Wishing all our readers a very Happy Christmas.
Just in case anyone has a desire to follow a summary of what we’ve been up to this year, we’ve written a short piece, mainly for family, here.
Have a Good One….
The main purpose of this blog is to keep in touch with friends and family, and maybe entertain others with common interests, particularly in relation to the outdoors. We hope you enjoy it, and your comments are valued....
Wishing all our readers a very Happy Christmas.
Just in case anyone has a desire to follow a summary of what we’ve been up to this year, we’ve written a short piece, mainly for family, here.
Have a Good One….
"There will be mud" promised Reg, as we set off east from Coppull along an asphalt track.
Seven old codgers had successfully rendezvoused more or less where we left off on 9 November, despite nearly abandoning Don in the gents at Wigan Bus Station!
R Norman, who at the tender age of 59 is still too young to be a fully paid up ‘Plodder’ took up his usual position as ‘Font of all Knowledge’. “Shouldn’t that be Fount of all Knowledge” – quipped some wag. Sharp as ever, Norman’s response was clear:
“Font and fount can both be used in that phrase” he explained…
”font had, and has, another life related ecumenical matters, as in ‘baptismal font’, and was taken over from the Latin use of fons, fountain, whereas fount came to English through the Old French font, derived from the same Latin word. I can’t explain the vowel change!”
Well, we were shocked. None of us had previously experienced Norman failing to explain something!
Anyway, I digress, we need to move on to explain the header picture – over to you, Norman…
"This is 'Hic-Bibi Brook'" he spluttered "one of very few rivers that runs inland from its source." "What?" chorused the audience.
"Hic Bibi - it's a spring as well; Oliver Cromwell refreshed himself here when advancing south after the battle of Preston in 1648. A stone inscribed "Hic Bibi" ("Here I Drank") marks the site” he expounded.
”Look, there’s the plaque placed there by old Oliver in 1648.”
“The spring was turned into Seven Stars Brook to feed Wigan Corporation water supply” muttered Reg, “and that plaque has weathered well, hasn’t it Norman?”.
[There are more details in Reg’s report, here]
That quietened our ‘font’, and we pottered casually across some Lancashire fields, heading east, in search of mud.
Suddenly Norman spotted something and dashed off. (See picture below) “It’s a squirrel” we expected him to inform us. But no, his waggly arm was suffering from limpitude. He really meant to point out the bridge, just above his right hand, through which a mineral line used to carry coal tubs, as well as produce from the Hic-Bibi brick works, to the main railway.
The gathered crowd listened in amazement as Norman told us about the long history of Coppull.
“There was even a pub called The Railway Hotel” droned Norman “where the landlord’s son was a qualified dentist and teeth were extracted on the premises, a glass of port being included in the charge.”
All this talk, especially the references to pubs, had engendered a great thirst, resulting in one of our number, on spotting the Crown, rushing ahead and insisting on sustenance, before being dragged out by his leader.
We came upon some reservoirs, Worthington Lakes, constructed in the 1890’s to provide water for the print works and other local industries, on this typically December day - dull, with brighter interludes. One such interlude was chosen for elevenses in the sun. Norman got the bench as all that talking had made him feel a little geriatric. That didn't stop him from guzzling fudge brownies!
Luckily, we found a bridge to cross the raging River Douglas.
We paused outside the fine old Manor House that accommodates Wigan Golf Club. The 12th century moat used to be home to black swans, but now only white mute swans harvest the weed. Tales were told by Reg and Norman of how ferocious guardians of the Golf Club usually shoo away walkers curious about the history of the building, Arley Hall, but today nobody spotted the small group of pensioners pausing in admiration before the front door of the golfing sanctuary.
It was ladies day.
We soon crossed the Leeds & Liverpool Canal, with a familiar view to East Lancs LDWA members, on our way to Little Scotland.
Reg's walks traditionally include moments of indecision, especially when the back of R Norman's hand isn't in sight.
The uncertainty resolved, we pressed on in our relentless search for mud, passing through Blackrod village, which has a long history and is home to some lovely stone cottages.
