Gritstone Trail – day 1, 7 April 2012

KIDSGROVE TO MOW COP

The Gritstone trail is the evil twin, the malign looking glass reflection of the better-known sandstone trail. While walking the sandstone trail the route tells a tale of a contented people grown rich off their salty abundance of their rolling plains; the Gritstone trail on the other hand reveals the lives of hardier folk.  A gnarled, weather beaten community who made their living gnawing the grit from the cliff face. They embraced the austerity of primitive methodism because they believed that regular methodism had gone soft. And cudgled Britain’s last wild boar to death because they needed to have sausages when hocktide came around.

Gritstone being formed in the Carboniferous period (354–290 million years ago) rather than the later Triassic period (248–205 MYA), like that n00b sandstone is harder than its ruddy cousin. It is appropriate then that on the Cheshire hiking fan forum, even if they are roughly the same length, the Gritstone trail is viewed as significantly harder than the sandstone. And the official Gritstone website recommends it be done in three days from North to South.

However, C4Lf being the contrary lot that they are decided to attempt it in two days from South to North. South to North has the following advantages.

1. If you’re staying at the Underbank Camping Barn (more on that later), near Wildboarclough, it’s about 22 miles on the first day and then 19 miles on the second day.
2. Rather than the banality of a lengthy canal walk finish, you have the climb up the mighty hump of the Spond to look forward to – the highest point on the Gritstone and then the descent back into the glaring light of the real world at Lyme Park.

The day starts out at Crewe Station to catch the 7.38 to Kidsgrove. My dad has given Antonia and me a lift to the station, while Andrea – in her role as Gritstone support team – is giving Hardman, Ben and Smitdawg a lift from the Forresters carpark. Remarkably, despite a boozy Old Dog fueled night with Ste, Weave and Bobby D at the Thouse on Friday where much ‘diving for oysters’ took place (it’s the latest trend in 2012 apparently), we make it to Crewe on time to buy tickets.

 But what’s this I see, when I turn around from the ticket machine. Andrea’s car has drawn up and parked in the taxi rank at the station but there seems to be a stranger with them, a mysterious fifth man, an odd bearded figure with bloody scabs on his knuckles. Could it be that Adam Dickinson character who ticked ‘maybe’ on the facebook page? Is it Andrea’s brother back from Dubai? No it turns out to be some guy from Crewe who locked himself out of his flat at 7.00 Am this mroning. He’s quite keen on joining us on the hike though, showing us a small book of thoughts, musings and pub ratings. It’s the Fran of Crewe, my scab-knuckled doppleganger. He asks me to take a look at his lyrics and I’m suspicious that he’s aware that I’d be interested in this sort of thing, what has he heard?  I hastily note some down for posterity, ‘Looking for a woman, from Timbuktu to Crewe.’ I’m tempted to to spice things up by telling him he can come along with us. However, there’s something not quite right about that strange glint in his eyes and I mutter about the B&B being booked and that we need to run to catch the train. With that we head into the station, turning only to glance back to see Andrea pulling away from the curb, a dark siloheutte hunched on her back seat. She’s probably giving him a lift back to his house or something and off we go.

Kidsgrove to Mow Cop

Ahhhhh the joy of relentless canalside walking, the water is a strange orangy-brown colour, presumably iron from the mining from the hills around these parts . As we’re walking along the canal I tell C4Lf the tale of the Blackdog of Kidsgrove, that was owned by the Audley family and used to roam their grounds at night to guard against deer poachers. Then one day the poachers dug a pit and the dog fell in and was left to slowly starve to death. However, the dog would be seen or heard again over the years. Each time before a mining accident occurred. Or as Hardman chooses to hear, ‘a minor accident’. As we walk along the canal we notice that the benches are all made of stone. Then we encounter a local East Cheshirite and his black dog ‘Rrrraalllphs Wrrroood’, it barks at Smit, ‘Rrrrrrrallllpphs Wrrrroooodd.’

About 200 metres later, after passing a particularly stinky sewage works, Ben, C4Lf’s navigator in Chief, realises we’ve managed to miss the turning off the canal. So much for Ben’s claims that this was an easy walk that Wainwright would shit on, which required no map reading whatsoever. We turn back, despite Smit’s pleas to never walk back along a path we’ve walked along before and for us to take a footpath through Ralph’s Wood as the dog advise him. A minor accident indeed. He’s like a shark he is that Smit, he can’t go backwards. However, after invalidating the Sandstone trail of 2010 by missing the first footpath in Whitchurch I’m anxious not to invalidate this one as well and so we go backwards to the turning, passing the sewage works as we go, although Smit insists on moonwalking back so he’s at least facing the right way.

As we walk along the canal we notice continous signs for nearby pubs the red bull, the bleeding wolf, the rising sun. We’ve already encountered three pubs and we’ve done about two miles. The gritstone website’s claims there are no pubs on the trail. Fuck you Gritstone website with your primitive methodist propaganda. Various members of the party speculate about how good our final two miles would have been hitting all three pubs along the way, if only Fran had gone the official route of North to South. However, I’ve learnt my lessons from the Sandstone trail and no that South to North will always be a better route. We encounter a variety of dogs of varying colours but none bark at us. A good sign.

