Walk 37. Weets Hill from Barnoldswick.
Barlick, until local government reorganisation in 1974, was in the West Riding of Yorkshire. It then found itself in Lancashire, the locals were not happy and many still see themselves as Yorkshire folk. Back in the day, until 1992, you had to be born in Yorkshire to play cricket for the county and I seem to remember special dispensations being given to players from Gisburn/Barnoldswick area when they were in Lancashire. Or was that just a rumour at the time. I do remember well however White Rose flags flying defiantly in Gisburn as you drove through.
None of this has any relevance to today’s walk except to point out we are in the far east of the county where Lancashire mills give way to Yorkshire dales. A 10-mile day of easy navigation, gentle gradients, canal towpaths, a Trig point and lots of fields. Stick with it – there is plenty of interest.
I approached the recommended Greenber Field car park down the narrowest of lanes, I was almost giving up when it suddenly appeared hidden in the trees. On my return I took a wider road, the B6252, back into Barnoldswick and I would recommend that as your approach. Unfortunately the café on site was closed due to staffing shortages, a common problem of hospitality in these strange times. That’s the second day in a row I have been deprived of my coffee. Still the day was promising with warm sunshine and blue skies.
I set off with enthusiasm along the canal towpath on the edge of town. Easy strolling with lots of friendly and well-behaved dog walkers, pram pushers and cyclists. I passed three of the prominent manufacturers in town – Rolls-Royce, Silent Night beds and Esse stoves. All but one of the many cotton mills have gone. The canal was busy with boaters. On my longer canal walks I often try to pick out the most humorous, or more likely corniest, boat name of the day, Mr. Grumpy won today. All making for an enjoyable start to my day’s walk.
In fact the morning was disappearing fast – made more so by an extended chat with an enthusiastic walker. We got onto the subject of the Lake District which he seems to have just discovered. Out came his phone with pictures of Coniston, Helvellyn and Scafell etc, many in selfie mode. I had to make my excuses to get under way again.
Once I had left the canal I saw virtually no one else for the rest of the day.
My way up onto White Moor was mainly on well surfaced bridleways, that PBW again. As height was gained the views opened up, with my recent ascents of Bouldsworth and Black Hambleton prominent to the south along with the rest of the Pennine Chain, and there was little Blacko Tower. Perhaps I was distracted, but I took to the moors sooner than I should have, up a well trodden track (SD 869 441). On past a plantation obvious on the map, that’s when I realised my mistake, but the track alongside a wall was good, so I just kept going until I was within a stone’s throw of the summit. Birds eye views of Barnoldswick appeared way down below.
What did I say about easy navigation? As it happened this was possibly better than the longer way round and up the tarmacked lane to Weets House, it was easy to navigate once I knew I was lost – if you follow my logic.
The summit was adorned with a shiny white Trig Pillar and even better as I was ready for lunch a memorial bench. And what a panorama – the nearby bulk of Pendle, Longridge Fell, the Bowland Hills , Ingleborough and Pen-Y-Ghent and lots more. The Ribble Valley stretching out in front of the hills completed the scene. 
It was only after some time sat there enjoying the view that I noticed beneath my feet little plaques set into the soil, each one a memorial to a departed family member whose ashes were no doubt scattered up here. I like the idea of being scattered from one’s favourite hill, but I thought the plaques possibly out of place. No offence to any family concerned who had the wishes of their departed granted.
Time to head down, and I followed the track I should have come up to Weets House, an isolated property as you could wish for. Back on the PBW I headed north wondering who had travelled this way in the past centuries attending to their trades. Miners, pack horses, farmers, soldiers? The map depicts ‘ancient earth works’ from early times and there is a Roman Road crossing my track at one point. 
A quiet road, Brogden Lane, winds down the hillside past upland sheep farms and comes to a right angle corner at The C18th Manor House, what you see from the lane is actually the back of the house. A ford then leads to Brogden Hall. That was my way and I circled around what is a large equestrian centre with only a glimpse of the hall itself. Out into the fields I crossed a motor cross circuit – the penny dropped I have been here before. It was when I was walking the West Craven Way in 2015. 
