Monthly Archives: February 2022

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED, CONFUSED ON CROOKRISE.

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                                                   Crookrise and Embsay Crag in the early morning.

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Most of what I have to say today is irrelevant. Putin is focused on invading Ukraine on false premises, and a peaceful nation is being annihilated.

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The object of the day was to reach the trig point on Crookrise at 415m. Sir Hugh has had an ongoing mission to visit all the 76 trig points on OS map 103, mainly in the NW part of Lancashire, although today we are in Yorkshire. This would be the final summit, and he duly touched the shining white pillar early in the afternoon, congratulations on another challenge completed.

Fortunately, we had chosen a blue sky day and the views were sparkling. In the background, on the picture above, is the lovely little ridge of  Sharp Haw on the edge of the busy Dales town of Skipton. Down the Aire valley was all floods. In a northerly direction, the monument on Rylstone was prominent and the rift of Deer Gallows showed up clearly, reminding me of a long day when we climbed on all six crags on this edge of Barden Moor with a lot of rough walking between them.

Our rendezvous on this occasion was the free car park in Embsay village to make a hopefully interesting circuit, it turned out to be a full day in the hills. Above the historic village, once busy with mills, is the shapely Embsay Crag, and this was our first objective, although at the time we hadn’t realised it. In my mind, the path traversed below it en route to the reservoir, but no, we were slowly guided onto the summit. And what a summit, surrounded by gritstone craglets with a 360  degree view. The vast interior of Barden Moor with Deer Gallows, distant Beamsley Beacon, Embsay and its reservoir directly below, even more distant Pendle and the fell wall leading up to the Crookrise summit. Along the valley below, a steam excursion was puffing on the short stretch of restored railway.

C18th Embsay Kirk.

 

C19th Embsay Church of St. Mary the Virgin.

 

Embsay Crag.

 

Beamsley Beacon and Eastby Crag.

Looking back to Beamsley Beacon and Eastby Crag.

 

Embsay Reservoir and sailing club.

A problem was how to reach the route up onto Crookrise without loosing too much height, we failed and followed a decent path down to the reservoir. This took us past a secluded ghyll complete with a lively stream, magic.

Rough ground to Crookrise (top right)

 

Back up to Embsay Crag.

I was glad of not carrying a full climbing rack and rope up the steep track, past the perfect little boulders where we used to stop off for some warm up entertainment before the main event. Sir Hugh had promised a nostalgic visit to Crookrise Crag after the celebratory trig visit

Heading up newly flagged path.

 

Trackside boulders.

 

First view of the crag over the wall.

 

That trig point.

 

Floods in the Aire Valley.

 My regular climbing partner years ago lived in Skipton, still does, so Crookrise, on his back door, was a frequent venue for our early struggles on gritstone, I knew it well. From the trig point I thought I saw a way down to the base of the rocks – but our first attempt, and second, and third, ever more precarious, only landed us into a world of moss and conifers, many of those precariously toppled by recent storms. Obviously too far west. Back up to the top, we retreated several times and yet tried again without success. This was jungle warfare that stretched Sir Hugh, and I felt embarrassed and responsible. Let’s sit down and have lunch was my best solution. I didn’t know it as well as I remembered. I tried to distract him with views across to the splendid crag at Deer Gallows.

A tight squeeze.

 

Pulling on heather.

 

Temporary escape, time for lunch.

 

Deer Gallows and Embsay Crag.

 

Zoom to Deer Gallows.

Composure restored, we climbed the wall onto the access track and headed down the fell, our tails between our legs. More stiles were passed and investigated without any obvious ways down, but the last seemed to ring a bell in my memory. I was over and looking down on the End Slab of the main crag. Sir Hugh was ‘keen’ to follow, and soon we were stood below the slabs. The rock was in perfect condition, and I was regretting not throwing my rock shoes into my sack. But maybe my memories deceived me, the slab was steeper  and relatively holdless, drawing one on to even more difficulties higher up, which I may not be able to succumb. I was content therefore to admire smugly from terra firma. The rest of the crag stretching west into the trees will have to wait for another time, even I was loosing my enthusiasm.

There must be a way down.

 

At last.

 

Another time.

 

Can we go now?

