Wednesday July 4th, above Benthouse Lock, Littleborough - Slattocks

Sadly, yesterday’s Woo-Hoo day was just that – just one day. This morning was grey, dank and overcast and promised even more of the wet stuff. It didn’t disappoint us.

Our overnight mooring in the old loading arm was fine. Despite the nearby road, railway and an overflow weir that was just about coping with the excess water we didn’t hear a sound in the night.

Under way and soon through Benthouse Lock, we pulled in to the sanitary station to empty the loo, fill up with water and get rid of the rubbish. Then it was through the last two locks of the Littleborough flight and into the long pound through to Rochdale.

By now the rain had started and kept us company intermittently for the rest of the day – sometimes just mizzly drizzle and sometimes quite heavy bursts of more persistent rain. Our big raincoats kept being put on and taken off. It was, in short, a real pain.

Clegg Hall.

One bright spot was the group of attractive buildings around Clegg Hall at Smithy Bridge. The Hall, which 10 years ago was a smoke blackened derelict ruin with glassless windows, is now a highly attractive private residence.

It was built c1618 by the wonderfully named Theophilus Asheton and was later used as a pub named for some reason The Black Sloven!

Old textile mill adjacent to Clegg Hall

It sits between a similarly converted old textile mill and a row of former millworkers' cottages.

Cleg Hall and millworkers' cottages

Former canal warehouse at Smithy Bridge

Adjacent is a wonderfully converted old canal warehouse with landscaped grounds














Following our experience on the outward journey of the so called landings for the two swing bridges just outside Rochdale, I got off at the bridge before the first one, walked to and operated the first bridge and then walked to the next bridge to get back on again. We repeated that for the second bridge, and when I got on, Elaine got off to work the two locks in Rochdale itself – Moss Locks.

Our highly unfavourable opinion of Rochdale and its inhabitants on our first journey through has not been lessened in any way. The canal corridor through the part of the town that the canal runs through is nothing more than an unofficial rubbish tip and the towpath a magnet for every irresponsible dog owner in the county.

Our dislike and frustration weren’t helped by the 60 minute or so hold up that ensued at the first of the two locks.

We knew we would be following the two hotel-boats that had followed us down from the summit yesterday. They went further than us yesterday and so would be ahead of us today. However they had got into difficulties at this first lock.

Waiting for Moss Locks

Both motor and butty had got in the lock, which they had emptied. However neither bottom gate would open properly and so neither boat could get out. They had been trying for some time to sort things out by trying to fish out whatever it was behind the gate with their big boat hook, but to no avail.

Whilst I mawmbled above the lock (in the rain, of course), trying to keep out of the way of the rubbish floating in the canal, they decided to refill the lock and pull out the butty backwards, leaving the motor on its own. When the lock was emptied again, the motor was able to get out.

The lock was then refilled and the butty was soon through, being bowhauled out of the lock and down to the second lock.

We then had to refill the lock (the fourth lockfull taken from the pound above which was beginning to look decidedly low, with more and more rubbish floating about) before we could at last get into the lock.

And so to the lower of the two locks. Here, we had to wait for the butty to finish its descent before being able to refill the lock so we could work through. All this was carried on under the intense gaze of a group of 13 or 14 men (ranging in age from early 20s to 50s) and one solitary female, all supping from their cans of strong lager or cider, most of whom were beginning to look and sound decidedly the worse for wear. All this and it was about 11.30 in the morning. What a sad, sad life, and what a sad, sad indictment on society today.

However, I have to say they were all cheerful and good-natured and one helped Elaine with a very stiff paddle and one helped with one of the gates. Another wanted to know if we were all right for shopping as there was a good supermarket nearby. Mind you, who would want to stop and leave their boat there to go shopping?

Finally we exited the lower lock and breathing a sigh of relief set out on the next longish pound to the next locks at Castleton. The canal passes through a wooded cutting here and the towpath in places defies belief – bin bags of rubbish have just been dumped, with the contents spilling out, the canal is full of plastic bottles and fast food cartons and the so called nature reserves created along lengths of the canal and separated from the navigable channel by booms are used more for rubbish dumping than for encouraging wildlife and flora/fauna.

I’m sorry Rochdale, but you are a dump. There appears to be no civic pride whatsoever, and the council leaders and employees don’t seem to care that over £20 million pounds were spent restoring the canal that could be so much of an asset to the community.

At Castleton, the next locks arrived and we again caught up with the hotel boats. Here again they had had to separate out and let the motor go in alone. At least John had been able to fish out an old supermarket trolley from behind one of the gates.

With the motor through and the lock refilled they felt confident enough for letting us share the lock with the butty which saved us a bit of hanging around time in what are again less than salubrious surroundings. Yet again, the locals seem to regard the towpath, and particularly the grassy lock surrounds as their personal dog toilets. They were covered in dog shit. It’s not the dog’s fault, just the ignorant owners.

We were allowed out of the lock first with a request that once through the M62 culvert and at the newly sited lock 53 we could test the gates to see if they were OK for both motor & butty to use together.

Once out of the Rochdale built up area and away from the rubbish and shallower channel, it was good to put the throttle to its normal setting and get a bit of oomph into the day. This time we made it through the motorway culvert without meeting a gaggle of hireboats, and we were soon into and down the last lock of the day.

Mooring at Slattocks

Slattocks was just round the corner and we were soon able to tie up and take a late lunch. What should have been about a 4½ hour day had turned into a 6 hour slog. God, I hate Rochdale!

The hotel boats tied up for their late lunch behind us, and then set off again. They were doing what we had done on the outward journey and doing Littleborough to the Rose of Lancaster moorings in one day. We had realised that was too much for us to do again, so we have put in the extra night’s stop here at Slattocks, leaving us just a couple of miles & 10 locks tomorrow. Our Manchester passage is booked for Friday.