Second time around

We weren't meaning to but I'm glad we've made this second trip along the Leeds & Liverpool Canal. It's given us the chance to have another look, see some changes and revise some opinions.

Burnley regeneration under way

Before today, if you'd asked me what was the nastiest stretch of canal I would have unhesitatingly replied "Burnley and Blackburn". We've haven't got to Blackburn yet but what I'd quite forgotten that the ten miles between the two towns has some of the most stunning countryside we've yet seen, with distant views north into the heart of the Pennine hills.
On a sunny day (yes, it was sunny again!) it looked gorgeous. Sure there were some scrappy industrial townships in between but also some handsome old stone buildings, elegant canal bridges and sturdy stone walls. Starwoman even saw one old stone building she fancied as our own next renovation project. Ha! ha!

Looking across to the distant hills

As for Burnley, well the stretch I called 'desolation row' last time is showing heartening signs of improvement. True, some of the big old mill buildings in what is called 'The Weavers' Triangle' are still derelict but others are being restored with help, it seems of the Heritage Lottery Fund, Northwest Development and Prince Charles's charities. In fact the Prince has visited the area four times in six months. See details here.
It's not just tidying up old buildings for the sake of it - Burnley is a seriously deprived area with higher than average unemployment and this is all part of a programme to revitalise the whole town.
It will be good to return again and find more improvements, especially if they embrace the canal. The canal's entry into the town is already delightful, a tree-lined course twisting past a large park. Then comes the famous 3/4 mile long embankment that strides high across the centre of the town which looks like a giant model village way down below it. All we need now is the Weavers' Triangle to complete the scene.

Nice little project perhaps...

All downhill from here

Today, at last, the sun shone and we began our long and relentlessly downhill passage back to Streethay.

Moored on the border by a canal feeder stream

Yesterday we completed the final three locks on the climb up through Yorkshire and moored for the night right on the boundary of the county and its neighbour Lancashire and close to where a canal feeder stream arrives from nearby Whitemoor Reservoir. (We walked up there and took a look: it's brimful so no sign of the water shortages that often bedevil this canal in the summers.)

Plenty of water here - unsurprisingly!

The whole atmosphere of the canal seems to change once you change county - like the locks it seems to go downhill: there are more long-term moored boats, more signs of industry and, gradually, more rubbish in the canal. But though one gradually moves away from the empty grandeur of the hills, the views are still spectacular and industry only intrudes sporadically.
And since we were last here three years ago things do seem to be slowly improving. Some of the old canalside warehouses have been renovated and when we moored on a sweet, old fashioned offside mooring in Nelson I walked off to find the local Lidl. My walk took me through Coronation Street style back-to-back terraced streets - the sort with alleyways between them - and they were in the middle of a major regeneration programme. On one side were old boarded up terraces, on the other the refurbed equivalents in gleaming, freshly cleaned and pointed stonework and smart new windows with the children playing football and cricket in the streets like we all did years ago. It was really good to see: not long ago these sort of homely streets would have been flattened and replaced with soulless blocks of flats.

Lancashire - land of the giant mills

Will the imrovement continue? We'll see over the next few days as we head through those grim blackspots of Burnley and Blackburn.

Official vandalism

This morning we enjoyed a delightful little walk along what must be one of the most beautiful stretches of towpath in the country. We watched bees foraging in the wild flowers, spotted rare wild orchids along the canal edge, laughed as our little grand-daughter scuffed delightedly through the long grass at the side of the path.
This afternoon it's all gone. The wild flowers, the orchids, the long grass. Gone. The mowers and strimmers of Fountains, offical contractors to British Waterways (and now one assumes the Canal and River Trust) have razed the lot. All that survives is an inch long stubble.

Walkers, cyclists, other boaters all bemoaned the folly and the sheer vandalism of wrecking this wonderful stretch of the natural world, destroying rarer species, making existence still harder for the bees and butterflies that have already suffered so badly this year. Even the contractors when we spoke to them thought it stupid. "It's not as if we are in a town," said one. "But we're just doing what we are told to do."

Since this photo they have returned and strimmed down the left hand verge too!

