Short Tame Valley walk Sat 4 Jan 20

Wind groan, roar, hiss, rattle, sigh, murmur, form a background, move just beyond
definition. And often, through trees for instance, made up of too many sounds too far
apart to mimic with one voice. Like traffic, like waves, like water flowing. And elusive
when you try to focus.

All art simplifies. I was going somewhere with that though but then I was in the park and
roughly it goes: Parakeets. Another sound I can’t imitate. Magpies. Birds. Different vocal
apparatus? Art approximates. Park not flooded now. Muddy. Still wet. Saturated. But no
flooding.

Actually ‘all art simplifies’ is redundant and uninteresting. Of course it does. Art
reproduces closely would be impossible and have no purpose as art. Except that’s iffy
too. Is art in the object, the location, the people, the experience, in my brain, in shared
cultural expectations?

Meantime a creaking I think is from a pram is actually from a tree in the wind.
Intermittent. I don’t know where in the tree or exactly how it’s produced.

The street is quiet. There’s dense cloud where I’m headed. Broadly to my left and
currently hidden behind red brick terraces. Pass along roads, past road ends and gates,
and across roads where I and friends have lived. Networks.

I have a plan. It’s an old plan. To walk to places significant in my life. Just need to make
a list, settle an order, plot the routes and execute it. This year.

Hart Rd. Waverton Rd. Whitmore Road. The Hart of the Triangle. Brown bin collection.
Glass and plastic. Is it Saturday? Surely this is a one-off pushed around from Christmas
and New Year. A lot of police cars parked around the place. The Keegan Academy of Irish
Dance.

Message a friend. Make a speculative, precautionary toilet stop but it isn’t necessary.
Squirrel creeps cautiously over and through brambles. Cyclists on Fallowfield Loop. Road
names, numbers, signs on bridges. Aeroplane noises also hard to pin down or replicate.
Cyclist with music. Don’t really understand going out into nature, ‘nature’ in quotes here,
and playing loud music from whatever device. Detracts from the music, detracts from
nature. Brown fallen jigsaw puzzle oak leaves. Pale new leaves on ivy. Graffiti.

 A lot of gardens with artificial grass. I remember when it was only grocer’s trestles. Child
sings, ‘Mao. Mao. Mao mao mao mao mao.’ I think it’s going to be around two hours plus
to the start of my walk along the Tame. Though spoiler: I didn’t check. Going to try and
overcome my fear of heights at the point I bailed last time. Although that day I was
walking aimless. Train passes over. Noises from wheels and engine, the carriages, the
rails and bridge vibrating. Heaton Chapel. Decorations on factory. Flattened takeaway cup
rolls along the road. Missed my turn so I cross and head back. And do a bit of
exploration. Hand car wash. Sign for a foodbank at a local Masjid. Culverted, largely
hidden brook you’d never know was there. Further another overlooked overgrown plot.

Each turn turns the map. I remember the route in chunks of maybe five to ten minutes.
Throughout this walk there’ll be branches off to other routes I know. Some I’ll know well,
others only dimly until… click. Others still might change my mental map. I’ll see and feel it
fold and rearrange. Three large, waterlogged celebrity hardbacks. Fascinating domestic
architecture. Roads to explore another day. <Hoo hoo. Hoo-hoo.>

A quick note added the day after while I’m typing this up: My notes drop me right back
in the place and moment. But of course that isn’t available to anyone else. Daffodil spears
growing for spring.

Cotoneaster berries. Red brick. Red tiles. Reddish branch and twig tips from last year’s
growth. Coat and notebook also red. Winter Sale Now On. A cluster of mills. Vague hints
of an old canal not quite erased. In Reddish. Little Ashford’s DIY. Key Cutting. Painted
sign. Sparrows fly down a grassy gap between houses. Reddish Vale Country Park.

Strines Weir. Dry now. Fallen trees dipped in the river. The path is muddy. River to my
right. Raised duckboards. Motorway bridging the valley ahead. Large molehills. Warm for
a coat now. Water hisses and crackles over traffic noise. I remember thinking last time
this section was similar to a stretch in Hampshire was similar to the walk to Ingleborough
Cave was similar to a walk through woods to a Buddhist Temple in Kunming and so on.

Broad flat path but I know it climbs eventually. Somewhere above on my right the Peak
Forest Canal heading like me to Ashton-under-Lyne. As long as the heights later don’t
bring my walk to a halt. Far far quieter than the walk to Hebden Bridge, itself quieter than
expected for New Year’s Day.

Five past three so not much daylight left until I have to find roads again. But here’s the
climb. I’m getting closer. Made it up, and down the drop that saw me off before. Though
there may be more. Spoiler: No there weren’t. It’s gloomy in the woods.

