Light rain was falling last night as I went to sleep. I also woke to the pitta-patta of another shower. By the time I was packing up the rain had ceased. Fat black slugs were enjoying the wet grass, and attempting to climb the tent as I began to pack it away. The rest of the day was overcast but dry with occasional patches of sun and blue sky.
Stoodley Pike was a monument to the successful defeat of Napoleon, which I reached shortly after decamping. A blackened stone tower of little architectural merit, but a visible sight from far away as it stands on the edge of the high plateau above the Calder Valley.
I dropped down through trees to the valley bottom. After crossing a canal and arriving at the road, I debated whether to try for a coffee in Hebden Bridge, a small town a kilometre or so away, but as it is a Sunday I thought my chances were poor. So I made the steep climb up the other side of the valley, partly on narrow paths of rounded cobblestones of some age. Although arduous my spirits were lifted by sights such as yellow poppies by a roadside, a tumbling stream from an old ruined mill and cottages built into the hillside, a kitchen light giving a warming glow. Buildings in the area were typically of blocks of millstone grit (a local coarse sandstone) blackened by age, many with thin stone flags for roofing.
After walking some distance I saw signs for a farm shop offering drinks and snacks. I thought it unlikely to be open being 9:00 am on a Sunday, but made the effort to walk a hundred metres or so off my route to check. To my delight May's farm shop (an Aladdin's cave) was open, so I was able to buy my daily coffee and cake, as well as a pork pie (with stilton) and an apple (being healthy) for lunch. Since I entered Yorkshire yesterday I have noticed how the accent has changed. People have said "Hay up" and other local expressions.
Lunch was at Top Withins, said to be an inspiration for Emily Brontë's "Wuthering Heights". The Brontës lived in nearby Haworth and many of their stories were inspired by the area. I later diverted to Polden Mill which had a Brontë association, although it was unfortunately closed.
Curlews were prominent on the moors today. Flying into the air on my approach making alarm sounds ("too-it, too-it, too-it") close enough to see their characteristic thin, curved beaks. Lapwings were also disturbed by my presence as I followed the Pennine Way path, taking flight and sounding off. A tiny, young grouse chick took fright, running off as I passed. Signs warned it was the nesting season and I must keep my dog on a short lead (not that I had one with me), I assume the commotion i created was because I was coming too close to their nests.
The moors were much the same as yesterday, maybe more of them were of rough, tussocks of grass, and there were additional reservoirs, but maybe fewer than yesterday. I am now settled in Squirrel Wood campsite in the small village of Ickornshaw, the skies have cleared, I have showered and my thoughts are now turning to tea...
...which was at the Harlequin, where the inventive menu was one step up on the usual pub grub (e.g. starters of feta cheese salad with a Caesar dressing). Back at the campsite the owner was something of a raconteur, speaking of the state in which some Pennine Way walkers had arrived, one of the other guests contributed his own story of a walker being sent off by his mother with rather too much food loaded into a holdall. Definitely a place to stop if walking this way....free coffee too!
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