Читать книгу The Pennine Way - the Path, the People, the Journey онлайн

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The route was now obvious, direct and mostly firm underfoot, with sections once notorious for their bog tamed by paths of aggregate and slabs. After the cloud and rain of the Peak District, it was now blue skies and sunshine in the South Pennines, bright and incredibly clear. Below me the high-rise buildings of Rochdale looked almost within touching distance, which was both fascinating and slightly unnerving at the same time. Between Crowden and Hebden Bridge, the Pennine hills seem to take a sharp intake of breath: the bare upland spine separating Oldham, Littleborough and Greater Manchester from Huddersfield, Halifax and West Yorkshire to the east is just a few miles wide. It seemed as if the ribbon of undeveloped upland trodden by the Pennine Way was the only thing stopping northern England from turning into one giant retail park or housing estate.

This sense of walking through an almost semi-urban, man-made environment was compounded by a string of small reservoirs. Further afield and off the main Pennine chain, there were a growing number of wind turbines visible. In particular, even as I watched, a large wind farm seemed to be taking shape north of Rochdale, with cranes hoisting gigantic shafts and propellers skywards. But it wasn’t just a visual assault on the senses. The growl of the M62 was first audible at least half an hour away, until eventually the trail dropped down to a cutting below Windy Hill in order to cross the motorway via a high and slender footbridge.