Us To Follow’ by Dick Capel. ( I seem to recollect John Bainbridge recommending it, that is one of the joys of Blogging, your readers, few though they may be, often come up with suggestions which you have overlooked. Thanks John )

Dick Capel came to Cumbria in 1982 working as a warden in the National Park as it was then. He changed areas in 1991 starting work for the East Cumbria Countryside Project, ECCP. This aimed to promote the conservation and enhancement of the natural environment of East Cumbria.  During this time he became heavily involved with the Eden Valley and particularly in developing a series of sculpture trails reflecting the area. He  writes evocatively of the area and his own trials and tribulations. In particular he highlights The Eden Benchmarks, The Poetry Path and a series of Goldsworthy Pinfolds that appeared under his watch.

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The Eden Benchmarks.

The  Benchmarks are a series of ten contemporary stone sculptures located at intervals along the length of the river Eden between its source above the Mallerstang valley and to the Solway Firth.

“Ten sculptor’s were chosen as part of the East Cumbrian Countryside Project, ECCP. The artists’ brief allowed creative freedom to produce site-specific sculpture, which harmonises with the landscape and captures the essence of each unique locality. The sculptors worked in residence for six weeks and this enabled them to formulate their ideas by familiarising themselves with the locations and talking with local people, including schools, who were encouraged to visit their workshops to see the sculptures taking shape”

“Collectively the sculptures give visual expression to our awareness of the river’s ecology and the need to look after it; individually they foster a profound sense of place, their capacity as seats accommodating an interactive focus for quiet reflection”.

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The Poetry Path.

Encouraged by the success of Eden Benchmarks Capel’s next arts project was the Poetry Path by the Eden on the edge of Kirkby Stephen interpreting the hill farmer’s life and love for the Eden Valley.

“Twelve short poems, written by Meg Peacocke, have been carved by lettering artist Pip Hall on blocks of stone installed at intervals along a circuital route either side of the river Eden. Decorative motifs with each poem depict some of the activities associated with every month of the hill farmer’s year”  

“The aim of the Poetry Path is to introduce a permanent and integrated interpretative experience into the landscape, which is assimilated as part of the heritage it promotes and conveys a powerful message about the farmer’s potential role in maintaining a sensitive but viable hill-farming regime in relation to the natural environment as a resource both for nature conservation as well as food production”.

  I could not have written that.

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Andy Goldsworthy’s Pinfold Cairns.

In the area there are six of these stone cones built into village pinfolds, which used to hold stray animals,  Created by the sculptor Andy Goldsworthy (1996 – 2002) supposedly based on the prominent piles of stones called the Nine Standards above Kirkby Stephen. At one time Goldsworthy lived in the area.

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The funding ran out in 2008 for the ECCP.  But the art remains. Sculptures and poems reflecting the area’s heritage and beauty, and hopefully enhancing peoples enjoyment and understanding of the countryside and environment.

Dick’s book has acted as a catalyst for some exploration on my part. I find myself visiting friends up here so I have decided to stay on, I’ve booked into the Black Bull in Nateby for a few days. P1010169

A related website  provides all the information you need on all the installations. I have quoted above from that site.

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“The stream invites us to follow…and certainly, there is no more fascinating pastime than to keep company with a river from its source to sea”  W H Hudson, Afoot in England.

FISH AND CHIPS.

20231025_114510More of a TripAdvisor review than a walk blog.

You may remember a walk I did a few weeks ago with Mike as a recce for of his group’s outing. Well Wednesday was the appointed day for the real thing, the monthly walk. The car park at the Hare and Hounds, Abbey Village, soon filled up, greetings made and boots were donned. The planned route followed paths through woods around the Roddlesworth Reservoirs. I came along as an extra, although I do know several of the other walkers – there were 24 altogether, oh and two dogs. That sounds an unruly number for the leader, Mike, to keep an eye on.

On the way over he was concerned that the group, who are prone to dawdle whilst they chat, wouldn’t complete the walk in time for the booked lunch; that areas of the way were excessively muddy; was it too steep in parts; would the small pub be up to providing a good meal for group. Getting lost was not an option. At least the weather was a perfect still blue sky day. 

