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Contents :: PENNINE WAY Day 16                       INTRODUCTION DAY 4 DAY 9 DAY 14   PREPARATION DAY 5 DAY 10 DAY 15   DAY 1 DAY 6 DAY 11 DAY 16   DAY 2 DAY 7 DAY 12 DAY 17   DAY 3 DAY 8 DAY 13 PREP RUNS                     THE PENNINE WAY NEARS ITS END AND PASSES OVER BLACK HILL     NATIONAL TRAIL GUIDES UK           Day 16 :: Rescue on Black Hill :: Old Gate Nick to Crowden :: 13 miles           I awoke early again today and after doing yoga and breakfasting it was time to pack.  I was very much aware that tomorrow would be my last day, and I was looking forward to going home and being with my family again.  But for now I would have to forget about this and concentrate on the job in hand.  I would have a difficult day ahead of me and I wanted to be well prepared for it. I would be running today from Old Gate Nick over Millstone Edge (a ridge of rock on the boundary of Close Moss, with a steep drop on one side), across to Black Moss Reservoir, over Black Moss to Wessenden Reservoir and then up to Wessenden Head Reservoir. From there I would climb Black Hill, run along Laddow Rocks (a narrow path along a precipitous edge), along Rake Rocks and then finally descend to Torside Reservoir. Rachel dropped me off at Old Gate Nick.  I was hesitant to leave the car at first because I fully expected this run to be difficult, and I eventually forced myself to turn away and start running.  I waved to Rachel as she drove off.  She has been a very pleasant companion during this holiday and I made up my mind to spoil her a little this afternoon.  She has had much to complain of, but she has not done so. I was quickly on my way along a good clear track and ascending the Northern Rotcher, the side of which falls away very steeply down Blea Green and Coal Hill Slades, and I was soon onto the top of Millstone Edge where there was a very fine view over parts of Manchester.  The Northern Rotcher and its edge were brimming with peat hags, which I quite enjoy running around, being peaty and gentle on the ankles, knees, hips and spine, unlike the hard stone and rocks that lay further ahead. I descended Millstone Edge and crossed over the A62, cutting across the small car park there, and ran up a small flight of sandstone steps onto a sandy and stony track towards Redbrook Reservoir.  Approaching the Reservoir the path then bore off to the right and headed for Black Moss Reservoir.  After reaching this reservoir I then crossed it at the dam end on a sharp stony path, admiring the magnificent view across Little Black Moss Reservoir towards Diggle.  I could hear gunshots from the rifle range near to Diggle Reservoir, although I could see neither the rifle range nor the reservoir.               Millstone Edge   Little Black Moss Reservoir           At the end of the dam I turned left to take a muddy path along its fringe and over to Black Moss.  On my last visit here I followed the original Pennine Way route over Broadhead Moss and experienced a real nightmare of a run between sodden peat hags on a very indistinct path.  I had no intention of having a repeat of this episode and was well prepared when reaching the muddy path at the end of the dam.  After a very short period on the path to Black Moss my socks and shoes had been fully introduced to the Moss’s hidden parts.  This did not feel uncomfortable, however, as I was by now very much acclimatised to the sensation of cool, oozing mud slipping between my toes, and anyway, I was wearing yesterday’s very dirty and muddy socks (and yesterday’s sweaty and dirty tracksters and shirt).  I had not been able to wash my clothing for several days and had no fresh ones to wear for today.  So my socks had already been soaking wet when I had first put them on. I had not run far when I came upon a large number of loose paving flags where work on the path was about to commence.  I had been here only seven weeks or so earlier and they had not been there then.  When I came to the fully paved area further along the path I noticed that it had been extended some way since I had last been there. The paving flags took me to the Blakely Clough area before disappearing and I then followed a leisurely path around the knoll of Black Moss.  This was steep sided and afforded far ranging views to the Blakely Reservoir, the Wessenden Valley and across to the Wessenden Reservoir.  The Wessenden Valley is quite picturesque.  I crossed Blakely Clough via a small weir and continued around the headland on a path through dense ferns and up the Short Grain valley to another weir.  This weir is quite awkward to cross, being moss covered and slightly under water so that it is too slippy to walk across.  It is far easier to climb down the lesser slopes of the valley near to the weir and rock hop across Short Grain to the other side, then climb back to the path.             Paving the Pennine Way on Black Moss   Short Grain           As I climbed back to the path I scared a number of sheep that were feeding on the steep valley side and I worried that they would lose their balance and fall.  They were more sure-footed than I, however, as it was I who nearly fell.  As I ran back along Short Grain, on the opposite bank, I could see down the valley towards Wessenden Lodge, where a dog was barking fiercely.  Whether this was at myself or not I could not tell, but the dog must have been at least 400 metres away and separated from me, thankfully, by Wessenden Beck.  