Day Two

 

This morning was one of those mornings when you get up and look out of the window and know you have to go up, as high as you can as quick as you can. The sky was blue and the air was clear and the hills were calling.

I took a notebook and a pencil – lesson learned! – and the camera and my phone as I needed to keep track of time. As it was warm and I didn’t need a coat, this was a heavy load. If I put them in my trouser pockets my trousers would start falling down. If I took a back pack I’d have to keep taking it off everytime I needed to write something or take a photo. So in the end I carried them in my hand, and set off, Bet’s lead in the other hand.

I really wanted to go up to Churn Milk Joan, but I didn’t have time. I thought of different routes, but none of them would do, that was the way I wanted to go. To get up there above the golf course and look at the world spread out in all it’s morning goldenness. So much to Bet’s surprise we set off at a pace up the road, past Dodd Naze, past the kennels, past Raw Lane, up to the golf course with its Teletubby mounds and lego trees. Then up on to the moors where you can see for miles and miles. 

The light was fantastic. Clear as crystal close up but hazing into blueness on the more distant hills in a way which reminds me of the South of France or Italy. The sun was creating shadows in all the pockets of the hills, and Stoodley Pike was standing up proud and true,  no coy hiding in the clouds today.

Walking east from the golf club the sun was in our eyes, but we stopped and looked at the vista. I didn’t want to be anywhere else. I wouldn’t get as far as Churn Milk Joan, but I’d walk as far as I had time for before turning back.

Sunday morning, and there was no doubt it was going to be a fabulous day The hills and the valleys, the Craggs and the town would be filled later with people out enjoying this late remnant of a missing summer. Johnny was going for a run to Blake Dean. Poppy was going to Barcelona. And loads of people would be going on events in the Walk and Ride Festival. A few had caught my eye. The Art Walk at  wonderful Widdop Reservoir with Angie Rogers, the Boggart and Legends Walk at Towneley Hall, or the whole day pony trekking over in Rossendale. How fantastic to be out all day on the moors in this weather. However, I wasn’t doing any of these things. I was spending the whole day inside at Hebden Bridge Library. This was my only outside bit of the day. The world was still and waiting like an empty arena before the audience arrives.

Bet saw some sheep and pricked up her ears. Normally Bet isn’t interested in sheep. You can walk with her through a field full of the things and she doesn’t even look. But sometimes, early in the morning up there on the tops, something about them gets to her, and she was poised, watching them for any unexpected movement. I didn’t want to spend hours chasing her across the moors. I turned and we headed back for home.

Just to pay me back for spoiling her fun, she decided to partake in one of her other favourite activities – rolling in fox poo. She thinks of it as free dog perfume, gets it all over the back of her neck and smothers her ears then looks so pleased with herself, as if to say don’t I smell nice. She doesn’t. She stinks. The white fur on the back of her neck was green.

I took her down to the woods and into the stream where I dunked her head in and washed it all off. She was most put out and shook herself all over me. Then home for breakfast, showers and goodbyes before going to work.