Monthly Archives: January 2022

WILD LANCASHIRE MOORS – CARTRIDGE HILL AND MORE.

I may be accused of plagiarism, today’s walk was almost a repeat of Michael’s recent exploration of these parts. I acknowledge his inspiration for this walk and accept that it would be difficult, nay impossible, for me to assemble a post of his standard. My delves into the internet came up with virtually the same history of the area.

We, the Rockman up from Bolton and I, start from the same Royal car park as last week but have another itinerary in mind. We noted the demolished mill’s pond on this occasion and then took the track up the moor. The Stepback Brook, culverted in parts, was followed past a pretty fall and into a sheltered copse known as Lyon’s Den, named after John Lyon, a seven-foot-high giant who apparently constructed a simple house of turf and heather here around 1790. There was no sign of his abode, but all around were signs in the landscape of abandoned coal pits and small stone quarries. The track we were following no doubt served one or the other.

We came out onto the windswept moors with views back to Darwen Tower wrapped in its temporary sheeting. Tracks go in all directions, but we take one to the west, leading to a shoulder with newish fencing and a gate. From there we make our individual ways, picking the driest parts up Cartridge Hill. At 402m this is the highest part of Darwen Moors and neither of us had visited it before. The hill itself was nondescript and rounded but had a stone cairn on the summit and excellent views over the Bolton hills and the Lancashire plain. Even wetter ground brought us down to pick up another pit track, this took us in the right direction under Turn Lowe. In these wild moors, finding a track you can follow relatively easily is a godsend not to be scorned.

Ruins of a farm appeared alongside the track – Higher Pasture Barn. Long since abandoned. I’m reading at the moment a book about the cruel Highland Clearances (On the Crofters’ Trail by David Craig) and I reflect back to all the ruined crofts I used to see on my Scottish stravaiges. In the late 19th and early 20th centuries many farmsteads on these Lancashire moors were abandoned either from natural relocation to the mill towns or by the water boards taking over the land for water catchment areas. A glance at the early OS maps shows their origins. I remember reading a learned history of the fate of the Haslingden Grane valley families when the reservoirs were constructed. A significant social clearing has occurred here on these  moors. Ironically, just down the road, Lower Pasture Barn has been saved from collapse and converted into an expensive luxury country residence.

Higher Pasture ruins.

More fortunate Lower Pasture.

But another extensive ruin was soon to be encountered on this walk. The short stretch of road to get there was a disgusting depository of rubbish – cans, bottles and take away plastic, that Bolton and Darwen can’t be proud of.

Hollinshead Hall has its own Wikipedia entry   I don’t remember visiting it before and was eager to explore the ruins. I wasn’t expecting such an extensive site. First we made use of some of the low walls for a bite to eat whilst a school trip played hide-and-seek. Once we had the place to ourselves, we could wander at will, postulating on the functions of the various spaces. Is there a master plan somewhere? What I had read about was the only remaining intact structure – The Well House and its spring. Probably the reason for the citing of the original C17th buildings, and also at one time a supposed cure for eye problems. We climbed up to have a look at it and to peer through the opening into the interior, where two large troughs are fed by an ornate Lion’s Head. The spring supplying the building is up above it, but I was distracted from further exploration by my phone falling out of a pocket into the precious waters.

The whole valley of the Roddlesworth, once meadows and pastures, has become a plantation after the water board’s purchase. We spend the next hour wandering along its old tracks, picking out sites of buildings slowly disappearing into the greenery. On the moors we meet few but down here dog walkers are out in force. We join some of them in the café for coffee and cake.

*****

DOG LITTER.

I’ve just come back from a ‘litter pick’ on Longridge Fell. It was a misty day with nothing better to do. The bag was half full of dog poo bags. My last post involved a lovely walk with Poppy, an Airedale terrier, and her responsible owner. No litter of any sort, human or canine, was deposited. Most dog owners I meet and chat to are insistent that they always clear up and dispose of sensibly. (Shazza and Eunice included I’m sure)

So, who are responsible for all those poo bags scattered across the countryside. Certainly not the dogs themselves. I suspect the same people who blazingly walk around the supermarket unmasked, who throw rubbish out of car windows, who park illegally in disabled bays, who block the pavements with their SUVs, who cut you up at motorway junctions with a finger in the air. Correct me if I’m biased, I’m getting old and crusty.

