I am a little sad to be leaving Hebden Bridge. Making its aquaintaince was more than thirty years overdue, but I am delighted to have belatedly done so.
    OK, so it may be true that it is becoming a bit yuppified, and it is so alternative as to be a somewhat unsettling. But it is a charming place with a lovely canal and fine old stone buildings, and it has a real sense of community. Best of all it is set in truly gorgeous countryside, threaded through with a denser network of footpaths than I have ever seen, anywhere.

I awake to another grey day. It has been raining but has stopped by the time I got going. The wind is evil though.

After a cooked breakfast I say goodbye to the B&B and retraced my footsteps for half a kilometer or so. There is an apparant short cut but I can't see it goes and it involves climbing a rickety style which my knees don't like the look of much.. So I go the long way round and give the old joints a bit of time to warm up.

Rock Farm must be named for the craggy outrcrop lining the edge of the plateau. It is literally a few feet below the moor level and so very soon I am back in moorland. Immediately the larks start up again. They are with me almost all day today.


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