Category: Trip Reports
A Canal Bank Trot
28th October 2010 A few Sundays ago, I made my way onto the banks of Macclesfield Canal with the idea of making some photos of it to improve on those that I already had. In addition, I also was entertaining the thought of making a loop that took in Pott Shrigley and doing the same for there. However, I ended up sticking with the canal all the way to Marple, where it joins the Peak Forest Canal.
The day was certainly the sort that would entice you outside, and the bright sunshine was warming too. Nevertheless, cloud cover was forecast to take over the sky in the afternoon, and it duly did, yet not before I was delighted by the sights that I encountered. After getting rid of an irritating autumn cold, this was to be just the thing for getting me out in the fresh air again.
To get to the canal, I used a familiar route that took in part of the Middlewood until I rounded the perimeter of AstraZeneca's manufacturing site to reach the canal. Unsurprisingly, there were others who had the same idea as I had. Nevertheless, things weren't to get overly busy until I passed near to Bollington, where a canoeing competition meant that walkers weren't the only ones using the amenity.
It took a while after Bollington before things became quieter again, and I could relax into an unperturbed gait. At this stage, I was still not fully decided on whether I'd call to Pott Shrigley or keep going along the canal at least as far as High Lane before making my way home again. Blue skies and bright sunshine added to my indecision, but I eventually chose to stick with the canal, albeit with mixed feelings.
Those doubts were to be banished by passage through delightful wooded areas, such as those around Middlewood, later on. Near Higher Poynton, the banks again became busy with many folk strolling along them but they, as always is the case with strollers, weren't going far, and I was to have quieter surroundings from which to survey the hill country around Lyme Park with Cage Hill being identifiable thanks to its folly. It was one reminder as to how high the canal remained, even the surrounding countryside was much lower.
Cloud had usurped the sun by the time that I was plying the old towpath between High Lane and Marple. When travelling by bicycle to the aforementioned Lyme Park, had been along this stretch before and more than satisfied myself that it wasn't the greatest of places to be cycling. It felt somewhat to be near built up areas and have so few people walking along at the same time as I was there, but the space was welcome nonetheless. My legs were tiring by then anyway, and I was keeping a close idea on the distance left to Marple train station. One hint was the numbers on the bridges over the canal that were counting down; they must have been numbered in the southbound direction from the junction with the Peak Forest Canal.
The sight of a mill in grotty condition to my right was another pointer to my journey nearing its end, and the manicuring of the canal banks after this was in complete contrast. It was a reminder of how well-kept its counterparts around Bollington and Macclesfield are in comparison. The condition of the canal surroundings itself acted as a trigger for wondering as to how British Waterways can keep its waterways once it has transitioned from being a government to being a charity like the National Trust. A return at a time when Marple is sunlit seems in order after what I saw, and I hope that things don't go downhill for the waterways.
Tired limbs pulled me around two bridges before I was on the bank of the Peak Forest Canal and passing the locks that help to get boats up and down the incline. Along the way, I spotted a sign saying that it was 11 miles to Macclesfield. Had I really walked that far on a whim? That downward slope was nothing compared to that of the road leading from the canal to the train station. It was leading to the Goyt, yet another Cheshire river (and one that finds itself in the invention that is Greater Manchester these days) nestling in a deep sided valley. With the next train being an hour away, I chose the bus option to start on my way home, convinced that I must resume my outdoors excursions after something of a lay-off.
Travel Details:
The return journey was made using bus service 384 from Marple to Stockport and by train from there to Macclesfield.
Contemplating explorations of southern Derbyshire Dales
3rd October 2010 A reduction in outdoors outings seems to have coincided with a change of job a few months ago so I am wondering about changing that state of affairs. Whether it is the busy working weeks or something else such as unappealing weather that has broken my stride, it now feels as if usual haunts such as Cumbria or North Wales have got that little further away. The result is that I am wondering about destinations not so far away from home such as Shropshire, Staffordshire and Derbyshire.
The mention of Derbyshire brings me to a short run out last weekend. The possibility of some sun was enough to get me wondering about a photographic outing to Buxton. However, the afternoon became very grey and there was a biting cold wind too. The result was that I ended up in Ashbourne for a little while. While there, I did a little exploration and found the Tissington Trail on an improving afternoon. There was only enough time for a short stretch along the well used former railway but it was enough to etch thoughts about further explorations into my mind, especially with the rare experience of walking through an old railway tunnel included. After all, I had passed through the pretty estate village of Tissington while en route to Ashbourne and that deserves a proper visit and not just a glimpse through a bus window.