A huge stallion blocked our way, and this chap who appeared to have been enjoying rolling in something. Could that be mud?
Yes, of course. Reg sighed with relief as his promise came true and the muddy water gurgled through the fabric of his trail shoes.
After crossing the M61, we came to a quite substantial brook, the infant River Douglas, that emanates from the reservoir at Rivington.
The weather had reverted to ‘Dull December’ as we paused to ponder the view towards Rivington Pike and the masts atop Winter Hill.
Our morning’s exercise concluded along a stretch of path that was recently obliterated by a new housing development. This didn’t go down well in some quarters. Action was taken. Norman was involved. The right of way has been reinstated...
...at the expense of someone's garden.
The walk finished at SD 631 120, on the outskirts of Horwich, where the resident wallabies were reluctant to venture out of their warm house to pose for seven strangers. So five of us adjourned to Reg’s house whilst Jim and Bernard shot off to deal with pressing commitments.
The meal provided by Reg’s wife, Saro, was exceptional – a fine way to conclude the season’s ‘Plods’ – thank you very much.
Here's today's route, just 10km with about 150 metres ascent in 3 hours, followed by that excellent lunch at Reg's house. Brilliant!
We will reconvene for stage 4 on Wednesday 18 January – Reg will be sending out more precise details in the New Year.
Reg’s more accurate report on this walk, with some more historical titbits, is on this web page, and my 32 photos are here.
The excursion took place over a week ago, and apart from Saro’s meal my recollection of it is a bit hazy. I hope I haven’t slandered anyone!
It’s traditional for me to organise a ‘Christmas Walk’ at this time of the year, involving a long lunch stop at a suitable hostelry.
This year I left it very late to organise, but that didn’t seem to matter as the turnout of thirty people was our best ever, and the route and hostelry turned out to be well chosen.
Friends turned up from far and wide – from Wokingham to Preston and Liverpool (some of whom we hadn’t seen since last year’s Christmas Walk), so the choice of the large lay-by on the A515 just south of Rivendale Caravan Park turned out to be a good rendezvous point.
Despite much chatting and exchanging of Christmas cards, car keys being lost and found, boots and gaiters being donned, etc, etc, at 10am we set off on a cloudy morning, bang on time, thereby blowing my expected timings by a good fifteen minutes.
After a short spell on the windswept, and pretty cool (in a cold sort of way) and exposed trackbed of the Buxton to Ashbourne railway line, now known as the Tissington Trail, we deserted the firm surface in favour of softer going through some well hydrated fields.
Those pictured above are strolling unknowingly towards a sharp descent to the River Dove. It’s slithery and boggy at this time of year, so it was a relief to be able to survey my charges from a precarious branch and discover that I was probably the only one of us who had attempted to go bog-diving.
A shower commenced. Waterproofs were scrambled from the depths of rucksacks amid gasps of surprise that it should be so inclement on one of my walks, which are renowned for their sunny ambience.
A sudden gust distracted us.
This heron had flapped in for its lunch.
The others were engrossed with watching the heron, but I spotted a tree creeper and looked up to spy …. sunshine?
It didn’t last for long. I think most others missed it!
We paused for tea, coffee, shortbread and brownies – plenty for everyone, luckily, but no photos as that black cloud got us.
We continued on along Wolfscote Dale. It was quite muddy. Most places in the Peak District are muddy just now.
By and by we reached our lunch stop. Half an hour early. The Charles Cotton Hotel*.
I thought we’d have to wait for our lunch, which had been pre ordered from their excellent Christmas menu. But the operation was as slick as I’ve seen on such an occasion. They were happy to serve us as soon as we were ready to eat.
Really excellent service – here are just a few of us pausing between courses. The steamed up windows behind us mask a downpour.
After a few stern words with The Boss, and a carefully cast spell, I popped out to test that it had brought the desired effect. Success!
But by the time everyone had ‘booted up’, the spell was diminished, if not broken. At least the rain didn’t return until the moment we set off for home in the cars.