All went well on the walk. Everybody kept up more or less, the dogs were well-behaved. Most people avoided the muddy, but best scenic, section alongside the upper reservoir, I took a few that way and met up with rest a little farther on. Most of the spectacular backdrop to these woods and the significance of the reservoirs was lost on the throng – who needs insights when you are busy chatting? (My original post gives you all that and photos to boot, I didn’t bring my camera today)

Back at the pub the bar was inundated with drink orders from the  couple of dozen arrivals. Credit to the barmaid for efficient and friendly service. Everyone seated, and the food arrived in fairly quick succession, a feat I admire from the chef. All seemed happy with their choices, there was a German slant to the menu as ‘mine host’ hails from there. Two hours passed, and then the crowd dispersed having thanked Mike for his excellent walk. I wonder if any will return to sample and appreciate the beauty of this area in a quieter slower mood. 

My fish and chips were perfect. 

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PENNINE POETRY – MIST.

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Simon Armitage’s Stanza Stones – Mist.

We, Clare, JD and I, are well on schedule for our quest to visit the final Stanza Stone for today. After the Snow and Rain along comes the Mist.

The scenery changes on our onward Northern drive, deep wooded valleys crowded with solid stone terraced mill houses.  Cragg Vale, Mytholmroyd (birthplace of Ted Hughes, Poet Laureate 1983 – 2008) Hebden Bridge, Pecket Well. We start dropping off the moor into Oxenhope when a steep narrow lane brings us back into the hills looking for somewhere to park under Nab Hill.

CaptureMist.

A muddy track leaves the lane, we check GPS that it is the correct one, a Stanza Stone waymark is soon noticed. Passing small quarries, no soaring climbing faces here, the rock is softer and splits into thin slabs possibly to be used as stone roof tiles common in Yorkshire at the time. We are on the lookout for a larger quarry on the right and then a stone cairn. Wind turbines look down on our wanderings. The problem is that there are several piles of stones on the edge of the moor, when is a pile of stones or a stone shelter a cairn? I dismiss the first stones and head farther towards an obvious larger cairn, ignoring smaller ones on the way. There is doubt in the team. The clue we have is to drop below the cairn to find slabs of rock. Nothing obvious here, how far down the slope should we go? We repeat the process under the other ‘cairns’. JD wanders off to pinpoint the OS map’s indication of the stone with his GPS, that doesn’t help. Clare scouts the lower ground, there are lots of slabby rocks about. I ponder that not being able to find the Mist Stone in the mist would be ironic, we are having difficulty on a perfect day. At last back at the first pile of stones we discover the correct slabs. P1000198P1000218

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The story goes that one slab was lifted in situ for Pip Hall to carve, it had a hairline crack down the centre and as the stone was moved it split, much to the consternation of the workmen. Undaunted Pip carved each one independently to later place them together, so that the lines hopefully read as one. (The picture of the split comes from their book) One has to give some thought to this lady out on the moor in all weathers carving away. These slabs are of a softer grit than the ones previously visited, Snow and Rain, and the lettering paler. Simon’s poem is equally evocative though, looking out over the valleys and moors where the Bronte Sisters once roamed for inspiration. Lichens are spreading out over the letterings giving them a more ancient look than their mere 12 years – come back in another 12 years. Someone’s ashes are scattered around and will slowly be blown across the moor or crushed underfoot.

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The split slab back in 2011 before repositioning.  

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Mist.

Who does it mourn? What does it mean, such
nearness, gathering here on high ground
while your back was turned, drawing its
net curtains around?

Featureless silver screen, mist
is water in its ghost state, all inwardness,
holding its milky breath, veiling the pulsing machines
of great cities under your feet, walling you
into these moments, into this anti-garden
of gritstone and peat.

Given time the edge of
your being will seep into its fibreless fur;
You are lost, adrift in hung water
and blurred air, but you are here.

The three Stanza Stones we have visited so far have exceeded my expectations and I can’t wait to return with our team to the Ilkley Area, home of the Literature Festival where the idea was born, to discover the remaining three, Dew, Puddle and Beck. Wouldn’t it be great to find the fabled seventh, but I suspect that will only appear to an alert walker somewhere on the Stanza Stone Trail.

