July 2012

I’ve rather neglected this blog recently…so I’ll just post some pictures.

More of July’s photographs are here

More stuff to follow….when I’ve finished demolishing my remaining stocks of Aldi Dark Chocolate. Which is rather good.

Sunday 15th July, Haworth

 

Freaks in the Peaks are a jolly fine bunch. They like to laugh lots, dance lots, play music lots, some of them even drink lots. And they like to go for walks.

A typical Freaks weekend will consist of 20-40 dancers and musicians ‘camping’ at a village hall in a pretty part of the country. This is usually, but not exclusively, close to the Peak District. The weekend is spent learning new dances, practicing old dances, laughing lots, and doing all the other stuff that Morris Dancers do – including dancing outside pubs. Beer may be involved at some stage.

Although my dancing days are over (it’s the knees you know) I still like to laugh, play music, enjoy the occasional drink, and go for walks. This last bit is where I come in.

The Moorish Freaks weekend was held in the Yorkshire village of Haworth, famous for Kate Bush and Timothy Taylor.  For some strange reason the side wanted an experienced walker to recce and then lead a short but interesting walk on the Sunday morning. Experienced walkers were impossible to come by….so they ended up with me.

A gentle 5 mile route was recced the weekend before the Great Event and all was deemed to be good.

On the morning of the walk, the Freaks assembled outside the Baptist Church where they had spent their weekend of frivolity, er, frivolitting. I’m sure there should be two ‘t’s in frivolitting, just one doesn’t look right…..nor does it sound right. Whatever.

A feature of these little walks is spontaneous dancing. This can happen anywhere, as long as the ground is reasonably level and there are no wild sheep around.

At a most unsuitable road junction there was spontaneous dancing.  It was good. Some car drivers stopped to watch the spectacle, others just shook their heads in disbelief before driving away – worried that they might catch something. Like fun.

A little further on, at Bronte Falls, which is close to Bronte Bridge, there was more spontaneity

Then a quick pose

Then we all went to the pub. En-route we came across some backpackers. They had been backpacking. they might even be members of The Backpackers Club - there was a club trip in the area that weekend. One of them had a Golite Pinnacle. I’ve got one of those. They’re good.

At the pub, the Wuthering something-or-other at Stanbury, there was more dancing and stuff: It’s what Morris Dancers do

Then we all went home, apart from the hard-working organisers who stayed behind to clean the church hall and leave it spick and span. What fine folks they are.

The walk was a gentle 5 miles with around 500ft of upness. Very pleasant.

I’m not sure if the Brontes would have approved.

Wednesday 4th July, Tors, Moors, Bogs, Blogs, Rains…and cancelled trains

Kinder Scout beckoned.

Well actually it was Lynsey who kindly (??) invited me to join her for a jaunt around the perimeter of Kinder Scout. Lynsey had this plan y’see. Being a sucker I readily agreed.

Are walk invitations like buses? I don’t know, but an email from Alan suggesting a walk on the same day popped into my inbox soon after Lynsey’s invitation. It seems that Alan’s as gullible as me, so yesterday morning the three of us met at Manchester’s Piccadilly station for the train journey to Edale.

It wasn’t raining when I left home earlier, it wasn’t even raining at Piccadilly. Perhaps this was a sign.

Fortified with large doses of caffeine we alighted at Edale and marched north towards the Nags Head in the village centre and then headed off sort of left-ish to start the damp but rather warm climb up to the Kinder edges via Grindslow Knoll. The rain did what rain does best. It rained.

So much for signs.

Trouble was that it was warm. That, coupled with a climb had the three of us sweating profusely. Well Alan and I sweated profusely. Lynsey, being a lady, glowed.

The odd shaped tors of the Kinder Scout loomed out of the mist – it wouldn’t have surprised us to hear the howl of the hound of Baskerville Hall, er, howling. But it didn’t.

