Monthly Archives: October 2023

A SUNDAY STROLL AROUND BLEASDALE.

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This is one of my favourite walks for the wetter months. Virtually dry underfoot the whole way and yet in touch with the imposing Fells of Bowland. I’ve been walking these paths for 50 years since moving to the area. We used to push our two young sons around in a double buggy in the early seventies, remember those. CaptureBuggy

I keep returning and have since introduced my grandchildren to the delights.  But looking back at my recent traverses, there have been many on here, I always seem to have walked anti-clockwise from Bleasdale Church. Time for a change.

I am always looking for somewhere new to explore locally. Today, despite the clocks going back and giving me an extra hour in bed, I’m not really up and going till midday. I have missed my chance to cycle the Fylde Coast or even the Guild Wheel, it will be dark or gloomy before five. So I fall back on the tried and trusted – Bleasdale Estate. But let’s look at the map and why not go clockwise for a change or even for the first time for years, unlikely though that seems.

The mention of Bleasdale Estate may jog memories in some of you of the disastrous court case in 2018 of their gamekeeper, James Hartley, accused by the RSPB of raptor persecution. Technicalities ruled the damming video evidence of his crimes inadmissible. I still question the partiality of the judge. Is Mr Harley still employed on the estate? Have a read for yourself – Case against Bleasdale Estate gamekeeper collapses as RSPB video evidence ruled inadmissible – Raptor Persecution UK

Putting that all aside I park near the Lower Lodge, I’ve always wanted to live there, it’s so cute. The road is still marked Private, but pedestrians seem allowed, I’ve never been challenged, famous last words.  Now that the estate have introduced a ‘Glamping’ site quirkily called ‘Lantern and Larks‘  on their property (more of that later) there is more traffic up and down the private lane. P1000304

I must say that everything about this estate, maybe apart from their raptor persecution problems common with most shooting estates, is immaculate. They obviously take a pride in their appearance. The driveway past the lodge is newly mown either side to perfection. The Bleasdale Fells are in the background of every view on this walk. Since I was last here there has been a lot of clearance of the mixed plantation on the right which was becoming invaded with the dreaded rhododendrons. It will be interesting to see how they develop it further with plantings. P1000306P1000305P1000311P1000310

Across the way, as I walk down the manicured lane, Bleasdale Tower, built in the early 19th century sits at the base of the fells. The sun is not quite making an appearance, but the temperature is high for almost November. There is not a drop of wind and all is silence as I stroll up towards the Tower. Well not quite because a delivery van keeps passing backwards and forwards looking for some address.  It won’t be easy out here when the post code covers a vast area. A lady dog walker helps him out – hopefully as he speeds past me to the remotest of houses. P1000308

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I walk on past the buildings that at one time in the C19th served as a Reformatory School for Preston.   North Lancashire Reformatory for Boys, Bleasdale, near Garstang, Lancashire (childrenshomes.org.uk)  P1000314

The lady with the dog catches me up as I’m taking photographs of stone walls. I’m reading a book by Angus Winchester all about Dry Stone Walls, recommended by Walking Away,  and I’m keen to put it into practice. I would hazard a guess that these walls are mid C19th when the estate was being established. Her dog photo bombs my picture of an old ‘gate’. P1000315P1000316P1000321P1000323P1000325

The lady lives in a property on the estate and tells me she was born at Vicarage Farm along the way. That brings back memories of my attending that house in the middle of the night, when GPs did home visits. I’m talking about the late 70s or early 80s. She recalls her mother telling her of an occasion requesting a visit to her ailing aunt in this remote farm and the doctor saying put on all your lights, and I’ll be able to find you. That was probably me. What a small world.

She talks of living out here and attending the local school and church. The school is now closed, but the church, St Eadmer, is open and has a service once a month. She disappears into a farm to meet a friend but tells me to look out for the original site of the school marked by some stones along the way.

On the old track, now grassed over, and in my own world I startle to hear a bike bell ringing behind me. A cyclist is taking a shortcut home to Chipping. He dismounts, it’s muddy anyway, and we walk together chatting about all things cycling. I forget to look for the old school foundations after the vicarage, next time. We also pass the diversion to Bleasdale Circle, though I doubt I would have taken it as the fields are so waterlogged. At the little school I take the estate road going west, and he pedals off down the main track. P1000328P1000329P1000330

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It is along this stretch of lane are the Glamping pods, Lantern and Larks. They don’t look the most attractive, a cross between a shed and an awning from this vantage point. Turns out they are part of a National Group with other locations. As you can imagine they are not on the cheap side of accommodation, but where is nowadays? In their blurb they talk about the wild life to find in the surrounding area and highlight the Hen Harrier. It is these grouse shooting estates that are responsible for most of the deaths of the Harrier, a mixed message there.P1000335P1000340P1000338

Just past here on the right over the infant Brock is an old packhorse bridge said to have been on the way from the estate properties to the church and school. I would like to know more. Cutting across some fields I’m soon back at the car from there.  P1000341P1000342

Well that has been a very satisfying round.

***

CaptureBleasdale.

FISH AND CHIPS.

20231025_114510More of a TripAdvisor review than a walk blog.

