Epilogue Walk Post
Jan. 9th, 2011 12:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thousandmilesblogDate of Walk: 21/12/10
Walk organized by: Tameside Countryside Service
Start time: 07:15
Start location: Park Bridge Heritage Centre
Walk length: Approx 5 miles
Weather conditions: Cold, lots of ice and snow on the ground
Details:
Every year, on the Winter Solstice, Tameside Countryside Service lead a walk up to the top of Hartshead Pike. Reaching the top just before dawn, people gather to welcome back the sun and to celebrate the shortest day of the year. For several years now, I've said I'd love to join them, but when it comes down to it the early morning, transport difficulties, dark and cold have always put me off. This year it felt like time.
I've never really known where I fitted in relation to Christmas celebrations. I know many non-Christians, including people belonging to other religions, who are quite happy throwing themselves into the less overtly religious traditions, but I've always felt uncomfortable with certain aspects of it all. The excess, the emphasis on appearances, the commercialism and all the stress people go through for one day that's never as good as you think it will be. The cabin fever resulting from being stuck indoors with people you've successfully avoided for the rest of the year, the arguments and the tired irritability. I like a bit of a rest, some time with the people I love, a chance to thank them for the year and share good food with them. I like the little oasis of light and warmth in the middle of the shivering dark. Attempts to ignore the whole thing tend to make me feel like a killjoy alien in my own country.
I hate that it all seems to start in August these days.
I'm no more comfortable with Pagan gods than any other, but they do seem more rooted in the world. They chart the changing seasons and the slow dance of the stars and planets, all of which I feel drawn to marking in some way. Plus, I can't think of a better time than the bleak midwinter for a bit of a party to see us all through. And that's really what I think it's all about, the Winter Solstice. Better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.
That still leaves me with the problem of deciding what exactly I do to mark this. I'm writing my own traditions from scratch, picking the ones that mean something to me. I think maybe the best way is to just give things a go and see what happens.
So on the morning of the Solstice I dragged myself out of bed, shivering a bit. It wasn't too dark because of all the snow on the ground, but the weather reports were promising temperatures well below zero. I was dressed for the weather. I've walked in worse conditions. At least it wasn't actually snowing, and the wind wasn't especially strong. I tried to make porridge quietly, little else was going to get me to the top of a hill early in the morning, but sleepiness makes me even more clumsy than usual. I probably woke my neighbours, but at least I managed not to burn anything. I half hoped that we'd reach the top before I really woke up, so it would be like sleepwalking and I wouldn't really feel it.
The problem of getting to the visitor centre when the nearest bus stop was at least half an hour away and I'd be walking in the dark meant that a taxi was necessary. The driver didn't really know where he was going, and clearly thought I was a bit mad. I got there in plenty of time, and not many people were around yet. It looked like there might only be eight or so of us, but people always seem to materialise out of nowhere just before the start time. By the time we began to make our way down the slippery and steep road outside the heritage centre there were thirty or so of us, plus a couple of dogs. It wasn't as dark as I'd thought it would be, nor quite as slippery underfoot. I was glad of both these things.
We made our way up to the Pike along the roads, taking advantage of some street lighting and a clear and surfaced route. The climb was steady, but it did seem to be getting very light long before we reached the top. The first lunar eclipse to occur on a Winter Solstice for 372 years was sadly hidden behind a bank of orange cloud. Never mind. I've seen a lunar eclipse before. Near the top of the hill we hit our first real difficult terrain, the dirt roads were completely covered in thick ice that looked like glaciers and were extremely difficult to cross. I think we all made it across without incident though. I don't remember anyone falling.
When we reached the top it had got so light I thought we might have missed the sunrise, but we hadn't. There were a few other people up there already. We gathered together looking east, towards a glowing patch of cloud, and waited.
And then, between two rounded peaks of the hills, the tiniest sliver of a golden disc began to force its way upwards.
We watched as the sun came back to us, and though it didn't seem any warmer when it had finally risen over the hill, I did feel a little less cold.
Once the sun was up, we gathered closer. There was poetry, inspired by the changing seasons. The story goes that the Oak is summer and the Holly is winter, and every solstice they meet for a great battle. On the Summer Solstice, the Holly defeats the Oak, and winter has won, so the days begin to get shorter. On the Winter Solstice, the Oak reclaims its crown and the days lengthen. In the depths of winter, summer has already begun.
There was a little bit of folk music. Our walk leader had taken a song about Pendle Hill and rewritten it for Hartshead Pike. It's a hill I've known all my life, and I can't remember how young I was when I first stood at the top. I shared the sentiment. There was a reading about the Christmas day ceasefire in the trenches, which fitted better than I would have thought. We all joined hands around the main tower on the hill top and walked in a circle. People toasted the sun, and somebody handed me a flask of something, I think it was cognac which is not normally to my taste but the slow burning it induced in the throat was appropriate. We went over to the little tower for a while, which is much older and has probably seen many such gatherings.
Then we started to make our way back down the hill, taking the paths rather than the road this time. It was a little difficult in places, with deep snow on steep slopes and icy boardwalks crossing the normally boggy areas, which were now covered in ice. A couple of people did lose their footing, but nobody seemed the worse for it. We made our way back to the Heritage Centre, where we enjoyed welcome hot cups of tea and chatted for a while before going our separate ways. I walked back to the bus stop alone, and everything was still and quiet, the blanket of snow muffling the distant noise of traffic on the main road. It was beautiful.
Now I have to see if I can finally make the summer walk.
