It seems a while since I made it out, the past few weeks having been spent sheltering from an oppressive heat. And even though today is much cooler, I didn’t fancy a hill, so we’ve settled on this circuit of the Anglezarke Reservoir, just to get us back into the swing.
It’s a cloudy-bright sort of day, still dry, with barely a drop of rain in ages. The paths are pot-hard, and wearisome. We’ve left the little blue car on the causeway, at the southern end, and are now approaching the halfway point, along the Heapey fold Lane. It’s an uninspiring stretch, all barbed wire, straight lines and miles of that electrified white tape the horsey people use, whether to deter horse or man is open to debate. As for the reservoir, it’s very low, as most of them are now, and, thus far, we’ve had only a few glimpses of it as the path veers shy.
There’s something wrong with my GPS tracker. Every time the phone goes to sleep, it forgets where we are, only to pick us up when I wake the phone again. Which is why our track is as the crow flies, and about a mile long, instead of all wiggly and about two. It’ll be something to do with how Android manages background apps, but this isn’t the time to be sorting that out. I know how far round this walk is anyway: Four and a quarter miles. Flat. Why I think I need the phone tracking us in the first place is a mystery, but we persuade ourselves it’s interesting to know these things, then all we end up doing is fiddling with the phone instead of absorbing properly what the walk has to offer.
We’re late season now, second half of August, and we have several trees along the way showing heat-stress, crisping up for an early autumn. And there are blackberries in the hedgerows, looking plump.
Just here, there’s a fine ash tree, and a good place to settle for lunch, before we plunge into the woods below Grey Heights, and Healey Nab. Heinz mushroom soup today, £1.40 a tin! I fancy the energy bills at their Kit Green factory must be getting on for the GDP of a small nation. I was also saddened to read the Coppull chippy, “Oh my Cod“, is to cease trading, due to the price of energy. I imagine many chippy’s are in the same boat; cafes, coffee shops, too, all victims of the killer watts.
Speaking of which, I’ve been trying to run an energy calculation in my head, one that’s vital to my own well-being. So: if it takes four minutes to boil water using a three kilowatt kettle, and electricity costs 28p per Kilowatt hour, how much for a cup of tea?
It’s taken me a couple miles to come up with the answer: 6p. Now, how many times do I brew up in a day? A lot, for if in doubt have a brew, and I am often in doubt, so let’s say six times. And six sixes are thirty-six, so thirty six pence a day! Times three hundred and sixty-five is,… em,.. calculator on the phone,… 13140. That’s pennies, so divide by a hundred, and we arrive at around £131 a year, brewing up. So, where I’m going with this is,… if we halved the number of brews?
No, wait a minute. Economies like that – like sitting in the dark – won’t even touch the sides. Anyway, when a man has to think twice before brewing up, he no longer lives in a civilised country, and I’d sooner preserve the illusion a while longer.
I’ve been sitting quite still by this tree, and maybe that’s why the ladies’ rambling group comes by and doesn’t notice me, or at least no one thinks to say hello. They’re a fragrant, and colourfully Lycra clad party, and very noisy as they enter the wood, sending up a flock of outraged pigeons. Which all goes to show, when you’re out with your mates, you’re not thinking about how much it costs to brew up, and maybe I should join a rambling group myself. Except, I never notice anything when I’m with a group, and I’m self-conscious lingering over photographs.
Built between 1850 and 1857, the Anglezarke reservoir is perhaps the most attractive of its neighbours. But the best walking is along the east bank, where we’re closer to the water and get that lovely dancing light. Today we’re short of water, this northern end in particular, being shallow, emptied early, and is now green with an entire season’s worth of wild grasses and flowers. There’s just this narrow channel snaking down towards the southern end, which retains the appearance of a reservoir. Here, though, the land is reverting to its pre-1850 aspect. I venture down below the winter water-line, back in time, so to speak, to take a picture of the Waterman’s Cottage.