You may remember a walk I did a few weeks ago with Mike as a recce for of his group’s outing. Well Wednesday was the appointed day for the real thing, the monthly walk. The car park at the Hare and Hounds, Abbey Village, soon filled up, greetings made and boots were donned. The planned route followed paths through woods around the Roddlesworth Reservoirs. I came along as an extra, although I do know several of the other walkers – there were 24 altogether, oh and two dogs. That sounds an unruly number for the leader, Mike, to keep an eye on.

On the way over he was concerned that the group, who are prone to dawdle whilst they chat, wouldn’t complete the walk in time for the booked lunch; that areas of the way were excessively muddy; was it too steep in parts; would the small pub be up to providing a good meal for group. Getting lost was not an option. At least the weather was a perfect still blue sky day. 

All went well on the walk. Everybody kept up more or less, the dogs were well-behaved. Most people avoided the muddy, but best scenic, section alongside the upper reservoir, I took a few that way and met up with rest a little farther on. Most of the spectacular backdrop to these woods and the significance of the reservoirs was lost on the throng – who needs insights when you are busy chatting? (My original post gives you all that and photos to boot, I didn’t bring my camera today)

Back at the pub the bar was inundated with drink orders from the  couple of dozen arrivals. Credit to the barmaid for efficient and friendly service. Everyone seated, and the food arrived in fairly quick succession, a feat I admire from the chef. All seemed happy with their choices, there was a German slant to the menu as ‘mine host’ hails from there. Two hours passed, and then the crowd dispersed having thanked Mike for his excellent walk. I wonder if any will return to sample and appreciate the beauty of this area in a quieter slower mood. 

My fish and chips were perfect. 

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ALL QUIET ON THE MORECAMBE FRONT.

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It’s taken two months for my car to be repaired after my stupid reversing accident on August Bank Holiday, https://bowlandclimber.com/2023/08/30/not-my-finest-hour The main problem was not being able to import the parts from the EU, I wonder why. (As an aside, today in the supermarkets there are no tomatoes as we switch from home produced to imported.) My unfortunate accident occurred after I had been cycling along the excellent cycleways out of Lancaster, and not having my estate car the last couple of months has prevented me getting to these ‘off-road’ venues. Cycling around the lanes of Bowland is scary with fast moving traffic and agricultural juggernauts. I nearly got ploughed into by an overtaking driver on the lane where I live a few weeks ago. Hence, I decided to wait until I could get back using my car to take me to safer and flatter cycleways.

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Today was the day. I loaded my bike into the estate and set off to Lancaster, more particularly Halton old station by the Lune. First time out in the repaired car, it was like driving a brand-new car out of the showroom, you know that anxious feeling.  I’m not having much luck with traffic these days. On Saturday my trip out to the Trough of Bowland was blocked by an accident just  before Dunsop Bridge, fortunately I knew the roads from Whitewell to Cow Arc that then had me over the lovely scenic route to Newton that didn’t take me much longer. Today the A6 going North was a nightmare with traffic avoiding the congested M6. But no matter I was parked up at Halton before the  afternoon turned to dusk. How quickly it does so now, it gets worse when the clocks change at the end of the month – that’s the light not the roads (hopefully).

I took it easy, not having been on the bike for a while. The old railway line (Morecambe to Wennington) took me into Lancaster and over the Millennium Bridge to pedal into Morecambe. All very familiar. 

As one arrives at the sea front you have to stop and gaze across Morecambe Bay to the disant Lakeland hills. The stone pier was high and dry today at low tide. Photo stop. And then alongside the Midland Hotel, Art Decor or Streamline Moderne, where people were gathering for lunch in the panoramic dining room. I keep meaning to go in for a no doubt expensive coffee – but I’m usually dressed like a canary when I’m passing on my bike. A dedicated visit is the only way.

The promenade was quieter than usual despite half-term. I don’t understand ice creams on a cold day, fish and chips a far better option taken by many. The site for the Eden Project is fenced off but no sign of any progress, let’s hope they get the finances to go ahead. It looks rather small to me. There was nothing to stop my trip along the coast, I’ve done it so many times. I was soon on the canal towpath and enjoying my sandwich on my favourite bench, the one decorated with a canal motif. The seat was dedicated to someone who had died aged 70, that seems young to me these days.

The ride along the towpath is easy, and I was soon back at the magnificent aqueduct over the Lune. P1000278P1000280

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I had an option to visit friends but in view of my last episode and not wanting to push my luck I just headed to the motorway and drove home. The car is safely parked in my drive, not a scratch on it. A quiet day all told.

COME WITH ME.

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To misquote Laura Kuenssberg. Morning, come with me. I’m not going to go easy on you, but I’ll be fair. Shall we get on with it? Here we go.

If I have an hour to spare for exercise or some time between rain showers I inevitably end up doing a circuit in a nearby woodland. I’ve been up there  three times this week, no matter the weather, it’s different every time. Far better than walking around the roads or wet fields. It might be worth your while bringing boots or wellies as at this time of year there are some wet areas, nothing serious. Parking is easy, about 10 minutes out of town, some of you may know it.

Through the gate and a track heads straight on into the new plantation. A way through has been created by dog walkers and perhaps myself. It winds between the newly planted deciduous trees and the regrowth of conifers since part of the wood was felled several years ago. It is good to watch the growth year by year of these trees. I do wonder though, without thinning, the conifers may outstrip the planted oaks, beech, birch, mountain ash and hollies. It is the strong oily odours of the conifers that endure as you push your way through.