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My navigation skills have improved for the drive home, – these are roads I know well up above Wycoller. We even have time to stop off to look at one of East Lancashire’s  Panopticons, The Atom. Both a shelter and a viewing point over the valley and to Pendle Hill. I am sure from memory that when it was first installed there was a stainless steel atom in the centre of the ‘Molecule’ – no sign of it now.

(The other three are Colourfields in Blackburn, The Singing Ringing Tree above Burnley and The Halo above Rossendale.) P1000231

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The day couldn’t have gone better. Sunshine, excellent company and three poems found and enjoyed.

PENNINE POETRY – RAIN.

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Simon Armitage’s Stanza Stones – Rain.

15 miles of scenic driving on open moorland roads and then through densely knit and gritty Pennine communities brought us to the White House Inn on the road out of Rochdale. We have just come from Marsden where up in Pule Hill quarry we found and admired our first Stanza Stone, Snow, a water themed poem by Simon Armitage skilfully inscribed by Pip Hall. This is one of six, or maybe even seven, scattered on the rugged Pennine Watershed between Marsden and Ilkley. There is a 45-mile walking trail between them all, but we have chosen to use the car and visit them individually. We have resisted the idea of visiting each stone according to the weather depicted. Let’s enjoy today’s sunshine.

The White House is an iconic moorland inn situated where the Pennine Way crosses from the peaty horrors of the Peak District peat to the pleasanter Yorkshire Dales. Many long distance walkers have been known to give in here. Most people today are either enjoying lunch in the pub or doing short walks from the road, as are we. CaptureStanza 2

The Pennine Way is followed alongside an aqueduct connecting several reservoirs. All level walking. I camped along here once with my young son on a Lancashire Borders Walk. Sensibly we had eaten well in the pub beforehand and only needed water for a brew. The brown peaty solution didn’t need a tea bag, today my tea was already brewed safely in my flask along with a picnic lunch.1qhsxyqg

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A miniature arch took us over the water and into Cow’s Mouth Quarry. This is where I become boring once more as I try and trace routes climbed way in the past. They are mainly slabs, with often little protection available, needing a steady head. Nowadays with bouldering mats the picture has become blurred between a roped route and a high ball boulder problem. P1000189

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But I’m not here to climb today, I’m with Clare and JD looking for the second of Simon Armitage’s Stanza Poems – Rain. This one is easy to spot being at the base of a rock face right by the path. Pip had a lovely canvas to write on, but advice was first taken from climbers so that no footholds were destroyed, or new ones created. Pip’s carving seems more pronounced than on Snow back at Pule Hill, this rock, being more compact, maybe helping. The letters are imbued with gold.  We read aloud the poem marvelling at Simon’s turn of phrase. P1000181

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Again here is the poem in case you can’t make it out in the pictures.

Rain.

Be glad of these freshwater tears,
Each pearled droplet some salty old sea-bullet
Air-lifted out of the waves, then laundered and sieved, recast as a soft bead and returned.
And no matter how much it strafes or sheets, it is no mean feat to catch one raindrop clean in the mouth,
To take one drop on the tongue, tasting cloud pollen, grain of the heavens, raw sky.
Let it teem, up here where the front of the mind distils the brunt of the world.

We find a sheltered spot for lunch. I forget to take a picture of the extensive views across the moors with distant reservoirs, wind farms and mill chimneys. I am on too much on a high from the poetry – tasting cloud pollen. We wander back with shared tales of moorland adventures.

Fellow us farther on our poetry quest.

PENNINE POETRY – SNOW.

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Simon Armitage’s Stanza Stones – Snow.

Simon Armitage is steeped in Pennine Grit. Brought up in West Yorkshire and living in Marsden in particular, his works have been influenced by the rich heritage of the area. I have been reading a few of his books and poems recently and feel an affinity to his working class background. When you delve deeper you realise the profound and original intellect of the man and his ever widening focus. That’s why he is Poet Laureate.