Come on, you selfish dog owners, bag it and take it home with you. Have a bit of responsibility, think about the environment and not yourselves.

Quite a collection – who will dispose of it?

ANOTHER DAY OUT WITH POPPY.

January 20.  Darwen Tower.

It’s almost 5 years since I had a day out with Poppy, the Rockman’s Airedale Terrier.

I didn’t remember the car park at Ryal Fold being so large, of course we ended up in different areas before successful rendezvousing. Whilst I was waiting, I got into an emotional conversation with  a gentleman from Darwen. He had walked up through Sunnyside Woods and was heading onto the fells, his local walk. He told me of the loss of his wife of 53 years during lockdown, and also of one of his sons. The conversation became tearful as he recollected their walks together and his now empty house. There is a huge amount of pent-up emotion from the last two years. I seem to come across these people.

The morning was perfect, frosty with bright sunshine, so lots of others were setting off on their perambulations. It was really too soon for a coffee in the café/information centre, so we just picked up the bridleway heading into the fold of hills past the workers cottages of Hollinshead Terrace. A cotton mill had stood where the car park is today. It was stone-built for Eccles Shorrock of Darwen in 1859. (He also owned India Mill in town, seen later today from above). At its peak, the mill had 333 steam-powered looms and employed 150 people. It was demolished in 1903.

National Library of Scotland, 1894 OS.

Once out onto the moor, Poppy went her own way, sniffing from grass to grass, the slow pace suited me. The frozen way led steadily uphill until it came alongside Stepback Brook. We were tempted to continue into the shady gorge and view its waterfall but decided to leave that for another day when we may explore the way farther south and perhaps the remains of Hollinshead Hall as well. No, we climbed up on a zigzag path out onto Darwen Moor. There were signs of disused mining shafts up here, ?coal. More tracks led away from long forgotten sandstone quarries.

A well-used track then headed straight to the tower. From our elevated position down to our right was Darwen, with the chimney of India Mill very prominent. More dogs joined in the fun with Poppy.

85ft high Darwen Tower, more correctly called Jubilee Tower,  was constructed in 1898 to mark Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee, the year before, but more importantly to commemorate freedom of access to the local fells. A dichotomy of interests, nonetheless. It was always known to my children as ‘the space rocket’ seen from afar.

An extract from Wikipedia is worth a read —                                                                                   Packmen, peddlers, farmers, and labourers used tracks and moorland paths to go about their business. In the 1870s the Lord of the Manor of Over Darwen, the Reverend William Arthur Duckworth, blocked ancient rights of way preventing access to the moor even though he was an absentee landlord. Game rights were a valuable commodity, and Duckworth did not wish to have his land devalued by trespassers on the moors. William Thomas Ashton, manager of Eccles Shorrock’s mines at Dogshaw Clough and Entwistle Moss used the moorland footpaths as well to deliver coal to farmers and other customers. Whenever Duckworth’s gamekeepers blocked his way, Ashton cleared the paths. The struggle led to the courts where Duckworth lost and in September 1896 people resumed walking the moorland footpaths. Ashton had died in 1884, his sons led a procession onto the moors in celebration.

Renovations of sorts were being carried out on the tower, and it was cordoned off, cloaked in scaffolding and sheeting.  Over the years there have been several repairs including a new steel dome winched into place by helicopter in 2012., the last time I was up here.

On our way down the badly eroded old quarry track, modern steel industrial units glistened on the Industrial side of Blackburn, with Pendle looking rather diminutive behind. Poppy made friends with some horses in the adjoining paddock. There seemed to be tracks going off in all directions, no doubt reflecting the early industrial past.

