The Nook and Leafy Grizedale.

I hardly dare post about this little hill above Scorton once again; I’ve done so many times before.    But today is another day. JD has roped me in for a walk up a hill; I get to choose the hill. Like my walk down the Fylde Coast the other day, one has to grab the good weather days as Autumn creeps upon us.

Nicky Nook, let’s do it the other way round from what I usually do. Clockwise today, the popular way for Garstangonians.

We walk through the grounds of St. Peter’s; its spire is that one visible from the M6 as you flash by north of Preston. It advertises itself as a pilgrim church, but the door is firmly locked. We leave by the Lynch Gate, passing some enormous tree fungi, Giant or Black Staining Polypore.

Snowhill Lane takes us out of the village and across the noisy motorway heading to Wyresdale Park and lake. Without thinking about navigation, we chat away. The chatting subsides when we start the steep steps off the lane, signed to Nicky Nook. More people are coming down than going up, suggesting we started late, which we did to make the best of the weather. It’s a steady plod, but not as steep as I expected—plenty of chances to stop and admire the ever-expanding views over the Fylde and Morecambe Bay. By now we have left the motorway noise, but you can see it snaking up towards Lancaster University.

The trig point, a modest 215m, has been freshly painted and stands out ahead. We stop and take in the 360-degree panorama; it is clear apart from the far Lakeland Fells, although my photos don’t show up well. Amorphous Bowland Hills crowd the eastern skyline. It’s too windy to linger long. Taking the long route off the fell to the north, we pass one of the Triangulation Pillars used to survey the route of the Thirlmere Aqueduct, which takes water from the Lakes to Manchester. And as we go through the fell gate, a promised bench is found for lunch out of the wind. Serendipity.

Entering  Grizedale Valley is like stepping into an ancient forest. The stately beech trees are laden with nuts, A mast year. The reservoir is full but sadly lacking in birdlife. Soon we are alongside the brook and out into the open—and a last climb up past those photogenic roots and onto the lane. I need to explore these woods further; I notice a path going off into them near the reservoir for next time.

The motorway noise intrudes again as we slip into Scorton. The bowling club is in full swing; I’m always reminded of one of Beryl Cook’s paintings, not the naughty one.

A short but sweet walk in good company.

St. Peter’s starting time.

Giant Polypore.

New Kid on the Block.

Steep steps.  

Grizedale.

Grizedale Reservoir and lots more trees.     

More Beech trees!    

A mast year.  

Creeping roots.