My friend JD, who has featured many times in these posts, told me about some of Simon’s readings on the radio, such as his journey as a modern day troubadour down the Pennine Way, and more interestingly his series of poems carved and brought to life in the rocks of the high Pennines. The Stanza Poems, six poems on the theme of water in various forms: Snow, Rain, Dew, Puddle,Mist and Beck,  a collaboration between himself, Pip Hall the stone carver, and local expert Tom Lonsdale, a landscape architect. Those looking hard enough might stumble across a seventh Stanza Stone, a secret stone left in an unnamed location within the Watershed area, waiting to be discovered and read. As far as I know nobody has.

I bought the book and was immediately fascinated. Stanza Stones a book by Simon Armitage, Pip Hall, and Tom Lonsdale. (bookshop.org)

What they have produced is truly magical and the insights of the protagonists brought to life in the book. I take my hat off to the literacy skill of Simon but equally so to the dedication and art of Pip the sculptress which will be borne out in our efforts to locate the stones.

A fairly tough trail, considering the moorland terrain, of 50 miles or so has been worked out between the carved stones from Marsden in the south to Ilkley farther north. Suffice to  say JD and I never got around to walking it, mainly because I thought some of the 20-mile days across rough moorland with no bed at the end was too much for me to contemplate. I happily compromise and suggest a motorised raid to the individual stones. The idea catches fire and in a conversation with the ‘Slate Poem Lady of Longridge Fell’ (another story enacted in my lockdown posts) we have a willing and knowledgable accomplice. Welcome aboard Clare, one of her slate poems in her garden says it all.

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Messenger. Mary Oliver.

Cometh the day cometh the hour. We are off to Marsden with a fair forecast. I’m afraid to say my navigational skills fell short of the sat nav lady whom I chose to ignore. We came at the first site in a round about way, but the moorland scenery and deserted roads were worth it. Mutterings from the driver and the other passenger who kept well clear of any navigational mistakes. CaptureStanza 1

An unpretentious lay-by below Pule Hill, west of Marsden, is our starting point. The steaming brick ventilation shafts of the Manchester to Huddersfield railway are obvious above us on the hillside. As well as the railway down there somewhere the narrow Huddersfield Canal goes through the Standedge Tunnel, the longest, highest and deepest canal tunnel in Great Britain. Their combined  history is worth a read, it’s a lot more complicated than you think. Above all that are the ramparts of Pule Hill quarry and rocky edge on the skyline. Fortunately for us the original quarry incline is still intact giving an easy climb up into the workings. Memories of plodding up here with ropes and gear for a day’s climbing come flooding back, and I feel a quickening in my step. We are impressed with the amount of quality stone work just giving access to the quarries. What a substantial industry of men must have worked away on these slopes. P1000147

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I’m distracted by the quarry rock faces I have ascended in the past whilst the other two go off in search of the poems engraved in stone. P1000168

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Nature’s art.

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At the far end of the quarry are two large blocks built into the wall and there is our first poem laid out in front of us, letters carved into the two stones bringing out the colours of the rock from those past quarrying days. We trace with our fingers across the rock surface. Already after 13 years the patina is changing, and green lichens are crossing the letters, what will another decade bring. There is already some slight damage caused by man. P1000167P1000160

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Here is the poem transcribed as it is difficult, but not impossible if enlarged, to read in the photos. The stanzas cross between the two stones.

Snow.

The sky has delivered its blank missive. The moor in coma.                                   

Snow, like water asleep, a coded muteness to baffle all noise, to stall movement, still time.

What can it mean that colourless water can dream such depth of white?             

We should make the most of the light.                                                                           

Stars snag on its crystal points. The odd, unnatural pheasant struts and slides.

Snow, snow, snow is how the snow speaks, is how its clean page reads.

Then it wakes, and thaws, and weeps.     S A.

Before we leave, we discover a beautifully constructed curving wall seat inscribed with ‘Ilkley 45 1/4 miles’ which is the distance to the last stone via the trail, thankfully we have the car to take us onwards.P1000170P1000169

We skip happily down that incline, pleased to find the first stone and captivated by the scenery and the poem it now holds. Let it snow.P1000176

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