It was indeed an unspeakable, indefensible and ludicrous act of vandalism. Destroying wild orchids may even be a criminal offence. This is a country towpath; the blossoming verges are part of its beauty. Yes, keep the footway cut (though personally I'm not even much bothered by that - a rougher, more unkempt path might slow the mountain bike racers) but what suit wearing, office bound fool demanded the verges be flattened too.
I've already phoned to complain and will be putting my journalist's hat on to find out.
Meanwhile, my favourite stretch of towpath and the favourite of many others to judge by the memorial benches along its length has been desecrated and that sadness will linger.

Surprise, surprise

It's been a weekend of surprises. The first was that, after the miserable washout of Friday, Saturday was sunny, warm, cheerful and, in short, a peach of a summer's day. Then, as we wandered into the town to do some shopping we heard the sound of an accordion and the clip-clop of dancing feet: yes, Clogfest was still on.
But last, and of course, far from least, was a surprise visit from daughter Lucy, with Nick and little Ellen . (A surprise to Nanny - Grandpa being in on the secret - which shocked her so much she practically fell overboard with excitement.)

The darkening sky looms over the hills

They'd booked themselves into a hotel in the next canalside village, Gargrave, so we headed off into the countryside, unfolding now into glorious views to distant peaks as we eased our way higher into the hills. But even as the sun shone we could see black clouds rolling steadily in behind us. The further we went, the closer they came and the blacker they got. Would we get through the Gargrave locks before the blackening sky disgorged its inevitable cloudburst? Answer: no. We still had three locks to go and in that time the whole crew got as wet as if they'd simply jumped in and swum the canal.
Still, we had a car at our disposal so after drying off we could zoom back to Skipton (a mere ten minutes by road instead of the two hours by boat) and return with a substantial, and excellent, take-away from Skipton Balti.

Still sunshine as we leave Skipton and Clogfest dancers  behind

Another surprise came today when we managed a second successive day without rain. Cue cries for a hosepipe ban. We worked up through the closely stacked flight of six Bank Newton locks and emerged out of the trees onto a sublime section of the canal.
It's simply unbeatable. The canal twists and turns on itself over two of the most convoluted miles you could imagine in a panorama of rolling green hills and lush valleys with steeper Pennine peaks looming in the distance. Dotted here and there in the distance you can see across the valleys other boats working their way across the same sinuous path. It's a wonderful spot and we moored up for the afternoon right in the middle of it.

Aqueduct over the River Aire

Fine views from Bank Newton locks summit

Finally we rounded off a fine weekend with a half mile walk to the Cross Keys pub further along the towpath at East Marton for a top class Sunday meal in the village pub, the Cross Keys - our stuffed stomachs heartily recommend it to all!

Rain, rain, rain

Precisely as forecast, it was raining this morning and it rained all day long until, finally, at about 8pm the tap was turned off and a faint glimpse of blue appeared in the sky.
I can think of worse places than Skipton to endure such a miserable British summer day. It's a likeable town; full of solid stone buildings that look so rooted into the land that you expect they'll last forever. The stonework has an honest, ingrained blackness about it too, like the dirt ground into a working man's hands. Contrast, if you please, with the scrubbed clean yellowness of the middle-class Cotswold stone villages down south!
Skipton is clearly focused on the tripper trade but though you can count the tea rooms and cake shops, it still has the feel of a 'proper' working town and not one that falls asleep when the last tourists of the season depart.
That said, it's having a tough time at the moment thanks (or rather no thanks) to the grim weather. We stopped for a beer at The Good Shepherd by the canal basin and the still surprisingly cheerful landlord and his wife told us about it all: the Jubilee weekend had been a washout, the Sheep Fair had been a washout and now it seems that Clogfest will probably be called off...and all because of the weather. Last Friday the pub was rammed but tonight we were the only customers.
But the granny-trip trade still seems to be thriving, rain or no rain. We watched the coaches disgorge their complements of grans (and the occasional grandpa) who headed straight into Bizzie Lizzie's fish and chip shop, then over to the big Pennine Cruises trip boat for a run down the canal. We must have counted five boatfulls of grannies pass by during the day while we hid from the rain.
At least we're not still in Sheffield, the New Junction Canal or the River Aire – all places where we've been in the last week or two and where flood alerts are now in force.
And the weather forecast for tomorrow is better. A bit better.

