Tag Archives: wild garlic

Bluebells and garlic

 

Bluebells and trees 1Despite feeling tired and achy, we resolved to enjoy a beautiful sunny May Sunday.  We bought supplies form the local bakers before walking up Bridge Lanes.  Crossing at the Fox and Goose, we took the small path up towards Colden clough.  We made frequent stops to admire flowers of all colours amidst ferns and trees in shades of green.

GatepostJust before Lumb Bank, we perched on a small stone wall near the old gatepost which Phil persists in calling ‘the magical stone’ (well, it is in his photographs!).  Taking a shortcut through the writer’s garden to avoid the painful climb, we continued into the clough.  Our ramble was frequently arrested by the sight of bluebells, looking especially picturesque against the white flowers of the garlic fields.

Although late in the season, we found a few leaves and flowers to pick.  A little further on, we sat on a flat rock to enjoy cake and pop, before walking on to Hebble Hole.

 

Hebble Hole bridge 1We crossed the clapper bridge to watch sparkling water beneath us before starting our return.  A climb up to the causeway allowed us to enjoy warm sun on the tops for a while until we took the next path back down above the flat rock, traversing again the garlic fields.  As we came alongside the stream, I paused to look for the dipper and an elderly man who was passing stopped to discuss the glorious day.

 

At Lumb Mill, we took the slope downwards and crossed the floor of old stone flags to the main track.  It amazed me how it took two hours to get to the top of the clough via the small paths compared to a speedy 50 minute return!

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Bluebell and ferns 2

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Jumble Hole (eventually)

Sloping stream 2

 

Long Causeway 3The day after our trip up to Midgeley Moor also started sunny.  We packed a picnic and caught the bus up to Blackshaw Head.  Alighting at the last stop on the Long Causeway, we walked up the road to Harley Wood Gate Farm in search of a path leading to the top end of Jumble Hole Clough.  Passing scruffy sheep and ramshackle ruins, we found a public footpath sign pointing to the farmhousei.

 

 

As we approached, a man gardening intercepted us.  I said we were looking for the marked public right of way.  He directed us round the house and through a bog!  We picked our way through tussocks and more bog, following the path first West then South.  Because it was not always clear, we made sure of the next stage of the route before continuing over each field.  Eventually we were thwarted by a fence that had been put up in front of a stile, beyond which even worse quagmires lurked.

Thwarted 1Retracing our steps, Phil managed to step into a swampy hole, soaking his sandaled feet (making me glad to have persisted in wearing sensible boots).  On the way back, I took photos as evidence of the obviously deliberate ploy to put walkers off.  I refused to cross the bog in front of the farmhouse and walked on the path through the garden.  There was no sign of the man.

We returned back down the causeway to Davey Lane.  This led easily to the clough, via Bullion Farm (Phil insisted on calling it ‘Bull Lion’ farm), the familiar stone trough, the friendly alpacas and the attractive field above the clough.

Here, we noticed some deliberately-placed stones for the first time; as if someone had started building a bridge but gave it up as a hard job.  We made use of the flat rock for our picnic.

White anemones 3It had become rather windy.  We took the steps down, bedecked with yellow flowers, and crossed the sloping stream into the sheltered clough.  At Staups Mill, two couples stood around chatting, hampering our photography.

Further down the clough the tree line opposite resembled clouds as they sprouted new growth.  We took a path down on the left to the small clapper bridge, pausing to admire wood anemones.

 

Ruined hovel with bluebellsWe then climbed up to the ruined hovels and imagined the grim lives of those who once dwelt there.  With careful footing, we found our first bluebells of the year and an excellent crop of wild garlic to pick.

As we rested on a nearby wall, mist appeared across the valley.  The air became decidedly chillier as if a storm was a-coming.

 

Keen to return to civilisation, we carried on climbing to the higher path, then South along the ridge.  When the PBW ii became steep, we veered off to the left along a smaller path edged with flowers and hawthorn blossom.  Emerging at Wood View we noted the ‘danger balsam’ sign indicating poisoning had taken place in the futile battle against the plant.  We crossed the road and metal steps onto the canal towpath, walking home fast as the air had become even more chilly.

i The next day, Marisa said she knew the dodgy path we had attempted and told us that a better route to the top of the clough could be found further up the Long Causeway.

ii   Pennine Bridleway

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Colden to Heptonstall

Hebble Hole bridge 1

The last Sunday in March started sunny but partly cloudy, perfect for walking.  We took the quick way up through Mytholm and along the track into Colden Clough.

Lumb mill twin trees 1.jpgWe noted the newly constructed managed weir on the river just before Lumb Mill.  Stopping for a short rest, I realised I had not yet taken photos of the ‘twin trees’ with my new camera.  Halfway up the clough, we dallied in the garlic fields to pick a few early season leaves.  At Hebble Hole we crossed the clapper bridge, and took the small steps up to Hudson Mill Lane.

We continued along the road, turning left towards Colden Village and onto May’s.  I entered the farm shop to buy pies.

 

Wagtail 2I did not pick my moment well: several people arrived at the same time, including a woman in slippers and a dressing gown.  As we sat on the bench outside eating the warmed pies, we watched a pied wagtail delicately searching between the cobbles for morsels, and chatted.

 

 

Phil suggested the shop had created a culture of dependency within a 500 metre radius.  I reckoned the catchment area was somewhat wider as many people drove there.  Feeling tired, I checked the bus times but it would be almost an hour until the next one.

We walked down Edge Lane, observing our first field of new lambs, through Popples Common towards Heptonstall.  On the edge of the village, I again considered waiting for the bus.  Instead, Phil suggested visiting the Cross Inn.  We sat in the beer garden supping pints.  It started to get cooler with the waning sun.  We finally agreed to catch the bus home.  A cat followed us to the bus stop.  As we waited, I collected rather nice cedar cones form the small park on Hepton Drive.

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Sheep and lambs 2