The barking did not cease until I was well out of sight. I ran quickly to the dam of Wessenden Reservoir, crossed it and found myself running uphill on a stony path that was beginning to make the sides of my feet tender.  The path takes a detour around Leyzing Clough and dips downward for a short while.  This afforded me a small respite from my uphill toil, for which I was grateful.  This is a long uphill path, and whilst not too severe, is nevertheless arduous to run. Wessenden Head Reservoir eventually came into view and soon I had passed it heading towards the busy road at the top, the A635.  I had been able to see this for some considerable time, and the vehicles traveling along it seemed perched on the very rim of Wessenden Head Moor which looked, from where I was, to hold a sheer drop down to the reservoir. The next section of my route would take me up and over Black Hill, the area I had dreaded for so long.  There was no time to dwell upon it – I just needed to go and get it over with.  As I ran across the road towards the stile over the wall where I knew the path was to be, my attention was caught by another stile near a parked hot-food vendor.  There were a line of cars parked there and I thought that this stile must be the one I should be heading to. Actually, it was the wrong stile, but a little-used one. The correct stile was further to my right. I crossed directly to this stile (the wrong one), running past the hot-food vendor, and then a number of things happened in quick succession, all within the next second.  As I ran past the hot-food vendor I saw three men sitting behind it eating.  As I looked at them their faces looked aghast and I heard one saying “oh no!”.  At this time one of my feet were on the stile which I had just begun to climb, having reached it quickly and almost hurdling it.  I then looked down and saw an un-muzzled Staffordshire bull terrier tethered to the stile.  The dog had been alerted by my sudden appearance and was advancing toward my trailing leg.  As I continued up the stile in one fast, flowing movement, a shrill blast on a whistle almost stunned me as the dog’s owner moved into action to prevent the premature amputation of my leg.  I did not stop to look, question or accuse.  I just carried on running, thankful to be in one piece, leaving behind me a muster of curses. The stile was not in fact marking my path, but was not far from it.  Beyond the stile I ran obliquely from the road to join the Pennine Way after only 100 metres or so.  This part of the path was paved and easy to follow, and descended to Reap Hill Clough and then Dean Clough, before beginning to climb Black Hill.  The paving eventually disappeared and the path changed to the more familiar peaty kind that I was used to experiencing around this locality. The television mast on Holme Moss was directly ahead of me.  I knew that as I ascended it should gradually fall away to my left.  I had rehearsed my directions over Black Hill at length the night before.  I did not wish to become lost today and although the path was clear of mist I had already been lost here once before on a very clear day and I was only too aware of how easy it would be to err. As I rose higher the gulch of Issue Clough became more and more prominent.  I was edging towards it at a tangent.  As I neared the summit the path became less and less distinct until there was no visible path at all.  Thankfully, however, there were a number of cairns marking the direction to travel.  I saw a group of lads over to my right, about to descend on a pathless course.  As soon as they saw me they changed direction, apparently realising that I was on their intended path.               Dean Clough   Cairns marking the path near the summit of Black Hill           I could still not make out the summit cairn and was feeling a very slight sense of panic (actually, more than slight!).  The summit cairn stands on a very boggy and peaty area known as Soldier’s Lump.  Upon reaching the very last cairn I was forced to stop for want of knowing in which direction to travel.  I had the television mast to my left and rear, where it was supposed to be if I was near to the summit cairn and facing in the right direction.  I peered all around and was able to just make out the outline of the summit cairn between two peat hags.  I knew there was a paved path on the other side (about 400 metres from the cairn) and I felt a huge sense of relief, for I was certain that I could find the path once crossing to the summit cairn.  And there was still no mist! I could no longer run.  The ground between the peat hags was so wet and boggy that I had to manoeuvre very carefully to make any headway at all, often traveling for up to 20 yards and then having to retrace my steps and find another route forward.  I did not intend to cross directly to the cairn because I knew from the tales I had been told during the last few weeks that to reach the cairn was almost impossible because of the depth of the peat bog around it.  And I was finding it difficult to pass around it at 50 metres away! I saw a hiker emerge over the brow of Black Hill on the opposite side of the cairn and presumed his path to be my egress from the Hill.  I was, in any event, heading in that direction, more or less.  He took a direct line towards the summit cairn.  As I continued to negotiate a path I kept him in sight, for he was passing obliquely to me, I no longer being on course for the cairn.  My feet were constantly in mud over my ankles, but I had managed to avoid any greater depth than this. I was just about to cross the final difficult stretch when I glimpsed the hiker on my left suddenly make a jerky motion.  