The Moors

I went up to the moors the other day, “The Tops” my father used to call them, and he used to drive this way every day as he commuted from the town of Holmfirth to Manchester where he worked. This brave cyclist has already completed a fair climb out of Holmfirth, but there's still a long way to go before he reaches the flatter parts on the very top of the moor, before he drops down into Oldham and then Manchester.

Believe it or not, I have cycled this very route myself, visiting my Dad at the university before riding back. I remember getting caught on the urban motorway in Manchester and stopped by the Police. I had no idea I was on a motorway, but somehow managed to find another less familiar way there. It's possible I was quite tired on the way home. Cycling in Yorkshire is rather unforgiving.

The exertion is worth it for the views, in my opinion. The moors are a harsh environment, that's for sure, but when the sun shines, they are crowned with a kind of majestic ruggedness that is not to be seen elsewhere. It's hard not to be impressed by the bleakness and the difficulty of existence in this environment, yet plenty seems to survive here.

From wild flowers and moor grass to the ever-present sheep, the moors manage to support more fauna and flora than anyone might think possible on a quick drive through on a rainy day.

The road really does seem to go on forever, especially on a bicycle.

Every time you stop, beauty awaits.

Place a foot or two in the soft boggy grass and the smell of the moors will hit you - rich and peaty.

Seems like everywhere I go these days is full to the brim of memories. Maybe that's not such a bad thing, as I spend this time away from what I thought was real life. (not too sure what that is anymore). A little more to remember and digest.

If you do spend a bit of time on the Yorkshire moors between Huddersfield and Manchester, you'll know what I mean. It's a place with a real sense of presence. Almost spooky.

Comments

[Liz Marshall]

I love the Moors, but it is quite desolate. As varied as Northumberland, but lacking the softness.

[tom]

thanks for these images, Andy. My grandad talked about the moors when I was a kid, but I imagined something more sinister. Hardly sinister, rather beautiful.