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The bracken is dying off and the heathers a dull brown too. Autumn colour is just starting in the trees. Flowers are replaced by different varieties of fungi, I wish I could identify more of them. There is always bird song up here but the bees and butterflies have gone for the year.P1000234

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Onwards the path reaches two isolated, tall, dead trunks from the original forestry. They stand like two sentinels spearing the sky, a good marker for a faint path going right and climbing the hillside, again winding its way between trees. Higher the track is easier to follow now the bracken is dying back and eventually comes out on the rim of a deep quarry, a large hole in the ground, filling up with water at this time of year. Time for a break, look back down over the plantation and the Ribble Valley, check out the quarry for bird life. There are deer up here too.P1000239

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Heading back down look out for a right branching path traversing through the new plantation below the sombre remaining Spruce. More twist and turns and one comes to a tumble down wall, evidence of fields before the forest was planted by the water board of the time. A wide track/forest break leads straight on into an ever darkening environment. Death pervades the atmosphere. Yes, these forests were a bleak monoculture aimed solely at timber production. P1000246P1000245

You may find a stone cairn which is the junction for heading back down through the trees, many of which appear dead, to the forest track and greenery. There is a sawn off stump here, and I often place a pebble on it only to find next time it’s gone. ‘Anti cairn’ walkers or some animal in the night. P1000249P1000250

Take a right and follow the wide track, sharing it with a stream which tends to drain along it halfway. At the end there is light as one emerges into the felled plantation. P1000253P1000254P1000256

A swerve  right and then a dink left down the hillside. There are some wet patches along here, but eventually you hop across a ditch and reach the lower path by the brook. This week it has been lively and could be heard long before it was reached. P1000259P1000261

Walk up the slope alongside the brook, again easier now the bracken is dying back. Another wall is met and a bit of a scramble down to a side stream waterfall where a miniature causeway has appeared in recent years. I always add a stone to it when I pass. The flow of water will probably wash them all away this winter. P1000263

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For a brief moment you come out onto the open hillside where barn owls quarter at dusk. Higher up alongside the water there has been extensive tree planting. But we don’t go that way, instead we hop across a wall back into the original forest. There are different fungi on this stretch, yellowish ones that are quickly eaten, by slugs? The way onwards is clear but to either side is primeval swamp. The gales of the last couple of years have caused devastation, but it will all rot away given time, wonderful for diversification of the environment. Don’t stray from the path. P1000268P1000270

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And then you are back at the road. P1000276

Two kilometres of discovery, reflection and peace.

Take your time and enjoy all it has to offer, it’s good for the soul.

Hope you spot something new and maybe go around the other way next time – it’s different.

ANOTHER SURPRISE.

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Following on from the unexpected meeting with Bruno the other day I had a surprise of a different sort today.

The approaching storm Babet seems to be passing us by. Yes it is windy, but the rain forecast has gone elsewhere leaving a sunny morning. A good opportunity to get up to Dunsop Bridge and have a better look at The Trough of Bowland Quarry which I’m supposed to be assessing for an upcoming new guide book to Lancashire climbing. I had a brief look in back at the end of July, but there were Peregrines about and the high bracken made exploration impossible.

The roads are quiet, and I enjoy the ride out through the Hodder valley and into the jaws of the Trough road. P1020492 The quarry is hidden away just before the road starts its winding ascent.  It’s late morning when I park up under the old Sykes Lead mine and the roadside Lime Kiln. The quarry faces west so should be sheltered from the easterly wind. A regular procession of motorcyclists pass me as I walk up the road to the gate.

A faint path leads into the quarry, all is peaceful and yes I’m out of the wind below the 70-foot wall of limestone. I have brought my extra long rope, so I should be able to abseil to the ground on it doubled. The bracken is dying back, and I can make my way up the right-hand side. It is steep, and I’m out of puff by the time I’m at the top. I’m concerned about where I can abseil from, the ground slopes steeply down to the top rim of the rock. I seem to remember from years ago trees above the main part but some of these have gone, and I’m limited to the far right side of the quarry. Being extra careful on the steep slope a solid birch tree is selected well away from the edge and using a sling around it I am able to anchor my rope. Gingerly I lower myself to the edge and peer over, my double rope makes the ground when I toss it down, that’s a relief. I should have had a photo looking down for those of you with a tender disposition.

I start to lower carefully as the top rocks are loose in . Before I toss any loose stuff down I bring my ropes back up out of the way, not wanting them damaged by falling rocks. One of the climbs here is called Guillotine, on the first ascent a dislodged rock cut through the climbers rope – not what you want to happen. I am starting to enjoy myself and the rock is generally sound. There is some good climbing here. I clear away a few saplings from some of the ledges as I come down, but this is just a preliminary inspection before deciding whether it would be worth the effort of a proper clean – yes we climbers are a bit obsessed. After some lunch I will go back up and have a closer look. On the photo, if you enlarge it, you can see my rope coming down just right of centre. 20231018_124750

As I am reaching the bottom I hear vehicles ascending a track on the fell on the opposite side of the road from the quarry. Strange. I thought I had heard voices up above me a little while earlier. Was I going to get challenged as to my right to be in there in the first place? By now there is a quite a crowd gathering across the way, and worryingly they all are carrying guns. The penny drops, and I realise I’m in the middle of a shoot. The beaters are coming across the fell above me and the guns are waiting to fire at whatever prey they are after, hopefully not me in the middle.

