In the quest to explore more of Manchester's underground Bigjobs, SparkUK and myself met near the Manchester Ship Canal, intent on traversing one of the city's lost watercourses, the Corn Brook. First discovered and explored by Siologen a few years back, I already had an idea of what lay ahead, for the others, it would be a journey of discovery, for us all it would be a back-breaking, ankle-wrenching 5600 metre hard slog upstream in one of the stoopiest drains I've encountered so far.
Entering close to the outfall we began to get an idea of what this drain was all about within a matter of minutes. From the virtually collapsed ceiling-entry the trickle of water gets deeper until you find yourself thigh deep in sticky mud, every step harder than the last. Bigjobs took the lead as me and Spark struggled through the viscous filth that is the Corn Brook. Then, it opens up, a chamber of red brick, easy to stand up in, though only a short section, before returning to the five and a half feet concrete box that we started off in, and it goes on and on and on...forever..
Keen to crack on, we didn't take any photos for the the first three hours we were in there, simply because we kept telling ourselves 'there's gonna be something great around the next bend'. Progress was slow, stopping frequently at manhole shafts to stand up straight, the changes from concrete to red brick to spraycrete were happening all the time, sadly, the floor is in such a poor state you spend most of your time looking where your feet are going lest you trip in a pothole or over one of thousands of bricks and stones left lying in the gentle trickle of water.
Our backs were beginning to feel the toll of the constant stooping, the rest stops became more frequent and before long we reached a split in the tunnel, the three of us stood there 'which one?' 'fuck knows, but I can get a phone signal, I've got three texts!!' For the next ten minutes or so we made the most of the oportunity to check in with the outside world, surprisingly, the brook only runs a matter of ten feet under the streets of Manchester. Then, we were stooping on in to the darkness again.
The further upstream we travelled the less interesting it became (or we became less interested), concrete section after concrete section, punctuated, infrequently by a red brick pipe, then concrete, concrete, concrete...The one thought that kept us going was the one of some splendid Garden of Eden with unicorns awaiting us when we reached the end, where marvellous paraplegic virgins with golden vaginas and..oh no, hang on, that was just a random conversation between me and Bigjobs..
We stopped for a break beneath a manhole cover set into the pavement and decided to give it two more bends of the drain, this turned into three, then four, then it turned into Spark heading off ahead of us to check out the route. Spark was gone for half an hour or so before returning with wild tales about concrete, and victorian looking brick pipes and more concrete. We'd been underground for over five hours and didn't have a clue where we were.
'Let's pop the manhole!'
We were up and out somewhere near the university, right underneath a CCTV camera, we got a couple of odd looks from passing motorists, but apart from that, the streets of Manchester were deserted, save for a taxi. Bigjobs flagged him down, he slowed, gave us a worried look and pulled over, it's not every night three wader clad, headtorch wearing, tripod carrying guys covered in mud get in your cab. We told him where to head before the three of us deposited five hours worth of filth all over the seats and floor, well, the thieving swine stung us for an extra 40p.
From the cars to the manhole had taken us just over five and a half hours, the cab ride to the cars took less than five minutes, it was way past midnight and we still hadn't seen the end of the brook...
TnM
Entering close to the outfall we began to get an idea of what this drain was all about within a matter of minutes. From the virtually collapsed ceiling-entry the trickle of water gets deeper until you find yourself thigh deep in sticky mud, every step harder than the last. Bigjobs took the lead as me and Spark struggled through the viscous filth that is the Corn Brook. Then, it opens up, a chamber of red brick, easy to stand up in, though only a short section, before returning to the five and a half feet concrete box that we started off in, and it goes on and on and on...forever..
Keen to crack on, we didn't take any photos for the the first three hours we were in there, simply because we kept telling ourselves 'there's gonna be something great around the next bend'. Progress was slow, stopping frequently at manhole shafts to stand up straight, the changes from concrete to red brick to spraycrete were happening all the time, sadly, the floor is in such a poor state you spend most of your time looking where your feet are going lest you trip in a pothole or over one of thousands of bricks and stones left lying in the gentle trickle of water.
Our backs were beginning to feel the toll of the constant stooping, the rest stops became more frequent and before long we reached a split in the tunnel, the three of us stood there 'which one?' 'fuck knows, but I can get a phone signal, I've got three texts!!' For the next ten minutes or so we made the most of the oportunity to check in with the outside world, surprisingly, the brook only runs a matter of ten feet under the streets of Manchester. Then, we were stooping on in to the darkness again.
The further upstream we travelled the less interesting it became (or we became less interested), concrete section after concrete section, punctuated, infrequently by a red brick pipe, then concrete, concrete, concrete...The one thought that kept us going was the one of some splendid Garden of Eden with unicorns awaiting us when we reached the end, where marvellous paraplegic virgins with golden vaginas and..oh no, hang on, that was just a random conversation between me and Bigjobs..
We stopped for a break beneath a manhole cover set into the pavement and decided to give it two more bends of the drain, this turned into three, then four, then it turned into Spark heading off ahead of us to check out the route. Spark was gone for half an hour or so before returning with wild tales about concrete, and victorian looking brick pipes and more concrete. We'd been underground for over five hours and didn't have a clue where we were.
'Let's pop the manhole!'
We were up and out somewhere near the university, right underneath a CCTV camera, we got a couple of odd looks from passing motorists, but apart from that, the streets of Manchester were deserted, save for a taxi. Bigjobs flagged him down, he slowed, gave us a worried look and pulled over, it's not every night three wader clad, headtorch wearing, tripod carrying guys covered in mud get in your cab. We told him where to head before the three of us deposited five hours worth of filth all over the seats and floor, well, the thieving swine stung us for an extra 40p.
From the cars to the manhole had taken us just over five and a half hours, the cab ride to the cars took less than five minutes, it was way past midnight and we still hadn't seen the end of the brook...
TnM
