Rochdale Canal: And then there were three...

Perhaps it was poetic justice that Julian, the instigator of this foolhardy excursion, ended up with such bad blisters after the first day that he decided to leave the next stretch of the canal - from Rochdale to Hebden Bridge - to the other three.  Would we be down to two by the third day, perhaps?  Place your bets...

The day started at Hebden Bridge railway station, catching a train to take us back to Rochdale.

The rather grubby outskirts of Rochdale were soon a faded memory, and the scenery started to improve as the morning progressed.  One curious thing we discovered was a row of workers' cottages partly obscuring what looked like a large Victorian pile in neo-Jacobean style.  A small amount of Googling later we discovered that there was nothing "neo" about the house at all, since Clegg Hall had been built in the early 17th century.  It was destroyed  by fire in the 1950s, and then stood as a ruin until being fully restored in 2008.  Very fine it looked too, and it would have been better still without the cottages blocking its view!

The canal boat below gets the prize for the best name we found on the trip...

Not everything was in as good a condition as Clegg Hall, unfortunately, and many of the cotton mills and warehouses by the canal bank were in a very sorry state of repair.

I'm not sure why, but it seemed rather incongruous when a chap on an electric unicycle zoomed past us.  Perhaps it didn't fit with the slower pace of life one associates with canal travel?

By lunchtime we had reached the summit of the canal where there was a very conveniently placed pub.

Shortly thereafter, as we started our descent towards Todmorden, we passed the boundary post which told us we were now in God's Own County.  Things could only get better from now on, and indeed the scenery was much more attractive on this part of the canal.

We were now about two-thirds of our way through the walk, and tea in Todmorden beckoned.

Everything had gone smoothly so far, but we were about to hit a couple of stretches of canal where the towpath was closed.  During the horrendous floods in Calderdale - and Hebden Bridge in particular - on Boxing Day 2015, some of the canal bank had been washed away and was currently under repair.  Clearly we needed to divert onto the main road for the closed sections, but in the end another couple of miles at least was added to our walk because of particularly stupid signposting.  Rather than marking the beginning of a section of towpath containing a blockage, the idiot contractors allowed unsuspecting walkers and cyclists to waste time and effort by entering what was, effectively, a dead end.  Mind you, if the signposting had been done properly we would have missed the "Million Dollar Dog Grooming Company", which looked like a really high class establishment.

Eventually we managed to get back to the station at Hebden Bridge, thereby ending our second day.  Then it was time to return to the B&B, pictured below, for a quick wash and brush up.  The peripatetic sheep-shearers were hard at work behind the house, and the last couple of pictures were taken from a skylight in the roof when I should have been getting ready for dinner instead.

Back at base, "the invalid" had spent the day with his feet up - something which was entirely necessary given the state of his blisters.  Did he get any sympathy?  I'll leave you to guess on that one...

Four Men leave Manchester and head for open water

Once out of of Manchester's urban sprawl, the scenery started to get a little greener.  The region's industrial heritage was never very far away, though.

The submerged "keep left" sign had us puzzled for a while until we realised it had been placed in the canal deliberately to stop boats running aground in the shallows.

The wall decoration hinted at the multi-cultural nature of the area.

What we hadn't expected to see on the towpath in a major industrial city were orchids: dozens of them.

The canal was derelict when we walked it in 1979, but it is now navigable thanks to major restoration work around the turn of the millennium.  The dates on the lock gates are testament to the amount of work which when into the task.

Also in evidence was the "good taste" of some of the area's residents.

Who could resist buying an ice cream from this particular emporium?

I started to collect "sunken trollies" until they became too easy to find.

Now, a swan-shaped pedalo - I didn't expect one of those.  Nobody expects...

The sun came out for a few minutes, prior to a series of rain showers, but at least we had left most of the industrial dereliction behind.

We came across a lock which, from a distance, looked like someone was having a birthday party there owing to the number of balloons in evidence.  Sadly the reason for the balloons became all too clear as we got closer, as the side of the lock was littered with floral tributes to a 13 year old boy who had just drowned there.  It was very touching, and heart-breaking, to hear the story from his friends who had come to pay tribute after school.

By now we were all footsore and looking forward to a break, but at least there was some attractive scenery to look at.

Soon things started to get more urban again as we approached the metropolis which is Rochdale.  Whatever you say about the Lancastrians (and, let's face it, who doesn't?) they certainly have a talent for inventing memorable names.

As we left the canal to walk back to the car, we saw a signpost which confirmed we actually been on "Route 66".  Who'd have thought it?

Then it was back to the B&B in order to nurse swollen feet and manifold blisters.  If only I'd heeded my daughter's advice and brought some Compeed with me...

Four Men and a Canal in Central Manchester

Once upon a time - December 1979 to be exact - four fresh-faced undergraduates decided to walk the length of the Rochdale Canal, starting in Sowerby Bridge and ending up in Central Manchester.  Although I was one of that intrepid band, I remember very little of the trip other than it being cold and extremely wet for the entire journey.

A year or so ago, one of the four (let's call him "Julian" to protect his identity) came up with the cunning plan that - almost 40 years later - we should revisit the scene of our former triumph.  It seemed a great idea at the time, but the closer we got to "RC" day, the more ambitious - and foolhardy - the whole scheme appeared.  In recognition of our advancing years, the decision was taken to base ourselves at a good B&B high up on the moors outside Hebden Bridge rather than slumming it in Youth Hostels (a bit of an oxymoron at our age), and June seemed a better month to tackle the walk than December since (allegedly) the weather is better in "summer".  We also decided to do the walk in reverse, starting at the "grotty" end in Central Manchester, and ending up in the idyllic surroundings of God's Own County.

Enough preamble - on with the walk.

The four of us (myself, another Ian, Peter and the aforementioned Julian) started off by driving to Rochdale and then catching the tram into Manchester.  According to the advertising on the tramway, the whole transportation system was clearly aimed at "cool dudes" rather than a bunch of geriatrics attempting to recapture their mis-spent youth.

I should point at at this juncture that I was the "normal" person on this trip, being the only one not obsessed with some form of transport system (Canals for the other Ian, and trains for Peter and Julian).  Ok, so I was obsessed with taking pictures of everything - including Rochdale's highly attractive Fire Service Museum and Hindu Temple - but that's perfectly normal.  Isn't it?

Rochdale might have been a bit down at heel, but the new tram network was shiny and exciting.  The track area had also been planted with a covering of alpine flowers, which made it rather attractive if one was prepared to ignore all the litter.

The official start of the Rochdale canal happens to be at the basin just behind where Frances, my elder daughter, lived for her Master's year while at University in Manchester.  All very gentrified nowadays.

The walk then started in earnest.  Note the glorious blue skies which had been promised for our outing during "flaming" June.  Sweaters and waterproofs were the order of the day, sadly.

There were a couple of places where we almost had to wade along the towpath since the locks were overflowing.

The area below clearly has pretentions, naming itself "New Islington Marina".  I'm not sure the inhabitants of the London borough would recognise it as anything to do with them, however...

Rather symbolically, while leaving the city we had to walk through a tunnel covered in graffiti.  It would have been wonderful if, at the other end, there had been a green and pleasant vista after the grime of the city...

...but there wasn't!

Watch out for the next unexciting (and, let's face it, utterly self-indulgent) episode in this saga.