Time to get out of the firing line, I don’t know whether they can see me. Pull the rope down quickly, but no it keeps jamming. No shooting yet. Eventually I can just shove the rope into my sac and set off to walk out. They can see me now. I can vaguely hear them discussing me and expect a reprimand when I reach the road. But no they all seem friendly and wonder what I was doing in there, I apologise for getting in the way, but they don’t seem concerned as they are now banging away at birds flying over them. It gets very noisy. I try to take a video of the commotion, but it is difficult to anticipate when the birds will appear and the firings start.

Back at the car, now surrounded by 4X4s.  I talk to a man involved with the shoot – he is actually the caterer for their slap-up meal later. He tells me they are partridges and this is a sporting shoot as they fly so fast. Maybe only one in ten bite the dust, as opposed to grouse shooting when every two or three are shot. The shoot releases over three thousand partridges on this fell alone every year for the ‘sport’ – can you believe it. I bite my lip, I’m not as strong protestor as Greta Thunberg and I feel intimidated by all the guns. I do try to get a gentle dig in about whether they are still using lead shot, he is evasive with his answer and explains that most aren’t for consumption as there is little meat on them!

So it’s all for fun, as if I didn’t know it.

I’ll stick to enjoying the countryside in my own way and will be back in the quarry another day, but perhaps not on a Wednesday.

C’EST LA VIE – C’EST LE BRUNO.

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In these dark days as Israel sets out to destroy Gaza and its poor unfortunate Palestinian people some light relief is needed. ( I hope I won’t get arrested for that particularly accurate piece of free speech)  Along comes Bruno, a loveable French eccentric cycling around Europe, indeed the world given a chance.

I don’t know Bruno but am about to come face to face with his formidable Gallic presence.

A mysterious morning phonecall from Mike says he has a roving cyclist in his drive whom I might be interested in meeting, come around. Could be one of my passing acquaintances I think and off I go. There in the drive is this man and his touring bike with attached trailer, quite a common site on the lanes of Britain. I have met many an interesting European on the roads and have been amazed at their tenacity, endurance and sociability. I suppose I did it once.

The story so far – he is cycling along Lancashire’s quiet country lanes when, probably from the hawthorn hedge cutters, one of the wheels on his trailer deflates. It is surprising how quickly that slows you down. He pulls into my friend’s drive and asks for a bucket of water to diagnose the source of his puncture. Their combined efforts haven’t sorted out the problem, repair plasters haven’t stopped the leakage. 20231016_121606

There is still a leak from the side of the repair. Despite this Bruno is happy to talk at length about his exploits and the many previous and future destinations on his travels. He is keen to show us extracts from radio and TV appearances in Europe and other countries. His broken English and our wrecked French leads to some amusing conversation. When I took out my phone for a photo of the ever increasingly comic situation he demanded a video of his proposed next visit to the USA for YouTube. From what we can gather he had crossed America coast to coast on a couple of occasions. He has been on the road for 14 years – sleeping in barns if possible – hard to believe. He had a map in one of the many pockets on the bike to show us his travels. By now most of his worldly belongings are spread out on the drive but no progress  is made on the puncture. 20231016_121907

Mike goes off to phone Halford’s to see if they have this small size 22 inch tube in stock. He is met with directions to their website for what’s in stock – no luck there. I would have happily driven Bruno and his tube down there for a replacement.

Having reinstated the tube into the tyre with difficulty it still deflates, as expected. I tried. Meanwhile, Bruno, to reinforce his experience as a global adventurer, shows us all the food he carries as well as his Stetson hat ready for his USA visit. Gregarious to a fault.20231016_122652

Plan B. Another friend and his wife live around the corner, they are keen cyclists and work from home so should be in. I feel I can ask their help – that’s what friends are for. “This is Bruno”  holding his inner tube, I explain  “he is going around the world but has a puncture.”  Jonathon blinks but rises to the challenge and takes us into his garage, aka  bike shed. Michelle appears and after a chorus or two of ‘Michelle my Belle’ we get down to business. Jonathon dares rip the old patch from the inner tube. A feat I had resisted In case I accidentally inflicted Bruno onto Mike’s hospitality for the night. Michelle appears with a coffee, “pas de lait, mais six sucre s’il vous plaît“. As a perfect hostess there are three shortbreads and two mini chocolate Swiss rolls on the tray. As Jonathon and I discuss the best way to repair the puncture the shortbreads are dunked and quickly eaten. I didn’t have the French for ‘dunked’ but I think he understood as the Swiss rolls disappeared into one of his many pockets.

Back to Mike’s, who has wisely had a sandwich in our absence. In the drive is the shipwrecked bike trailer. Renewed energy and determination with some brute force saw the inner tube back into the tyre and back onto the trailer. J’espere c’est bon. 20231016_140752

It takes some time before Bruno packs up all his possessions in what to me appear flimsy polythene bags. 20231016_142146

Much later we see him off on the quieter way and perhaps with some relief onwards to Scotland, but I fear for his health as the temperatures drop. Bon courage. 20231016_142317 20231016_142406

Let me know if you come across him. You can find him on YouTube.

We have been into poetry recently and Eunice, a fellow blogger, has come up with this lovely effort. Thanks.

