A Slip and a Slide with the Snowdrops: a 16 mile walk from Holmfirth to Greetland

After a self-enforced 3 week absence from the hills of West Yorkshire, it was time to once again lace up my boots and head out: this time into a new landscape and from a new direction.

The reason for all this novelty?

Last Friday, we moved out of our much loved house of 26 years in Greetland, and took up a temporary residence in a holiday cottage belonging to some very kind and generous family members, based in the hills just above Holmfirth.

If I am totally honest, it was only the thought of getting a breather in that cottage that had kept me going throughout last week.

There had been frequent moments last week when I thought wryly that it could only be a chosen few who were crazy enough to move house during the 3rd Lockdown of the Covid 19 pandemic.

I’ve frequently questioned our sanity over the years. On Wednesday as I drove our 3rd load of possessions in a Luton van over to a storage unit in central Leeds, I really thought we had lost the plot.

Fortunately, us humans have a tendency to just get on with it, when our circumstances force us into a corner. So it was that just after noon on Friday we had posted the house keys through the letter box and ‘moved on’.

So it was that 72 hours later I was itching to stride out back to Greetland for a meeting linked to our new house purchase.

It was damp and grey as I stepped out of the cottage door and turned left.

I was immediately welcomed by my first bunch of snowdrops: in their full morning glory.

In a walk that was to frequently focus my mind on the contrasts between the Calderdale and Kirklees landscapes, it was evident that the snowdrops in these parts are massive!

As I took my first stretch of tarmac towards the hamlet of Oldfield I was comforted by the familiar presence of Castle Hill, way to the south east and I made a mental note that I would be seeking to reach that landmark at some point over the next week. Today though my focus was north westerly at first, with no map to guide me, until I reached Blackmoorfoot Reservoir, where I could then plot my root with my trusty OS 21 South Pennines map.

There was something quite enjoyable about being map free. So often in life we are steered by gadgets and time constraints. Here was I, truly making it ups as I went and just following nose and instinct to get to my interim destination. (Note my local map is due for Hermes delivery this week.)

I passed an old red phone box, beautifully maintained and cleverly transformed into a local library for the community. The books inside allowed for all genres and tastes and I gave 3 silent cheers for the resourceful individuals in Oldfield who had come up with that innovative idea for saving a precious relic of my childhood and putting it to a purposeful use.

As I joined the footpath that took me above Honley towards Meltham Mills, the walking became harder.

The Kirklees element of this walk became predictably annoying and consistent. Mud was everywhere. Thick and gloopy.

I remembered the classical book for children ‘We’re going on a bear hunt’ as my terrain choices rapidly disappeared. There was no way round this mud, or under it or over it: I just had to go through it!

Honley Woods looked beautiful, but sadly my ability to fully appreciate them was distracted by the mud bath of those footpaths. Frequently my walking style resembled a turtle both in speed and poise, as my ‘go to’ technique became a splits action as I tried to bridge the swamp below me with my long legs.

The few walkers I saw all sported wellies. I reflected ruefully that local knowledge is sometimes good knowledge.

My humour lifted as I walked past the local sewage works in Meltham. There really wasn’t that much consistency differences between the slop factor of those footpaths and the festering pools to my right.

In all directions the local scenery was a hotch potch of black faced stone, semi rural with ‘ginnels and snickets’ a-plenty and small industrial units battling for space amidst the rows of terraced housing that epitomises the landscape of Milnsbridge and Golcar.

Workmen were on their lunch breaks, sitting on stairs and wall and helped to reinforce my visual snapshot of this area. Lockdown 3 didn’t feel real here. Life felt pretty normal though the pedestrian traffic you would expect on a pleasant spring day was noticeably absent.

Was it beautiful in these parts? I couldn’t actually decide.

When I stumbled upon Folly Dolly Falls, I decided it was: just in a more rugged and bleaker sort of way.

If Calderdale is ‘pretty gritty’ then what is this part off Kirklees? ‘Grittily grotty’?

That slightly underwhelming assessment felt totally unfair of course and to be honest I did really enjoy exploring this area as I walked on through. There was no predictability about it: except for the predictably steep climb towards Bolster Moor and Outlane and the number of ‘abandon hope all ye who enter’ SatNav warnings for any unfamiliar lorry drivers.

A cheery quote from World War One adorned the foot bridge over the Huddersfield Narrow Canal and reminded me that fell runners who choose to run in these steep sided valleys are a breed apart!

It was a timely quote for me, as it reflected a bygone age when this country was at war and times were hard.

Fast forward to 2021 and we are all still facing warfare of a different sort. Surely though we can all take some encouragement and hope, that in late February, the end is in sight for our war against Covid 19? That growing chink off light is prevailing.

The walk up to Golcar and Outlane was hot work, but it was a fantastic sensation to strip to just a T shirt for the first time this year.

Spring was in the air and it felt good.

I passed a ramshackle farmhouse and 3 nosey cows in the field next door.

Their demeanour suggested that walkers were a rare sight in these parts.

In the foreground 2 horses sweated in their winter jackets as Huddersfield shimmered behind them. I called them over, but they ignored me.

A quick lunch stop was taken overlooking the fairways off Outlane Golf Course. It surprised me yet again that playing golf is not currently permitted. Surely social distancing is easy on golf courses: certainly my style of play means that I rarely see a partner before we reach the green!

Finally Greetland and West Vale appeared in their full technicolour glory and the pangs of nostalgia kicked in.

Mostly though my memories were thankfulness for the good times in that area. There are a lot of good people living in that area of Calderdale and I have been lucky enough to know many as friends.

My initial plan had been to keep walking into Halifax but unfortunately the mud paths of Kirklees had taken their toll in terms of both my energy levels and my available time.

I had intended a final walk past Halifax pool which became the latest public swimming pool to be officially closed this week.

Such a sad piece of news.

I had taught swimming there for 20+ years and scores of young people with special needs had become competent swimmers in that time. Such an important life skill for the future generations of Calderdale has now been put on long term hold.

Admittedly that pool was now a tired relic of the 1960’s when it was built, but despite its physical limitations it has proved a centre of achievement and excellence for so many.

It was hosted by brilliant staff and the public who used it regularly had been so welcoming and encouraging to our school community.

Calderdale deserves a first class 25M swimming pool. I desperately hope that Halifax will be given a high quality replacement soon.

What price the ability to swim?

With the pool deep in my thoughts I climbed yet again the steep paths through Lindwell and Greetland.

The sights were the same but their familiarity glowed even brighter in the spring sunshine.

The horses still ran over to me when I called them.

Only the daffodils and snowdrops had changed. In just a few days they had started to bloom.

The former were ready to burst. The later were in full flower, brilliantly white and an uplifting symbol of hope for our times.

The boost they provided was reinforced by the sunrise I witnessed the next morning back in Holmfirth.

‘Shepherd’s Warning’ gave way to ‘Pandemic’s Demise’ in my thoughts.

Suddenly the task of cleaning off my very muddy boots didn’t seem quite so onerous.

I was happy!

Thanks for the read. Best wishes to you and your families.

Martin x