Pennine Way Day2- Crowden to Standedge

 

View climbing out of Crowden

  I woke early but the rain was too heavy to attempt packing up. I dozed until there seemed a break and packed up as quickly as possible. Overcast as it was as I made my way from the campsite it seemed to dry out a little and the path up and out of Crowden was steady and pretty. I passed the couple I'd seen the day before very early on and made my way alongside Crowden's Great Brook. The water was flowing with worrying force considering the amount of streams I'd be crossing throughout the day . The path contours the hillside precariously, sometimes a little under water and other times going straight through a quickly flowing stream. It made it very hard going, and at times scary.  At several points I needed to throw my bag across before leaping after it. The views however were fantastic, equal if not better than the day before.

The Crowden Great Brook looking back to Crowden in the distance

   The creeks got steadily harder to cross, at times forcing me to search for routes around to avoid been swept away. I was very conscious of my camera through out after my last creek crossing and camera disaster. Very soon my feet were soaked.
    In many ways the terrain here is considerably harder than yesterdays and certainly took a lot longer. I suspect on a dry day this is very different.

  It was with relief I finally, after the mother of all crossings (took nearly half an hour), took the path branching out towards Black Hill. The climb is steady enough and the path clear with slabs here and there to help you over the bog. At this point I was listening to Bill Bryson's 'A Walk in the Woods' but the earphones kept on pausing the ipod driving me absolutely crazy. I also realised that at some point I'd lost all my snacks and was steadily getting hungrier. I stopped myself from having lunch in the hope to stumbling across a pub or food van when I crossed the A635. The moors still held a lot of charm and I quite enjoyed the steady walk, although my backpack was still causing me grief as well as my map cord around my neck. I was so scared of getting lost though that I kept it instantly at hand to double-check my route. Even when I was clearly on the path I'd refer to it in the hope of learning out to read the contours of the land around me.

Path to Black Hill

  I'm afraid the next section to the A635 is tiresome and after the rain, which we'd had all the week before, quite horrible. There's a river crossing which the sign warns not to attempt after rain, it suggested an alternative route but I was too lazy and too worried about getting lost to take heed- a bit like in Australia I know but I am somewhat of a slow learner. This time, however, I got away with it. The path goes up and down a couple of times too often and the road deceptively far away. The couple later told me that they followed, ignoring the alternative route also having concluded that if I'd managed they would also.
Glancing back I spotted them in the distance and kept up my pace, determined that I'd not be overtaken. After the road crossing the path is very simple and goes along the road to a gravel drive along the Wessender Reservoir. Wessender Lodge, my hoped source for lunch, turned out to be a private home. So settling myself on the side of the path I cooked myself some couscous on my JetBoil stove. As soon as I'd finished cooking and turned off the stove the rain came. For some reason I'd decided I was nearly at my destination when I set off which is wrong, two thirds of the way maybe and definitely the hardest parts are completed but there is a way to go. The rain made it all that much harder, and my wet feet were in serious pain. This was not the peppy energetic first few days I'd imagined and I was getting a little worried the walk was going to beat me.

The view from just after Black Moss Reservoir

  Across the moor and a long a series of reservoirs which, if they hadn't lost their novelty yet, will seem quite tiresome  by the end of the trip. As you descend once more to the car park in front of the Brun Clough Reservoir  you cross onto the rather scary A62. Here is my first Pennine Way map on which I posed in a cheesy manner while pointing at my current position. I'm pointing to only a center-meter or so above the starting point, there's still a long way to go,

Looking down towards Standedge as the mists come down

  The days walk complete I now headed off the Pennine way and walked the kilometer of so to The Carriage House. I got there well before it's opening hour and sat outside a while hunching my shoulders to the rain. By this point I was well and truly soaked. The couple of elderly gentlemen who'd been behind me the last few miles caught up and we stood around talking awkwardly. They were hunched over horribly and their packs did not look very supportive whatsoever.
  A kind caravan man popped over and told us to set up and settle the bill later. I gratefully obeyed and blessing the heavens for the clearing of the rain set up the tent and sorted out my stuff. I limped inside and paid for my pitch but mainly to optain a shower token, nearly jumping with glee when they said I could also have a bath if I wished. I did wish. I adopted their boiler as a dry room and soaked myself until I could hear the gentlemen waiting for their turn outside.
  That night was very pleasant. Wondered inside and bought myself a lasagne, attempting to write up the days travel and failing. Instead I examined the next days route, an exercise I'd repeat every night after. It would only be another eleven mile day but if it was going to rain it would be another day of hell. I wanted a sunny few days to kick start the hike, instead I was looking at wet shoes and wet clothes with howling winds over the moors.
  The couple who'd been behind me came in and I introduced myself a little. They were taking a gap year and had given themselves a month to walk the Pennine Way but were finding it much harder than they reckoned- I could relate. The first few days, I can now say in retrospective, are very hard and do not ease you in. Again this might be different in hot dry weather but in the rain the crossings and the bogs are extremely draining. 
  I also met four boys, definitely nearer teenagers than my age, who were doing mountaineering training. One of their number had slipped and hurt his ankle so badly they'd had to get the helicopter in to get him out, by which point he had hypothermia. This gave me guilty comfort- even if I was finding it hard I was having an adventure with dangers just like Australia.