BC got a phone call from Mike
Who said “There’s this guy with a bike
In my drive, with a puncture
And just at this juncture
He’s in quite a bit of a stew”

So BC drove himself round to Mike’s
To offer some help with the bike
But the patched up repair
Was still leaking air
And the language was turning quite blue.

A phone call to Halford’s ensued
But they couldn’t supply the right tube
So BC rang a friend
In the hope he could mend
The puncture, which they couldn’t do.

With coffee and cakes from Michelle
And a bit of a sing-song as well
A solution was made
On the best way to aid
Poor Bruno, without more ado.

The tube was put back on the bike
With some brute force from BC and Mike,
Then back on the road
Went Bruno with load
And they waved him off into the blue. 

Eunice.

***

And in honour of Michelle, my friends, Bruno, France and the day in general.

PENNINE POETRY – MIST.

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Simon Armitage’s Stanza Stones – Mist.

We, Clare, JD and I, are well on schedule for our quest to visit the final Stanza Stone for today. After the Snow and Rain along comes the Mist.

The scenery changes on our onward Northern drive, deep wooded valleys crowded with solid stone terraced mill houses.  Cragg Vale, Mytholmroyd (birthplace of Ted Hughes, Poet Laureate 1983 – 2008) Hebden Bridge, Pecket Well. We start dropping off the moor into Oxenhope when a steep narrow lane brings us back into the hills looking for somewhere to park under Nab Hill.

CaptureMist.

A muddy track leaves the lane, we check GPS that it is the correct one, a Stanza Stone waymark is soon noticed. Passing small quarries, no soaring climbing faces here, the rock is softer and splits into thin slabs possibly to be used as stone roof tiles common in Yorkshire at the time. We are on the lookout for a larger quarry on the right and then a stone cairn. Wind turbines look down on our wanderings. The problem is that there are several piles of stones on the edge of the moor, when is a pile of stones or a stone shelter a cairn? I dismiss the first stones and head farther towards an obvious larger cairn, ignoring smaller ones on the way. There is doubt in the team. The clue we have is to drop below the cairn to find slabs of rock. Nothing obvious here, how far down the slope should we go? We repeat the process under the other ‘cairns’. JD wanders off to pinpoint the OS map’s indication of the stone with his GPS, that doesn’t help. Clare scouts the lower ground, there are lots of slabby rocks about. I ponder that not being able to find the Mist Stone in the mist would be ironic, we are having difficulty on a perfect day. At last back at the first pile of stones we discover the correct slabs. P1000198P1000218

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The story goes that one slab was lifted in situ for Pip Hall to carve, it had a hairline crack down the centre and as the stone was moved it split, much to the consternation of the workmen. Undaunted Pip carved each one independently to later place them together, so that the lines hopefully read as one. (The picture of the split comes from their book) One has to give some thought to this lady out on the moor in all weathers carving away. These slabs are of a softer grit than the ones previously visited, Snow and Rain, and the lettering paler. Simon’s poem is equally evocative though, looking out over the valleys and moors where the Bronte Sisters once roamed for inspiration. Lichens are spreading out over the letterings giving them a more ancient look than their mere 12 years – come back in another 12 years. Someone’s ashes are scattered around and will slowly be blown across the moor or crushed underfoot.

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The split slab back in 2011 before repositioning.  

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Mist.

Who does it mourn? What does it mean, such
nearness, gathering here on high ground
while your back was turned, drawing its
net curtains around?

Featureless silver screen, mist
is water in its ghost state, all inwardness,
holding its milky breath, veiling the pulsing machines
of great cities under your feet, walling you
into these moments, into this anti-garden
of gritstone and peat.

Given time the edge of
your being will seep into its fibreless fur;
You are lost, adrift in hung water
and blurred air, but you are here.

The three Stanza Stones we have visited so far have exceeded my expectations and I can’t wait to return with our team to the Ilkley Area, home of the Literature Festival where the idea was born, to discover the remaining three, Dew, Puddle and Beck. Wouldn’t it be great to find the fabled seventh, but I suspect that will only appear to an alert walker somewhere on the Stanza Stone Trail.

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My navigation skills have improved for the drive home, – these are roads I know well up above Wycoller. We even have time to stop off to look at one of East Lancashire’s  Panopticons, The Atom. Both a shelter and a viewing point over the valley and to Pendle Hill. I am sure from memory that when it was first installed there was a stainless steel atom in the centre of the ‘Molecule’ – no sign of it now.

(The other three are Colourfields in Blackburn, The Singing Ringing Tree above Burnley and The Halo above Rossendale.) P1000231

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The day couldn’t have gone better. Sunshine, excellent company and three poems found and enjoyed.

PENNINE POETRY – RAIN.

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Simon Armitage’s Stanza Stones – Rain.

15 miles of scenic driving on open moorland roads and then through densely knit and gritty Pennine communities brought us to the White House Inn on the road out of Rochdale. We have just come from Marsden where up in Pule Hill quarry we found and admired our first Stanza Stone, Snow, a water themed poem by Simon Armitage skilfully inscribed by Pip Hall. This is one of six, or maybe even seven, scattered on the rugged Pennine Watershed between Marsden and Ilkley. There is a 45-mile walking trail between them all, but we have chosen to use the car and visit them individually. We have resisted the idea of visiting each stone according to the weather depicted. Let’s enjoy today’s sunshine.

