Rochdale Canal: End of the road (well, water, anyway)

There were only six miles or so left to walk on the final day, which was just as well considering the blistered feet and general aches/pains resulting from the previous two days' exertions.  As expected, our resident "invalid" was too badly injured to continue, so he decided to take an early train back home instead (having paid the £70 ransom to change his ticket).  The other three set off to finish the walk, heading along the heavily wooded - and rather attractive - stretch between Hebden Bridge and Sowerby Bridge.

Periodic mileposts allowed us to count down the distance to lunch...

Even the derelict buildings had been decorated, although I'm not sure "Banksy" was responsible in this case.

Since Yorkshire folk (being God's chosen people) are capable of walking on water, it was necessary to erect the occasional signpost to remind them to keep to the towpath.

The canal dropped quite rapidly as we approached Sowerby Bridge, and we even found a field with "Heeland Coo" in it.  All very bucolic.

Not long until lunch now...

The next two pictures show the difference between 1979 and 2016, as we'd posed for a "selfie" at bridge number two, long before the term had been invented.  The canal has been restored in the intervening period, unlike the human elements who are now suffering the various afflictions of age and decrepitude.  I was pleased so see that I wasn't in the original snap, since - presumably - I was the one who had taken it.  I was less pleased to see that, although the bridge was sharp, Julian, Ian and Peter (left to right) were completely out of focus.  Oops.

The intrepid three arrived in Sowerby Bridge at lunchtime (by definition); but, being a stickler for canal etiquette, Ian and Peter insisted that we carry on until we'd reached the bitter end before we were allowed to eat.

The Computer Scientist in me was delighted to see that the first milepost, at the very start of the Rochdale Canal, was actually labelled "zero".  It's truly heartwarming to see that engineers can share this kind of numerical pedantry across the centuries.

Having completed the canal - literally from end to end - we were finally allowed to have our lunch.  Where else but in the converted waiting rooms at Sowerby Bridge station, which put on a fine spread in comfortable surroundings.  A great way to end our walk.

So, will we attempt such a feat again?  Almost certainly.  Will it be Julian who suggests it?  Maybe, although it will probably end up being a less ambitious journey if so.  (Either that or he'll buy a pair of boots which actually fit him next time.)  Since it was 37 years since the original walk, we even suggested that we should attempt it again in 2053 - although possibly using motorised Zimmer frames on this occasion...

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...