The Pennine Way – Day 19

July 23, 1982: Marsden to Mankinholes

Crossing the M62 near Windy Hill

Crossing the M62 near Windy Hill

The clouds were still there when we got up the next day, though there didn’t seem to be much sign of any rain. I had hoped for an earlier start than 9:00, but our landlady stuck by her 8:30 breakfast timetable. As it was, I had to round up the three others and get them to table, then wait for them to get packed and, once we had reached the Old New Inn, there was a further delay while we tried to load film into Keith’s camera. The local headline read, “Marsden Majorettes Get New Batons.”

I had wanted an early start because today was a long haul, seventeen miles, longer because we had decided against the two and a half miles of steep road walking to the Standedge Cutting. We would take some four miles to reach this same point by completing the much more congenial official Wessenden Alternative. This required us to retrace most of our route back to the Lodge (though this seemed to go by quickly enough). Then there was a short steep descent to the stream and a much longer quite steep climb up the ridge opposite, along Blakeley Clough. We survived this well enough and then continued west through reeds and ferns. It was a nice path most of the way, but it disappeared as we neared Swellands Reservoir (or perhaps Jay – who often insisted on leading, even though he carried no map or guide, missed a turnoff). I noticed we were getting too close to the water and its overflying gulls and tried a corrective manoeuver that brought us out along the south bank of Black Moss Reservoir. Over some rough ground we trod until we encountered the main PW coming in from the south.

We turned north over the reservoir bridge and continued over Rocher Moss – very easy walking in overcast skies, a good weather for hikers. We could see another sail-dotted reservoir below us – Redbrook – and the lorries struggling up the A62 toward the Standedge Cutting. We arrived here close to 11:00 – disappointed to note the demise of Peter’s Transport Cafe. It took us a while to be sure we had selected the right path among ruined walls on the north side of the A62, but we were soon on a good path along Millstone Edge, where we had a little rest. The view to the east was more pastoral now – with many signs of farm life and other rural activities disappearing into the grey haze.

The boulders gave out at Northern Rocher and we walked on dry peat over Old Gate Moss ­– though here a problem occurred. Cairns and a path seemed to be leading us correctly toward the A640, and indeed before long we were there, but the path did not seem to continue on the other side and other Wainwright landmarks were missing. With the help of the boy’s Stephenson we concluded that we had come too far to the west. A nearby sign, pointing to the Pennine Way, confirmed this. We marched up the road for half a mile before discovering the true crossing. No doubt this brief misadventure later cost us the opportunity of making it to the White House Inn before closing time.

We made it over Rapes Hill and at White Hill we paused for lunch, our feet in the deep trench that was the Way itself.  There was still no sun and very little activity on the PW, especially in our direction. We met a few chaps coming toward us as we neared the Windy Hill radio mast – one looking like Igor, with his pack as the hunched back, and another exhausted looking fellow who assured us of level ground ahead. The immediate attraction was the famous footbridge for walkers over the huge trans-Pennine motorway. My first awareness of this Pennine route had come in a British Travel Authority film on the walk that we showed (by accident) in East Lansing to recruits to the 1970 Humanities-in-London program. And one of the few scenes from this film that I remembered was the sight of walkers on this very bridge. Jay took my picture as we tottered above the lorry-choked chasm below.

Dry weather was again to be thanked for saving us from the horrors of Redmires – the last major peat patch on the southern portion of the route. Someone seemed to have provided wooden slats to help walkers over some of the worst sections of the area. Indeed so much anti-erosion path construction was later undertaken in the once juicy areas of the route that the Pennine Way today is far less of a challenge than it was back in our day. Planks weren’t needed today anyway, as I lumbered up to reach the others at rest on Blackstone Edge.

In the footsteps of the Romans? The cobbled roadway below the Aiggin Stone.

In the footsteps of the Romans? The cobbled roadway below the Aiggin Stone.

After the Aiggin Stone we headed south down the roadbed of the Romans – using an intricately cobbled packhorse route that remained a marvel of engineering. Down a steep portion of it we went and then along the first of many essentially level reservoir roads that brought us within view of the White House. There were one or two cars in the parking lot and our hopes were briefly rekindled that the pub might be open. Jay charged ahead to see, but all the doors were locked. A lone traveler in a blue raincoat stood waiting on this empty road for a bus. He had been observing our progress and our disappointment. “Wouldn’t serve you, would they?” he queried, “Bastards!” We went up behind the White House and, on an embankment above the road alongside Blackstone Edge Reservoir, we paused for a rest.

I had prepared a “consolation prize” for us – four cans of Carlsberg Special purchased the day before at the Marsden Co-op. We drank these and each of us also had a shot of brandy and we were becoming quite giggly even before I managed to provide the comic highlight of the day: while I was struggling into my pack and adjusting my camera strap and walking staff I began to slide forward down the steep grassy embankment. There was no way I could get a purchase on this slope with my boots and no reason to – so I simply let myself go, bumping gently down on my back until my feet reached the gravel road and brought me to a halt. Above me there was a roar of laughter and in this lighthearted mood the reservoir dogs headed north past Light Hazzles and Warland Reservoirs – eerie expanses of black water under grey skies. We passed the time trying to identify local bird life and rocks. Our college friends were both interested in geology and I had an easy time identifying the divebombing swifts who kept buzzing us.

The flagged path to Mankinholes

The flagged path to Mankinholes

After the last reservoir we had our first view of Stoodley Pike and the valley that contained our youth hostel. After Coldwell Hill we began to look for the “flagged” path  (flagstones, not pennants) that would lead us down to Mankinholes, making several false starts, even cutting over our to path in the steep grass before catching up with two girl walkers from Doncaster ­– who had located this impressive piece of walkway and were proceeding to the youth hostel as well. We had a long look into the valley and the village scene below – comparing features to our Ordnance Survey map (not the one Jay had lost; we were now onto a new sheet).

The Youth Hostel was easy to find but rather officiously run –with major attention to the rules (“You forgot to enclose a stamped envelope,” I was informed, but of course I had.) We made our beds, had a shower, and Jay and I and the girls were served a late meal of YH fare before Jay and I volunteered to do the washing up – strictly supervised by the bearded cook who had a kitchen that could have served as an operating theater.

The local pub was several hundred yards to the south, in the village of Lumbutts. We reached it in the failing light and celebrated our long day over the usual pint of lager and our cigars. I tried to phone Dorothy but the telephone didn’t work. The Top Brink pub was full of the Lancashire toffs having a Friday night feed. No wonder our garrulous wardeness at the YH had warned us, “Don’t get carried away by our local gentry.” It was dark when we returned and once again all the other walkers – there was only one other pair – were asleep. So we accepted the darkness and I had a pretty good night.

To continue with the next stage of our walk you need:

Day 20: Mankinholes to Ponden Hall