The Whispering Stone: Crossing the Oxygrainz Packhorse Bridge

Location: Oxygrainz Bridge, Rishworth Moor Date: 15th December 2020 Camera: Nikon d3300

 There is a specific kind of silence that exists only on the high moors of Northern England. It isn’t the absence of sound, but rather a symphony of low-frequency hums: the persistent tug of the wind through dried purple heather, the distant cry of a curlew, and the rhythmic babble of water over gritstone. In the heart of this wild landscape stands a modest yet defiant monument to human history—the Oxygrainz Packhorse Bridge.

Captured here in a timeless sepia, the bridge looks less like a man-made structure and more like a natural outcropping of the earth itself. It spans the Oxygrains Clough, a small but spirited watercourse that carves its way through the rugged terrain near the Rishworth moors. To the casual observer, it is a simple arch of stone. To the historian and the hiker, it is a portal into a bygone era of industry and endurance.

Oxygrainz Clough Packhorse Bridge

A Bridge Built for Hooves, Not Wheels

Before the age of the steam engine or the macadamized road, the rugged spine of the Pennines was traversed by packhorse trains. These were lines of sturdy ponies—often up to 40 or 50 in a single "gang"—laden with heavy panniers. They carried the lifeblood of the early industrial North: wool from the hilltop farms to the weaving sheds, and finished cloth back to the bustling market towns.

The Oxygrainz Packhorse Bridge was designed specifically for these travellers. You’ll notice its distinct characteristics immediately: it is narrow, barely wide enough for a single horse, and notably lacks high parapets (the low walls on the side). This wasn't a design flaw; it was a functional necessity. High walls would have caught the low-slung panniers of the ponies, potentially knocking them off balance or trapping them on the narrow span.

In this photograph, the bridge’s single, elegant arch mimics the curve of the hills behind it. The stones, weathered by centuries of Pennine rain and frost, hold together through the sheer brilliance of traditional dry-stone masonry. There is no mortar here—just gravity, friction, and the skill of a long-dead craftsman.

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The Poetry of the Clough

The word "clough" (pronounced cluff) is a northern English term for a steep-sided valley or ravine. The Oxygrainz Clough is a perfect specimen. Looking at the image, you can feel the isolation of the spot. The surrounding slopes are draped in coarse grasses and bracken, their textures accentuated by the dramatic play of light and shadow.

The sepia tone of the photograph serves to bridge the gap between the present and the past. It strips away the vibrant greens and purples of the modern moorland, forcing us to focus on the texture of the land. We see the sharp individual blades of the moor grass in the foreground, glowing like golden threads where the sun catches them. We see the heavy, dark mass of the hillside, rising up to meet a pale, vast sky.

There is a profound sense of "solastalgia" here—a feeling of connection to a landscape that remains unchanged even as the world around it accelerates. When you stand on the stones of the Oxygrains bridge, you are standing exactly where a packhorse driver stood in 1750, perhaps pausing to let his lead pony drink from the stream below before bracing for the climb over the next ridge.

Preserving the Pathless Way

Today, the Oxygrains Packhorse Bridge is a cherished landmark for those who seek the "wilds." It sits near the modern M62 motorway—one of the busiest arteries in the UK—yet it feels a million miles away. The roar of the engines is often swallowed by the moorland wind, leaving only the sound of the clough.

Visiting such a site is a lesson in perspective. We live in an era of instant connectivity and high-speed transit, but this bridge reminds us that for most of human history, progress was measured in the steady beat of hooves on stone. It reminds us that we are merely temporary stewards of these ancient ways.

As you look at this image, let your mind wander into the shadows of the arch. Imagine the winter gales that have whistled through that gap, and the summer suns that have baked those stones. The bridge doesn't just cross a stream; it crosses time itself.

Todmorden’s Heavenly Spire: A Glimpse of the Unitarian Church

Location: Todmorden Unitarian Church Date: 24th November 2013 Camera: Samsung Galaxy Tablet

On a crisp autumnal morning, I captured this striking view of the Todmorden Unitarian Church, often referred to locally as the 'Unitarian Cathedral'. The photo, which I took with my trusty Samsung Galaxy Tablet (remember those days?), perfectly framed the dramatic spire against the darkening winter sky.

Todmorden Unitarian Church Spire

What I love about this picture is the incredible contrast:

• The deep blue sky with wispy white clouds contrasting with the warm, golden light illuminating the spire.

• The heavy, dark roofline in the foreground, with its small, triangular dormers, acting as a solid base for the towering, ornate spire above.

The spire itself is a masterpiece of Victorian Gothic architecture, piercing the sky as a beacon in the Calder Valley. It’s hard to imagine the skill and engineering required to construct something so tall and delicate in the 1800s.

The Real Story of the "Cathedral"

The official name is the Todmorden Unitarian Church, and it’s a Grade I Listed building, marking it as a structure of exceptional interest. It was built between 1865 and 1869, designed by the famed architect John Gibson, and was primarily financed by the influential Fielden family, powerful local mill owners and philanthropists.

It’s often called a 'Cathedral' due to its impressive size, elaborate decoration, and the sheer height of that beautiful steeple. Standing at over 190 feet tall, it dominates the town's skyline and speaks volumes about the wealth and ambition of the local community at the height of the Industrial Revolution.

The roof in the foreground, with its distinctive slate and little window details, gives a sense of the scale of the building before the eye is drawn upwards to the spectacular stone lace of the spire, complete with its open belfry. It’s a true architectural gem, and I'm glad I managed to capture its majesty on that November morning, even with just a tablet!

A Ghost from the War: The Sunken Secrets of Warland Reservoir

Location: Warland Reservoir, Todmorden Date Taken: May 27th 2025 Camera: Canon r100

Sunken Boat Remains at Warland Reservoir

I was out exploring the dramatic Pennine landscape, and what I witnessed at Warland Reservoir was a haunting and powerful sight. Due to what must be exceptionally low water levels, a secret the reservoir has held for decades was laid bare: the skeletal remains of an old sunken boat.

Captured here in black and white, the effect is even more dramatic. The ribs of the vessel jut out from the dark, cracked earth, looking like a decaying marine skeleton against the water’s edge. It's an eerie, beautiful, and profound reminder that even seemingly remote stretches of water have their own forgotten histories.

The Wartime Mystery

What is this vessel, and how did it end up at the bottom of a high-moor reservoir?

Local lore suggests a fascinating connection to World War II. It is widely believed that these remains—possibly one of three similar boats—were deliberately sunk during the war as part of a strategic defence plan. The theory is that the boats were linked together with cables and submerged to prevent German seaplanes from using the large expanse of the reservoir as a makeshift landing strip or refuelling point.

This small, forgotten wreck, sometimes called a "dragonboat," is a tangible link to a time when Britain was preparing for all possible threats, even in the quiet corners of the Yorkshire/Lancashire border. It reminds us that every location, no matter how tranquil now, played its part in the global conflict.

A Glimpse of the Past

For most of the year, this relic is hidden from view, submerged beneath the waters that feed the Rochdale Canal. It only reveals itself during periods of severe drought or very low water.

To stand there and see the exposed wooden frame and what looks like its rusted ribs is to confront a piece of history that is literally decaying before your eyes. It is a poignant juxtaposition of the reservoir's original purpose (supplying water for the canal since the 1850s) and its later, unexpected role in wartime defence.

The exposed mud and stones, along with the remnants of the boat, tell a story of changing conditions and hidden depths. It’s a powerful image of resilience and decay, of nature taking back what man put there, only to reluctantly give it up when the water recedes.