Today was an absolutely glorious day. It was the hottest day of the year so far and the sun is still shining now at 6. I suspect my friend Liz has brought it with her, from London .. she’s generous like that. I have a couple of days with her and she’s guaranteeing that it will be even warmer tomorrow.

I wanted to show her a little of the Rochdale Canal and so we headed back south along the towpath. Yesterday, I’d seen it through a film of drizzle but today was already a lot brighter by the time we started walking.

Walking back south on the Rochdale Canal

Couldn’t resist this one ..

There was a link path between the canal and the Pennine Way which eluded us for quite some time. Liz however, is not a woman who minds talking to strangers and asking them for directions, so after consulting the local mechanic we set off across the railway line, up the hill.

Crossing the line

We joined the Calderdale Way, which after a stiff climb past farms, took us to Great Rock. We paused, not only to catch our breath, but also to marvel at the views of upper Calderdale, with Stoodley Pike, the peace monument on the other side of the valley. Stoodley Pike  features in a story associated with Great Rock. Legend tells how God and the Devil looked out over Hebden Bridge from Stoodley Pike and decided on a wager. If the Devil could step in one stride from the Pike across to the Great Rock on the other side of the valley, he could have the souls of the little town in the valley. He failed, but only just. His hoof landed on the rock .. which is also known as Devil’s Rock .. but slipped, and he lost the bet. Apparently, you can still see the imprint of his hoof on top of the rock but neither of us was game enough to scramble the last few slippery steps. 

Liz almost at the top of Great Rock

There were several more peaks and troughs to negotiate before we joined the Pennine Way. We met several other walkers who all urged us to visit May’s for a cuppa and a piece of cake or a pie. It was not far out of our way so we decided to make the pilgrimage. We were not disappointed.

Along the way to May’s

Just one more down and up before coffee

After a fine pitstop at the hospitable May’s, where incidentally there were some of Tony’s legendary custard creams on sale, we strode out to eventually join the Pennine Way. For the last year I have been gathering horror stories from various walkers of the dangers and hazards of this the UK’s oldest National Trail .. tales of sinking in bogs up to the waist and getting horribly lost in fogs, which descend with alarming rapidity. It’s wasn’t without apprehension that I joined the path.

According to Paddy Gillon, writer of walking books, the Pennine Way is ‘a long and arduous upland trail, often crossing remote moorlands and hills, suitable for fit and experienced walkers. There is seldom much shelter from inclement weather’.  It’s also remarkably lacking in accommodation in parts, unless you’re a fan of rude bothies and ‘basic campsites’. The path runs all the way from the Peak District to the Cheviot Hills in the Borders.

Famed Pennine Way with flagstones across the peat bogs

Today, however the weather was lovely and anyway I was just flirting with the PW, taking a cheeky look-see. We only walked on it for a couple of miles before returning to the familiar Pennine Bridleway. I do have to mention the delightfully named trio of places which we passed close by: Pisser Hill, Pisser Clough and Pisser Rough. Tickled my fancy!

PW terrain

The photos really do not do the landscape justice. The wide expanses of moor were breath-taking and the song of lapwings was beautiful.

Liz in her element

Expansive views

After we passed Gorple Lower Reservoir,  the compass read due west for several miles. I could have planned to walk north west on the PW but then accommodation would have become a problem, as there’s nothing that has a bed nor serves white wine for a good deal further on. The vistas which opened up before us were stunning, so there was no complaint that we were not walking north. 

Just before Widdop Reservoir, close to Wicking Slack .. don’t you just love the names!

There was a long and steady climb along the side of Widdop Reservoir. By mid-afternoon the sun had really come out and for the first time on my journey I could feel its warmth. Wow, did it feel good.

Looking back down over Widdop

Half way up the hill, in a completely inaccessible place, we came across the top of a car. It was truly bizarre and we couldn’t begin to work out how it had arrived there.

Fly-tipping extreme

Passing The Brinks and Shuttleworth Moor we eventually came to Gorple Stones, the dramatic gritstone outcrops which dominate the landscape.

Gorple Stones overlooking Gorple Upper Reservoir

I had tea in my flask so we decided to take a seat on the springy bracken and share the parkin Liz had bought at May’s shop in the morning. Gentle reader, this cake was nothing short of orgasmic and we oohed and ahhed as we devoured every last crumb. I don’t think I have ever eaten anything finer. I’m not at all surprised that May receives phone calls from purchasers of parkin, demanding to know where they can buy more. It’s addictive.

Parkin ecstacy

Looking back up the hill

Tearing ourselves away from our very comfy little possie in the bracken, we walked downhill until we reached Gorple Road and the way to Worsthorne, our stop for the night. The light had become golden, as it always does at the end of the afternoon and judging by the flower displays in the village, spring looks to have truly sprung.

Blooming Worsthorne

Black Dog Tails
Orlando rescued his owner who fell on the subway tracks and wouldn’t leave his side in hospital.