The result of my brief taste of this area was that I have been perusing Mark Richards' White Peak Walks: The Southern Dales, published by Cicerone, in the name of learning more. Though largely pastoral now, the landscape has had an industrial past that gives us the railway alignments that nowadays find recreational use as the Tissington and High Peak trails, among others. All in all, there seems to be plenty to explore and it all seems to be the sort of walking that would ease someone into the outdoors again after a layoff. That isn't to say that there isn't something for the cyclist too as I discovered a cycle hire service near the start of the Tissington Trail.
In a way, it's a surprise that I hadn't been around these parts before now. As to why that has been the case is unclear to me but perceived greater ease of access using public transport might have had something to do with it. Even so, there are a good number of bus services doing duty in these parts and there are YHA hostels (Hartington and Youlgreave) too if I fancy staying overnight somewhere and can find a space available. Now, what needs doing is to firmly pencil in some time for plying paths and trails so as to avert any fatigue-inspired foot-dragging.
Travel details:
Bus services 58 from Macclesfield to Buxton, 42 from Buxton to Ashbourne and 108 from Ashbourne to Macclesfield via Leek.
Well, it certainly isn’t all flat…
12th September 2010 A few weeks ago, I finally managed to turn into reality something that I had been considering for a while: cycling from Macclesfield to Chester. Being a journey of 35–40 miles in length, it shouldn't surprise you that I was well tired after it. However, I didn't have to use any of the opportunities that I had for letting a train take the strain until the journey that took me home again. In fact, the prospect of cycling to Knutsford and catching a train to Chester from there was a lure in the first place, though that clearly developed into something else...
Earlier in the year, I had gone part of the way in undertaking a cycle from Macclesfield to Northwich on a sunny day in March (I think!) with included an extra elbow to my route that allowed the use of NCN Route 573 from Congleton to Davenham though I did veer away from the itinerary from time to time, mainly around Goostrey. In truth, it was a tricky task to keep to a route while negotiating a rat's nest of country lanes, even if they also allowed for some relaxation so long as there wasn't a passing car. Many of these lanes were new to me too as I glided around by Swettenham, while a bit of extra time spent around Northwich ended up allowing me to sample its flashes and go around by Great Budworth among other places. All of this was to stand me in good stead for the full county crossing, though I didn't go around by Congleton and Astbury the second time around.
On paper, the journey from Macclesfield to Cheshire by bike should be around three or four hours. Whether it was because of the route that I took and my unfamiliarity with many of the roads that I travelled (route finding eats time too even if you're using the road network), it ended up taking two hours more than that, with the leg avoiding Northwich taking what felt like longer than intended. Now that I look back at the route that I took, I am inclined to think that I ended up adding some extra mileage, and that's especially when you get to compare it with the Cheshire Cycleway. Of course, taking a little time over things is not a bad thing, but you don't want to be cutting out opportunities for exploration when the travel time is too long in the first place.
Rather than boring you with every detail of the route in the narrative, I have added the full lists of roads travelled and places passed near the bottom of the piece, should you decide to trace it out on a map. Amazingly, every road in Cheshire seems to have a name, and that's more striking to someone like me who hails from a land where only urban roads are named. Returning to the subject of maps, I largely relied on OS Landranger ones for the ride, and they got me around after a fashion. As it happened, there were some moments of quandary that might have answered by my Philip's Cheshire Street Atlas had I brought it with me; that's particularly true of my search for Chester's train station or picking my way around the village of Norley. There's nothing quite like a rat's nest of country lanes and city streets for generating confusion, and it doesn't help when things aren't how you remembered them to be either.
The last thing that I had to do before setting off westwards was acquire a Landranger for the western part of Cheshire from the local branch of Waterstones. That need fulfilled, I set off under cloudy skies to get beyond Macclesfield. All was familiar at this stage, every up, down, twist and turn. So it remained until I left the A537 at Chelford to pursue what I thought to be a more direct line, though there were some deviations as I passed Peover Heath and Over Peover on the way to the A50. The sun came out from behind the clouds, too, and I really felt the strength of the sun. Nevertheless, the lanes were quiet, and I could take any undulations in my stride.
One over the A50, it was back to quieter roads again, and that especially was the case after Smithy Green and Lower Peover. It was from a quiet Plumley Moor Lane that I could gaze down on a bustling M6. Sun was in short supply at this stage and, given my feeling of its earlier strength, I wasn't too sorry. In fact, I was pleased to pass Plumley's train station after 90 minutes of cycling without having to go via Knutsford.
