Maybe the title should be first ‘rural’ walk of 2023 as I did walk home from work at the end of January. Hey ho, it was high time that I headed off to the West Pennine Moors in order to get acquainted with this ‘walking thing’ which I profess to engage in, every once in a while. Throughout the week I had been focussing on trying to devise a new and moderate way of getting from the car park to the Pike at Rivington, I drew a blank, I’ve pretty much done them all! ‘What if I were to abandon the notion of the Pike altogether and just do a good old firm favourite?’ Well that one just had success written all over it, depending on if there would be a herd of cows blocking access to the gate at  Wilkinson Bullough.

I arrived at the Rivington Hall barn car park at around ten and set off as soon as a ‘noisy’ and her kids had revealed their intended route – good for me they were headed in the exact opposite direction and taking on “The Peak” – meh!

My route took me through a lovely (quiet) meadow decorated with numerous spring flowering bulbs, take my word for this as the supporting photos have come out truly awful! Onto Sheep House Lane for a little stretch and then I vanished through the hedge znc  onto the path which would lead me downhill towards the Yarrow reservoir. Anyone familiar with this locale will attest that when walking, you’re ‘with the Yarrow’  for quite some time, honestly it looks much smaller on maps than it feels in reality. It was a little testing to ignore the left hand track which I would normally use to get me down past “The Chute” and onto White Coppice (Eventually) but I had promised myself ‘no heroics’ and I had every intention of sticking to that pledge.

Before long I was parting with the Yarrow reservoir and for the next few miles would be essentially walking by (and through) most of its contributories – the ground was a lot wetter than I had expected but then this area does play host to around ten reservoirs so any wetness should not have come as a surprise. I turned off Parson’s Bullough Road and headed alongside the Limestone Brook and then took the short sharp ascent which led me to the gate of many cows (as referenced previously) . Thankfully, the bovine count remained at zero and I was able get onto the long and windy path free from the Friesian Mafia’s intervention!

I was surprised to see quite so many people on route, don’t get me wrong we are not talking the checkout queue at Tesco in December here but this is normally the quietest arc of the West Pennine Moors circle and an average Saturday morning traversal used to have me saying “Morning” to nobody. Today the count was into the ‘teens and there was potential for more as several parties of walkers (can we call them orienteers?) were traversing the moorland across the great divide on the Round Load side of the valley with the River Yarrow (and more mud than anyone would ever wish to encounter) between us. After passing though another gate I met with a couple of ‘Teachers’ / Marshalls from a School which I will never recall the name of, who asked me if I had seen a few young girls behind me? I joked that nobody was ever ‘behind me’  and the blonde lady laughed. I must try the route they were engaged in at some point but it’s new to me and therefore subject to not being as good as this one! My life is full of these sorts of scenarios!

More people past me from the opposite direction, some walking, some being dragged by their dogs and yet others running, I see no attraction in moorland running at all!

Eventually I was forced to surmount wall stiles when the terrain thus dictated, I hate them and this is not mellowing with age, it takes me considerably longer to conquer a stile now than at any other point in my  life and I don’t anticipate that changing as I age, damn my tired knees, hips, ankles…

Having past the remains of few ancient farms I was aware that soon I would have to bog snorkel my way through one particularly squelchy paddock, this did not fail to live up to expectations although in truth I remember the boggy section being much larger, I was thankful for small mercies. I came to a minor crossing of a contributory of the Yarrow which involved a certain amount of knee work as there was no way I wanted to slide into the mire or the stream. Once back into the vertical plane again I was elated enough to check out the nearby locale and was gobsmacked to witness the spectacle of a man and his wife (girlfriend etc) being photographed, not that unusual really except for she was wearing the sort of dress you normally see in gothic type rock video and he was in a suit! They both should have looked a lot more cold than they did, it was bitter by now at Ford (see I told you it was wet!). As much as I wanted to take a photo of this spectacle I had the feeling that they’d charge me for the pleasure (or at least try) as I believe they were simply posing for some sort of social media enterprise, everything has to be paid for these days!

The racetrack which is Rivington Road appeared ahead of me and so did Noon hill tempting me with its straightforwardness, but no, I stuck to my resolve, nothing too strenuous, plus I did feel the odd speck of rain / snow, so I turned right after the gate, and another f’king wall stile, and onto the road. Again there were distractions / temptations to avoid, the path up to Catter Nab soon came into view, but this is quite literally a dangerous route involving a muddy descent into the crossing of a stream and then a monumental slog up the side of a the tree covered slope – to do one day during a drought! So instead I dropped down the racetrack, always wary that this is a national speed limit road and there are some truly stupid people out there! After some time I caught sight of the blonde teacher, her colleague and their entourage all making their way into the school’s van-coach. Within a matter of fifty metres a car was hurtling toward me displaying little intent to pull out a way from me, I motioned for him to move and the driver gave to me the sort of look that suggest I’m the product of an incestual relationship, and he was a dead ringer for Lee Anderson, Conservative MP for Ashfield. Once he got to around fifty metres away he beeped, which spawned an equally indignant response from me.

But I was not going to let this arrogant tosser ruin my day, I hadn’t yet fallen over and the weather was still holding whilst I was enjoying this amazing scenery (and we are still only in Winter). I rounded the corner onto Belmont Road and headed off towards very familiar ground which would lead me to the rough and stony highway back to the car park.

And I even bumped into the blonde teacher again!

In summing…

This was a great foray back into the walking pastime, so much so that I’m already plotting my next excursion.  Anglezarke and Rivington Moors by their nature are wetter than the rest of the area and whilst this does deter the shouting herds, they’ve become aware of it now! I don’t want to be the only walker on route and am social enough to revel in the company of others encountered on route, but do they have to shout? Do the dogs have to be on leads which can extend ten metres? Do their kids have to walk with eyes and feet in opposite directions? These are the prices we have to pay, lockdown encouraged us all out into the country and many more have taken up this walking thing. Put up or shut up I guess, or get your own blog and whine constantly about it!