A Croasdale Diversion.

I’ve written before about ‘the path not taken’, from Robert Frost’s poem. Perhaps a biblical quotation would be more apt, ‘Seek, and you shall find’. Well, today we didn’t find. The path I chose to explore up into Croasdale from Slaiburn remained elusive.

The day starts well with a surprise visit to a relatively new curiosity shop in the old school in Slaidburn, where we are parked. Bits of old furniture, paintings and knick-knacks divert us for a while. A coffee grinding machine from the 1920s takes my fancy. Clare is attracted to a globe-like metal sculpture.  “We are going for a walk”, but “What time do you close?” we innocently enquire for our return.  “About three”, is his reply. 

Time to get moving, the morning is drifting on. Late starts are becoming my norm; all will have to change when the clocks go back at the end of the month. From the stunning war memorial…

…we take the lane past Townhead House. Slaidburn village and its surroundings are all part of one estate; perhaps the owner lives up there. Whatever, the village has maintained its ‘olde worlde’ atmosphere with 50 of its buildings listed. I hardly think there is a single new house in or around the area, which is unique these days.  

We hop across a limestone wall and follow what looks like some sort of earthworks up the hillside. Was this a deer park? We are innocents abroad, which becomes more obvious as we progress, or not.  From up here, one can survey the village environs. The murky high pressure weather continues.

No obvious imprints in the grass; does anybody walk these fields?  Constant reference to the OS app on my phone keeps us on track, most of the time. Upon reaching Croasdale House, I take a photo for the first occasion in ages, which shows how focused on not getting lost I have become. 

Now heading into the wilder valley of Croadsale, we cross a convenient footbridge, despite the right-of-way going up the east side of the river. Is this the right decision? There is a waymark, and I presume the path this side is to avoid crossing at a ford further upstream. But where is the path? We are faced with boggy, reedy, trackless ground.

An hour or so later, we are still probing the marshy ground. Tracks come and go, but not what we need. 

 

Salvation comes in a quadbike track heading straight up the hillside, possibly from the ford we could have taken. Not our line, but we gladly use it to gain height and avoid the morass. Halfway up a nearby wall offers an island of dry stone, which we utilise for a long overdue lunch. One has to admit the surroundings are special.  

All thoughts of getting to the ruins of the House of Croasdale and the higher Croasdale valley evaporate. Let’s get out of here.  We agree and just continue up the tracks to reach the Salter Fell road wherever. That last half mile took us hours. We both have very wet feet by now. 

Soon, we are marching down the Roman road, wondering if some of the exposed bed stones were laid by the Roman Soldiers.

Profuse fungi take our attention. It’s an unbelievable year for them.

Rather than risk some dubious field paths, I stick to the road for some time. We pass the agricultural graveyard, I described it elsewhere as ‘a herd of dinosaurs’. I’m including my poor photos by special request, will try harder next time.

But now on safer ground, we take the lane to Myttons, a lovely cluster of stone properties. The craft centre is no longer operating. We are on firm ground into Slaidburn, finishing alongside Croasdale Brook once more. 

With The Hark to Bouny closed and looking unkempt, the village has lost some of its heart. Let’s hope they find a new tenant. The Youth Hostel has also gone. 

The curiosity shop would be shut by now.

I don’t know why we didn’t find the correct path; it should be there somewhere, despite all the reed-covered ground. I will return at some stage and use the Salter Fell Road, then drop down to The House of Croasdale ruins and see if I’m able to pick up the path in reverse from there.  

The rest of the way was lovely. 

*