Northwich was ahead of me, but I was set to avoid that too. First, I needed to get across the ugly A556 to reach Linnards Lane and tranquillity again. Collections of houses like Higher Wincham and Higher Marston were passed as I commenced my circuit of Budworth Mere. It might have been nice to have had more sun at this stage, though Great Budworth was catching some. As far as I could remember, it was largely gone again by the time that I reached Comberbach, having met up with the route of the Cheshire Cycleway for the first time that way. Looking at its route again, I do wonder why I left it to stitch together my own course, but I suppose that seeing Anderton Boat Lift might have been a draw for me. It certainly has a nice public park about it, yet it did look incongruous to see folk queueing up for a boat ride with chemical workings beside them. Northwich remains industrial, thanks no doubt to the salt that is underground.
Gazing at industrial scenes is not my way of spending a day, so I continued my bumbling along country lanes. A misunderstanding landed me in Barnton, but that was resolved, and I got to sample the real peace of the lanes around Little Leigh before braving bigger roads to get to Weaverham and Acton Bridge. After those, it was onto more quiet lanes, and it was staring to feel that I was leaving hustle and bustle after me more and more as I continued west. Still, mileposts revealed that it wasn't so far away either, with places like Warrington and Runcorn all within cycling range. Frodsham wasn't far either, and the banks of the Mersey are near there too. It was if a slower mode of travel was shrinking a world that train travel had made to feel a little larger.
All along the way, the ups and downs were continuing. The heights may not have been too striking, but you cannot call the terrain flat. The reason for the Anderton Boat Lift has to be the height difference between the Weaver Navigation and the Trent and Mersey Canal. A steep sided dip near Little Leigh was sufficient to convince me of that. Well, it is difficult to forget gradients like those, and one in Weaverham left me wondering if my legs were starting to tire.
It was around Delamere Forest that the undulations really got going; the lane took on the aspect of an Irish bog road as it went through the woodland. There were ascents and descents before then too as I approached Norley, where the Cheshire Cycleway sorted a spot of navigational confusion for me. However, there is something about ups and downs in an unfamiliar area well frequented by folk and with a good number of cars about that seems to concentrate my mind all the more.
If the sun wasn't being obstructed by cloud cover, I might have appreciated the tree cover around Delamere. In fact, it would have been nice to have stopped for longer, but I was conscious of the time. One of the problems with just travelling through anywhere on a train, bus or car is that you lose all connection with what is there and what is around it. For example, I was surprised to see that Delamere was part of the Mersey Forest but Frodsham is of the order of five miles away, it is easier to see why. Amazingly, I hadn't pieced together several parts of Cheshire until I cycled through the midst of them.
One past Delamere, all was quieter again. Mouldsworth, the penultimate stop on the mid-Cheshire line for Chester-bound trains from Stockport and Manchester, didn't tempt me as a way of shortening the journey, having done enough cycling. It was as if I had travelled so far that I wanted to finish off the job. There was height to be lost too, and the gradients weren't languid either. However, things did level out, and I could relax since there scarcely was a car passing the way by then. It was early evening and I suppose that most had retired to their homes and the task of preparing for the working week.
Even the A56 wasn't so busy when I was passing Bridge Trafford and Mickle Trafford. The sun had made some progress with lighting up the countryside too, which added to the lazy atmosphere that was to pervade for me for the rest of the journey, though there was some anxiousness as I was finding my way around Chester. Strangely, it took until going under the M53 for there to be any admission that a city was nearby. It was as if places like Bridge Trafford, Mickle Trafford and Hoole Bank were all in denial about the proximity of Chester.
If I had arrived in Chester earlier, there may have been a chance for a little more photography after a previous visit there. That was not to be, and I had to deal with an unfamiliar approach and that I was cycling rather than walking. That meant a more circuitous route to the train station than I would have liked, and it would have helped if my recollections of the street layout weren't tricking me into believing that what I was seeing wasn't making that much sense. Having a tired mind as well as a tired body cannot have helped either. In the end, all of these were conquered, and I boarded a train for home. That it was a later than I had in mind was immaterial; after all, I had crossed Cheshire under my own power and ended up relaxing along the way too. While there may be refinements that I'd apply to the route, they're for another time.