I'll swing for this

The view from the top at Bingley

This morning we went up the magnificent Bingley Five Rise staircase and with that crowning achievement said goodbye to the staircase locks that drive the canal up the Pennines from its Eastern side.

Not before time really - the day before had been a step too far for staircases when we climbed through three of them; including one with leaky gates and non-functioning paddles where locals gathered to observe "everyone has trouble at this one" while I poured sweat trying to work paddles and gates. But you still can't fail to be awed by the Five Rise which rises the canal up an incline so steep that you're out of breath just walking up alongside the locks.
Anyway, today no more staircases. Instead the L&L brought us swingbridges. We've had them before on this canal but on the stretch from Bingley to Skipton they're like a rash. Nineteen of them, I think, in a ten mile stretch. Most of them are manual - e.g. you unlock and push like **** to open - and generally they are there to let a few cows or the odd rambler across.

The familiar white railings and red sign come into view...again

Those across roads are generally electric and pretty foolproof - insert key, press button, barriers come down, bridge swings round. Press other button and it all reverses. I've done dozens. Poor Starwoman did her first today...and it broke! Jammed with the barriers down so traffic couldn't pass. We did traffic management (everyone was very polite) until a man from Bradford council came out to re-set it.

Starwoman battles with yet another bridge

The manual bridges were much nicer. The promised thunder held off and on a beautiful sunny day Starwoman walked the towpath along the edge of a glorious wooded hillside above Airedale with Stardog Brian, opening and closing while I pottered along. Until we reached the odd one that was too heavy to open or shut and we both heaved on it. After lunch we swapped jobs and I enjoyed the delights of scenery that was opening out towards distant peaks. Then we found another heavy one that needed both of us plus two passing walkers to get open.
All the while we were keeping an eye out for diesel but passed boatyard after yard that no longer sells it until, finally, we reached the friendly and super-helpful Snaygill Boats. And just as we left came the long awaited torrential downpour - soaking us before we could even get coats on. And stopping almost as quickly.

The promised thunderstorm finally arrives

We meandered on into Skipton, the enticing aroma of fish and chips getting ever more powerful from the town's famous canalside chippie, squeezed in to the last mooring spot, had tea and watched the skies explode again as a tumultuous thunder and lightening storm hit town.
Apparently it's Clogfest this weekend with town-wide displays of clog dancing. Can't wait. (I'm not being ironic, honest!)

The ascent has begun

Ten miles and thirteen locks, three of them in staircase flights. The climb up into the Pennines has begun. And pretty energetically too.
Fortunately, after the first couple of locks we got ourselves teamed up with another narrowboat for the rest of the day. Wide locks are done much more easily by two. (The work is shared and two boats don't bash about in the lock like a singleton does.)

But finding the right locking partner is just a matter of chance. A fumbling, bumbling newcomer can make life frustratingly slow; a macho team will have you struggling to keep up and leave you exhausted by day's end.

Luckily our boating buddies were spot on: father, student son and his friend in a hire boat but all of them highly experienced boaters. They were half way round the Pennine Ring and due back in Blackburn next Monday so they were keen to keep moving but not at the expense of making our life unpleasant. We mucked along happily together all day.
Unfortunately, locking can also bring out the worst in people. We found ourselves behind a Dutch barge crewed by a healthy looking gang of five blokes. They were waiting at the foot of a three lock staircase...and watching a single bloke work his way down while his wife steered. None of them helped and nor did any of them even head up to the top of the locks to begin re-setting them for their trip up. No, they were happy to dawdle their way up, uncaring of the queue of four boats built up behind. So we went up, helped the boat down, re-set the locks for the barge and then re-set them again for ourselves. Not a word of acknowledgement.

At the next three lock staircase the same thing happened so, to make life quicker for ourselves, we prepared the locks for them. And then for us. No thanks again. Maybe they thought the middle and top locks refilled themselves by some sort of magic.
Fortunately boaters like that are few and far between or canal boating would soon cease to be the pleasure it is.
Tonight our twosome is moored at the three lock Field staircase near Apperley Bridge. Soon after that will come the famous Bingley Five Rise and then we shall almost be at the summit.

And finally...can you read the sign below? It's a clever piece of mirror writing that the water reflects back the right way. In case you can't it says "The remains of a wooden icebreaker lie submerged"