As many readers will know, following our Walkers and Ramblers Tenacious Stalwarts (W.A.R.T.S.) walks, we – mainly me, as I was the self-appointed chair – like to write a walk report. The following is a good example of one I cobbled together on 5 March 2019. The conversations will nearly always include abuse and/or banter of the type which would probably get you sacked in the workplace, but among good friends it has become compulsory. More than one has described our conversations as “weekly therapy sessions”.
Na-then, Boys and Girls,
It seems to have fallen upon me to write the walk report, mainly because no one else can be bothered.
Are we nearly there, yet?
When I was a little lad, my parents favoured summer holidays in Blackpool. We would excitedly load the car with suitcases and buckets and spades, and off we’d go. This was a time long before the M62. After three or four hours we would play the game of ‘first to spot Blackpool Tower’.
Now, the walk on Tuesday was arranged by the Colonel. Herself, the Corporal and myself were kindly picked up by T’Forager in Gowca at the appointed time of 09.00 hours. The walk proper was to start from a car park on the Lyngate side of Todmorden, on the A646. However, the route taken was reminiscent of a magical mystery tour.
On arrival I had the audacity to ask if this was the most direct route, as I had already started to look for Blackpool tower. This question was greeted by a grunt from the Colonel and an expectant wince from the Corporal.
“Quiet, you!”
This eventually evoked what could be described as this week’s walk phrase. If anyone felt brave enough to suggest an alternative to something, they could expect, and very likely receive, a friendly “QUIET, YOU!”. This is apparently a phrase that young Sam favours. I blame the parents. To those who are unaware, Sam is the offspring of an earlier relationship between the Colonel and the Corporal, and is probably why they were both thrown out of the military.
The “QUIET, YOU!” was never actually used by a higher authority during the walk. It was a way for the Corporal and I to have a good laugh and keep some sort of sanity.
A b***** big hill!
The Major, who was an absentee on this walk, would have loved it. The first three hours were hills and some dips, but mainly hills. A bloody big hill in one case, but what a fantastic view from the top overlooking Plymouth or Portsmouth, or something – in reality, somewhere in the backwoods of the border between Lancashire and God’s Own County. However, the feeling of achievement at reaching the top was also very exhilarating. Another aspect of this walk that the Major would have been excited about was that the very short sections between the hills and dips were muddy.
At the bottom of one of the rocky outcrops we scaled was a group of about twelve children with their two instructors/guides, all dressed in Hi-Vis and hard hats of course.They seemed to be playing the game of hiding under a groundsheet.
During the ascent of the same outcrop, we came across our first significant example of wildlife. It appeared to be a domestic cat rummaging about near the group of groundsheet hiders. I can’t say cats are my favourite animal, but this particular example had very unusual markings, very much like a small leopard. Our resident cat lover, who goes by the name the Corporal, made the mistake of petting this thing and it then followed us. Nick became very concerned about its wellbeing from then on, asking everybody and everything that we met if they had lost a cat. I’m sure he must have lost sleep over it.
Getting to the bottom – civilisation regained
As we made our way down the valley approaching civilisation, the Colonel felt in necessary to apologise for getting the route slightly wrong. The rest of us tried to explain that if anybody took time and made the effort to arrange a walk, no apologies are necessary if it doesn’t go exactly to plan. I’m not sure she was completely happy about it, though.
As we got to the valley bottom, the Colonel pointed at another hill on the other side of the valley with a glint in her eye. The others among us, mainly me, I have to say, favoured finding the nearest café, and so a democratic vote was taken and we eventually found a very nice little place in Parkside.
It was a converted library. The café helpers seemed to have taken on the responsibility of looking after some of the local bewildered. It appeared they’d provided a 1,000-piece jigsaw to a very happy and talkative chap who seemed to just move two pieces around the board. Some of the other locals sat with him for a while. The whole place seemed to have a very homely and social feeling about it – it was very nice to see.
Our Chief engineer would have enjoyed the conversation T’ Forager and I had about the A4 Pacific locos while we were woofing our snap in the café. The Colonel and the Corporal didn’t find it necessary to join in.
We/I persuaded the Colonel away from the other hill and we walked back to Tod and to the car. According to her walk bible written by a chap named Christopher Goddard, this walk was supposed to be five miles long. It seemed to me that hills don’t count towards the mileage???
No cheese, but three cheers for the public bogs!
T’ Forager was quite excited about the opportunity to buy cheese at Tod market, but the car park being nearly empty should have given us a clue. We actually got into the building before someone quite gleefully told us that they were shut. T’ Forager was very unhappy but it gave me an opportunity to sample to public toilets nearby. I couldn’t have lasted the journey home via Blackpool again. T’ Forager took it upon himself to follow a more direct rout home and followed his satnav. This didn’t work out too well either, as we had to negotiate the flood defence roadworks and rush-hour traffic in Tod. Three cheers for the public bogs I thought.
As we sat in the back of the car for the return journey, the Corporal and I became quite giddy and began to reminisce about times gone by when just we two walked the very uncomplicated route from Gowca to Marsden along the canal every week, and talked of simple things that took no effort because we had talked about the very same things the week before. “QUIET, YOU!” we said.
The replies to the report were as follows.
That’s a good report. I admit it was more up-down-up-down-up than the norm, but the rewards were stunning views of moors and Cliviger Gorge, forays into the nonconformist Bible belt of the Calder Valley, including Obadiah Wood and a secret community café, complete with job club and vegetable patch.
Worth a revisit. The Colonel.
Attached is a picture of the very smelly outlet from an old mine, where I sank up to the top of my boots (negligently omitted from walk report). Cannot include a snap of the cat or the numerous strangers the Corporal enquired of, due to constraints imposed by Data Protection Act.
T’Forager.
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