Route Followed:
Macclesfield, Mill Street, Exchange Street, Churchill Way, Great King Street, Chester Road, Broken Cross, Henbury, Monk's Heath, Chelford, Peover Heath, Over Peover, Stocks Lane, A50 Holmes Chapel Road, B5081 Middlewich Road, Smithy Green, Lower Peover, Plumley Moor Road, Plumley, A556, Linnards Lane, Higher Wincham, Earles Lane, A559, Great Budworth, Budworth Lane, Comberbach, Warrington Road, Marbury Road, Marbury, New Road, Anderton, Hough Lane, Stoney Heyes Lane, A533, Little Leigh, Brakeley Lane, Church Road, Leigh Lane, Willow Green Lane, A49, B5142, Weaverham, B5153, Acton Bridge, Milton Rough, Onston Lane, Bag Lane, Norley, School Bank, Houghs Lane, High Street, Post Office Lane, School Lane, Ashton Road, Delamere Forest, Delamere Road, Station Road, Mouldsworth, Smithy Lane, Manley, Manley Lane, Morley Lane, A56, Bridge Trafford, Mickle Trafford, Dee Road, The Street, Hoole Bank, Mannings Lane South, Kingsway, Newton, Kingsway West, Brook Lane, Liverpool Road, Countess Road, Parkgate Road, Upper Northgate Street, Chester, Union Terrace, Leadworks Lane, City Road, Chester Train Station
Travel Arrangements:
Train journey back from Chester to Macclesfield, with changes in Crewe and Stockport.
Not so inactive
9th September 2010 One thing that I cannot contradict is that it has been quiet on here for a while. An inspiring summer and my starting a new job both have had their part to play in that state of affairs. Even so, that isn't to say that I have been failing to get out and about. One such escapade was my spending an afternoon cycling from Macclesfield to Chester while managing to avoid passing through towns like Knutsford and Northwich as I went.
The August bank holiday weekend saw me heading to Aberdeen after not having visited the city since I attended a conference there the week following the death of Diana, Princess of Wales. With a mixed weather forecast, a spot of urban exploration inspired by thoughts of making better photos than I did all those years ago. That was to get me a wetting at times but I succeeded in satisfying my wish regardless. It wasn't an entirely urban weekend because I ventured out to Braemar for the very first time and I reached the top of Morrone/Morven, enjoy sunlit vistas when they came between the hefty showers; those died away to leave a bright and dry if cool evening that foretold the coming of autumn.
Last week's Indian Summer had me cycling to and from work with the return journeys plying lanes around Mobberley and Great Warford. In fact, I am left why I left those around the latter unexplored for as long as I have when they make for very relaxing cycling and are not so narrow either. Yesterday had me sampling them too and it might have been the same today if I had more confidence in the day staying dry. In hindsight, the cycling option might have been the better one given that the A34 was packed because the M6 was shut and no rain fell anyway.
Leaves are changing colour and the lighting of the countryside is becoming more pleasing for photography. Depending on the weather, that leaves further scope for outdoor outings. To make use of any opportunities that come, I need not to be tied up indoors though there are photos to be added to online gallery and possible blog postings to be written. This is not a bad time of year to be savouring when there can be so many delights on offer. Going into hibernation now would be a waste.
Sampling Kintyre with Arran and Cowal in View
14th July 2010 The Met Office weather forecast for my few days in Arran and Argyll displayed an ever improving trend with Saturday being among the best of the lot. Of course, weather trends can change and there wasn't as much sun as predicted. However, that has its advantages because clouds shield you from the heat of the midday sun and that makes for more friendly conditions for walking. At times when I felt the full force of a strong sun, I was grateful for those times when under a cloudy shield.
That last Saturday in June got a cloudy start and it stayed like that for much of the day. Over time, breaks did appear in the cloudy cover that allowed the sun through until it took over around Tarbet, where my walk was set to end. The starting point for the hike was Claonaig, so a ferry crossing was to get there from Lochranza, on the ferry that I saw the previous evening in fact.
Ironically for a part of modern-day Ayrshire, Arran is closer to Argyll and may have been considered part of that part of the world in previous times. That meant that the sailing on the small ferry only took around 30 minutes as opposed to around an hour for the bigger boat between Ardrossan and Brodick. Saying that, I can see the draw of civilisation result in a greater pull from the east that overwhelms any from the west. Well, the boat from Lochranza is a summer only affair while the Brodick one travels all year around.