Eventually we turn off from the canal and begin the ascent up to Mow Cop, through the village of the same name. As we pass along the houses, we notice that someone has put up A4 laments saying ‘no dog fouling’, complete with a photograph of a steaming pile of dog feces. Surely, the aesthetic of your dog-poo free lane is slightly impinged by colour photographs of canine excrement on every lamp post. Someone however, in the highest form of wit, had decided to ignore the warnings and there was a large pile of dog muck on the pavement – if it was a dog! As Chester FC fans have repeatedly told me – ‘East Cheshire is full of shit, shit and more shit’. I’d previously thought it was mere joshing by those surly Wrexham-hating wags but I was beginning to wonder if there was actually a sweetcorn-shaped nugget of truth behind the myth.

Carefully watching where we trod, we carried on past the Primitive Methodist Church and up the amusingly puntasticly named ‘high street’ to the summit of Mow Cop, at 337 metres over 100 metres higher than Rawhead (227 m) the highest point on the Sandstone trail. Oddly Ben remembers this as his favourite peak of the journey because of the Old Man of Mow. At the time I distinctly remember him suggesting we miss the peak because it wasn’t precisely on the route. He’s a stickler for route following is that Ben and bagging peaks seemingly means nothing to him. Although he was literally getting his bearings as navigator in chief early on, on the first day and we take a somewhat meandering route to the top of Mow Cop.

Mow Cop is interesting for a number of reasons, firstly is the castle itself. Although looking like an ancient ruin, from the days of the mighty Cheshire king Richard II, the castle is in fact a folly (we encounter numerous follys along the trail and this whole walk could be called Fran’s folly, although perhaps more precisely the accomodation at Wildboarclough fits that name), created by Randle Wilbraham I of Rode Hall in Cheshire in 1754. However, in 1850 evil Staffordshire landowner, the appropriately named Ralph Sneyd claimed the castle was built on his land. So began a lengthy legal battle with the court rulling in favour of Wilbraham. Another victory for Cheshire over the Clayheads WHOOP WHOOP! From the top of the castle you can see both the fertile Cheshire plain to the West and the eyesore of the rolling valleys and pit towns of Staffordshire and Derbyshire to the East. We turn our heads west and survey the misty scenary. The dreek weather than Hardman has brought down with him from Edinburgh has cleared and the sky has returned to an optimistic light grey.

Mow Cop is also of interest from my point of view, as for much of my adolescant life I was of the opinion the tumulus on High Billinge (yes the hill behind my house Hardman, what of it?) was the highest point in Cheshire. This belief was largely fostered by my dad telling me this, but at least he didn’t tell me he’d ever seen or robot there or that it was full of knife mines. Then in a moment that was the equivalent of Gallileo informing the Catholic Church that the earth resolves around the sun, I was told by Roger Barnes (he of the Rose Farm Utkinton village shop car wash fame), that in fact Mow Cop was the highest point in Cheshire. SHIT major paradigm shift, my whole world came crashing down around me. What was this Mow Cop of which Roger Barnes spoke? Was Utkinton really not the centre of the Shireverse? Of course it turned out that Mow Cop wasn’t actually the highest point in Cheshire, which is of course the enigmatically named Shining Tor (559 metres).  Mow Cop isn’t even the highest point on the Gritstone trail, that’s the Spond at 410 metres. So IN YOUR FACE Roger Barnes and because you were wrong about Mow Cop being the highest point in Cheshire I still retain some hope that High Billinge is the true highest point. Although I refuse to check the ordinance survey map to confirm this.

Mow Cop is also of some significance to the Weaver family, as it’s the home of Primitive Methodism. It was here on the 31 May 1807 that Hugh Bourne and his loyal followers, organised a camp meeting and prayed for 14 hours straight. Every year to celebrate this momentous occasion El Presidente, Big Mamma Weave and Big Poppa Weave climb up to Mow Cop to eat Belly Pork, non-stop for fourteen hours. Further cementing the Weaver link it turns out that Bourne was a pupil of the Old man of the forest, James Crawfoot, leader of the Magic Methodists of Delamere Forest. According to the official history of the methodist church: ‘It was reported that Crawfoot s disciples talked much of " exercising faith in silence," and went into visions and trances and practiced exorcisms. Primitive methodism was named after Crawfoot’s statement, ‘if you have deviated from the old uses I have not. I still remain a primitive methodist.’

A local inn keeper and follower of Crawfoot, Zechariah Baddeley was supposedly feared by Delamere forest locals because he had magical, almost godlike powers. But his powers were nothing compared to Crawfoot, or so says Wikipedia. Could that inn have been the Thouse? Is Weaver the great great great grandson of Zechariah Baddeley? Only future research will tell?

After hanging around and taking some photos on Mow Cop. We head off – taking in the Old Man of Mow on the way. Although some people claim that the Old Man of Mow is the result of mining activity around an old stone cairn, I can safely say that the Old Man of Mow is basically one of those stone giants that featured in CBBC’s 1994 drama Earth Fast, starring Paul Nichols. ‘David, David, the stones, Nelly Jack John etc.’ In fact there’s also a famous boggart in the area, the Kidsgrove Boggart so I don’t understand why seminal BBC drama Earthfast wasn’t set here. Luckily Cheshire’s only author Alan Garner set Red Shift in Mow Cop so it’s dramatic potential has at least been exploited once. Passing the massive noble figure of the Old Man we head on, one peak down six to go.

‘Nelly Jack John wait where arthou going?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vd1vKZeTeJg