Autumn Woods Medley

The seasons slow to turn, early October stayed warm and sunny.  We took a Friday afternoon walk in warm sunshine.  Town packed, we visited a couple of shops before finding pies for lunch.  We ate in the park, noting slowly turning trees and bemoaned the mowing of wildflower patches.  Heading up Wood Top, Boar goats grazed in lush fields.  We cut through the farm buildings onto the beautiful grassy lane where unripe brambles clung in the hedgerows, and turned left onto the top of the old quarry where impromptu streams and nettles made the going tricky.  Striding ahead, Phil came back to help me, getting stung in the process.  Hot and sweaty, I squatted on a wall to recover before going down to the oddly empty waterfall.

Shady Crow Nest Wood displayed a few signs of autumn in the form of acorns and beech detritus but disappointingly no fungi.  We kept to the top line all the way to the druid stones.  Deep shadows gave the treeline an eerie aspect and elongated our profiles.  After taking the scary rutted path home, I collapsed on the sofa, feeling slightly out of breath which was meant to be good I believe!

Two days later, we enjoyed a pootle in Nutclough.  Having the place to ourselves for a while, we explored the swamp, noted new streams and tried to capture leaves falling in the gentle breeze before crossing haphazard stepping-stones.  Oak sprigs scattered the shrunken small islands.  Tiny fish swam beneath layers of decaying leaves.  Rotting mushrooms of ivory and tan sprouted from deadwood.

The sunken bench now almost totally submerged, I found it rather trickier crossing back to sit on the higher bench.  A passing hiking group speculated on creation of the landscape.  I confirmed it was once a millrace. Walking up the top path, crimson leaves littered the path.  Clumps of pink fungi clung to thick trunks.  Foaming water gushed beneath the stone bridge.  A thoughtful man with child and dog stepped aside for us.

We climbed up Sandy Gate, savouring sun and wind in our faces and kicking crunchy leaves in the gutter.  Cutting the corner off using the small steps at the Birchcliffe Centre, the same man ascended giving us chance to return the favour.  The old chapel no longer advertised a free school but a ‘to let’ sign for the hostel left us wondering how that worked?  Town heaving as ever, we ducked through an arch for supplies from the convenience store.

Life conspired against us meaning no walks for the best part of a month.  At the start of November, we re-visited Lumb Bank (see Copperopolis) and the following week, caught the last two hours of sunshine on a glorious Saturday.  Hurrying through the ridiculously heaving town centre, we hiked up School Street and into Common Bank Wood.  The mellowing canopy visible from our street, it didn’t disappoint close up.  Predominated by beech and oak, fading greens and pale yellows were punctuated by golden oranges.  Branches coiled upwards straining for the blue.  Foliage rustled in a gentle breeze.  Saplings sprouted on the loamy banks.

Stopping often on the almost-black muddy path, we stepped aside as a pregnant woman in pagan apparel, accompanied by a man and a woman with a camera, tripped downwards.  The latter smiled at us: “A lovely day for pictures!”  Was it a belated Samhain photo-shoot?  The full stream easy to navigate using large stones and a wooden bridge, we continued up between fields of large goats and sheep with curly horns.  Two Asian women stood near the top gate, doing selfies and giggling.  “We’ll never know why that’s so funny!” observed Phil.  Finding the climb up Wadsworth Lane taxing, we took a breather on the bench at the corner before continuing to Rowlands Lane.

Below us, sunlight glinted on treetops in the valley.  Ahead, fluffy clouds sailed above Old Town mill.  Capturing the views, Phil clambered on a wall and cut his hand on the barbed wire.  I helped him patch the painful gash with tissue and hand gel which stung mightily.  I distracted him from the pain by pointing to the ground “mini apples!” “Oak apples.” “Do oaks have apples as well as acorns?” “No, it’s caused by a parasite.” “How odd. I’m not sure I’ve seen that before.”

At the end of the lane, we curved round onto Sandy Gate and took a slippery path into a squelchy Nutclough, looking markedly different a month on.  Carefully watching our footing, we got scared at the sight of two fierce-looking dogs but the family held them as we past.  Avoiding town, we went home via Valley Road.  I helped Phil unload so he could treat his injury more thoroughly.

Bank Holiday Ellipse (Crow Nest to Mytholmroyd)

On the late summer Bank Holiday, a fractious morning put us in a bad mood.  However, glimpses of sunlight penetrating grey clouds in the early afternoon tempted us out.  As we took the familiar route towards Crow Nets wood, via Bar Cliff, a couple of hikers emerged from the west side of the wood.  On an impulse, we decided to risk the path which we remembered from many years ago as being rather dodgy.  Luckily, a perfect equilibrium of damp mud and dry leaves made the incline easier to scale. 