Meanwhile, these onlookers may have had wet feet….
…as the road had flooded at Dale End.
A right turn beyond the church in Biggin led us past a camp site and into fields, where much to our surprise the season’s lambing had started. This one had clearly only just been born.
The final ascent of the day took us up the railway embankment built by the London & North Western Railway Company, and onto the track that was opened for trains in 1899. Expresses from Manchester to London used to fly down this line, and until after the Second World War there was a daily delivery of Peak District milk to London.
The line was closed in the 1960s, following which the trackbed was removed and the route was converted into a trail for walkers, cyclists and horse riders. The experimental scheme was one of the first of its type, and since opening to the public in June 1971 it has been a great success.
As soon as we stepped off the bright track surface we realised it was almost dark – but torches weren’t required for the last few metres back into our lay-by, and at around 4pm we all said our farewells and pottered off to our respective homes, leaving Don with a recalcitrant car seat that probably crippled him on the drive back to Preston. We hope you got home ok, Don, albeit perhaps with a modicum of spinal damage.
Readers may have noticed a little ‘poetic license’ in this report. If not, you certainly will if you view the slideshow – it has a few more images taken on this route, which is shown below – 16km with about 280 metres ascent.
For a more accurate report, see Alan R’s excellent version of events, ‘The Invasion of Hartington’ or Gayle’s unstintingly precise recollection of ‘Martin & Sue’s Christmas Walk’. The slideshow is here.
There’s a bit more information on my ‘planning’ page, here.
* Here’s what Alan R discovered about Charles Cotton – I hope you don’t mind me using this, Alan:
“Charles Cotton ( April 28, 1630 – February 16, 1687), lived at Beresford Hall, now demolished, wrote, with his great friend Izaak Walton, a remarkable book about 17th century rural England called ‘The Compleat Angler’. No other English language book, other than the Bible and Book of Common Prayer, has been reprinted more times. He shared his time between an extravagant life style in London society with the quieter pleasures of his home and the Peak District. That is when his creditors were not chasing him - then it is said he hid in a cave in Beresford Dale. The fishing lodge he built still remains on private land in Beresford Dale, but can be seen from a distance when approaching the dale.”
A picture in the ladies powder room illustrates the perils of ‘Fly’ fishing – Both Alan and Gayle feature that in their blog postings.
Finally, in answer to Gayle’s ‘Same again next year?’ question, the answer is yes, on Sunday 16 December 2012 (unless there is overwhelming demand for 9 December). The Charles Cotton Hotel performed so well that I think we should, subject to cost, return there, but perhaps start from Longnor (though this year’s route can’t really be bettered). If anyone has strong views, let me know.
“I’ve never been up to White Nancy” remarked Andrew as we strolled along the Saddle of Kerridge last night. This was as good an opportunity as any for his first visit, though the views weren’t as good as we’d expected.
We had met as arranged in the Vale Inn, which has transformed itself in recent times to a most acceptable establishment with fine ale that has travelled all of a few feet from the in-house brewery.
Our journey from Manchester had been under a full moon, as the day’s showery weather had moved to the north, or so we thought. We were expecting a chilly but fine outing – after strolling a couple of kilometres down the Macclesfield Canal, we were to ascend Kerridge Hill for a potter along the Saddle to White Nancy, before descending steep steps to what used to be the Redway Tavern (now a private house) and back to the Vale through the streets of Bollington.
As we supped our fine ale we noticed a change in the colour of the clothing of new customers to the pub. Everyone was dressed in white! On closer inspection, everything outside had turned white, and they were just bringing it in with them.
Unperturbed, even though one of our party had failed to bring weatherproof clothing, we embarked on our stroll. We didn’t see the full moon as we spent the entire duration of this 8 km, 2 hour walk, in a blizzard. It was surprisingly enjoyable. Our first taste of winter.
Eventually we turned up at White Nancy, next to which Sue and Andrew are pictured above. I could refer you to Wikipedia, but I’ll save you the ‘click’ and tell you about White Nancy here.
