12th October 2009 Oaken Clough Gully
It was Monday night and in the light of the moon a little egg lay on a leaf. Actually it was the germ of an idea.
Six grown men with slightly ungrown minds (Dr Ali, Fingers Wren, EyUp Sharpey, Steve Fraser, Mr Tuck and Dr Crochet stopped hanging about in Crowden car park and headed up the path beyond the Youth Hostel. Branching off rightwards from the main Pennine Way path we trod up the side of the brook, gaining a little height as we moved towards the moorland. A crescent moon didn’t offer much light, Dr Ali’s headtorch was soon attracting low flying aircraft. Fingers and Sharpey were in charge of directions:
“which clough?”;
“you can see trees on the other side of the valley”
Oh yes, but not in this light. The rest of us were left in the dark as the leaders hoved off across the brook. We’d hit the spot: two streams – one meandering along the mini-valley bottom, the other flowing with more force from a dark shoulder silhouetted against deep charcoal sky flecked with the random glitter of stars.
The first few yards were rock hopping and quickstepping round deeper pools, splashing around shallows. Dr Ali and Sharpey abandoned us idiots to take the high ground, leaving the rest of us to pursue the line of beauty (and water).
The first waterfall looked like an obvious unnecessary soaking for little reward so a quick skirt round the bank to the next jumble of stones and rocks. A few ups and alongs led to the first fall. A decent sized face, with few apparent holds appeared, water streaming down the centre (a phrase to be much repeated I fear). What seemed at first sight to be steps cut in the side turned out to be treacherously slippy mini ice rinks. “Don’t fall off ’til I’ve got a photo” called out Steven “David Bailey” Tuck. A bit of purchase on the side and I lurched up. Fortunately a couple of good hand holds on the side held me as both feet went skidding off simultaneously and I got the first soaking of the night.
In for a penny and a pound we headed up the central falls, trying to stay out of the big pools. Mr Tuck took the next face by traversing through the torrent and we picked our way up with some surprisingly good holds in the body of the water. We carried on in this way and that, slipping, scrabbling and stumbling through the falls and pools catching glimpses of our bone dry comrades above on sides of the gulley. All forms of vegetation were tried and generally found wanting for leverage. All the while our spirits rising as the difficulties were dispatched, obstacles overcome and the lunacy of the situation became increasingly inescapable. Four wet men declaring that this was the most fun they’d had in ages.
Steven Fraser took the direct approach on the next big fall, hugging the slab, grinding off sheets of moss for friction and dragging himself over the lip of the spout. We mere mortals took to the right hand side, laying back a little off the side edges and using the water carved steps to gently ascend to the next difficulty.
The stream issued forth from a roof into, what in the gloom seemed like a cave. In reality it was a gulley within the gulley capped by an overhanging block. The two Steves escaped left up dry groove shouting dire warnings. Dr Crowe and Fingers took this as an invitation to investigate further. With Fingers’ arc light on the problem it looked suitably challenging. However this depended on the exit through the back of the roof. Advice rained down on us mixed with water forced through rock:
“it’s dangerous and tiny”;
“He said “it’s dangerous, try it”!”
“You’d need to be a pencil to get through it”
“He’s stopped making sense, now”, then
“It’ll go you know”
“We’ll come back and make it go”
After a bit of a nibble at the ridge alongside the pool (definitely do-able in rock boots) we made our way up the dry groove too, just in time to sort out what all those instructions were.
Next up through a short section to be confronted by a more substantial pool bound by steep sides. Whereas Steven Fraser took to the right over a series of rounded boulders, Fingers identified the road less travelled or the way of the clinically insane – a traverse on perpendicular rock, relying on tenuous footholds and barndoorable ribs. Needless to say the critical move was only a Tucklength from being achievable and so it was left to our reach specialist to force the route. It has to be said he did so much gardening that at one point it seemed as if he wanted to build an island to stand firm upon to preserve the purity of the line. In the gloom we saw the method in his madness as handholds appeared, the pendulum was controlled with a grasp of heather and a fine exit up to the Pennine Way path at ten to ten.
Six nocturnal ramblers made a rapid descent through alternately stoney and boggy ground (Sharpey finding that the bit next to the wooden bridge was the boggiest of all) concluding that although it was the best Monday night for a while, the very best thing was that it was quite a normal thing to do. The other thing that was quite normal was that the couple in the Vectra in the car park turned the interior light off when six headtorches appeared. The engine quickly turned over and they made their exit to finish off elsewhere. We just went to the pub.
Read Full Post »