As I turned in his direction, I saw him plunge almost waist deep into the bog just short of the cairn.  He was struggling to move but could not.  He was stuck fast, trying to jerk himself free.  I shouted to him and asked if he needed help.  He did! I then ran speedily across the bog I had so carefully manoeuvred around, leaping the deepest parts.  I did not know if the hiker was still sinking and wished to get to him as quickly as possible.   I lost my footing and went sprawling head first into a nasty, foul-smelling bog.  My forward momentum took me sliding across it to the hag beyond and I recovered quickly, a little wet, dirty and smelly for the experience. In order to reach the hiker I had to cross to the summit cairn, which I did very quickly indeed.  I reached him and we locked wrists.  I could not, however, budge him and after several minutes of futile pulling I waded in, keeping one leg on firmer ground about mid-way to my knee in depth, and the other leg a little deeper.  I then placed my shoulder under his arm pit and heaved, although I was forced to heave him from a difficult angle, not being able to get my legs closer to him.  He was still not moving, and I sensed he was ready to give up.  I continued heaving, using a jerking motion to gain momentum and after several minutes there was a sucking sound and I was able to gradually haul him clear. I experienced a very strong emotional surge as he cleared the bog and was grateful that I had been nearby and able to assist.  He offered me his heartiest thanks and we each went our separate ways, both of us carefully avoiding his path of arrival.  I found my path off Black Hill quite easily and made my way down Holme Edge along a paved route.  I was running quickly now and soon arrived at Grains Moss where I had my first view of Meadowgrain Clough, a shallow rocky clough running very close to the path.  Meadowgrain Clough flows into Crowden Great Brook which feeds Torside Reservoir, where I was running to.  I wished I could travel as quickly and as easily as the drops of water in the Clough, and for a while my imagination got the better of me as I imagined a raindrop on a sunny day floating on the water’s surface from here to the reservoir. There are many shallow fords on Great Crowden Brook and it is possible to ford them without getting wet, there being many rocks projecting above its shallow waters.  As I passed I noticed the reflection of the sky in the water, where I could see the different cloud shapes and sky colours, the images of which were broken into tiny mosaics by the many loose rocks protruding above the water’s surface.  Coming into view ahead of me now was Laddow Rocks, with its considerably precipitous valley side, along the top edge of which runs a very narrow Pennine Way path.               Meadow Grain Clough on Grains Moss   Ford on Crowden Great Brook           As I ascended Laddow Rocks the path became drier and stonier and I started to feel tender areas on the side of my left foot again.  I could feel the individual stones as my feet made contact with them and every now and again I would strain the tops of my feet as I slipped on the stones.  I was now rapidly gaining height above the Brook and the view across to Torside and down the Clough Valley were amazing.  Before Torside Reservoir the Crowden Great Brook joins with the Crowden Little Brook to make the Crowden Brook.  There was also an impressive view to the opposite side of Crowden Great Brook to the area known as The Castles, below Bareholme Moss.  This appeared slatey grey, rugged and very steep.  As I ran I began hearing voices but could see no one, until suddenly a girl appeared on the path in front of me with a rope in her hand, having just scaled Laddow Rocks.  She had a female companion with her who was still climbing.  I was impressed at their courage. The narrow path along Laddow Rocks seemed to go on forever and much of it I was unable to run because of the danger of stumbling over the cliff face.  As the path started to descend and pass over the area known as Rakes Rocks it again became very difficult to run, being so steep and having many very narrow stone steps.               Crowden Great Brook and start of Laddow Rocks   The Castles, below Bareholme Moss           As I reached the foot of Rakes Rocks and as I neared the Reservoir, the Way veered away from the car park at Crowden where Rachel was to meet me.  I took one of the many small paths to my left, through the ferns and down towards the weir over Crowden Brook.  From here I ran very quickly to the car park where I was pleased to see Rachel’s happy, smiling face.               Torside Reservoir from Laddow Rocks   Pennine Way on Laddow Rocks           The car park was too crowded to do my stretching and I drove to a car park on the Longdendale Trail, just off the Glossop Road and did my stretching there, much to the surprise of a number of cyclists who passed me.  We then drove to Glossop where I purchased a small gift for Carol, and from thence to Edale to show Rachel the rendezvous for tomorrow – Edale car park.  I then treated her to a fleece she had been eyeing in various shops all week.  It just happened there was a sale from the car park and her fleece was being sold at a discount.  We then had a first class meal in Hayfield, at the Royal Hotel.  This was the first proper meal I had had for quite a long time.         Day 15 Day 17       Author - Roy McKee Copyright © Roy McKee 2006