6:25 p.m. I’m sitting in the Royal Oak, Pateley Bridge and I’ve just devoured what was probably my favorite meal of the trip so far – black pudding and bacon salad in sweet chilli, washed down by a pint of London bitter. I’m still trying to decide if I want rice pudding with jam and shortbread for dessert. Rice pudding with shortbread??? After my first day ‘in’ (well, I did walk down to the Post Office for a warm cornish pastie and vanilla slice for lunch) I’ve come for 2 hours to Pateley Bridge where Judith has a committee meeting from 6-8. I started the day by beating myself up for not zooming around Harrogate for the day but i reasoned with myself like this: I’ve been on the road for 33 days ( a lifetime record, I believe) and I’ve been out doing stuff most of the day for each of those 33 days. Tomorrow I leave on a 5 day trip which is billed by the Brightwater Travel as ‘to the ends of the earth,’ and ‘not for the faint-hearted.’ If I was at home and just about to leave on any 5 day trip I would be psyching myself up, planning and  packing so that’s what I decided to do. I even got out my embroidery for the first time on the trip.

I wandered along the River Nidd exploring the quaint town which I’d visited with Judith last year to see a band play in the park’s bandstand in the pouring rain. I asked a local who was walking his dog where was the best pub in town to eat regular pub grub with locals and he directed me to The Royal Oak. So that’s where I am. even this early on a Monday nigh i got the only unreserved table. Apart from the fact that there as many dogs as people, not to mention several babies in high chairs it’s quite lovely. Even the guys propping up the bar moved over as I tried to see which bitters were on tap.

Above my table the TV is showing a relaxed Andy Murray after his Wimbledon win yesterday, and then, of course, Emmerdale. I just can’t seem to get away from it. I spent the time waiting for my food by reading the Birstwith Horticultural Show programme. The ctegories are absolutely hilarious: ‘A stem of rhubarb-longest one wins.’ ‘Welly wanging.’ ‘Prettiest bitch’ – and right next to it ‘Best tricks.’ ‘A pot plant: flowering or foliage.’Reminiscences of my mum’s winning entries for ‘3 duck eggs, any color’ and ‘Victoria sponge’ come flooding back. I still have her prize winning certificates.

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We began the day by hacking a path through the overgrown path. Well, Judith did the hacking.  It wasn’t quite the Wasatch Mountains of Eastern Nevada, but Judith went armed with a big stick and gardening shears to clear a way through the shoulder  high brambles and nettles. We walked along the River Nidd, over stiles, past bunnies, through a field full of very inquisitive cattle and past beautiful farmhouses. Over the ancient packhorse bridge where the monks of Fountains Abbey would have walked we spotted a farmer bailing hay.

Nidderdale

After lunch, a great cheese and tomato toastie, we sat back and watched the Wimbledon men’s finals. Judith even brought out strawberries and cream halfway through the match.  She was down at Wimbledon earlier in the week with her god-daughter but unfortunately rain stopped much of the play during their visit. Andy Murray was the winner, in 3 sets.

It had been a mixed bag of weather  in Birstwith during the game – very heavy rain one minute and bright sunshine the next, so I suggested we take a Sunday afternoon drive to watch the clouds. We were out for an hour and saw lots of very big puddles on the hill roads – and a rainbow. The landscape reminded me of the Cotswolds – very pretty, but maybe not much going on. I got some lovely sky photos though.

After tea I watched the UEFA cup final which went to extra time, Portugal beating France 1-0. Ronaldo was injured in the first 15 minutes and had to leave the game, heart broken. It was a devastating defeat though, for the home team.

1. For the past month I’ve traveled everywhere by train or bus
2. I’d forgotten what it feels like to put on a pair of newly washed jeans, stiff with spending thee days drying on a radiator
3. I haven’t seen an Asda
4. Weather forecast in a nutshell –  It’ll probably rain
5. Walks marked as flat should be marked major steep gradients. Hands and knees will be required
6. I haven’t seen a motorway

1:30. I’ve just finished my cheese and tomato toastie and am tucking into a rice krispie treat and my second cup of Yorkshire tea at the Seventy Two cafe in Todmorden having just completed a three hour guided hike with super guide from Calderdale council  Moy and fellow hiker Tony. This time we hiked up the other side of the valley to Whirlaw Stones. We could see the packhorse trail that we’d taken exactly three weeks ago. The weather forecast today for Halifax was for no rain, but even as I peeked through the window at 8:30 this morning the cobbles on the towpath were distinctly wet and the clouds, many of them big and black, were moving at a fast pace.