Moving on…

Back on the descending track, we met up with a pleasant couple, ‘birders’ by the look of them, who were out for the day with their binoculars. In typical Yorkshire banter, they  commented on farmers, walkers and most emphatically irresponsible dog owners. On the whole, we had to agree with their sentiments, though we debated the finer points as we progressed down past the reservoir. Our contributions to bird watching were Greylag Geese on the water and Oyster Catchers swooping above.

Heading down.

 

Greylag Geese.

 

Oyster Catchers.

The industrial heritage of Embsay was in evidence, with mill chimneys and mill races as we entered the village past the Manor House. It was difficult to believe it was 4 o’clock back at the car, I’ve no idea where the time went. Sir Hugh hasn’t divulged his next project as yet.

Past history.

 

Manor House, 1665.

 

Could be interesting.

For Sir Hugh’s version of the day, see    conradwalks: Trigs 103 – Final trig of 76 – Crookrise Crag

and for those interested in the crags mentioned

UKC Logbook – Embsay Crag (ukclimbing.com)

UKC Logbook – Deer Gallows (ukclimbing.com)

UKC Logbook – Crookrise (ukclimbing.com)

    *****

ANOTHER INTERLUDE.

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Wintry Bowland.

After the high winds, torrential rain and a morning of persistent snow the sun came out Saturday afternoon, enticing me (and many more Longridge residents) to walk around the block.

The air was still and almost warm, the hills were brilliant white and the birds were singing in the hedgerows. There were lambs in the fields. Simple pleasures.

I was glad I made the effort yesterday as today we are back to powerful winds and more rain. Don’t you just love British weather?

Here comes Storm Franklin.

A PLEASANT INTERLUDE.

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My hatches are well and truly battened.  Storm Dudley has come and gone, and Storm Eunice is all around me. I won’t be venturing far – I have seen at close hand what a falling tree can do to a car. On the subject of trees falling, sadly I had one in my back garden yesterday, so I have been busy with the chain saw.

On a lighter note I had my family come visit me this week, a rarity in the last two years. There must have been an alignment of the planets so that both sons could join forces. We are still doing lateral flow tests before meeting – are we paranoid?  I appreciate their concern for their possibly vulnerable dad.

Along came my son from Preston and the partnership from Stretford with their two robust dogs. Seth, my cat, sensibly retreated upstairs for the rest of the day. After a healthy lunch I needed to get them out of the house and up the fell – referring to the dogs if not the adults.

I’ve mentioned before the plantation at Cowley Brook on Longridge Fell. This is where we headed for some exercise. The dogs made the most of it, charging through the undergrowth and jumping into any patch of water.

Phoebe watches on as Gizmo is all a blur.

Is nobody joining me?

Back home we relaxed whilst the dogs slept. To put it all into context I’ve watched the men’s and women’s teams make it through to the finals of the Olympic curling. Brilliant, as they say – ‘chess on ice’. And can anyone explain to me why Europe is on the verge of another world war?

AN INTERESTING AFTERNOON STROLL FROM CHIPPING.

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There is a lot of bad weather about. Heavy rain most of the weekend and this morning, with storms forecast for the rest of the week. But there was a glimpse of sun this afternoon and I had something in mind. A post by Eunice (more of her later) and a comment from Sharon reminded me that it was snowdrop season, as if I didn’t know – having included a picture of a clump in one of my recent posts. Snowdrops are one of the first Spring flowers to bloom, helping us out of the winter gloom with shiny white petals.  I wanted to view a larger expanse such as at Lytham Hall or Bank Hall, Bretherton, but I knew of a ‘secret’ place nearby.

Leagram Hall sits on the hillside above our lovely local village of Chipping, originally a lodge for the Medieval Deer Park. It was replaced by stone structures in the C18-19th when the Weld family inherited  the estate from the Shireburns (of Stonyhurst). The present house was built in 1965 by the Weld-Blundell family. I’ve never visited the house but often walk past on a bridleway through the ancient deer park. I knew of a walled dell within their grounds which is renowned for snowdrops at this time of year. I was heading there today.

The elusive Leagram Hall.

In the parkland there were signs of tree damage from the storms of last year. An ancient oak was lying on the ground. How the mighty are fallen.

Farther up the lane and over the wall I had my first glimpse of the snowdrop spread. I was keen to get a closer look and even thought about climbing over the wall. Just then a woman appeared from the direction of the house. After a greeting and comments on the weather I asked her if she lived here. Yes she did. (She must be one of the Weld-Blundells!)  I stated I had come to see and photograph the snowdrop display and wondered whether there was any chance of getting closer. She explained the gardens were private but then proceeded to show me a hidden entrance, said be careful and left me to explore.