Splodging up to the edge of Kinder Scout

Although there was a lack of howling hounds we did spot a teddy-bear:

The murk got murkier but we three are rufty-tufty Challengers and a bit of clag, mud, rain, etc wasn’t going to put us off now, was it?

Well was it?  

A clean Lynsey before her (first) falling-into-a-bog experience 

A doggy?

Just some of the wonderfully shaped tors on Kinder Scout

(More will appear on Picasa when I get my finger out.)

On we trundled – faithfully following Lynsey, for she had the map. And more idea of the route than me. Not difficult.

The rain got rainier, the clag got claggier but we weren’t downhearted. Not at all. Well not very much at all.

‘I’ve sunbathed on Kinder, been burnt to a cinder…’ What on earth was Ewan MacColl thinking about? Where was he? What was he on?

Alan & Lynsey on the Pennine Way, in Pennine Way weather

Our clockwise route took us across the top of Kinder Downfall. The waterfall was in good flow, hardly surprising given the high rainfall of recent weeks. What was surprising was the view. The mist had started to clear a little and the views improved dramatically.

The Kinder Downfall waterfall

Our views to the west revealed Kinder Reservoir – not for very long mind.

Kinder Reservoir from close to the Downfall.

The rain held off, leaving us just enough time to locate a suitable lunchspot, open our butty-boxes….and for the rain to return. Ho hum.

Swinging around to the northern edges of the Kinder Scout plateau opened up new views. The clouds lifted for a while, revealing Manchester in the distance. Alan waved to Sheila, busy working in her office in the city. I’m not sure if she waved back.

I’m not entirely sure, but the valley in the foreground could be William Clough.

Heading eastwards (I’ve walked eastwards before. It’s good.) and now definitely on the northerly side of Kinder Scout we now followed Alan. He was a man on a mission, moving at a good pace and only stopping to take photographs of the dramatic rock formations of the edges. Oh, and to photograph Lynsey and I, puffing, panting, wheezing, sweating (me), and glowing (Lynsey) as we attempted to keep up with him.

‘Faces’ on the northern edge of Kinder Scout

Alan kept momentarily vanishing from view as he either dropped into a dip or zagged around a rocky outcrop. Approaching Fairbrook Naze we realised that it might be prudent to tweek our route slightly or we’d be in grave danger of missing our train, or worse – not getting down in time for a pint.

Alan looking towards Fairbrook Naze

A decision was taken by the O.I.C. that we should go south. I pointed out that south wasn’t east (which is good) but once it was made clear to me that beer + chips = south…south it was.

South was, er, slightly boggy. The Good Works to return the Kinder plateau to it’s moorland glory were well underway. That was the good news. Oh, and the rain had stopped for a bit.

The bad news was that the Good Works hadn’t had time to improve matters underfoot. In fact it had made matters significantly worse, albeit temporarily. Much of the boggy morass had been seeded with the kind of grass that thrives up here, little green shoots were sprouting up here and there. It would be a year or two at least before there was any significant improvement though.

In addition to the seeding, areas of the gloop had been dammed so as to form small ponds – or more likely to stop much of the water flowing and causing further problems. This damming was damned unpretty and caused us some damned soggy problems. It will be interesting to see what the place looks like in years to come. For now it’s pretty horrid.

Dammed gloop…just waiting to suck you in

On our merry way we went, slipping and sliding, cursing, falling into bottomless bogs and generally making little headway. Oh how we laughed.

If The New Plan was to cut some mileage off the original route it had failed miserably. Me must have walk 3 or 4 times the linear distance just zig-zagging around the worst of the man-eating fetid swampy bits.

Lynsey spotted a grassy island in the ocean of black porridge – a fine spot for a breather. It wasn’t raining again so we finished our hot drinks and what bits of lunch we had left. Ten minutes later we were off, Alan shot off like a mountain hare. I languished in my rightful position….at the back.

