White House to Holmfirth

Today I passed through the now familiar southern Pennine landscapes of peat moors, gritstone edges and small reservoirs. I would describe the views, described as extensive and inspiring, but the mist hadn't shifted and I spent most of the day enveloped in my own little white bubble.

The first task was to find my way to the Aiggin Stone, a 600 year old guidepost that, as I found out, is still a useful waymark. From there I followed Blackstone Edge where the waves of eroded black peat kept me on the wide grit pavement. Various rounded and unusual rock formations drifted in and out of my dream-like sphere of vision, as well as the majestic white trig point.

I picked what looked like the most used path, which led to a bridge that soars over the M62, luckily exactly where I wanted to be. The elegant arch faded to white in front of me and I could just make out the lights of the traffic below. After a busy layby filled with truckers buying their breakfast from a greasy van, I tackled a section of even-more-featureless-than-usual moorland. I doubt I will remember anything from this stretch. My only concerns were keeping track of the path and avoiding tackling the bog directly .

After crossing another arterial road, linking northern industrial towns, I enjoyed more moor and another edge which provided an occasional rock buttress for interest. Then I was back amongst a series of small reservoirs, whose lack of presence at one point meant I noticed today's navigational slip-up (there's usually at least one) and didn't end up several miles out of the way in Marsden. This was followed by a steep descent into a lush green valley to cross a river and a lovely slow climb back out that looked over the Wassenden Reservoirs. On reaching the top road, the mist evaporated and I was bathed in sunshine, the world floating on a fluffy sea under a clear blue sky. Must be a sign that I'm back in Yorkshire.

It was time to part with the Pennine Way, a companion of the last couple of hundred miles and provider of acommodation for long distance walkers (i.e. filthy frugal types), signposts to take away the faff of navigating and some fantastic scenery. I think I'll miss it. So, instead of making the ascent up Black Hill, I was heading down into Holmfirth, initially on pleasant tracks by Digley reservoir and then on tarmac and pavements into the town centre. Christmas is in full swing here; panoramas of stars hang over the brightly lit shops. I'll be spending tomorrow here to try and get into the festive spirit, by which I mean eating a lot of very nice but not very healthy food.