Over the wall.

Inside the sanctuary.

I could have finished there but as the weather was improving I decided to continue my walk up the lane towards the Bowland Hills. Laund Farm, (laund was a grassy area in a deer park)  home to a large herd of Blue Faced Leicester sheep. They pride themselves in the quality of the sheep milk cheese they produce. There was a new batch of lambs to boost the flock.

Pendle and Longridge Fell across the ‘laund’

Since I was last this way a new sign has been erected by the Peak and Northern Footpaths Society, along with its dedication to some local footpath activist. I’m always pleased to see these classy additions to the countryside and at one time considered tracking them all down – a mammoth task, no doubt completed by someone.

 

I continued on past the scattering of buildings at Birchen Lee, all slowly becoming more gentrified. The access lane from there onwards has been recently improved giving easy walking to the road under Saddle Fell, the starting point for one of my favourite ways of climbing onto the Fairsnape-Totridge fells. Today I ignored the heights and strolled down to a junction of interestingly named lanes. Some research needed there.

I didn’t drop down to Wolfen Mill, originally Dewhurst’s spindle and fly works supplying the burgeoning local cotton mills but continued down the steep lane, Saunders Rake.  Heading down to Chipping this passes the site of the Bond’s cotton spinning mill which later became Tweedy’s foundry, now occupied by a cheese factory. Farther on is the millpond for the still standing Kirk Mill, originally a cotton spinning business and later part of the chair making empire. There is a wealth of historical information on Chipping’s industrial past at https://kirkmill.org.uk/

Most of the chair factory across the road has been demolished and there were plans to develop the whole site into a hotel and venue complex. Not much seems to be happening on that front – we are all in for some difficult economic years.

Chipping was sleepy today. The Cobbled Corner Café,  thankfully recently reopened, but closed on Mondays and Tuesdays. I shall have to have a cycle ride another time for cups of tea and toast. I remembered the last time I came this way and popped into the graveyard to pay my respects to Lizzie Dean’s grave under of the old yew tree.

A good use of a February afternoon and I would recommend this modest circuit, all on tarmac,  for keeping your feet dry at this time of year. There is far more to discover in Chipping than I have mentioned.

But beware storms Dudley and Eunice are on their way…

*****

 

SALT OF THE EARTH.

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                                             Salt’s Mill.  Oil on two canvasses.  D Hockney 1997.

Titus Salt was born in Morley  on 20th September 1803, the son of a successful wool merchant. He joined the family firm, which became one of the most important worsted companies in Bradford. He took over the running of the firm in 1833 when his father retired, and eventually owned five mills in Bradford. The city became a horror story of the Industrial revolution, with poor working conditions, squalid housing, polluted air and water supplies. Life expectancy, of just over eighteen years, was one of the lowest in the country.

To improve matters, Titus decided in 1850 to move his business to a green field site where he built an industrial community on the banks of the Aire and next to the canal. Salt’s mill, Italianate in style, was the largest and cleanest in Europe. At first his 3,500 workforce travelled from Bradford, but to improve their lot over the years he built housing for them. He integrated into the Saltaire village:  parks, churches, schools, hospital, almshouses, railway station, public baths, libraries and shops. But no Public House. Clean water was piped in, gas for lighting and heating, and outside loos for every house. He did charge a rent for his properties but provided superior living and working conditions, a model of town planning in the C19th.

Titus Salt died in Dec 1876 having given away much of his wealth to good causes. The business continued under his sons but over the years declined, wound up and sold to business syndicates in 1893.  Textile production continued into the mid C20th and finally closed in 1986. The village itself had been sold to the Bradford Property Trust in 1933 thus enabling the houses to be bought by their occupiers.

An outstanding entrepreneur, Jonathan Silver, bought the Mill the following year and within months opened a gallery exhibiting the work of his friend, Bradford-born artist David Hockney. With Silver’s enthusiasm, the mill developed into the vibrant space we see today. He died young, but the enterprise is still run by his family.

Saltaire was added to the UNESCO World Heritage List in 2001, recognised for its international influence on town planning.