Behind us, trees eerily appeared black against the late summer light.  Grey granite rocks to our left were coloured with red and green lichen.  Many seemed deliberately placed along the route.  A stone circle suggested ancient rituals.  Amazed we’d been oblivious to the evidence  of druid purposes practically on our doorstep, we spent time investigating the structures and imagining the site as a mini Stonehenge.

We emerged near the TV transmitter onto New Road.  As we walked to Old Chamber, vivid orange corncrakes and pink clovers sprung from emerald verges.  The honesty box supplied us with fresh eggs and as we were just about to exit, a woman came along wittering about a non-existent sign on the door.   Distracted, I forgot to pay.  Phil feigned horror saying: “it should be called the dishonesty box!” 

Debt paid, we aimed to rest briefly on the bench to find it gone. 

Continuing to the corner, we thought of taking the top road for sweeping views across the valley, to find it marked private – that didn’t seem right.  I refused to climb further on the signed footpath and returned to of Spencer Lane, where the almost-grown kids and lambs audibly munched grass.

We turned right onto Wood Hey Lane and failing to recall a short cut, proceeded via Park Lane where fluffy thistle heads replaced summer blooms in the hedgerows.  Approaching the village, I wanted to avoid the centre but Phil insisted on going to the awful Sainsburys (possibly the worst in the world).

As horrid as expected, I felt trapped by a heedless woman selecting one of every type of biscuit in the narrow aisles.  On the way out, I lost a precious zip-lock bag for my face-mask!   Angrily, I stomped off, taking the straightest line via Caldene Ave to the Sustrans path, only stopping to pick blackberries.  Our last forage being at the start of the month, I’d expected a bumper crop by now, but they’d got too wet with all the month’s rain resulting in a disappointing haul.

Confined Walks 6 – Common Bank to Old Town

On a hot Tuesday amidst the early August heatwave, we considered ideas for a shady walk.  The picturesque Buttress route led us down and round to the top of town and up the unnamed old cobbles towards Birchcliffe.  School Street, leading to Osborne Street, rose steeply beneath the blistering sun.  On entering Common Bank, we immediately felt cool in the dark wood.  Unlike other nearby woodlands, it appeared to change little with the seasons.

Evergreen holly, their prickly brown leaves spiking our feet, twisted branches, and rotting stumps providing fodder for clumps of multi-coloured fungi, gave the impression of eternal winter.  At the small stream, a new walkway of fresh yellow wood kept our feet dry.  On the path between the meadows, ladybirds rested on purple seed-heads.  Disinterested goats eyed us lazily to our left while on the right, a decrepit piece of farm machinery faded from red to pink.

Thinking it dumped, Phil said the fact it still had wheels attested to current use.  A shiny new gate led out to Wadsworth Lane where brambles competed for space with wild geranium on crumbling stone walls.  Sweaty after the climb, we rested briefly on a bench at the corner before taking the small steps to Rowland Lane.   Ramshackle gates framed hazy views of Old Town and Heptonstall.  Brown cows grazed calmly in the field, undeterred by flighty jackdaws.  Garden fugitives interloped in the wild undergrowth.

On reaching Lane Ends, we dithered before cautiously approaching The Hare and Hounds.  As we espied a couple of punters, glasses in hand, Phil suggested a pint.  Hesitantly, I agreed to our first pub pint since lockdown!  The front entrance extolled social-distancing and the application of hand-gel.  Inside, more signage bade us wait to be seated.  A young man directed us through the occupied beer garden to tables in the carpark.  During a short wait for the table to be cleared and beer brought, an old pub-goer of years gone by shouted over from the beer garden.  We laughed as she mistook Phil for a significantly older regular at our old local.  She then asked “is he (the old regular) still alive?”  None of us had any idea!  Predictably, Phil wanted food after one drink.  The lad went to fetch menus then told us they were fully booked for dinner; obviously drawn by the mid-week Dishi Rishi meal deal.

The temperature dropped slightly as a gust of wind blew grey clouds upwards from the misty valley.  The landlady arrived in her car and grimaced at the humidity.  She agreed with me that a storm might come “I like the proper ones.” She informed us.

We walked briskly down to Sandy Gate, hedges laden with ripening berries, veering off into the lower end of Nutclough for the coolness of trees once more.

Skirting the town centre, we considered eating at the Italian but unfortunately, pre-booking was essential.  Dinner out scuppered, we sought quick tea inspiration in the co-op.  The return of hot sun after a speedy walk made me rather fraught.  But a cooling ice lolly and reviving coffee soon restored equilibrium.

Bar Cliff to Crow Nest

At the end of May, sinusitis returned rendering me bedridden on the hottest and most dazzling of days so far. Sunday, I felt much better and up for a short walk to stretch my unused legs.  The blazing sun and heat was tempered by a bit of a breeze and cloudy spells.  This made the walk up ‘Bar Cliff’ more bearable.