The structure was built in 1817 by John Gaskell junior of North End Farm to commemorate the victory at the Battle of Waterloo. It originally had an entrance to a single room which was furnished with stone benches and a central round stone table, but the entrance is now blocked. It has been described as a summer house or a folly.
In the mid-1940s, the Royal Signal Corps Trials Unit based at Catterick would apparently drive a truck-mounted dish-shaped transmitter/receiver up to White Nancy, where they tested cathode-ray tube transmission and reception (data-based, not images), to a mobile receiving station on another truck. The receiver would be driven further and further south over time, until eventually the lads at White Nancy were sending a signal to the south coast of the country. Locals told the signalers that the landmark was named after the lead horse that had transported all the materials for the building of the folly.
White Nancy is circular in plan with its shape described as that of a sugar loaf, and is surmounted with a ball finial. It is built in sandstone rubble which has been rendered and painted. It is about 18 feet (5 m) high. Stone paving has been laid around its base which is inscribed with the points of the compass.
According to the Wikipedia entry, White Nancy was unpainted until at least 1925, since when it has been painted in a number of different colours over the years, most commonly in white. In 2005 vandals painted it partly in pink. In March 2009 it was repainted in white with the ball finial in black. As you can see from the picture, it now sports a large poppy – that was certainly not there when we visited the spot on 10 November 2010.
Just in case you are interested, here’s our approximate route – we (I) cocked up at the end, by taking two sides of a triangle:
I bought this backpacking rucksack in October 2007, having enjoyed the comfort of a Karrimor Jaguar sack for many years. The Quest, weighing in at 1400gm, provided a 600gm saving over the Jaguar. That saving comes from the use of lighter, more fragile, materials. Hence the Quest lasted until May 2011 – three and a half years – whereas the Jaguar shows no signs of wearing out other than a bit of loose stitching on the pockets.
I reported on my purchase of the Quest here. Here’s what it looked like new:
It’s still available from Bob and Rose at backpackinglight.co.uk – here, for a very good price.
The rucksack served me well for the equivalent of about four months’ continuous use with full camping gear, ranging from 14 to 20 kilos. My main gripe, compared with the Jaguar, is that it doesn’t have a separate lower compartment, but I did more or less overcome that problem on this year’s TGO Challenge by packing my tent in the front pocket instead of at the bottom of the rucksack. The latter system involved packing the tent before everything else – not the best approach when it’s raining.
A problem arose on one trip, whereby (over) tightening of the chest strap left me with a ‘frozen shoulder’ that took 18 months to recover. I have not used a chest strap since that incident.
Otherwise, once properly adjusted to my back, the rucksack was excellent, until on this year’s TGO Challenge walk across Scotland both sides of the hip belt decided to attempt to part company with the body of the rucksack.
I really do need to be confident of having a secure hip belt in position when backpacking, so this irreparable damage, which I nursed carefully to the end of the Challenge, signaled the death knell of the Quest.
On close inspection, the rest of the sack was looking pretty battered, with several punctures in the thin material, as well as one or two little tears, similar in nature to those you may find in an old pair of overtrousers that have been used for sitting on sharp rocks, or glissading.
Whilst the lid pocket maintained its integrity, the fabric below the zip for that pocket completely split away from the zipper.
Design
The Quest’s large main compartment sits below a removable, floating lid with a large and easily accessible zipped pocket. Two hip belt pockets take care of small items, plus a large pocket on the front that’s big enough to take a tent. Golite rates this pack at 25 and 72 litres, where the lower volume refers to its compressed size after you’ve pulled tight the quick-release straps, and clipped the slightly fiddly clips on the bottom. (I never found a need to faff with this.) Other features include a couple of mesh wand pockets, a hydration system pocket and axe/pole attachments. The Quest goes for a minimalist, non-adjustable back system design in either medium or large, so it’s important to buy the right size. It’s made from high-density polyethylene with mouldable aluminium stays and so offers some customisation. The hip belt’s supporting fins might be short on larger waists.