Well with all that write up it was time I paid a visit to Yorkshire. A wet Sunday in February was chosen. I drove through the floods down the Aire Valley. You realise the scale of the mill and village as you pull off the hectic suburban road.  The car park was busy despite the foul weather. As well as the historic buildings and the connection with the artist Hockney: the mill now houses cafés, upmarket retail outlets, artist materials, an excellent book selection, antiques, cycles etc. All waiting to make a hole in your wallet, though the parking and entry are free. I had come basically to see Hockney’s artworks, but was impressed with everything else that was on offer. Everything is on a grand scale here, from the size of the stone building blocks to the massive indoor floor spaces.

 

You enter into the long ‘1853 Gallery’ with works by Hockney from different periods as well as a large selection of artists’ materials, all under the gaze of Titus Salt. The walls are all windows, so ingenuity has been needed to display the Hockney pictures. Time to get  used to the large scale of this place.  Hockney started his career at Bradford College of Art school (1953–57) and the Royal College of Art, London (1959–62), Portraits have always been an important part of his works and some early examples are exhibited here…

Red Celia. Lithograph 1984.

Margaret Hockney. 1997 oil on canvas.

…as well as some of his more recent computer generated portraits.

The next floor up was a gigantic book and poster shop where I had to be extra strict with myself. The queue for the diner looked daunting. Somewhere behind in the depths of the mill was an antique centre, an outdoor outlet and an upmarket home and kitchen showroom.

Having manoeuvred around all these, I arrived in a long gallery with some of Hockney’s abstract offerings from his time in Malibu Beach.

Round the corner was a stunning ceramic installation depicting Batley and Bradford by Philippa Threlfall, 1972.

I eventually found the way up to the top floor where I sat and watched a video of the history of Saltaire from which I gleamed my information for this post. In the next room were some historical artefacts.

As you move around the galleries, there are views out of the windows reminding you of the extent of this building and the surrounding village.

The major Hockney exhibition was on the top floor. In the first space was a video presentation of his iPad and iPhone pictures using the brushes app, which he emailed to friends. They came up three at a time and were a variety of vibrant styles. The larger exhibition was entitled “The Arrival of Spring” – a series of iPad paintings done on different days from his car parked on a Yorkshire Wolds lane from January to May in 2011. He made the most of the portability and speed of using the hi-tech iPad, capturing  subtle changes in the light. He was able to print them out on a large scale

“These pictures celebrate fleeting moments of intense beauty, and remind us of the importance – and the joy we get from looking closely.”

I’m ready for Spring – aren’t you? Worth clicking for enlarged images.

I came out of the mill to a broody winter day with hail showers moving in. I wanted to have a look at some nearby Saltaire streets, under the shadow of the mill, before the light disappeared. The terraced houses were obviously now desirable properties, and the shops on Victoria Street appeared prosperous. Chic Yorkshire.

Next time I will give myself more time – a grand day out.

TOCKHOLES – END OF THE DARWEN TRILOGY.

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For the third week in a row, we head to the Darwen Moors to complete another part of the footpath jigsaw. This time we park in Abbey Village, as do another 30 or so cars – a Bury rambling group is meeting up. The classic walk out of Abbey is through the Roddlesworth woods, past reservoirs, on route to Darwen Tower. We just managed to get a head start on this section.

Today we were heading in a round about way to Tockholes, that elusive village in the rough pastures west of Darwen Tower. Nobody just happens to drive through Tockholes, you have to search it out via narrow walled lanes, best done on foot as we were.

It is thought from archaeological findings that Tockholes was an ancient settlement from the Bronze Age. What is certain is that a significant Civil War battle took place nearby in the C17th, the remains of horses, cannonballs and bullets were found in a field in the village. After that, it became a centre for weaving and silk production. So what could we see today, there are over 20 listed buildings in the vicinity.

We entered the village from the moors above and came down Silk Hall Lane. The buildings here showed evidence of top floors used for weaving, with those long windows.

The footpath leading down to the rest of the village was a nightmare of awkward stiles and barbed wire, which were difficult for Poppy, the Airedale. Our thoughts turned to Sir Hugh and his wire cutting equipment. We were relieved to emerge opposite the grounds of St Stephen’s Church.  Dating from the reformation in the mid 16th century,  It was rebuilt in 1833 but fell into disrepair and was demolished and rebuilt again in 1961.