Sheltering from the storm on Whirlaw Stones

I set off at 9 a.m. and two bus rides later I was at the Todmorden sports center where we all met and then it was up, up, up, 1000ft. We only passed one isolated farm just below the summit which appeared to be  a long way from any paved road. Tony was somewhat of an expert on the prehistory of the hilltops and though Moy hadn’t planned to climb the final pinnacle of Whirlaw Stones Tony was keen to do so. As we reached the top the rain came down in earnest, blown to a 45 degree angle by  a howling gale and we headed cross country to shelter for a few minutes under the stoney outcrop. It’s possible that this was once part of a stone quarry. When buildings began to be constructed of stone rather than the less durable wood the stone was quarried locally. Whirlaw Stones is very similar to Bridestones and Moy told is the story of the marriages that took place there.

“Holy of holies – a hill-top chapel

Actually a crown of outcrop rock-

Earth’s heart-stuff laid bare.

Crowding congregation of skies.

Tense congregation of hills.

You do nothing casual here.”

from Bridestones by Ted Hughes

Moy described the impact the windmills are having on the bird population.

The Causeway

After the downpour we took the old causeway along the hill just below the ridge. Imagine laying these stones! They’ve been smoothed and worn away by the countless wagons that were pulled along by horses over 100s of years. The very steep down section, as always for me, was much harder than the upward climb.

I was sad to take my leave of Moy. It’s surprising how you can make bonds with people with people on hikes when you’re summoning up all your available physical strength through an amazing assortment of weather and difficult underfoot terrain. To cheer

Bandstand and storm clouds

myself up I headed straight for the 72 cafe, repeating the après hike that I’d done 3 weeks ago with Gary. This time I chatted with the owner who told me about the complete refit that has been necessary after the floods. It only reopened in March. His little 3 year old, Sofie, brought the milk and serviette to my table. They are just about to go on holiday to Brisbane. He told me how much he’d enjoyed a trip to San Diego, but had found  San Francisco to be cold – the weather, that is!

Arriving back in Tod (without a fliter!)

It was only a hop, skip and a jump back to Todmorden market, the scene of last week’s wonderful morning in the deluge. I was looking for an artist’s stall that had caught my attention on my first visit three weeks ago. This time my luck was in and since there no more customers we chatted for more than 20 minutes. He paints all his own pictures which he then has printed on cards. Several David Bowie drawings had popped out at me and when he saw I was interested in one in particular he pulled out a file of Bowie memorabilia. His friend (the printer) had lost almost all his original programs, tickets and photographs in the flood. What was rescued was put on exhibition in the town hall to help raise funds to rebuild his studio. The artist has had the market stall for two and a half years. I asked him about why Todmorden hadn’t honored Keith Emerson after his recent death. I’d gone online at the time to see if there was anything happening, but couldn’t find anything. The artist had been thinking about producing something and our discussion seemed to inspire him – I could see the cogs ticking!

Bob Pullen, artist

Arriving back in Hebden Bridge  I stopped at the station to buy my ticket for tomorrow’s trip to Harrogate, and then I was back at ‘t th’ mill. I don’t feel like packing and leaving this place. It’s been a very different experience staying in one place for four weeks, rather than moving on every few days, or, on a road trip, moving on every day.  I’ve built up a routine in my little room, know the layout of the town, where the bus stops are and where to shop for groceries. The rest of the trip feels much more of an unknown quantity, but I realize I felt this way as I arrived in Hebden Bridge almost 4 weeks ago. It’s been interesting to find out which people I know in the US have contacted me, either through Facebook messages or emails. I’ve certainly had more conversations with random people along the way that I found interesting and chatted to more people than I have in several years back at home.

Gary arrived at 9:30 – with a plan – yeah. Two places that I’d heard a lot about were Cragg Vale (with some association with Jimmy Saville, and it’s on the opposite hillside above Hebden Bridge from Heptonstall), and Ripponden (which is noted for the flower festival and the views as you get there), and lo an behold Gary had selected a hike which took in both places. We had to leave immediately to catch the bus  up and and up the hillside to

A pleasant summer hike

Cragg Vale and we got off at Baitings dam which we crossed. it was foggy and drizzling, the sort of rain that wets you through. We were just below  the hilltops here as we arrived at Parrock Nook . Here’s one of the most isolated churches I’ve seen. There are 4 farms visible and the vast majority of gravestones have 4 surnames – presumably the names of the families that have farmed there for several generations. The church closed permanently one year ago.

Highland cattle with their million dollar view

We hiked along footpaths some of which go through farmyards. Some have been turned into sumptuous residences surrounded by beautiful gardens. The Commons had a koi pond just like the one at 3rd Bungalow, geese and two pigs who were sleeping it off.  Others are still working farms.

Pig sty with satelite dish

We stopped to view the pig sky sporting a satellite dish and then met some rather boggy sections of the path where our boots sank totally into the stagnant water and sphagnum moss. At Arkin Royd farm I stopped to take a photo of the horseshoes outside the barn which promptly had the farmer coming out to see what we

Arkin Royd farmer proudly shows off his collection of horse shoes and clog irons

were doing. When I told him I was interested in the horse shoes he was happy to show his collection and the clog irons too. He’s been farming there for 30 years and he had 3 tractors, highland cattle, chickens. He talked about how difficult it’s been to bale the hay because of the rain – one of the wettest Junes on record.

