Distance: 28.5km (82.3km), time spent: 9:44.
Weather: Nice and warm.
It was good fortune that I did not get a room at the hotel, for the good landlord at the Sunfield Estate B&B is so nice to drive us back up to the Pennine Way again in the morning. Having left the Peak District behind, the more gentler South Pennines are waiting, and I am fueled up by the usual comprehensive English breakfast. Heading for the fourth funkiest town on the planet, I will not make a wildcamping attempt today. Should be an easy day on the walk, right?
View from a trig point after Standedge.
From where I left at Standedge, the route continues on a gentle gradient. Certainly not spectacular, but undeniably pleasant, boasting no waistdeep bogs or bleak landscapes, only firm footing and gentle rolling hills. The sky just as blue as the ground is green. A good setting for a nice mood. The three girls are rapidly getting ahead of me, I catch up with them again, only for them to again getting ahead of me while I get preoccupied by looking at the landscape.
A gentle moorland on this third day on the Pennine Way.
The Pennine Way slowly meanders its way past a trig point next to some small stony outcrops, maybe one of them is the stone named Dinner Stone (the English know how to name things and places). Then it slowly enter an open and grassy floating landscape that has a rather empty feel about it, although not far away from anything. Two other Pennine Wayfarers appear in front of us, both female. We arrive at White Hill, which is all covered in tussocky grass. It might have been possible to camp here, but it would be difficult to do it discreetly and the ground is quite uneven. From here the route is even closer to Manchester.
Burned out car on Rook Stones Hill.
Flagstone path to Blackstone Edge, sort of a nature pavement.
Walking further, I can in the far distance see the looming monument at Stoodley Pike. More imminent is a huge communication mast, looking like som sci-fi relic in this landscape. A burned out car stands stranded in the moor. The fate of that car we can tell, but we can only speculate in how and why it ended its 'life' on this moor next to the Pennine Way. Stolen perhaps, and used in some criminal activity and then being put on fire to hide any evidence? Who knows, but it is a strange reminder of other sides of life along the way. The route crosses the extremely busy M62 motorway on a tall bridge, which also has a dark side to it. It is rumoured to be a popular spot for people that wants to commit suicide.
Blackstone Edge.
Leaving those brooding thoughts behind, I make my way up towards the Blackstone Edge. The path is a lightweight version of the moors from the previous days, a line of flagstones again aiding you on the way, but the surface is firmer here than before. Behind me is the communication mast a solid beacon, ahead of me is the Stoodley Pike monument the same. Directly ahead of me is the scattered gritstone boulders of the Blackstone Edge. Not particularly high up, but the views are fine for its altitude (472m). And the big stones strewn about makes for an interesting walk.
The Aiggin Stone.
The Roman road leading down from Blackstone Edge, although not built by the Romans.
Waymarking may have improved over the time, as well as all the aids hikers can get, but they made waymarkers in old times too. Down from Blackstone Edge (where Clarissa, Sophie and Roxanne still are having a break) I pass by the Aiggin Stone, a 600 years old medieval guide stone for travellers. Of course, the stone is not much of a help now, I am unable to decipher anything of what is chiseled into the stone. From the stone, a significant old road is heading downwards. Known as the 'Roman road', but it is disputed that it was made by the Romans, although it was certain that they did use the road.
The draw-off tower of Light Hazzles Reservoir, the water apparently never reaches it.
It is always nice to walk next to water, here the Light Hazzles Reservoir.
The first Pennine Wayfarer coming from the opposite direction, I meet at the reservoir drain the route follows towards the White House pub. He has spent fourteen days from Kirk Yetholm, sort of the same amount of days that I expect to use getting there, and is providing me with some good information about places where I could wildcamp. But before I get that far, I stop for lunch at the White House pub.
Stoodley Pike monument appearing closer, on the Bald Scout Hill.
From a waterhole to several others, more natural ones. Or? Here the Pennine Way goes all flat, right next to a succession of reservoirs, all constructed to feed the Rochdale Canal far below. One of the lakes (or reservoirs) holds so little water that it never reaches its own drawn-off tower. At the end of it, the Light Hazzles Reservoir, I again find the girls. Having passed by me as I had my lunch at the pub, they are now resting at the shores of the lake. It is hot, so we are all contemplating having a swim (although there are warning signs against it all along the water).