A resplendent rhododendron marked the start of the path.  Curly ferns provided highlights of yellow against green verges.  Small groups of children clutched picnic blankets on their way up to grassy fields.  We followed the curves of New Road towards Old Chamber, laughing at local signs telling motorists to ‘turn back’ – very local!  At the bridge, we stopped to take in the pastoral scenes.  Lambs quickly scarpered across a small field, spooked by a family obviously not used to walking, yelping as they picked their way down the stony path below.  “Something tells me that’s a new hobby for them.”  I commented.  Phil sniggered but I reminded him “there was a time when you considered going to the pub on the canal ‘a walk’.  We all have to start somewhere!”  At the far end of the field, a brave lamb stared at me curiously over the wall.

At Old Chamber, more lambs were penned into a small triangle.  Were they in quarantine?  Nearby, a mountain of hardcore was dumped in front of a ruined farm building.  On the other side of the valley, a bright yellow air ambulance flew above Midgeley Moor.  The honesty box remained open with signs instructing users to enter one at a time.  We peered in to see only eggs for sale; sensible to not offer cups of tea right now, I guess.

Continuing to Spencer Lane, house martins flitted between eaves and a pair of kestrels took turns surveying the landscape from treetops before swooping down to unseen prey.  Larger fields contained larger flocks of sheep and goats too, with offspring.  Close up, I noticed the small kids had tiny horns like little demons!

We skirted Wood Top Farm and turned left onto the beautiful grassy lane to the old quarry.  Glade-like in the arid conditions, a variety of implements suggested recent gardening activity.  Entering Crow Nest Wood, dappled lighting created a restful ambience.  We rested on the almost-dry waterfall where barely a trickle flowed in the brook.  Miniscule flowers of white and yellow bloomed beneath fading bluebells.  We marvelled anew at the trees simultaneously dead and alive.  Probably the case in all woodland, it always struck us particularly in this one; maybe because we knew it so well.  Mouldy mushrooms inhabited the rotten lower trunks while new oak leaves sprouted from higher branches. One such tree resembled a wraith performing a dance macabre in the wispy air.

Taking the short way home, we waited for a small family to ascend the dry path, made tricky by a thick layer of last years’ tinder-dry beech nuts.  On palace House Road, we noted new traffic lights, explaining the roadworks a few weeks back.  The updated controls enabled us to safely navigate the single-file bridge.  Phil larked about, insisting we had to pointlessly cross the road.  Back home, I headed straight for the bathroom.   The dusty dry paths had turned my sandal-clad feet black.   We had been saving small pies in the fridge for a longer outing,  but justified eating them after the walk – an indoor picnic!

Confined Walks 1 – Crow Nest and Environs

Breaking the confines of the town centre, we took two small walks on successive sunny Wednesdays, in and around Crow Nest.  On the first of these, we set off quite a bit later than planned, due to mislaid keys.  Ambling down quiet streets to the main road, we waited to cross at the zebra.  An impatient driver beeped us; obviously frustrated at having to slow down from 100 mph on the clear stretch!

On reaching the canal, we turned left.  Some waiting and weaving was required to avoid loiterers and cyclists.  In the almost-empty park, Japanese cherry trees blossomed pink beneath a blue sky.  Towards the station, dandelion clocks dominated the verge. Men loitered around roadworks on the access road and clambered noisily on the roof as refurbishment continued.  We had to wait again for people coming the other way, detouring onto undergrowth as a man dithered with his phone on the Sustrans path.

Finally, he shifted leaving us free to examine mysterious signs on posts, small white and yellow flowers, and sandy stretches near the water from which stunted garlic grew.

Surrounded by greenery, we continued at a leisurely pace to the end of the path, noting long shadows cast by tall trees on the tarmac and further ruination of the shipping containers.

Moss continued its relentless quest to obliterate the graffiti, with artistic effect.  Just before the site of the old Walkleys Mill (Still odd to see flattened), we turned sharp right up to the green railway bridge and followed the path skirting the bottom of Crow Nest wood.

At the station again, large dislodged stones had scattered on the flood-damaged road.  Past the stoneyard, the towpath looked clear when a pair of joggers almost ran into us under the next bridge.  I was annoyed they hadn’t stopped for us.  The next stretch housed several moored barges.  We waited for a woman strolling with a pram on other side of the gate so we could re-enter the park.  We made for the central pitch to avoid weed smokers huddled on benches, not adhering to ‘social distancing’.  At Blackpit Lock, we ran past more loiterers, deciding it might be less hazardous to return home via Holme Street.