On the hill
At 72 litres the Golite Quest is pretty large, though it doesn’t necessarily feel so, thanks to decent compression straps, and it’s also competitively light. The simple back system proved comfortable with heavy loads as the aluminium rods transferred the weight efficiently to the well-padded hip belt. I did appreciate the mesh pockets on the hip belt as they offered space for a wallet and phone. In terms of packing, the large main compartment, the decent lid pocket and the large pocket on the front of the sack offered sufficient options for multi-day trips, subject to my personal gripe about not being able to pack my wet tent at the bottom of the sack without removing everything else. I didn’t really use the upper clipable side compression straps, which, in conjunction with the wand pockets, could be good for tent poles and a sleeping mat for people who (unlike me) don’t like to keep those items inside the sack. I used these wand pockets more or less exclusively for water bottles.
Here is some more technical stuff, and my conclusions:
Materials:
Sizes: (see here for advice on how to measure your back length)
Quoted Features (current model):
Practical Use:
Price:
Alternatives:
Conclusion:
BUT – this rucksack disappointingly lacked durability, in the strength of the fabric but more importantly in the manufacture of the hip belt, both sides of which started to part company with the body of the rucksack after the equivalent of about four months’ continuous use.
So, it’s out with the old…
Thanks go to Robert and Lyn for again providing us with a day pass to Center Parcs at Sherwood Forest.
Luckily for me, the dreaded badminton (I can’t hit the ‘ball’) took place on Saturday, so I wasn’t humiliated as seriously as usual. Short tennis, table tennis and pool are all just about within my ability to occasionally hit the relevant balls.
Louise and Chris disappeared for a couple of hours for a spot of watercolour painting, the result of which were never revealed - “it’ll take a week for mine to dry” they announced in unison, whilst the rest of us battled with some partially cooked potatoes before adjourning to the rapids.
Sue took an early sauna back at the luxury chalet, together with Louise and Chris, leaving Jim, Peg, Roger and Stuart stranded with Robert and Lyn and me in a waterlogged tennis court on a cool, rainy evening. Stuart was particularly adept at hitting balls across the billowy net into puddles, where the resulting skid and splash defeated all his opponents.
Meanwhile, a grey squirrel spent most of the day by the back door of the chalet, licking the honey off some stale cereal that had been dumped outside by one of our inmates.
The tennis (great fun, actually) eventually ended with the onset of a firework display the has become a traditional feature of the weekend.
Dinner was delayed due to a rather long sauna session, and was followed by a traditional slideshow – on this occasion images of Turkey – to be captioned in due course – this version is designed to be shown with Sue’s commentary.
Thanks, Robert and Lyn, for having us along again, and especially for arranging the badminton to take place before our arrival.
Just for those attending – here are a few more very poor snapshots.
Previous visits have been reported on here.
On a lovely sunny autumn morning, seven plodders and Maude embarked on a ten mile amble from Clifton Country Park, near Kearsley, to Jumbles Country Park, beyond Bromley Cross.
I’d arrived with half an hour to spare, as had Don. But Don’s day changed with a call from his wife, who had dropped him off. “Broken down” “on the hard shoulder near Middleton….”
Luckily, David had arrived and the small group of Plodders were happy to wait in the sunshine for me to return from reuniting Don with his wife, only about ten minutes late. Sadly Don missed out on a good day out, but was able to conclude a much needed rescue, and the repair to a loose alternator connection soon restored the Micra to good health.
From Clifton Country Park a pleasant path leads to this Tower in Ringley...
Nathan Walworth was instrumental in the building of the first chapel at Ringley which was completed in 1625. This tower effectively commemorates that chapel, by way of a partial restoration in 1854, when a new church was built, which itself was renovated in 1907. There’s some fascinating information about the long history of Ringley here.
Nearby, across an ancient bridge over the River Irwell, La Roma seemed an interesting looking place, but Reg (our leader) took one look and ran off in the opposite direction. “I thought I saw a ghost!” he later admitted.