The White House is an iconic moorland inn situated where the Pennine Way crosses from the peaty horrors of the Peak District peat to the pleasanter Yorkshire Dales. Many long distance walkers have been known to give in here. Most people today are either enjoying lunch in the pub or doing short walks from the road, as are we. CaptureStanza 2

The Pennine Way is followed alongside an aqueduct connecting several reservoirs. All level walking. I camped along here once with my young son on a Lancashire Borders Walk. Sensibly we had eaten well in the pub beforehand and only needed water for a brew. The brown peaty solution didn’t need a tea bag, today my tea was already brewed safely in my flask along with a picnic lunch.1qhsxyqg

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A miniature arch took us over the water and into Cow’s Mouth Quarry. This is where I become boring once more as I try and trace routes climbed way in the past. They are mainly slabs, with often little protection available, needing a steady head. Nowadays with bouldering mats the picture has become blurred between a roped route and a high ball boulder problem. P1000189

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But I’m not here to climb today, I’m with Clare and JD looking for the second of Simon Armitage’s Stanza Poems – Rain. This one is easy to spot being at the base of a rock face right by the path. Pip had a lovely canvas to write on, but advice was first taken from climbers so that no footholds were destroyed, or new ones created. Pip’s carving seems more pronounced than on Snow back at Pule Hill, this rock, being more compact, maybe helping. The letters are imbued with gold.  We read aloud the poem marvelling at Simon’s turn of phrase. P1000181

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Again here is the poem in case you can’t make it out in the pictures.

Rain.

Be glad of these freshwater tears,
Each pearled droplet some salty old sea-bullet
Air-lifted out of the waves, then laundered and sieved, recast as a soft bead and returned.
And no matter how much it strafes or sheets, it is no mean feat to catch one raindrop clean in the mouth,
To take one drop on the tongue, tasting cloud pollen, grain of the heavens, raw sky.
Let it teem, up here where the front of the mind distils the brunt of the world.

We find a sheltered spot for lunch. I forget to take a picture of the extensive views across the moors with distant reservoirs, wind farms and mill chimneys. I am on too much on a high from the poetry – tasting cloud pollen. We wander back with shared tales of moorland adventures.

Fellow us farther on our poetry quest.

PENNINE POETRY – SNOW.

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Simon Armitage’s Stanza Stones – Snow.

Simon Armitage is steeped in Pennine Grit. Brought up in West Yorkshire and living in Marsden in particular, his works have been influenced by the rich heritage of the area. I have been reading a few of his books and poems recently and feel an affinity to his working class background. When you delve deeper you realise the profound and original intellect of the man and his ever widening focus. That’s why he is Poet Laureate.

My friend JD, who has featured many times in these posts, told me about some of Simon’s readings on the radio, such as his journey as a modern day troubadour down the Pennine Way, and more interestingly his series of poems carved and brought to life in the rocks of the high Pennines. The Stanza Poems, six poems on the theme of water in various forms: Snow, Rain, Dew, Puddle,Mist and Beck,  a collaboration between himself, Pip Hall the stone carver, and local expert Tom Lonsdale, a landscape architect. Those looking hard enough might stumble across a seventh Stanza Stone, a secret stone left in an unnamed location within the Watershed area, waiting to be discovered and read. As far as I know nobody has.

I bought the book and was immediately fascinated. Stanza Stones a book by Simon Armitage, Pip Hall, and Tom Lonsdale. (bookshop.org)

What they have produced is truly magical and the insights of the protagonists brought to life in the book. I take my hat off to the literacy skill of Simon but equally so to the dedication and art of Pip the sculptress which will be borne out in our efforts to locate the stones.

A fairly tough trail, considering the moorland terrain, of 50 miles or so has been worked out between the carved stones from Marsden in the south to Ilkley farther north. Suffice to  say JD and I never got around to walking it, mainly because I thought some of the 20-mile days across rough moorland with no bed at the end was too much for me to contemplate. I happily compromise and suggest a motorised raid to the individual stones. The idea catches fire and in a conversation with the ‘Slate Poem Lady of Longridge Fell’ (another story enacted in my lockdown posts) we have a willing and knowledgable accomplice. Welcome aboard Clare, one of her slate poems in her garden says it all.

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Messenger. Mary Oliver.

Cometh the day cometh the hour. We are off to Marsden with a fair forecast. I’m afraid to say my navigational skills fell short of the sat nav lady whom I chose to ignore. We came at the first site in a round about way, but the moorland scenery and deserted roads were worth it. Mutterings from the driver and the other passenger who kept well clear of any navigational mistakes. CaptureStanza 1

An unpretentious lay-by below Pule Hill, west of Marsden, is our starting point. The steaming brick ventilation shafts of the Manchester to Huddersfield railway are obvious above us on the hillside. As well as the railway down there somewhere the narrow Huddersfield Canal goes through the Standedge Tunnel, the longest, highest and deepest canal tunnel in Great Britain. Their combined  history is worth a read, it’s a lot more complicated than you think. Above all that are the ramparts of Pule Hill quarry and rocky edge on the skyline. Fortunately for us the original quarry incline is still intact giving an easy climb up into the workings. Memories of plodding up here with ropes and gear for a day’s climbing come flooding back, and I feel a quickening in my step. We are impressed with the amount of quality stone work just giving access to the quarries. What a substantial industry of men must have worked away on these slopes. P1000147

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I’m distracted by the quarry rock faces I have ascended in the past whilst the other two go off in search of the poems engraved in stone. P1000168

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Nature’s art.