We were heading for Sunnyhurst Woods, a public park purchased by Darwen Corporation in 1902 commemorating Edward VII’s coronation. The Sunnyhurst Inn was not open, so we continued and entered the woods through the Lychgate. It was like entering another world of trees, ferns and deep secret valleys. A handy metal seat provided by The Friends of Sunnyhurst Woods was ideal for a drinks break as it was in the sunshine. Once lower down, we came out between the paddling pool and the Greenway Shelter (the bandstand). We realised we had never been farther downstream where there are other attractions – again another time.

Lots of families and dog walkers were making the most of the sunshine and exploring the paths. How lucky to have this area on your doorstep if living in Darwen. We found our way up the valley past Earnsdale Reservoir, with the tower overlording it above. Fields took us to the original C17th farmhouse at Ryal Fold and back to the car park. The Royal Hotel was now open and  people were enjoying a socially distanced and probably cold drink in the garden.

The 4-mile walk was easy, but I didn’t feel that my plantar fasciitis appreciated it. I spent a lot of time chatting to the Rockman so wasn’t concentrating on photography, but here’s a selection….

Darwen Tower across the frosty fields.

 

Hollinshead Terrace.

 

Onto the moor…

 

… leading the way.

 

The ridge to the tower, Blackburn and Pendle in the distance.

 

The mill town of Darwen.

 

Rocket men.

 

The Rockman, Poppy and friend.

 

Entering the Rabbit Hole.

 

Not a day for paddling.

 

The bandstand.

 

Follow me, keep up.

 

Earnsdale Reservoir.

Ryal Fold from Historic England.

The Royal.

Poppy had a great time, hopefully so did the Rockman.

Thanks to Michael of The Rivendale Review fame for reigniting my interest in this area.

*****

 

I HAD A PLAN.

On recent trips up Longridge Fell, I came across a new, at least to me, path deep in the trees west of the highest point. I noticed, at the end of this narrow corridor, light coming from the west. I calculated that if I was there as the sun was setting, the light would be concentrated through that point. That was the plan.

So today, after watching another farcical Prime Minister’s Question Time, I parked up on Jeffrey Hill just after three pm. The sun was already low, and the temperature was dropping. I hurried up the drying path towards the trees leading to the trig point. The decorated Xmas tree had been stripped of tinsel and baubles. Strangely, the tree with more environmental decorations hadn’t, I removed the remaining cardboard stars, now considered as litter. I digress.

After visiting the top, I took the damp track into the forest and diverted onto the ‘new’ path. All was gloom as I walked deeper into the trees. It was obvious that I had missed the ideal time, and the sun was setting past my portal. I suspect that two weeks ago would have been the optimum for the sun shining along the corridor of trees. There is no way back, I will have to wait till next year to test my theory.

In the past I have visited places in the world where the juxtaposition of some physical feature with the sun, moon or stars, at various times of the year has had some significance for the local populace. Our forbearers took a keen interest in astronomy. They derived a cyclical calendar predicting changes in the seasons, which they connected to their agricultural practises and pagan beliefs. Having a fixed physical point in the natural landscape helped them identify the passing of the year and its recurrence. A hole in a rock on the hillside or a nick in the skyline gave some sense of time. It was then only a short step to create a megalith, sundial or more complicated celestial instruments and then observatories.  This is all a little farfetched from my little pathway lining up with the setting sun.

By the time I was back at the car park there was only one vehicle there, thankfully mine, and as I drove back to the village the setting sun was flaming the low clouds.

LANCASTER, CANALS AND COAST.

I used the abandoned railways of Lancaster for several cycle rides last year, and today I wanted to include the Lancaster Canal in a more varied circuit. Down the Lancaster Canal towpath, along the Glasson Link, take the old railway along the Lune Estuary, old railway to Morecambe, sea front to Hest Bank and complete back on the Lancaster Canal to the aqueduct over the Lune. Almost a figure of eight. Perhaps the map will explain what I intended.