In winter everything looks battered. Where I grew up you knew the footpaths wouldn’t
recover before the summer season. That was just walkers and cyclists and further down
horses. The National Parks shouldn’t allow motorbikes or off-road vehicles. The damage
they do is immense. Not to mention the noise and the danger and pollution. Cross a road
and carry on.

Five minutes further on or more? Roads again Hyde Road. Find the path and continue
for Ashton. I’ve been on this section before. Jet Amber Fields. I think going the other way
but not sure where I joined or when it was. Winter last year perhaps. Off a road? Down
from the canal? Maybe so, there’s a walled path and it isn’t too steep that I’d avoid it.
Check my paper map and for once a helpful footpath sign and I can easily get to Ashton.
Field of geese. The river’s gentle here.

Now the path crosses a field to woodland to join the Peak Forest Canal and finish this
leg. Then I’ll follow the tram tracks back at least until I’ve done six hours or I get bored.
Steps climb through woods to partially wooded rough grazing and some wetlands, then
drops to the canal. It’s four and coming on dusk. it’s been another nice day, and here’s
Ashton a little ahead. I set myself a target and made it. I found the right path and
completed the walk. A good start to the year. Forgot my anxiety about not seeing some
friends and the unhealthy aspects of social media.

 Here’s a thing. It doesn’t matter, it shouldn’t matter, a pointless comparison. The walk to
Hebden Bridge gestating for a year. Made a packed lunch and prepared the day before.
Went to bed early. Walked there in eight hours forty minutes writing my account and
taking some photos along the way. Got the train back to Victoria and walked over an hour
home. Typed up my account of the walk, recorded and posted it. In total over the walk
and after I made 27 posts across five platforms. At time of writing those posts gained 105
interactions - likes and comments, which is good for me. So I put in some time and effort,
did something concrete and produced something. A couple of days before a friend read
and shared an interesting piece on walks around Greater Manchester on Facebook. Last
time I looked so I could make this comparison that single post got 51 interactions, which
is a much better hit rate. This isn’t to criticise, I like them, I like the article. I just want to
illustrate a point. It’s easy to compare. At times when I was depressed I did compare, and
sometimes felt shit about myself. And at times that could become resentment. This what
social media encourages. I’m sure other people see my posts and think, ‘Oh fuck off,’ or
‘I wish I could do that.’ In which case, again, it doesn’t matter. You’re better, more
successful at other things. And most likely less of an asshole.

Anyway, it’s dark. I’m leaving Ashton past KFC, Costa, TGI Fridays, McDonalds and all.
The traffic’s fucking absurd and I hate the bridge over the motorway. Further on, past the
fast food places and the bridge, a ducks crossing sign. Now it’s car dealerships and trade
outlets. Usually I’m on the other side of this dual carriageway so today everything looks
new. The cycleway here is just half of the pavment. I mean it has a white line separating it
from the pedestrian half, and painted cycles to show which side it is, but it’s a poor show.
Then I need to cross and carry on.

No motorbikes or horses permitted in this area. Christmas trees and lights up at least
one more night. The sounds of trams and buses. Droylesden. Zumba / Street / Singing /
Drama. Loud music from a hire limo. Missing cat poster. Tree stumps outside insurance
brokers. County Constabulary Station. Darkness and lights and the stress of noise and
crossing roads. I can just see the tops of Deansgate Square far ahead. Emily Place. The
sky isn’t dark yet, but the streetlights here aren’t LEDs. They’re orange with dark coronas.

Close to where I start dropping to the city centre now. At this point I think I’m walking all
the way home. Red lights on buildings and cranes, but before there’s the Etihad Stadium
and currently out of sight the Velodrome. Takeaway smells. Steam or water hissing
somewhere left across the road. Dropped food unmolested. The pigeons, gulls and
magpies must be roosting. And now I can hear the football crowd. Which I guess means
they’re not coming out just yet so I’ll miss them. Rows of coaches. Unintelligible chants.

Close anyway to where I take my lunchtime walks in work from the office. From there
just a hop home. Last night I was exhausted and almost went to bed early instead of
doing my late grocery shop. But I managed it, and out today after sleeping in, kind of.
Until eight. Then watched YouTube for an hour, bath and breakfast, then go. Places made
unfamiliar at night. Past Crusader Mill, past work, and maybe the walk across town I
rarely do to Oxford Road. Bring on summer and the larger walks I couldn’t do last year
thanks to my hernia.

Down past Gorilla, the former Green Room, left on Gloucester Street picking my way
round two spread-out aimless groups taking up the pavement going no direction in
particular.

the Hulme Arch. I left home kind of going east. I’m heading back kind of from the west.
Ish. In the crudest possible terms. Spiral fire escape. Scrap a note I think I may have
written before. Cars block most of the pavement outside apartments. The temptation to
bash their wing mirrors is strong, but I don’t do that. This is okay, but homeless tents
should be moved on?