Pylons march across Parroch Nook

Further down the trail we met the postman who delivers by van. He explained his shorts by saying that bare legs dry quicker than trousers. It brought back memories of the postman driving down to 3rd Bungalow (but never in shorts as far as I can remember).

At Rishworth we passed the famous private school that has used a lot of abandoned mill buildings for classrooms. I looked up the fees. Eight thousand pounds per term for the boarders! Passing the sites of several mills along the creek the path was very much like the one through Hardcastle Crags with the stream confined by ancient walls on either side. We arrived in Ripponden where we passed the cafe frequented by ladies who lunch – but we were heading for the fish and chip shop which we ate in the gardens opposite. Then we were off to The Bridge pub for some liquid refreshment. It’s reputedly the oldest pub in Yorkshire  (around 700 years old) constructed like the Rivington barns. A group of high

Sign in the 700 year old pub in Ripponden

level business men were in the snug doing what pubs were originally for. Feeling rested we headed for the bus but, with now an added spring in our steps, we got off early, in Mytholmroyd and hiked back to Hebden Bridge, not along the canal as I had done, but through the meadows, even ending up in a field of horses. We suddenly came upon  Hebden Bridge station. I hadn’t recognized where I was until the  station building was directly in front of us. Gary hopped on the next train back to Halifax and I wandered back t’th’ mill. It was 5 o’clock and we’d been out for 7 hours – talk about fresh air making you tired . .  . .

8.8 miles

4:20

I’m sitting in the 700 year old Hebden Bridge Mill having tea (Yorkshire tea from Harrogate, of course) and chocolate shortbread. I’ve just hiked from my mill to the tiny village of Colden through the historic Colden Valley, a place full of evidence of man’s impact on the landscape during the industrial revolution, and the use those mills buildings, waterways, cobbled packhorse trails and stone foot tracks are being put to today. I’m now getting used to hikes that claim to be flat and are ‘suitable for any reasonable fit person.’ They are, in fact, never flat and often involve going up and down

Lumb Mill chimney

hillsides that are so steep that they require steps. At times I found myself high above Colden Beck looking down on an almost vertical hillside where trees and ferns cling to life in places that the sun never ever reaches. I passed the two chimneys of Upper and Lower Lumb mill rising like giant monoliths to some long-forgotten god of the forest. I tried to conjure up the ghosts of the people whose clogs have worn grooves into the steps and stones on which I’m sitting. Above the mill  I passed over the dam which once held in the mill pond but now it only holds reeds. The clapper bridge was unusual in it being 2 stones wide, and lucky for me an iron rail has been added 🙂 I wasn’t too keen on the gap between the stones through which I could see the raging torrent.

Man’s impact on nature

“Brave dreams and their mortgaged walls are let rot in the rain.

And the nettle venoms into place

Like a cynical old woman in the food-queue.

And the sycamore, cut through at the neck,

Grows five or six head, depraved with life.

Before these chimneys can flower again

They must fall into the only future, into earth.”

(from Lumb Chimneys by Ted Hughes)

As I sit in the Innovation cafe I begin to look at the displays of historical photos and notes on the walls, and  . . . .there is Lumb mill pond in all its shimmering glory, the two mills and chimneys and the carter who moved in there after the mills were closed down. What a coincidence.

Old photo of Lumb Mills in the Colden valley

Coming out of the dense forest lining the valley I now found myself on ‘t tops. I’s looked up the New Delight pub, Colden’s main claim to fame, so I already knew that it was closed from 3-5 pm. I hadn’t copied down the return path directions and I didn’t much fancy the idea of trying to follow my outward direction backwards so I found a bus stop by the campsite, with a timetable, and waited 20 minutes for a zippy bus, being entertained by watching all the parents coming to pick up their children from Colden school. The bus drove along the tops with great views across to Stoodley Pike and then I suddenly recognised where I was. We were coming upon Slack Bottom, that street sign that so caught my attention the day I wandered around Heptonstall in the storm. And I STILL didn’t get a photo of the sign. It’s the first time I’ve been on the bus along the narrow cobbled street of the village but I remember well the roaring sound it made when Rachel and I stayed at The Dairy last year.

Life in the Colden Valley

Back a’th’ mill Chris had had a successful day standing in the Town Square with her placard denouncing Blair. She was wtaching the news on the Aljazeera Channel: the weather was interesting – sunny in Delhi, raining in Kathmandu.  I settled in to watch some of the men’s quarter finals at Wimbledon and keeping my fingers crossed for Wales in the UEFA semifinals.

The big news