I park up, as usual, at old Halton station. The area is busy with university oarpersons. I have to ride a couple of miles to join the canal at the Lune Aqueduct. I notice for the first time some exclusive looking riverside houses on the far bank, foliage normally obstructs the view. The air is still, allowing various strong aromas to float across from the adjacent industrial units; a hoppy smell, acetone and rubber. These are the only clues as to what transpires behind closed doors. I wonder what finds its way into the river.

You may remember me writing last October about ‘a good Samaritan’ who came to my aid, or more correctly my bike’s. Well, there he is again, I don’t need assistance today but stop for a chat, like old friends, and a photo.

I don’t stop for many other photos after that, as I have documented the area well on other walks.1  2  3  4

There is a ramp leading up to the elevated canal right next to the Aqueduct. A well surfaced towpath leads me quickly through the centre of the city, passing the cathedral and warehouses on the way. I use a couple of crossover bridges which used to take the barge horses over without the need for uncoupling.

Soon I’m out into the countryside and the first people I meet are from my home village, walking the canal in stages, From here on I’m struggling. The towpath is very muddy and narrow. My tyres don’t grip and I slip and slide about, feeling in danger of a headlong dive into the canal. I walk the worst stretches.

Turning off onto the side canal to Glasson brings the same problems with the mud. There are six flights of locks on this stretch. I’m relieved and weary, arriving at Glasson Dock. I head straight over the bridge to my favourite café shop for a welcome rest, coffee and homemade pie, late breakfast/early lunch. I haven’t come far, but my average speed is well below 10mph.

Refreshed, I join the rail track alongside the estuary, the tide is out, for a much quicker ride back into the city. I pass right in front of the old warehouses, Harbour Master’s office and waterfront pubs of the renovated St. George’s Quay I need to explore this area of Lancaster more, the celebrated Maritime Museum is housed here. Ahead is the Millennium Bridge, which takes me across the Lune and onto the familiar rail track to Morecambe. St. George’s Quay is better viewed from this side.

Spot the shopping trolley.

The front at Morecambe is quiet, I have a quick ride down the stone pier before following the Bay around to Hest Bank. Side-streets take me back onto the Lancaster Canal and a much better towpath all the way to the balustraded Lune Aqueduct.

I’m pleased overall with this 28 mile circuit, level all the way with plenty of interest and of course those incomparable views across the bay. The second half of the ride has thankfully been far easier than those muddy canal paths to Glasson, for which I need to find an alternative before next time.

BARBARA HEPWORTH, ART AND LIFE – CATCH IT WHILE YOU CAN.

The artist and sculptor, Barbara Hepworth, was born in 1903 in Wakefield. Her modernistic art took her through Europe, and her final years were spent in St. Ives from the outset of the second world war. She always felt close to her Yorkshire roots, which influenced her work from an early age, so it is fitting that a large exhibition of her life’s output should be based in Wakefield.

Barbara’s early artistic development was nurtured by her school and she won scholarships to Leeds School of Art, followed by the Royal College of Art in London. Her early sculptures were directly carved into wood and stone, developing a modern abstract interpretation of human forms and their relationships to each other and the environment. Later she added holes to her forms, giving them an extra dimension. She travelled to Italy, learning to work with marble and on to Paris, visiting Avant-Garde artists like Picasso. As the war approached, she developed bolder geometric forms and stringed plaster carvings, reflecting the tension of the times. Post-war, now in St. Ives, she started bronze castings and larger metal installations. Her love of music and dance gave us paintings and forms full of intrinsic movement. Experiments with spacial objects came from space exploration, her talent was endless. I hadn’t realised that she died in a fire at her St. Ives studio, May 1975.

***

The Hepworth Wakefield gallery opened in 2011 to house the city’s art, championing  contemporary artists and providing a legacy for Barbara Hepworth. The original art gallery from 1934 had supported her early in her career.

David Chipperfield Architects design used the waterfront setting and industrial heritage of the site. The skylights and floor to ceiling windows introduce daylight into the gallery and give visitors views of the River Calder. The blocky concrete façades echo many of Barbara’s sculptures. Interestingly, the gallery sources the majority of its heating and cooling from the river’s flow.