The pastures were full of deep grass which surprisingly makes walking through it tiresome. It’s that time of the year when the dairy herds are let out for some proper food. Passed a reservoir, and I was into a field with one of the largest herds of cattle I’ve encountered. They can be frisky at this time of year and being cautious I took to a path on the other side of the wall. After my minor trespass I was back on route up a slope now with grazing sheep and their lambs. I couldn’t resist a spring lamb photo, or two. Can’t you just taste that luscious grass? 
I worked my way through the gardens of some nouveau riche house, their garden furniture was more stylish than my lounge. I’m not jealous, but it set me wondering if they were entertaining would you be offered a drink en passant. 
This was on the edge of the little hamlet of Bracewell where there had been a former hall. The church, St Michael’s, dates back to the C12th but most of the present fabric dates from the C16th, though there is a Norman style arched doorway and apparently inside a Norman font. (it was locked today) For some reason I ignored adjacent Hopwood House and Farm, both grade II listed. But my attention was drawn to the ‘Old Post Office’ with its inscribed plaque, but why on earth did someone build a porch whose tiles obscure that plaque. 
I have a gripe with Mark for the next part of his route down the busy and twisty B6251 road. This is dangerous considering the speed of traffic along it. Driving back along that stretch on my return I was behind an articulated lorry doing well over the permitted 40mph, no chance of that stopping quickly. Looking at the map there is a footpath leaving Bracewell to the abandoned village of Stock where there may be earthworks to see. A public footpath from there crossing Stock Beck would bring one back onto the bridleway route. I wish I had taken that way, which as well as avoiding the dangerous road looks to be of interest in itself. I would recommend you do.
I didn’t, and I had to brave the oncoming traffic for half a mile until I could escape onto a peaceful bridleway. If you look closely at the contours of the countryside here you will see lots of small hillocks. These are drumlins, glacial deposits of boulder clay on the surface limestone. Today with the abundant Spring greenery they took on a magical landscape over which I expected troops of elves to come skipping along. It was however a good place to watch lapwings in their rapid flight. 
The walk ended through Greenber Field Farm. All very neat and tidy but far removed from the farming as I knew it. Massive sheds, computerised cows and not a farmer in sight’. The C18th house itself is Grade II listed.
Well not quite the end as I spent some time watching canal barges come through the lock gates, the summit of the Leeds -Liverpool Canal. 
***
A new path has been fashioned from the top of the Barley steps to the trig point. I must admit it blends as well as possible into the plateau and must save a lot of erosion. There is also a new stone shelter built into the nearby wall. Once through the wall as if by magic everybody disappears, and I have the whole of Pendle Moor to myself. There is no wind today, so it is almost perfect silence apart from all those soaring skylarks.
I couldn’t resist a decent hill day as the weather remained fine. All change next week. ‘Head east old man’ was my mantra as I sped along the M65. Everyone else was going west to Blackpool or the Lakes. Boulsworth Hill my objective. So far so good, but the last chapter of Mark Sutcliffe’s Lancashire Cicerone guide would have had me parking above Wycoller. If there ever was a honeypot then Wycoller deserves that title. A secluded village of agricultural and hand loom workers in the C16th to C18th. Along came power looms in the C19th in nearby Lancashire towns and the population moved out. By 1896 the majority of people had moved away from the village, and it was virtually deserted. But a renaissance occurred in the mid C20th, the area was incorporated into a Country Park and people started moving back into the village renovating the properties. I well remember Longridge acquaintances of mine telling me of their plans for one of the houses in the 70s. I suspect you would have needed a bottomless purse to go ahead. For more information look at 
A good start to the day, although by now it was after noon. The expected crowds were milling around in the hamlet. Crossing and recrossing the series of 
I have a few ideas for some hilly walks now the weather has improved, but they would involve travelling on the busy Easter roads, so I manage to procrastinate the morning away. Let’s just stay local and have a wander up Longridge Fell checking out a few bird habitats at the same time. I’m keen to see the Great Crested Grebes performing their mating dance on the little reservoir at the top of the village. This is where I park my car. Craig Y Longridge is busy with climbers.