Built in the mock Tudor style. It used to be one of those places I’d dream of living. It’s looking badly neglected now, though – sorry if you live there. But then everywhere’s the same, nothing heading in the right direction any more. It always made for a good photograph, reflected in dark waters, but is now suspended over a sea of green.
Just past the cottage, we pick up the path below Siddow fold, and follow the pretty eastern shore towards the Bullough Reservoir. The views open out here, and we can see the deeper, southern end of the reservoir, where it still makes a good show of catching the light. This is the best section of the walk, even when we pick up the Tarmac water-board road, with the sparkle of water coming through mature plantation. Then we meet Moor road, where it snakes down from Lester Mill. The spillway of the Yarrow is dry, of course, and looks like it has been all summer, judging by the vegetation sprouting out of it. Then we’re back at the causeway, where we pick out the smile of the little blue car, waiting. A long four miles, somehow, and ready for a brew.
So we peel back the top, open the flask and enjoy a cup of sweet tea, relaxing in a cooling breeze coming off the water. Sixpence, remember? Or rather no,… forget that. Forget how much it costs to brew tea, for therein lies madness. A quick burst of data on the phone, allows the notifications to catch up. There’s one from Amazon letting me know they’ve dropped off my folding solar panel. That’s to keep my powerbanks and charged for, when the power-cuts begin. It’s another economy that’s not going to touch the sides, but it makes you feel like you’re at least doing something, stealing sunshine. So long as we can walk and write, all will be well. Less so, I fear for others. There is a real sense of teetering on the brink of something awful, but so long as you’re in the mood to read, I’ll be posting my way through it. And I might even finish that novel, before the year runs into Yule!
Thanks for listening.
The Rivendale Review 
Thanks for writing.
Regarding the Kettle issue. A considerable amount of energy goes into heating the kettle rather than the water. Many years ago being the sort that calculates these things, and also wanting numerous cups of tea, I invested in a “Hot Pot”, boiled the kettle (and thereby heated it) once and filled the Hot Pot. Thanks to Sir James Dewar and his marvellous Thermos invention, saving numerous therms and Watts.
Gave it up as I was drinking too much tea but am considering it is time to resurrect the old thinking.
Speaking of Therms, Thermal cooking (modern equivalent of Haybox) saves an enormous percentage of energy in food cooking.
Well worth investigating if you are really interested in saving costs. Been using it for a few years on and off when I have time and remember where I put it.
Great read, Michael, as usual. Interesting photos. At one time, I would also have liked to live in that house by the reservoir but my body tells me I need to live closer to civilization (GPs, shops etc). Mind you, the way the world is going, I might need to take to the hills and find a comfortable cave, if they’re not already taken! What a mess we’re in! However, for now, after accompanying you on this walk, I’m uplifted to head out somewhere tomorrow, Sunday, for a steady, level walk. Enjoy your new contraption and what’s left of the weekend. 🙋♂️
Thanks, Ashely. I hope you enjoy your walk. An hour or two in the countryside always works wonders for me.
I enjoyed that 6p cup of tea, but how much was the tea bag ( I don’t think you were drinking a fruit infusion, which should never be called tea in the first place) and the water – have those rates increased with everything else. Judging from the dearth of water in your Anglezarke Reservoir photos prices will soon rise because of shortages. The world is certainly going crazy, more so for the underpaid workers depending on food banks.
Lady walkers always exude some exotic flagrancy when they pass by. Not many men do. During lockdown when we were being advised, amongst other dubious actions, to keep at least 2 m apart I could still detect their aroma at 5 m, so I presumed the virus could travel in similar ways on the airways for more than 2 m. More research is needed before the next viral epidemic.
Further to PJ’s information a friend of mine has used a vacuum flask for years to continue cooking his midday soup filled from only just boiled. A bottle of water has been the best solution to dehydration in this recent hot weather, providing the bottle is filed from the tap thus saving money on purchased ‘Spring water’. I’m in danger of going down a rabbit hole here.