We spotted a group of six backpackers, they looked like a DofE group although perhaps a little too old. I can’t imagine what they were doing crossing over Kinder Scout….but then again, why were we?! Their maps were out a lot…unless they were intending to use them to flag down the passing Chinook helicopter. It didn’t work, the helicopter just flew on….

The group were struggling with the bogs, every now and then one of them would vanish from view as he or she slipped into the black soup.

DofE navigation meeting a grassy bit of Kinder Scout

Our target was Crowden Tower. Passing the DofE group as they cheerily attempted to rescue three members of their smiling team from a particularly deep and peaty bog, we exchanged greetings. They must have gone to the same school of navigation as Louise, for they too had learnt the art of digital sign-language. Well one or two of them had anyway.

The DofE rescue mission – they were smiling. honest.

Alan was ahead, now marching west for a while. West? Well yes, for due south would have meant certain death by bog.

 Lynsey chasing after Alan. 

Lynsey’s (earlier pristine) overtrousers were now a peculiar shade of, er, brown stuff. The tide-mark of peat clearly indicated how far down in the many bogs she had sunk. Mine weren’t any better. We hit a river with a solid bed and not much water flowing. We knew it would take us to the southern part of the plateau – so we three took advantage of this and followed it until we hit the edge:

The relatively un-brown water cleaned a lot of the gloop off our boots and wet-legs. It was wonderful not to have to heave our tired bodies out of bogs, but to just trundle along a river bed. Luxury. Before we knew it we were walking on GREEN grass…and it wasn’t raining!

And then we found a REAL path: 

Dark clouds gathered, ready to shower the rest of the bog from our kit. It certainly helped.

The rain got heavier….but Edale came into view, causing Alan to burst into song and dance routine…..

It takes a certain type to be able to smile in these conditions…..!

Once off the tops we gathered speed, heading in the direction of the Rambler Inn. Our plan for a quick pint and then to catch the train homewards was scuppered. A line fault had delayed all trains from Sheffield. So we had another pint. And chips. Alan had another pint too. Walking is thirsty work…and dehydration should be avoided at all costs.

I eventually arrived home at around 8.30pm, pleasantly tired. It had been a good day out.

The beer was good. So were the chips. The company was excellent….and what a brilliant walk!

Thanks Lynsey for the plan, and Alan for coming along.

A map of the route will follow…when Lynsey works out where we actually went!

Saturday 30th June, Breakfast with Marmalade

Lymm Festival 2012 is underway as I type

This local village event attracts performers and audience from near and far. Timperley in my case. Every year local organisations put huge amounts of effort to help make this gala the success it has grown into today. One of these organisations is Lymm Folk Club run by the very fine Bernard (available for weddings, christenings, bar mitzvahs, funerals, divorce parties etc). Bernard arranges for all manner of events to take place during the festival, including a ceilidh, very many folk concerts, and of course Breakfast with Marmalade.
The Marmaladies, previously featured in the pages of this blog, run a singaround / music session for a couple of hours during festival, entitled ‘Breakfast with Marmalade’. Click here for a better photograph than mine of the Marmaladies in action at Lymm Festival 2009.
Honorary Marmaladies are called on for the occasions when more noise is required, and today I was one of those called to assist.  
Enough of this…on with the day!
The weather was good so I decided to ride Diana (my Dawes hybrid….well what else would you call a Dawes??) to Lymm. Apart from the first mile I followed quiet lanes for the 8.5 mile ride into Lymm, and in particular the Spread Eagle (JW Lees) – the venue for today’s musical bash. The ride took around 40 minutes – it probably took longer to load and unload the bike at each end of the journey.

The Spread Eagle…before the Great Rains

On entering a sunny Lymm village I spotted a most strange looking bicycle. I can’t imagine what it’s like to ride:

The performance was due to start at 12 0’clock, and at about 12.06 prompt the music and singing began. The audience steadily grew until at one point there were so many people trying to ignore us that their numbers could be counted on the fingers of not too many hands.
Seriously though, it was good. The beer garden of the Spread Eagle filled up with festival goers as well as passers-by who just happened to be, er, passing by. Brief rain-showers did their best to interrupt the proceedings but we were there to have fun – a little bit of rain wasn’t going to bother us!