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At the far end of the quarry are two large blocks built into the wall and there is our first poem laid out in front of us, letters carved into the two stones bringing out the colours of the rock from those past quarrying days. We trace with our fingers across the rock surface. Already after 13 years the patina is changing, and green lichens are crossing the letters, what will another decade bring. There is already some slight damage caused by man. P1000167P1000160

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Here is the poem transcribed as it is difficult, but not impossible if enlarged, to read in the photos. The stanzas cross between the two stones.

Snow.

The sky has delivered its blank missive. The moor in coma.                                   

Snow, like water asleep, a coded muteness to baffle all noise, to stall movement, still time.

What can it mean that colourless water can dream such depth of white?             

We should make the most of the light.                                                                           

Stars snag on its crystal points. The odd, unnatural pheasant struts and slides.

Snow, snow, snow is how the snow speaks, is how its clean page reads.

Then it wakes, and thaws, and weeps.     S A.

Before we leave, we discover a beautifully constructed curving wall seat inscribed with ‘Ilkley 45 1/4 miles’ which is the distance to the last stone via the trail, thankfully we have the car to take us onwards.P1000170P1000169

We skip happily down that incline, pleased to find the first stone and captivated by the scenery and the poem it now holds. Let it snow.P1000176

***

ANYONE FOR SCOUT HILL, LUPTON?

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There aren’t many takers.  At 285m Scout Hill is the 1795th tallest in England. http://www.themountainguide.co.uk.  Not exactly inspiring. But I know a hill when I see one and this one was a prominent feature on the northern horizon when we were last up on Hutton Roof. It can be seen towering, or more accurately peeping, over Farleton Fell in the photo below taken on that day. I did have to look it up later to identify it as Scout Hill The seed was sown.P1010191

Encouraged by last week’s walk with Sir Hugh I plotted an easy route in the Lupton area to include Scout Hill. He thinks he has been up it before, and although I fully believe him details are very vague. He is keen to test his improving health by another easy ascent, surely it can’t make my hip any worse.

Parking is complicated by road works, water pipe installations. It takes me some time to orientate myself amongst the little lanes and the busy A65 flying past with lay-bys full of cars. By then we are through lush green fields and above the lively Lupton Beck. Farleton Fell is there above us, and it remains that way all day. Sir Hugh recognises the lovely footbridge over the waters, and we come out by the Plough pub. What I thought would be an easy ramble by the beck took us much longer than envisaged. We haven’t come far, and perhaps we should have retired to the pub for lunch. P1000083P1000081P1000087P1000088P1000100P1000104

Now up the lane to Crabtree Farm, quite steep in parts. They have diversified into clay pigeon shooting and are busy constructing a holiday park with those ubiquitous Gypsy Caravans, more like road menders huts quips Sir Hugh when he gets his breath back from the ascent. On we go, quite steep in parts. My hip is hurting, but I don’t say anything, there is no turning back. It is a delightful lane.

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Crabtree Lane – Scout Hill is ahead with a tree near the hidden summit.

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Once in the open we are on the slopes of Scout Hill, but there is no sight of its summit Trig. It won’t take us long after leaving the wallside right of way, climbing through the gorse to reach the summit. Should I just nip up and down quickly leaving Sir Hugh down here? No he is having none of that. Should I just let him nip up and down whilst I study the abundant fungi? We plod on. It is a strange fell with bits of ancient walls and little rivulets appearing from nowhere. There is still no sign of the summit, there are supposed to be communication masts up there. It is getting serious when compass bearings are taken and followed.P1000112P1000115

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Not there yet.

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But what’s this? Another wall and descent between us and our rapidly receding trig point. I’m secretly hoping we can’t get across, and we can call the whole thing off. P1000124

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But no, we can squeeze through a gated gap and the summit is ours. It turns out to be a good viewpoint particularly to the hills to the east – Gragareth et al.  If only it was a bit brighter. The Lakes are in clag, and we have some debate as to which is Arnside Knott, Sir Hugh’s local fell. The communication towers are largely ignored. P1000128P1000131

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We squeeze back through the gate and head towards a prominent stone. Standing or not? A good lunch spot nonetheless.

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Back on the right of way we waste no time abandoning it for an attractive path which at the far end proclaims ‘Private No Right of Way’. We are now on metalled lanes wandering across the hillsides, some barely drivable and going we know not where. It’s all downhill from here. Coming across the first person we have seen all day he promptly turns around and walks past us with a brief nod. It’s a strange area. Farelton Fell looms ahead of us.  I am glad when the roadworks come into sight and the little car is there. P1000140

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Felt I had bitten off more than I could happily chew today, just don’t always believe the map, the summit may have moved.

Today was tagged under The Lake District and nearby Lancashire, need a new tag for Cumbria whose borders wander around in this area.

Sir Hugh’s  post will appear in due course.

***  

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PHEASANTS or PEASANTS.

There probably isn’t much difference in the eyes of the ultra shooters. The next massacre season is upon us.