Evil Giraffe (who would like to wish you a Happy New Year)
Walk organized by: Tameside Countryside Service
Start time: 07:15
Start location: Park Bridge Heritage Centre
Walk length: Approx 5 miles
Weather conditions: Cold, lots of ice and snow on the ground
Details:
Every year, on the Winter Solstice, Tameside Countryside Service lead a walk up to the top of Hartshead Pike. Reaching the top just before dawn, people gather to welcome back the sun and to celebrate the shortest day of the year. For several years now, I've said I'd love to join them, but when it comes down to it the early morning, transport difficulties, dark and cold have always put me off. This year it felt like time.
I've never really known where I fitted in relation to Christmas celebrations. I know many non-Christians, including people belonging to other religions, who are quite happy throwing themselves into the less overtly religious traditions, but I've always felt uncomfortable with certain aspects of it all. The excess, the emphasis on appearances, the commercialism and all the stress people go through for one day that's never as good as you think it will be. The cabin fever resulting from being stuck indoors with people you've successfully avoided for the rest of the year, the arguments and the tired irritability. I like a bit of a rest, some time with the people I love, a chance to thank them for the year and share good food with them. I like the little oasis of light and warmth in the middle of the shivering dark. Attempts to ignore the whole thing tend to make me feel like a killjoy alien in my own country.
I hate that it all seems to start in August these days.
I'm no more comfortable with Pagan gods than any other, but they do seem more rooted in the world. They chart the changing seasons and the slow dance of the stars and planets, all of which I feel drawn to marking in some way. Plus, I can't think of a better time than the bleak midwinter for a bit of a party to see us all through. And that's really what I think it's all about, the Winter Solstice. Better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.
That still leaves me with the problem of deciding what exactly I do to mark this. I'm writing my own traditions from scratch, picking the ones that mean something to me. I think maybe the best way is to just give things a go and see what happens.
So on the morning of the Solstice I dragged myself out of bed, shivering a bit. It wasn't too dark because of all the snow on the ground, but the weather reports were promising temperatures well below zero. I was dressed for the weather. I've walked in worse conditions. At least it wasn't actually snowing, and the wind wasn't especially strong. I tried to make porridge quietly, little else was going to get me to the top of a hill early in the morning, but sleepiness makes me even more clumsy than usual. I probably woke my neighbours, but at least I managed not to burn anything. I half hoped that we'd reach the top before I really woke up, so it would be like sleepwalking and I wouldn't really feel it.
The problem of getting to the visitor centre when the nearest bus stop was at least half an hour away and I'd be walking in the dark meant that a taxi was necessary. The driver didn't really know where he was going, and clearly thought I was a bit mad. I got there in plenty of time, and not many people were around yet. It looked like there might only be eight or so of us, but people always seem to materialise out of nowhere just before the start time. By the time we began to make our way down the slippery and steep road outside the heritage centre there were thirty or so of us, plus a couple of dogs. It wasn't as dark as I'd thought it would be, nor quite as slippery underfoot. I was glad of both these things.
We made our way up to the Pike along the roads, taking advantage of some street lighting and a clear and surfaced route. The climb was steady, but it did seem to be getting very light long before we reached the top. The first lunar eclipse to occur on a Winter Solstice for 372 years was sadly hidden behind a bank of orange cloud. Never mind. I've seen a lunar eclipse before. Near the top of the hill we hit our first real difficult terrain, the dirt roads were completely covered in thick ice that looked like glaciers and were extremely difficult to cross. I think we all made it across without incident though. I don't remember anyone falling.
When we reached the top it had got so light I thought we might have missed the sunrise, but we hadn't. There were a few other people up there already. We gathered together looking east, towards a glowing patch of cloud, and waited.
And then, between two rounded peaks of the hills, the tiniest sliver of a golden disc began to force its way upwards.
We watched as the sun came back to us, and though it didn't seem any warmer when it had finally risen over the hill, I did feel a little less cold.
Once the sun was up, we gathered closer. There was poetry, inspired by the changing seasons. The story goes that the Oak is summer and the Holly is winter, and every solstice they meet for a great battle. On the Summer Solstice, the Holly defeats the Oak, and winter has won, so the days begin to get shorter. On the Winter Solstice, the Oak reclaims its crown and the days lengthen. In the depths of winter, summer has already begun.
There was a little bit of folk music. Our walk leader had taken a song about Pendle Hill and rewritten it for Hartshead Pike. It's a hill I've known all my life, and I can't remember how young I was when I first stood at the top. I shared the sentiment. There was a reading about the Christmas day ceasefire in the trenches, which fitted better than I would have thought. We all joined hands around the main tower on the hill top and walked in a circle. People toasted the sun, and somebody handed me a flask of something, I think it was cognac which is not normally to my taste but the slow burning it induced in the throat was appropriate. We went over to the little tower for a while, which is much older and has probably seen many such gatherings.
Then we started to make our way back down the hill, taking the paths rather than the road this time. It was a little difficult in places, with deep snow on steep slopes and icy boardwalks crossing the normally boggy areas, which were now covered in ice. A couple of people did lose their footing, but nobody seemed the worse for it. We made our way back to the Heritage Centre, where we enjoyed welcome hot cups of tea and chatted for a while before going our separate ways. I walked back to the bus stop alone, and everything was still and quiet, the blanket of snow muffling the distant noise of traffic on the main road. It was beautiful.
Now I have to see if I can finally make the summer walk.
Evil Giraffe (who would like to wish you a Happy New Year)
