One of them days

Spadgers

The promise of the day was a continuation of the Yellow Weather Alert freezing rain of the night on top of the flooding of the weekend so I thought that though mentally and physically I needed to get out of the house for a while the first trip out of the week better hadn't been local. The Met Office reckoned that North Lancashire and Cumbria were going to be cold and while not actually dry, at least not raining, so the options were to get an old man's explorer ticket up to Carnforth and try and see the great northern diver on Pine Lake or, if the weather looked dodgy, stay on for a ride along the Furness Line and stop off at Leighton Moss on the way back. If it turned out there were still issues with services between Manchester and Preston I could go out to Southport and see what I could see there.

So that was the plan.

The trains were running on time up to five to ten. I was aiming for the twenty-past, which was running twenty minutes late. That would seriously jeopardise the connection up North — I'd have a minute or two to get the ticket from the office then get over to platform two (it's not a ticket you can buy from the machine and there's no machine at our local station anyway). Plan C was a possible but given the connections I'd be best going via Liverpool than via Manchester. Luckily the Liverpool train was running ten minutes late so it was an option. In the three minutes it took me to walk to the station both trains were running another ten minutes late. Given the weather I was willing to cut the trains a bit of slack, there was still plenty of flooding about.

Flixton 

Although it had turned into a crisp, dry morning the aftermath of the weekend weather was very evident. Approaching Flixton the fields were a lake and some of the back gardens the train passed were underwater. The confluence of the Mersey and the Ship Canal was staggering. Meltwater and torrential rain had added to the already swollen waterways. The Mersey drops over a high weir into the canal, this was barely visible as a line of white turbulence in the water. It was wise not to do a Mersey Valley walk.

River Mersey between Flixton and Carrington running into the Manchester Ship Canal at Irlam Locks

We made progress up to Irlam and then diverted into the sidings at Cadishead to let late-running Transpennine Express trains through. We were there quarter of an hour. The birch scrub by the track was very quiet, there were just the two woodpigeons at the end as we finally set off. 

River Glaze

The Glaze at Glazebrook had more than burst its banks. We passed through Glazebrook and waited at signals at Rixton for twenty minutes then crawled through the floodwater by Risley Moss. The fields were perfunctorily dotted about with carrion crows and pheasants, the trackside trees liberally festooned with woodpigeons.

Rixton

Risley Moss 

I'd had enough. I baled at Padgate and walked down to Manchester Road to get the 100 bus back. Robins and woodpigeons sang in gardens, black-headed gulls and lesser black-backs drifted overhead. My knee made odd noises on the slushy pavement, the walk was long enough to irritate a joint that's not had much work over the past few days but not long enough to get the movement back into it.

I was unlucky and had twenty minutes to wait for the bus with the wind blowing unhindered down this straight length of road. It was still only lunchtime — how was it lunchtime already? — I could fit in a walk, it had turned out to be decent walking weather after all. I could stop off for that visit to Rixton Claypits. Perhaps not after seeing the flooded vehicle yard nearby. How about a walk on Irlam Moss, just up Astley Road and back down Roscoe Road? Do we have to? asked the knees. Or I could get off at Cutnook Lane, walk up and get the hoodie onto the year list and walk back down for the next bus to the Trafford Centre…

So I stayed on the bus, changed at the Trafford Centre and arrived home desperate for a hot pot of tea. A mixed tit flock, a goldfinch and a horde of spadgers and starlings were busy in the back garden.

I finally got last year's bird record reports for submission to county recorders completed. They'd have been done and dusted (with one exception) by Christmas without the help of the hairy subeditor.

Tomorrow is another day.