Arran only grew a little smaller with the north-westward sea travel and it was unmissable from the shores of Kintyre as I started north along the Kintyre Way for Tarbert. The northernmost section of the long-distance trail was to be my lot for the day with helpful mileposts counting down the distance that I had left to travel. That decreasing numerical trend told its own story in that the Kintyre Way should be walked in a southbound direction rather than reversing it as I was doing.
First, I had to make up the road towards Skipness with a sleepy atmosphere in the air. Tempting seats were to be found in places by the road and I topped up on food while resting on one of them. Though the predominant colouration was more steel grey in nature, I still enjoyed any glimpses of Arran from across the sea. These were captivating vistas on a day with more sun, but they were still to blame for my going slower than usual. However, there was a long day ahead of me before I was to meet with a Scottish Citylink coach at Tarbert, so there was no need to rush.
At the quiet collection of houses that is Skipness, I left the tarmac to give my legs a blast of steep ascent up a gravel track. Unlike the day before, walking poles were with me to help, and the assistance was well needed with my carrying everything around with me. From this point forward, I was on the route of the Tarbert to Skipness Walk as well as that of the Kintyre Way.
To meet up with the banks of Skipness River, that hard-earned height gain was lost, not something that I found alluring after the earlier effort and in the knowledge that more ascent was ahead of me. Arran was lost from view with much forestry surrounding me, very much a feature of the route that I had chosen for myself.
Good progress was made and I began to go uphill again with the hills of Arran rising up over their lower counterparts on Kintyre. A longer lunch stop was made near Meall Donn, where I found a handy picnicking table at the end of the gravel track that I had been following. There was no real bother from midges either and the sun was finding a way through the clouds too, though the effect wasn't as strong as that observation might suggest.
After the midday stop, it was along a well-defined path that I was following as it weaved around among the firebreaks in the forestry plantation. Though planted with trees, there was bog too with bridges placed over Allt Carn Chaluim to keep the wanderer on a raised bank throughout. Progress was slower than inspection of a map might suggest but I came to pass Loch na Machrach Mòire in its own good time anyway.
Once the loch was behind me, I left the forestry too to find myself among a boggy landscape replete with untidy rocky hummocks. Out of curiosity, I popped onto one of the nameless ones before returning to locate my belongings again before continuing along the path again to reach a piece of hill track brutality that was a recent addition to the landscape. For all the world, it looked as if a gravel track wide enough for two cars to pass each other had been gouged out of the hillside. Let's hope that nature softens the unpleasant handiwork in its own good time but it too is easy to see why there is a campaign against such things in progress in Scotland. Not only are they ascetically disturbing but they also can confuse the unwary by making maps out of date at the scoop of a large mechanical digger. There has to be better ways of enabling timer harvesting and the Forestry Commission should know better.
Very soon, I was back among conifers gain and the sun was doing a better job of battling the clouds. That also meant that it started to feel hotter too as I began to come down from the none too heady heights that I had scaled. Any views of Arran were lost completely and it was those over Loch Fyne that replaced them. The Portavadie-Tarbet ferry was crossing beneath me as I made good any opportunities to look eastward to Cowal, a place on which I have designs of doing some exploration.
All the while, I was on the lookout for the path that would take me from the forestry track and drop me into Tarbert. It may have taken its time coming to me but it was a welcome sight when it came. The subsequent stop for rest and sustenance might appear like a kind of celebration, but my eyes were drawn by the brightening surroundings and the growing semblance of the development of a wonderful summer's evening, much like the opening of a beautiful flower.
The way down was to be very steep and I didn't envy those who I had seen coming up against me earlier on in the afternoon. As I neared Tarbert Castle, the gradients eased so that easier walking became my lot with a quick diversion to a view point. While thankful for less taxing slopes, I was questioning the attentiveness of the waymarking but I filled in any lapses in signing without a blunder.
The castle was unavailable for photography due to ongoing restoration work so I continued onto the shoreside road in what is quite a pretty place with nicely presented and colourfully painted buildings. After asking for directions in a shop where I bought some refreshments, I found the coach stop where my walk ended with plenty of time to spare.
Inveraray was my next port of call and I did some exploring before settling down for the night. Sunday was to turn rainy up there while other parts of the U.K. sweltered and England crashed out of the World Cup. If you had wanted to find a world away from that outcome, Scotland would have been more than forthcoming. There may have been occasional places where the sound of the vuvuzela could be heard, but there they were many more where peace, quiet and stillness reigned supreme, as I had discovered for myself.