Is this really happening in Britain today? I’m not eloquent enough to highlight the outrage felt by many, an increasing minority/majority. But that doesn’t stop my emotional reaction.  So please read this article and question your next conservative candidate if they dare step up to your doorstep. Any other candidate for that matter to restore the balance.

Your humble peasant.

Britain’s pheasant shooting season has begun. And a year-round massacre makes it possible | George Monbiot | The Guardian

A SOUTH LAKELAND RIDGE.

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I smile to myself as I reply to the email from Sir Hugh. He has plotted a walk for us from Cartmel taking into consideration our combined physical failings. I did the same for him on our last walk and his immediate response was ‘we could perhaps extend it farther’ by using some other paths. All turned out well – LEVEL FROM LEVENS. My immediate response this time, without a good deal of thought, is that we could easily extend his proposed route from Cartmel. No more is said until the decision time comes later in the day. Somewhere along the line is a hidden understanding of the other person’s idea of a good walk, I don’t think we have ever crossed that line though we have had some exciting episodes close to it.

What is going on in Cartmel? There are cars parked alonside every road and a one way system in operation. We follow it blindly into the racecourse car park where we had meant to park in the first place. £2 for the day as we scramble to find some change. There is a Medieval Pageant in the village explains the man on the gate. (Subsidised parking with medieval prices, normally £4 for the day or a hefty £10 on race days) 

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Sir Hugh trying to look enthusiastic at the start of the walk.

It takes a bit to orientate ourselves in the massive car park which is filling fast. We are the only ones taking a bearing across the racetrack to enter the woods on the northwest side. Once in the woods the path is not as clear as we had expected but a bit of steep climbing, not Sir Hugh’s favourite at the moment, and we were out onto little lanes and on our way. 

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On your marks. 

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Steeper than it looks.

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On our way.

The little lanes connect up with isolated properties on the hillside – Well Knowe, Hard Crag, Wall Nook, Over Ridge and finally Speel Bank. Each unique in its own way but all bearing the mark of Lakeland vernacular architecture from the C17th- C18th. They all look in good condition in stunning scenery and in the last decade or so most of the outbuildings have become out of the way holiday cottages. Though in a hard winter would be difficult to access.

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Halfway up we come across an agricultural machinery graveyard. Old tractors, strange looking implements, old cars and strangely up here a speed boat, all rotting into the vegetation. We find it a bit spooky and once Sir Hugh mentions some American horror movies it is time to get going. Only just last night I had rewatched Psycho for the first time for years – remember the cars in the pit.

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I then took to photographing the various stiles we squeezed through or climbed over.

A couple of girls pass us brandishing what looked like a well presented leaflet of walks in the area, though their map was somewhat basic for the almost identical walk that Sir Hugh has us on. I will look into finding this publication as we are well impressed with the area so far. We never see them again.

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The ridge is up ahead.

The lane keeps going up past the last farmhouse, which shows no signs of gentrification for the Airbnb set. P1000040

Soon we were onto what I’m calling Ellerside Ridge, volcanic rock outcrops everywhere, we even spot a few bouldering areas. Lakeland in miniature.P1000039

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A last stile over a high wall and suddenly we are looking down on the Greenodd/Cartmel Estuary. There is Ulverston, there is the railway viaduct from Cark and there is Chapel Island off the coast from Conishead Priory. I seem to remember being told that one could walk out to the island at low tide, not something I will be doing. All places familiar to us from previous expeditions but never seen from up here before. We are thrilled with the way the walk is turning out even though rain clouds are massing over the sea. The undulating ridge gives us plenty of time to take in all the views. P1000041P1000063P1000052

After about a mile we can see from the map a nearby trig point on How Barrow, a lowly 170m but one we could not walk past without visiting. Fortunately a gate gave us access to that side of the fell and the proud little craggy summit was soon reached, A perfect spot for lunch. Others also reached the summit for the first time, and all proclaimed its vantage point despite the incoming rain, we are a hardy lot.P1000057

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From up here Cartmel village was a little hazy but the backdrop of Hampsfell reminds me of the last time I visited Cartmel on my trek around Lancashire’s monasteries. P1000056

Back on the other side of the wall a couple with a smart Airedale seemed to be hanging around. “could you tell us where we are and how do we get back to Cartmell?” They have no map and had been wandering in completely the wrong direction. Sir Hugh demonstrates the usefulness of GPS and sends them confidently on their way – we never see them again. 

The meat of our walk is over but decision time has arrived – walk back down the road into Cartmell or keep to tracks on a more circuitous route through the woods. Yes, you guessed it, into the woods we plunge. I have used these tracks before, but all looks different today until we realise that there has been extensive forest clearing on the estate following the storms of 2021. A curiosity passed on the way is a walled enclosure – we speculate on a pinfold, but there is no evidence of a gate. Perhaps some sort of water collecting reservoir? Anybody know?

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The light rain accompanies us all the way back to Cartmel. P1000066

We don’t venture into the village festivities but set off in the car on a long diversion to get us out of the racecourse, an hour later and there would be a queue of traffic trying to leave. 

I complement Sir Hugh on his choice of route, a good 5 miles, or rather 6 miles after I had gently twisted his arm for that little extra, equally enjoyed by both of us. And in my mind it never really rained until the journey home.

I will give a link to Sir Hugh’s version when he has posted. Here it is, hot off the press – conradwalks: Five miles or six miles?

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