 The performance area..and what a performance.

I was delighted when Lynsey rolled up with the not-so-baby Isabel. They were looking for some entertainment but were sadly disappointed when they realised that they’d be listening to me.

Isabel does lunch….she refused to eat that green egg though 

L – R, Our Bernard with his iron lung, Mike, Clur, Lynsey & Isabel, Alan on geetar 

Rob, singin’ in the rain 

During the lunchtime’s ‘entertainment’ 3 cyclists joined us in the beer garden. These fellas clearly meant business – they ate a huge lunch, loading carbs like there was no tomorrow. They were cycling JogLe – John O’Groats to Lands End. Their original plan was to take 11 days to do the journey, but bad weather conditions had slowed them down so they re-scheduled to take 12 days – that’s still around 100 miles a day. Their next planned stop was the Ellesmere / Overton area of Shropshire where they were intending to camp.

The JogLers with their solo support crew – the father of one of the cyclists.   

I wished them luck as they left, my little commute back home to Timperley was suddenly completely insignificant.
The music and singing finished just after 2pm. Our audience and other singers & musicians either went on to the next festival event – or like me, they went home. I loaded Diana and made for the Bridgewater Canal towpath. Before I could get there the sky darkened, there was a flash, a rumble – and the heavens opened. Big time. Fortunately I’d spotted friend Sue in the village and we stopped to catch up with any gossip and / or scandal – there wasn’t anything worth reporting. The good news was that we’d chosen the stand under a shop awning (yes, Lymm has REAL shops!) which offered shelter from the downpour.
The road became two fast-flowing streams separated by a narrow strip of tarmac. I was so glad to have spotted Sue! Half an hour later the rain eased and I was able to continue my homeward journey. The canal towpath had been re-surfaced in parts so the first part of my bike ride home was fairly clean….then it became muddy. Very muddy indeed.

The resurfaced and not-muddy section of the Bridgewater Canal towpath

Trying hard to avoid the worst of the cruddy mud and puddles I battled on, soon catching up with 5 girls loaded with heavy rucksacks. ‘DofE? I enquired. ‘Yes’ – they had a fairly simple route of Transpennine Trail (disused but resurfaced railway line), some field footpaths, and canal towpath. They were doing well and were pleased to hear that they hadn’t too far to go to their campsite, the Home Farm / Dunham Park Scout campsite.
I left them to carry on their expedition, whilst I carried on Eastwards (now where have I heard that before?) to get muddier. Leaving the towpath to get onto tarmac at Broadheath was a Joyous Thing. No more mud. 10-15 minutes later I was home.
I’m not sure if I was muddier than the bike. Whatever – it was a close-run thing. Buckets of water had the bike looking better than it had for months. A hot soapy shower had me not looking much different, just with less mud.
Another good, if slightly damp day. I really should get out cycling more.

Vital statistics: 16.5 miles with around 250’ of upness:

Tuesday 26th June, Summertime in Timperley

Well, Tuesday morning to be more precise….it rained in the afternoon.

The day dawned bright, sunny ….. and warm! There could be no excuse not to get out for a trundle….so a quick email and phone call to the long suffering Rick and we were away from JJ Towers at 9.30am.

The last few years I have begun to explore and enjoy local footpaths – those close enough to home that I can walk from my front door. Today we decided on a walk of a couple of hours to enjoy the summer. Now that it had finally arrived we wanted to take full advantage of the rays – who knows how long the bright orangey-yellow disc in the sky would stick around for.

Walking alongside Beechfield and then to Brooklands roundabout we were soon on Brooks Drive. Brooks Drive got its name from that of its creator Samuel Brooks, a Victorian banker and property developer.