The Manchester, Bury & Bolton Canal, built between 1791 and 1808, has now largely been abandoned, but the water remains in this scenic section at Prestolee.
David, a founder 'Plodder' who is only rarely able to join us these days due to family commitments, posed in the sunshine beside a complex junction of waterways involving the Croal, the Irwell, and the canal.
Soon we had left the Irwell and were heading on beside the River Croal. Our northerly route passed beside waterways to the east of the major conurbation of Bolton. We weren’t alert enough to spot any kingfishers, but dippers swooped up and down the Croal, and a heron fished beside Bagshaw Brook'.
There are several Country Parks along this trail. We seemed to pass almost seamlessly from Clifton Country Park to Moses Gate Country Park, with Darcy Lever Gravel Pits, then ‘Seven Acres’ and Leverhulme Park – the site of a popular parkrun – before finally reaching Ousel Nest Meadows at the edge of Jumbles Country Park.
We passed some sculptures - it's a shame I didn't capture this one in 3-D.
The giant frog of Darcy Lever pointed its jaw towards a hostelry (of a name I cannot recall!) where five of us enjoyed a brief respite from the blinding sunshine. The beer/coffee was excellent. It wasn’t a dog friendly establishment however, so Vi and Hilary had to stay outside with Maude, soaking in the rays.
Wobbling off again, we passed under a high viaduct that didn’t seem to be linked to anything. It wasn’t. It was virtually all that remains of one of the many disused railway lines in the area.
We continued along a muddy path through Seven Acres Country Park, beside the River Croal. All of a sudden, the sun had gone. Everything assumed the monochrome of a late November afternoon. I tested the ‘vivid’ setting on my new Canon G12 camera, with acceptable results on this occasion.
The riverside path led steeply up to enter Leverhulme Park.
Reg claimed a momentary loss of memory concerning the route. I think he was just enjoying a rest!
Heading on through Leverhulme Park, the venue for a popular parkrun, we finally found some benches on which to enjoy lunch. The only trouble was that they were 150 metres apart. Nevertheless, I commuted to ‘the posh bench’ after a while in order to lighten my load. Fudge brownies always seem to go down well with this lot.
The trail now pottered along beside Bradshaw Brook – in truth a pretty hearty river, criss-crossed by water pipes and inhabited by herons. No sign of any kingfishers.
The 16 km (10 mile) route stayed resolutely off-road, despite the fact that we were walking through an industrial heartland of the north west.
We admired the Jacobean Porch that is the sole remnant of Bradshaw Hall, home of the Bradshaw family from C12 to C18. Later occupants, the Lomaxes and the Hardcastles, developed bleachworks here, but the old stone seems now to have been converted into housing.
The last lap to Jumbles Reservoir took us along paths typical of the day, disused (by traffic) riverside routes of railways and tracks to the east of Bolton.
The party separated below the dam that was built as recently as 1971 to contain the waters of Bradshaw Brook in Jumbles Reservoir, as buses and trains from different places were needed to get us to our respective homes.
Before leaving the site of the dam, leader Reg, as always clued up on historical information and industrial archaeology, related the story of local opposition to this project in the 1960’s. He hastened away after telling us about the ‘Jumbles Ghost’ – the apparition of a local protestor that sometimes appears on the stepping stones.
I set my new camera to the ‘ghost’ setting, shut my eyes, pressed the shutter, and ran after Reg, afraid to look at the resulting snapshot until I got home and downloaded it.
Scary!
The remnants of our now disparate group took tail through some blackbird meadows and headed home via Bromley Cross and Bolton, where the number 8 bus ‘plodded’ through traffic to return me to Clifton Country Park some time after dark.
There’s a slideshow (38 images) here.
Reg’s excellent report (with more historical titbits), together with photos from Hilary, are here.
Here’s the route – 16km, 200 metres ascent, in a very leisurely 4.5 hours.
My Garmin Gadget recorded the route shown below (I still haven’t worked out how to overlay it onto an Ordnance Survey map).