At the end of the day that familiar circuit of Anglezarke Reservoir is rewarding whatever the cost.
I must admit to being one of those tight wads who recycle tea bags a couple of times, but that’s a good point. If we reach the stage where they’re putting security tags on PG Tips, we’re all done for.
I did recently invest in a metal water bottle which seems to do a good job of keeping the tap water cool. I used to use Sigg bottles, but I’d forget about them with a bit of water in the bottom, and they always went nasty.
As for the fragrant ladies, I’ve also wondered about viral spread. Like you said, you can smell them quite a way off, and long after they’ve passed.
I shall have to investigate keeping kettle water in a vacuum flask between brews. I’m wondering how much of that water in the reservoirs has been lost by leakage.
Speaking of water metering, there’s been a leak neat my plot at Penge allotments for much of the summer. Happily just up hill of my large mature apple tree. It wasn’t right next to my plot so I didn’t report it, and was guiltily pleased to have the mains pressure running underground to feed my tree.
Metering on allotments is an odd science, we’ve never been allowed to use hosepipes, but people can be slack about turning off taps and adjusting ball cocks on dip tanks, but the cost is very low, barely more than pennies a year. I don’t know how it works.
We had a leak under our lane that took 40 years to find. Green gardens, but rotten floorboard joists.
I reported the leak eventually, to be told the committee is aware, it’s fixed now, and the apple tree, whose roots are far too large and too deep for me to water, had survived the summer!
I ended up throwing my Sigg bottles away.
That feeling of “teetering on the brink of something awful”–I have it as well. Partly from “the news” but also from the weather. It’s no longer predictable and reassuring.
Hi Audrey. Yes, I’m sure “the news” is partly responsible. It has an addictive quality to it. I’m also unsettled by changes in the weather – it seems more powerful now than we seem able to adapt to. Stronger winds, more intense and prolonged heat, and floods.
Exactly, but we need to maintain a personal relationship with the natural world as it changes.
‘Killer watts’- wonderful! 😀
I am very sorry the Coppull Chippie has gone, but I am cynical about reasons given. Things are surely more complex. A similar sign outside Aldi states that “Due to the war in Ukraine all the ingredients in all our products have been changed” (or something like that). Obviously there is the straw that breaks the poor camels back, but the fact that the camel is getting old, hasn’t eaten for a week, and is already carying a heavy load needs taking into consideration.
In the case of the war with Russia this is a particular depth of impossible self delusion, none of us believe it, but we all consider it our patriotic duty to try, or a convenient scapegoat.
Yes, I’d noticed chippies had been getting more expensive over the years, and what with a decade of austerity, the price of fish, and dwindling wages, I guess like many convenience eateries, they were losing trade. Most cafes have gone in my local town now, replaced by cheap boozers. But I guess it costs less to pump beer than it does to fry an all day breakfast.
We have a nice chippie in our back water, his service is slow and I’m not sure he’s any better than the busier one on the main drag, but we are loyal because we know it’s a nice, genuine family business that will never be replaced.
I’m not sure you spotted my more on message response to your last post.
I thought that photo of the cottage nestled within the green growth was a painting at first. It’s amazing! The shot is amazing. And so is the cottage. Too bad it’s probably too costly to keep the property in good shape. I just love things like that because the one time I visited the UK and Scotland, years ago, the history, the ancientness of so many places, filled me with joy. We have so little of that here, you know, in Los Angeles…..
Thank you, Stacy. Much appreciated. It is a very attractive cottage, built around 1850, but looking much older in style, it’s a much loved little spot around here and quite remote. I had wondered if it was rented and the landlord was letting it go, but it’s privately owned and worth about £500,000. It still needs work though.
aah Michael, i never knew that people rather citizens have already started feeling the heat and what might happen sooner than late. I liked being with you on the journey as myself will not mind even if I brew two or more while cutting on other things out. I enjoyed those images. Beautiful place and walk it must have been.
Mmm. Nice.