The clocks have changed, but my body hasn’t caught up as yet. Today had a sparkling alpine start and promised to be the best of the week. I struggled to get up having lost an hour somewhere. But with the minimum of faffing I’m away by 10.30. It only takes me a half hour to drive out to Dunsop Bridge. I know the sun doesn’t set tonight until after 7pm, so there is no rush, that’s the way I like it.
The lime kiln gives a clue as to the bedrock hereabouts, but I shall soon be high in gritstone country.
The track soon peters out, and I’m left on boggy pathless territory forever upwards. This is designated as a bridleway, and I remember coming this way on a mountain bike 35 years ago with my son. No chance now. This area is isolated from the usual Bowland haunts, and I’m surprised to meet three walkers descending the pass. A friendly trio and we exchange banter. They have driven up from Manchester, preferring this area to the crowded Peak District. They soon become a dot on this vast landscape as they descend towards the Trough Road and I struggle upwards. Across the way Totridge Fell keeps its head above most of the fells around here.
Looking back I was surprised to see how steep and craggy are the northern slopes of Whin Fell. At Brennand Farm (notice how it complements Sykes Farm passed earlier) all is pleasant with newborn lambs in the fields, no Spring walk is complete without some lamb photos. On down the Brennand Valley and then strangely back upwards to join Whitendale.
I’m tempted to go off down Fernyhalgh Lane past the old school (where my children started) the church and Ladywell Shrine, a shortcut back to Savick Brook. But no, I need the mileage and the day is fine, so I continue on the road whilst it is virtually traffic free. There are some fine houses along here as well as the original farms. 
Crossing the M6 motorway I stop to watch the southbound lanes coming to a standstill., a well-known black spot. Preston Bypass, as it was known then in 1958, was the first motorway to open in the UK. Since those days it has been incorporated into the M6 with new junctions and carriageways. I try to avoid driving on busy motorways with their frequent hold-ups and after my frightening experience of breaking down last year on a ‘smart’ section of motorway that has been reinforced.
This week I have been alternating short walks and flat cycle rides with nothing of note to report. Everything came to a standstill yesterday with the collision of cold winds from the north with a front from the south. Amber warning. My son cancelled a lunchtime visit from Manchester and I watched the snowflakes falling in the afternoon. During the night things must have turned nasty as today I woke to a couple of inches of snow. (The radio told of far worse conditions in the Pennines) It was interesting to try and identify the tracks across my back garden, one doesn’t know what transpires in the night. Something I should resolve either with sitting up into the wee hours or more likely installing a motion detecting camera.
As I approached the west end of Morecambe I was intrigued by a large building set back from the front. The building now known as The Battery once marked the boundary between Morecambe and Heysham. (in 1928 the two districts merged). In the nineteenth century the site was occupied by an old mill and the area was later used as a firing range, with an artillery battery stationed there because of fear of an invasion by the French. The mill, then known as The Roundhouse, was used for storing ammunition. The Battery Inn was built in 1863 and in 1900 it expanded to become The Battery Hotel, later acquired by Thwaites Brewery and functioned into the 1980s. It has recently been bought by a property developer for conversion into luxury flats. I’m not sure whether much progress has been made.
And what’s more on the other side of the road a series of artistic panels brightening up an otherwise drab development hoarding at the former Frontier Land. I now remember Eunice from the Mouse House mentioning them 
I may have used this title for a post in the past. Whilst fellow bloggers are exploring Manchester, White Nancy, Covid and Wildlife crimes I’m content with a walk around my local lanes. After my drubbing, is that a word, the other day on the Guild Wheel cycle route contentment is the prime objective. I live on the edge of the countryside, but only just with all the new developments, so for many walks I don’t need my car – just set off from the front door.
I stop to talk to a farmer about the winters we never have these days. (tempting fate I know). Along comes a car which stops to reveal a dog walking friend fresh off the fell and heading for a nearby farm café, a good catch up ensures. I’m then admiring the hedge layering skills along the way and am lucky enough to come across the skilled labourer himself. A chain saw now makes the labour easier, but he has to be careful with the final close cut. A bill hook finishes off the branch severing, leaving a slender life giving, bent over, horizontal, stem for further growth. The whole process is to keep the hawthorn hedge thick at the base and stock proof in the future. He seems happy in his work and as he says ” jobs a goodun”
Not bad for a local walk of 5 miles.