We drove over the M62 in dire conditions, thankfully as we parked up, in the gallery’s car park, the rain and sleet stopped. A bridge leads across the River Calder, as far as here navigable as the Hebble Canal. The river was in full flow over the weir and the stark gallery seemed to be floating on the water. The e-ticket on my mobile worked, much to my surprise, and we were in. First stop the café where we enjoyed excellent coffee, much appreciated after the stressful driving.

There were 10 large high rooms set out on a clockwise circuit showing her works in roughly chronological order. As mentioned above, the lighting was superb and the tantalising different views of the surroundings gave brief interludes from the art within. Throughout, the signage was more than adequate and the interpretation panels highly informative, from which I gleaned most of my information above. Interspersed between the sculptures were many of her paintings from different eras. One fascinating gallery was set out to explain her techniques and featured many of her ‘tools’. My only regret was that touching was not allowed, presumably as a Covid precaution? Sculptures are meant to be touched.

A grand tour of her life, ideals and art. The exhibition closes on 27th February, as I said, “catch it while you can”.

***

The pictures below were taken on my phone and give an idea of the depth of her work.

Photo Iwan Baan. Hepworth Gallery.

I wasn’t that impressed with the gardens or their installations. Maybe just that time of year.

 

CYCLING AROUND FARLETON FELL.

I enjoy reading several blogs which have an affinity to my interests and location. I subscribe to a dozen or so and comment regularly, encouragement is always welcome. One such blog is beating the bounds where Mark writes about walking and nature with excellent wild life photography. He is often way behind with his reports and wrote recently of a cycle ride he almost completed, puncture problem, last August. It struck me as being an interesting ride on unfrequented lanes, and so today I parked up at Beetham Corn Mill for a similar journey.

The day was sunny with little wind, and the mist was just clearing from the valley bottoms as I set off. The garden centre was doing a roaring trade, judging by the number of parked cars. The lane was closed a little farther on, but I managed to squeeze past the tarmackers. Over the railway, motorway and canal, this is a major south north communication corridor, I turned onto a quiet lane through the dozen or so habitations that make up Farleton Village. As one proceeds up the motorway, the bulk of Farleton Fell is a landmark to the east.It rises steeply in bands of limestone with prominent scree slopes. There is climbing on the crags, but they were high on the skyline from my present viewpoint. I was going to loop around the northern nose of the fell.

A narrow gated road climbs and cuts across the northern slopes, one would be foolish to come this way in a family car. I did get off and push the steepest section, but then followed a lovely undulating ride through this elevated limestone land, passing the occasional remote farm. The Barbon and Casterton fells were in haze, and I could just make out Ingleborough in the distance. We are just on the edge of the Lake District here, but the high fells were hiding.

A high lane bisects the Farleton and Hutton Roof crags, one for another time. I continued into the hamlet of Hutton Roof. Stopping at the small St. John’s Church, built in 1880–81. The architects were the prolific Lancaster partnership of Paley and Austin whom I keep coming across throughout the NW. It replaced an earlier chapel from1757. The church was closed, but I had a look around the graveyard and came across a roughly hewn limestone memorial with the names of those from the Parish killed in World War One. The vicar of the church at that time was Rev Theodore Bayley Hardy. As chaplain to the British Army, Hardy was the most decorated non-combatant in the First World War, receiving the Victoria Cross, the Distinguished Service Order, and the Military Cross for the unselfish assistance he gave to the wounded. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theodore_Hardy is worth a read, without wishing to glorify war what a contrast of dedication and humanity compared to some of our present day leaders.

The village of Hutton Roof is one street of farmhouses and stone cottages. We used to park here before taking the steep track up through the bracken to reach the extensive bands of limestone craglets which were a joy to boulder on as the sun set in the west.

It was mainly all downhill now to Burton-in-Kendal, although I did take the little lane through sleepy Dalton en-route, which gave me views to the southwest side of Farleton Fell. Burton was a staging post on the road going north and has some fine C17 and C18th buildings. On the outskirts of town is one of those signposts dating from when this area was Westmorland.