 

The following Wednesday, lattice-like clouds scattered across a deep blue sky in the bright afternoon light.  I had become anxious about socialising between different households on the street below, with children running interminably hither and thither.  To avoid them, we took the larger steps down to the road, greeting a neighbour at the end of the terrace over her garden wall.  On the other side of the main road, we climbed straight to the top of Crow Nest wood.  On the way up, we stood aside a couple of times, first for a couple then for a straggling family group.  As we passed the noxious dead tree, on the steep climb, I felt a sudden sharp pain in my bad ankle, making me keen to reach the flat.

 

At the top, sheep with lambs so brand new they shone white, grazed in a meadow, fenced with barbed wire. Further on, last year’s beech nut husks clung onto spindly twigs.  Bluebells had started to emerge while the brook had almost totally dried up.  From the top we could see the quarry was equally arid.  From the top we could see the quarry was equally arid.  A pair of women waited for us and I thanked them heartily; it made a change for us not to be the ones who paused.

A rather steep end section of path led down onto the wider track.  As we turned right to Wood Top farm, we heard bleating and hoped to see more lambs.  Instead, we came across a field of goats with offspring – no kidding!

On Wood Top Road, we again had  to stand on the verge a couple of times for other walkers, using the opportunity to take pleasure in a squirrel jumping between high branches and resplendent native white cherry blossom.

After the episode of the previous week, we deemed the park safer than the towpath.  However, the plethora of non-essential activity made me wonder if we’d chosen wisely.  Several people sat around on benches and grass; kids skateboarded and cycled with gay abandon; teenage girls made videos for tick-tock.  Near the lock, a dog rushed canal-side making the geese scatter and squawk with fear.  It made me jump too!

 

A Detour to May’s

On the first Saturday in April 2016, we set off on the familiar walk up Colden Clough with Marisa.  A fine drizzle fell on us but we remained optimistic that the weather would improve.  Stopping as usual at Lumb Mill, we watched a dipper in the river.

 

We then climbed  to the garlic fields and picked young leaves.  While resting on the nearby flat rock, two very lively dogs ran up.  I became quite anxious at their barking and jumping at us. We spotted an old couple a few yards off walking slowly and carefully, and guessed they were the owners.  I shouted at them to call the dogs off but their efforts were ineffectual.  When they eventually reached us, they said the dogs were harmless.  I retorted that wasn’t the point.

We waited for them to get passed us before proceeding. We took time to observe the altered paths and small streams sine the Boxing Day floods, and admired pixie-land glades on the way.

 

On approaching Hebble hole, we saw the couple with the dogs on the other side of the stream.  The larger dog started barking and made to swim across to us.  I became even more agitated and again shouted at the couple to call them off.

They put the dogs on leads but repeated that they were harmless.  I said they should be more aware of the effect their actions had on other people.  As they came back over the clapper bridge we waited for them to pass once more. I said “thank you” in a pointed way, but I am not sure it sunk in.

We then climbed the steep, tiny steps up to Hudson Lane and along Smithy Lane, passed the school where a figure of a child with a missing foot made me laugh.  We turned left onto Fold Lane at the sign for May’s farm shop.

It seemed a longer route than I had imagined and I started to become fatigued.  But it proved a pleasant diversion.

We passed through the actual village of Colden, with ramshackle farm buildings and rusting machinery.  Despite another barking dog, I managed to keep my cool.  The lane wound through the village then upwards.  At a sort of T junction, we turned right up a grassy track and looked across the valley at views of Stoodley Pike and Emley Moor in the distance.

At May’s farm shop, we were amazed by the extensive range on offer – anything you could ever need!  We bought wonderful, inexpensive pies, cakes and hot drinks.  Taking them outside, we sat on a bench looking towards Heptonstall enjoying our repast.  The hot cheese pie was fantastic and went well with the good strong cup of tea.  As we ate our cakes, a robin bobbed by and Marisa fed it some crumbs to allow us time to capture the cute bird on camera.

Feeling refreshed, we continued walking towards Heptonstall.  At Popples Common, we veered off to be away from the road.  We found amusement in a nearby field where a very small kunekune pig stood in front of a huge one (‘daddy’ I thought).  At Slack, we spotted a goat happily munching grass at the kerbside.  We kept on Heptonstall Road straight through the village and said goodbye to Marisa.

It had stayed grey and overcast most of the day but then the sun came out.  Phil and I decided to have a drink in the Fox and Goose beer garden to enjoy it.  Yet another dog sniffed round my rucksack but not in a threatening way.  I told the owners I had been plagued by dogs all day and they sympathised, telling me he was only after food.  “Yes, I know,” I replied, “but he will only find wild garlic leaves in there”.

More photos at: https://onedrive.live.com/redir?resid=2DF4BDD5DCD70A39!113492&authkey=!AEOItMDrg7Eb-6k&ithint=folder%2cjpg