 

He bought up a strip of land between Hale Barns and a new Station his bank had commissioned on the railway line from Altrincham to Manchester which became known as Brooklands station. The drive had fallen into disrepair and would have remained so had it not been for the considerable efforts of Reg Temple (1934 – 2001), a local lad who’s fame was only equalled by the late Frank Sidebottom.

Timperley Superhero, Frank Sidebottom

Brooks Drive is now a well maintained, green track used by runners, walkers, cyclists, and horseriders.

 

Enough of this history lark, on with the walk.

The sun shone warmly and brightly on the righteous…as the righteous got slightly, er, misplaced in the green fields of Timperley. Fortunately we are masters of navigation and the correct map had been brought out with us so it didn’t take toooo long to get back on track.

A bit of faffing and avoiding wild animals (sheep) that inhabit the locality had us on tarmac for just a short distance. This bit was intentional, really. We wanted to be on the tarmac for this bit. Honest.

Calling in to see Steve and Viv on their allotment, Rick liberated 3 fine examples of curly kale that had only been slightly ravaged by slugs. He planned to replant the curly kale in his back garden so he could have slugs too.

More wanderings across fields and along footpaths had us back on Brooks Drive for the last leg of the return journey. Retracing our steps alongside Beechfields we were back at JJ Towers by around midday.

Surprisingly for an urban-ish walk, we were off tarmac for a vast majority of the route, and most of that was very quiet.

Full advantage should be taken of summer sun. It rained in the afternoon.

Vital statistics: 7-ish miles with 150ft of upness.

Bikepacking the Cheshire Ring, A Plan

The Cheshire Ring is a 97 mile route on the canals (and towpaths) of north Cheshire. What's convenient for me is that the Bridgewater Canal runs through Timperley - 1/2 mile from JJ Towers. I've walked sections of the ring over the years but now fancy a leisurely 2 day bikepacking trip around the full route.

Minimal kit will be needed, it will only be an overnight trip - so just tent, sleeping bag etc, brew kit and so on. Food will be readily available en-route - there are pubs and shops a-plenty.

I'll probably travel clockwise, to get city-center Manchester out of the way. Not too sure where to camp yet, but probably around Congleton - it's close enough to half-way round and I know there are spots where I'll be able to hide the Akto...perhaps near a pub.

I'll likely use my Dawes Hybrid for the trip, it's comfortable and quite bombproof.

All I need now is a window of half decent weather - hopefully preceded by some dryness so the towpath has chance to dry out.

 

Saturday, 23rd June. Clogging

A panic email from Les in Chorlton, who is currently Les in Camargue, popped into my Inbox yesterday: The Cloggies who meet regularly at the Beech in Chorlton were to be without a musician for this week’s Saturday morning ‘clog’ – was I available?

Well the answer had to be ‘yes’ and at 10am I was sat in the pub (tsk) as it filled up with clog-wearing dancers.

Dancing clogs (photo nicked from MEN article) 

These Saturday morning sessions were actually lessons aimed at dancers of all abilities. The teachers, Liz Calderbank and her mum, Rachel, were tremendous. They encouraged newcomers and experienced dancers alike, yet pushed them along where needed.

The dances, influenced and in some cases written by the late and great Sam Sherry, are very popular with clog-dancers in Lancashire and beyond. 

Liz Calderbank (red hair) teaching the advanced class – The Clever Clogs

I felt more than a little inadequate, playing for a class of clog-dancers is no easy task. Tunes need to be played very slowly but with absolutely spot-on timing – something I found very difficult. The sound of clattering clogs played havoc with my on-board clock. I’ll bring a metronome next time.

Rachel demonstrating a shuffle

I really enjoyed playing for these enthusiastic cloggies – it was good fun. Perhaps it was good that the bar wasn’t open.

Rachel teaching

  Now then, where can I find an old fashioned metronome?