Whoever heard of a sunny bank holiday Monday in Yorkshire! But we got one, so off we went - train to Todmorden, along the Rochdale canal to Walsden (where we said hello briefly to my friend Marion whose cottage backs onto the canal), off up onto the tops and long the ridge to Stoodley Pike, and back down to Hebden Bridge, fish and chips (very much deserved) and the train home.

Ma took this - we have Jasper as Ma and Pa have gone to the Isle of Man for two days, golfing. Mad, but someone else is paying for them to go.

I took lots of photos along the canal. There's some fantastic industrial architecture, and everything was showing to advantage with all the fresh new green stuff and sunshine.

Both Bil and Lunil have a thing about crossing lock bridges.
This was so pretty and overgrown - but still perfectly functional.

It's fascinating when you see the railway leap over the canal (and in some places round here the canal goes over railways!). The detail shows what pride and care went into something as prosaic as a supporting tower for a railway. Nowadays only the pigeons seem to appreciate it.

Further up the canal it gets much quieter, but the quality of the stonework is excellent all the way. Over two centuries old and nearly as good as new.

There are some lovely gardens fronting the canal, and this one has several geese nesting at the bottom. There was very little wind down in the valley bottom - the only ripples on the canal were caused by ducks and geese.

This was the border point between Yorkshire and Lancashire, and also where we left the canal to start climbing. Mark had to check which track we took upwards towards the canal's reservoir - this is also the top point of the canal; we'd been climbing upwards all the way, and at this point you can see the valley dropping down towards Rochdale and eventually Manchester.

Every time I stopped for a pull Lunil and Bil jumped on the grass - I think the tarmac was hot. It's a long, steep climb up.

Nearly at the top, looking back. I couldn't get the camera to focus because it was so bright, but on the horizon are the towers of Manchester. Fantastic long views.

A dark, dank opening in the reservoir's embankment, where you could see the pipe coming out then disappearing underground. It comes out a short while ago, and the water flows down the hillside, along probably it's original path before it was caught and dammed, down to the canal way below us. Reservoir towers are always so grand and inspirational. Nowadays it'd be plain and basic and concrete - if such huge public works were ever done.

Right up on the top of the moor, even when it was new its builders could hardly imagine many people would see it, but the stonework is beautifully finished and perfectly functional. The weather it has to cope with up here in winter is appalling.

These tracks across the moor fascinate me. Some of them are very old - back to monastic times - other date from the 16C and the later ones are 18C. Packhorse trails - laid right over the tops on the ancient drovers' routes, where long trains of pack ponies, one after the other, carried essentials like salt, metals, and between villages and towns. The first and last ponies would often carry bells so the drover could tell they were both there. In wet weather you really don't want to step off the stones - both people and ponies can sink like a stone.

Stoodley Pike slowly got nearer and nearer.

I could go right off some dogs. We'd laundered Lunil yesterday, as the fur was getting a bit whiffy. She'd had lots of paddling and swimming as we'd walked along the collection goit for the reservoir. Just as we'd gone past the last deep clean water, the vile creature looked at me and ran through a muddy puddle. Just like in a cartoon, the puddle swallowed her up to her neck. Bil had time to stop when she plunged downwards, but didn't. Of course, this stuff dried on and will have to wear off, gradually (we stuffed her in our bath last night and it still wouldnt come off completely.)
For the first time I actually climbed up to the balcony on the Pike - Bil and Jasper came up with me. This is view back over the way we've come - we have followed the ridge all the way back - and this is up inside the Pike. Mark didn't see I'd gone inside and kept charging off - poor Lunil was torn between us and kept running backwards and forwards until I'd caught up.

Mark in the distance.

Small lambs - very late, and probably very tasty. And the view as we dropped back down to Hebden Bridge and were amongst trees once again. Up on the horizon to the left is Heptonstall church - one of my favourite villages, practically frozen in the early 19C.

Tiny little bridge, taking an old trackway over an even older sunken track that we were following down. Really, you can't even guess how old these pathways are. Ancient....

Mark gathers up Lunil and Bil for a photo and calls Jasper over to join them. Jasper walks away. Poor Jasper no mates....

Lunil, decorative in the bluebells. You'd never guess how filthy the undercarriage was.
We hurt all the way home - my feet are still killing me. But such a lovely day out.