Stoodley Pike monument.
Except for the funky town, I have not had any high expectations of what to see today, other than the looming Stoodley Pike monument. There is a final stretch of moorland before I embark on the approach to the monument. It is a delightful walk, walking gently around the contours of a grassy rolling ridge. Out on the tip of Stoodley Pike, the brooding obelisk is pointing towards the sky. Built to commemorate the defeat of Napoleon, although ironically the completion of the monument had to be postponed following Napoleons escape from Elba. It was finally finished in 1815 (following the Battle of Waterloo), collapsed in 1854 after a lightning strike and constant weathering, and finally rebuilt in 1856. Standing in front of it, the 37m tall monument looks like a huge fireplace with chimney.
View from the Stoodley Pike monument in the direction the Pennine Way continues.
Now it has so far passed the test of time, but not the hands of local vandals. Graffiti are scribbled all over the monument. A 39 steps spiralling staircase brings you up to a balcony, about 12m above ground. Part of the climb is in darkness. The landscape looks suspiciously flat from up here. It is not so easy to discern the places I have come from or the places I will be going to. Still a nice view.
Ruin of a church above Callis Bridge.
After Stoodley Pike I make a wrong decision. Instead of doing the Hebden Bridge loop, I choose to follow the main route past Callis Bridge and go down to Hebden Bridge from where the loop rejoins the main route instead. It is a mistake, and I have all my 'purist' mindset to thank for it. The main route is little interesting, and the path leading up from Callis Bridge is seriously overgrown at places. So much that I wonder if most of the walkers on the Pennine Way now only uses the Hebden Bridge loop instead. It does not get better when I am finished with the climb up either. Here, the route goes on a incredible narrow path between two stone fences. The path is overgrown, so that you do not see the ground underneath you. Several times, I make a last minute save, failing to see there was a step down.
The narrow path going down from Pry Hill, I had to take care not to fall down into the black gap between the stone fences.
I make the wrong turn when trying to find the route going down towards Hebden Bridge, and so find myself lost. Although it is a pleasant way of getting lost, walking in a lovely forest next to the river, Colden Water. After some turns, misses and guesses, I meet a woman whom I ask for directions. She gives me a long explanation, that I utterly fails to follow, but somehow I think I manage to find her route. It does, however, bypass Heptonstall, which the loop goes through. I care little now, as my feet have started to hurt and I am tired. I stumble down the slightly steep path from Hell Hole through Lads Law and Granny Wood to find myself in the fourth funkiest town on the planet. So voted by British Airways.
A pleasant detour of the Hebden Bridge loop, trying to get down to Hebden Bridge.
Woodland path towards Heptonstall and Hebden Bridge.
Too tired to argue and too tired to walk around trying to find a cheaper place, I just settle with the slightly expensive White Lion Hotel. I soon forget all about the price, as I discover the blister at the back of my left heel. Normally I care little for blisters, I have no trouble popping and draining them, but this one is quite big. And instead of watery fluids, it contains blood. It is a sign good as anyone that my shoes are not the correct ones for me. Since the blister contains blood, I do not dare popping it, in case of infections, so I just put on the usual compeed and adds cushioning around it. Then I hobble out to take a look at the funky town.
In Hebden Bridge.
The funky shops are of course closed, as I arrive too late for them, but it is still a very nice town to walk around in and look at. Over the afternoon and evening there is also a wonderful light on the sky. Outside one of the pubs, I also meet again another Pennine Wayfarer, who I briefly met yesterday. He has finished his walk for now and heads home tomorrow. I eat a huge fish and chips dinner at the hotel, before taking another evening stroll around town. Then relax with a cold beer to get my thoughts of my feet, but I cannot truly shake my worries for the rest of the hike from my mind.
Hebden Bridge, voted the fourth funkiest town on the planet by British Airways.
I fall asleep humming the fourth funkiest tune that I know. Bloody blister aside, todays walk was far from remarkable, but a pleasant and enjoyable one.
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