Back across the motorway, canal and railway I cross the busy A6 onto leafy lanes heading to Beetham, but a navigational error brings me back out onto the A6 where fortunately a pavement sees me safely into the village.

By chance, I get into conversation with a local couple. She had been born in Hutton Roof and went to school alongside St. John’s church. They were bemoaning the fact that this whole area, once a backwater, is becoming a tourist hotspot. I felt the lanes I cycled today were a reminder of those ‘Backwater’ days. Highly recommended.

*****

BEACON FELL – Déjà vu.

A couple of weeks ago I wrote of the devastating storm damage in the forests on Longridge Fell, well today I witnessed the same on Beacon Fell. The difference being that here, as it is a public park, the foresters have been busy clearing much of the damage making the place safe for the public. I imagine that at the time of the storms, early December, the public would have been excluded.

I only came up here this afternoon for a short walk, I seem to have been up and down Longridge Fell most days during the holidays – time for a change of scenery.

The sun was trying to make an appearance.

Parked up in the little quarry on the quieter east side of the fell, a modest circuit was completed from there. The little pond was looking particularly attractive in the low light. I wish I could paint. Round the corner piles of cut timber started to appear and it was obvious that there had been a lot of storm damage in amongst the trees. Logging machinery was scattered about, being a Sunday, nobody was working. I expect that when they replant, they will use more sustainable native species. Where there is destruction, there is hope.

Not a word about the virus.

SWANS, LIES, DAMN LIES AND STATISTICS.

I should be writing of a glorious winter’s day cycling around Preston’s Guild Wheel with calming pictures of ‘Swan Lake’ in Brockholes Nature Reserve. But no I’m lying down for my blood pressure’s sake having endured today’s Prime Minister’s Question Time. Misquoting those statistics and lie after damn lie from Boris Johnson.

Worse for him today he was questioned keenly by Angela Rayner,  who is much sharper and incisive than her Leader.  She pointed out that in October he had said fears of inflation were unfounded, so how did he explain inflation running at 6%?  Flustered, he just lied, “I said no such thing”.  As is the fault of Question Time the speaker, Lindsay Hoyle,  moved on to the next question but Angela came back at him later with a dubious point of order stating that a video on Sky was available with his damning interview. Touché.

In his subsequent statement on the Covid crisis I expected his blaze “riding out the Omicron wave” and “putting the NHS on a War Footing”  – whatever those phrases mean when our hospitals are one by one going under with the pressure of admissions, staff shortages and declaring ‘critical incidents’.  SNP’s Ian Blackford, always entertaining and to the point, twisted in the knife with further questions which ruffled Boris. He has no answer or remedy for these problems, and more worryingly seems unconcerned.

I’m sure this will be highlighted in most of tomorrow’s papers and media, but in the meantime my blood pressure is still critical, and I worry about the state of our fragile Democracy whilst this serial perjurer is Prime Minister.

I, and I hope the public, have had enough of his lies, damn lies and statistics.

NEW YEAR — OLD TRAILS.

How many Bank Holidays do we need? I’ve eaten all the sprouts. I’m getting bored walking up and down Longridge Fell. The New Year has come and gone, and I have nothing to write about. A quiet news week, as they say. So, I would like to share with you this simple video. Not a lot of explanation is necessary. I have some vague hope for the future of our precious wildlife with people like Chris Packham about.

I’m sure that will have resonated with a few of you. There is now real pressure on landowners to stop trail hunting on their properties and public opinion is swinging that way after Mark Hankinson, the director of the Masters of the Foxhounds Association, was recently found guilty of encouraging others to hide the illegal hunting of live foxes behind a “smokescreen” of trail hunting.  But don’t rely on any help from our Government if this is the attitude of our Prime Minister…

Boris Johnson article describing his ‘semi-sexual’ love of fox hunting resurfaces

Here’s to 2022 whatever it brings.