The Church that Defied the Dam: St. Bartholomew's of Dean Head

Perched on the edge of a dramatic landscape, St. Bartholomew's Church in Dean Head is more than just a place of worship—it's a survivor. For over a century and a half, this church has watched the world change around it, enduring floods, motorways, and the disappearance of its village.

Opened in 1865, St. Bartholomew's is the third church to stand on this same spot since 1615. It was built to serve the small, tight-knit community of Dean Head. But in the 1960s, a monumental engineering project began: the construction of the M62 motorway and the creation of Scammonden Reservoir. The village of Dean Head was lost, submerged under water to make way for the new dam. Many assumed that St. Bartholomew's and the remaining buildings would soon follow suit, their foundations compromised by the rising water.

However, against all expectations, the church and its neighboring structures—including the former Dean Head School and a couple of dwellings—have stood firm. They form a small, lonely cluster, a poignant reminder of the community that once existed. The church itself, with its striking architecture and peaceful graveyard, continues to defy the expectations of those who thought it would be demolished by the 1970s or 80s. A testament to its resilience, the church's roof was even replaced in 2002.

Today, St. Bartholomew's looks out over a landscape that is both beautiful and dramatically altered. To the east, the M62 carves a path through the valley, a river of modern traffic. Below, the serene waters of Scammonden Reservoir fill the valley where a village once stood. The church remains a silent witness to these changes, a stoic sentinel of the past in a landscape defined by progress. These photos, taken in March 2015, perfectly capture its sombre beauty, a mix of ancient stone and stark, leafless trees against a vast, open sky. They serve as a tribute to a little church that refused to be forgotten.

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Chasing the Golden Hour: My Scammonden Sunset Experiment

Sometimes, the most beautiful moments are fleeting. A perfect sunset, a burst of vibrant colour, a gentle transition from day to night. Capturing that magic is a challenge, but one I decided to take on back in August 2018.

On Saturday, August 4th, I found myself perched near the serene Scammonden Reservoir, nestled in the heart of the Ryburn Valley. The air was alive with a restless wind, a constant reminder of nature's untamed energy. My mission? To track the setting sun as it dipped behind the distant hills, painting the valley in hues of orange and gold.

"Scammonden Sunset" is the result of that evening's endeavour. I set up my tripod, pointed my camera, and let the sun dictate the scene. For a full 20 minutes, I patiently recorded the slow, mesmerizing descent. The wind, however, had other plans. It buffeted my tripod, causing a few wobbles that, while a tad frustrating at the time, now add a touch of raw authenticity to the final product.

The real magic happened in the editing room. I compressed those 20 minutes of real-time sunset into a mere 37 seconds, transforming the gradual shift into a breathtaking, accelerated spectacle. The result is a short, punchy video that captures the essence of the sunset's beauty in a blink.

To enhance the experience, I added a musical score, carefully chosen to complement the visual journey. The music, I believe, adds an emotional layer, amplifying the sense of awe and tranquility that the sunset evokes.

This was my first attempt at filming a sunset in this way, and while it wasn't without its challenges (thanks, wind!), I'm quite pleased with the outcome. It's a reminder of the simple beauty that surrounds us, and the power of time-lapse to condense those moments into something truly captivating.

Sometimes, imperfections add character. Those little tripod wobbles, the gusts of wind – they’re part of the story, a testament to the real, unfiltered experience of capturing nature's fleeting beauty.

If you've ever found yourself mesmerized by a sunset, I hope "Scammonden Sunset" resonates with you. It's a small window into a moment in time, a reminder to pause and appreciate the natural wonders that surround us.

Perhaps this inspires you to capture your own sunset, or simply to take a moment to appreciate the next one you witness. After all, every sunset is a unique masterpiece, painted across the canvas of the sky.

The video was filmed using a Nikon d3300 SLR camera.

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The video remains the copyright of Colin Green.

Exploring Scammonden from the Bridge

During a recent trip near Scammonden, I took the opportunity to film the area from the bridge that crosses the M62. This bridge, a fascinating landmark in its own right, goes by several names: Scammonden Bridge, a name that recalls the village submerged during the construction of the motorway and dam; Rainbow Bridge, perhaps inspired by the views it affords; and Brown Cow Bridge, a local moniker referencing a now-closed inn.

The bridge carries the B6114 road over the M62, which at this point sits at over 310 metres above sea level. The exposed location makes it susceptible to strong winds, a factor that once led the now-closed local school to provide a taxi service for children crossing the bridge during particularly blustery weather. Beneath the bridge, the M62, a vital artery connecting Liverpool and Hull, stretches across the north of England. Just west of the bridge lies the highest point on any motorway in England.

My videos offer eight distinct views of the surrounding area, including Stott Hall Farm, the impressive overflow of Booth Wood Reservoir, the substantial Scammonden Dam, and the panoramic natural beauty of the landscape. One of the videos is presented as a timelapse to offer a condensed viewing experience. Both videos are complemented by the evocative sounds of Kevin MacLeod's "Digya."

The second film is over 20 minutes long. It is the same film, but at normal speed, with 8 clips lasting no more than 3 minutes each. I have not replaced the soundtrack to give some idea of how windy it was with the wind noise and shaky camera, which was at the time on a tripod.