We sat in the relatively modern Lychgate (1906) for a brew and then explored the extensive graveyard which is said to contain 20,000 graves. An early C19th sandstone columnar sundial. There was an old school building from 1834 with a strange open air pulpit.  The stone porch of the 1833 building retained as an archway to the present insignificant church. Nearby on a cheese press base an old cross shaft and the rounded  Tocca stone beside it.  These are said to be Saxon, possibly a preaching cross, with the Tocca stone giving rise to the name of the village. ‘Tocca’  a Saxon surname and ‘hol’ a hollow. Probably not ‘touch stone’ as some legends have it, though the rounded stone was thought to have healing properties. We will never know.

‘The Touch Stone’

I seem to remember seeing a pinfold in the village on previous walks long ago, but could find no sign of it today. We did however come across an ancient well, again said to have healing properties, constructed with a so-called Norman Arch taken from a local hall. This would have been the only source of drinking water into the early C20th.

Time was passing, so we followed the ancient lanes past Tockholes Chapel, one of the first established non-conformist Chapels founded in 1662, the current building dating from 1880. Most of the old farmhouses and barns have been restored sympathetically to provide exclusive rural living.

Chapels Farmhouse.

Lower Hill.

I had bad memories of negotiating the rights of way through Red Lee Farms, where we were heading. It all seemed to go well today, we bypassed the lot somehow, which was good for progress, but I was disappointed not to see the old houses. We were back at the cars before the Bury ramblers.

Poppy seemed out of sorts today, I think she was telling us it was time for a change of scenery. Our trilogy is over.

Before we go I must make a mention of Abbey Village where we were parked. The name Abbey Village derives from Whalley Abbey, the major landowner until the reformation. Abbey Mill still remains the focal point of a largely intact early C19 industrial settlement. Established in 1840 by a John Park, it is one of the earliest surviving purpose-built integrated spinning and weaving mills in Lancashire. The rows of workers houses line the main street. The start of migration from cottage industries, as in Tockholes, to the mill towns.

*****

CATCH UP AROUND ALSTON.

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                                                                             Yesterday.

Today is murky and damp, this morning I’m still in bed reading when the window cleaner appears on his ladder. He comes the first week of each month, and I have to pinch myself that we are into February already. I chat to him, standing in my dressing gown as he moves around the house. He reminds me that one or two of my windows probably need replacing, another job to put on the slow burner of my ‘things to do’.

I tend to go into slow motion in the winter months, particularly at the start of the New Year. Somewhere I have a SAD light, but significantly have not been bothered to use it. Past winters have been shortened by regular trips to sunnier climes, but that is a thing of the past for me in the present pandemic. Even my local walking is curtailed by the persistent plantar fasciitis. I have a list of friends to catchup with, many of them lying low. Parliamentary matters are not helping. Even my annual Big Garden Birdwatch didn’t go to plan. Oh well, it was good that yesterday I had phoned JD and arranged a walk with him to get out of the house and catch up with his news. The last time we were out together was in July last year!  There have been several times when his close family have been infected or isolating, touch wood I have steered clear of any forms of Covid.

A simple walk was planned around the Alston area, Preston not Cumbria. The little blue car was parked up on Alston Lane by 11am, it had been raining until then. Off we went along familiar lanes, through farms and down soggy fields, until we were walking alongside the River Ribble. No navigational decisions were needed, so we chatted away the rest of the morning, we share a broad church. A few mallards were spotted on the river, but otherwise any countryside life was keeping a low profile.

Opposite Balderstone Hall is an ancient ford crossing of the river, which JD has completed several times in summer conditions. Yesterday, he was upset that gates leading to the river bank on our side were obstructed and locked. The reason maybe the new development being undertaken here. A large “architecturally designed” property is slowly being completed, no doubt at significant cost. We wondered about the environmental impact of such a design on this rural riverside. Maybe it has already won an award. From there we made our way slowly back up the valley escarpment via rather convoluted field paths, I was trying to avoid the hard roads. In parts, we used the out of favour Ribble Way path and ended up on the wrong side of barbed wire several times. We almost had a Starling murmuration from these trees……but not quite.

JD always makes a good cup of coffee, so I was glad to drive back to his house for the rest of the afternoon. His wife, recovering from a hip operation, probably had walked farther than us on her daily exercise routine around the village.

I had not taken many photographs, due to the dull weather and too much conversation, so for a better impression of the scenery by all means look at a previous walk.

However, a couple of pictures, harbingers of Spring, probably will do more for me than that missing SAD light. Having posted this, it’s time for me to get out of the dressing gown and do something useful this afternoon. I believe in yesterday.

*****