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.
As I’m putting my boots on along come JD and his friend Danny. In a couple of weeks they are off to do a pilgrimage walk through Portugal to Santiago de Compostella and are out for a brisk training walk. May I join you I ask? Yes as long as you can keep up with us. All very friendly. They set off at speed up the road, my ‘un’fitness showing. I let them do the talking whilst I try to get my breath back. Fortunately there is soon a rest break whilst they remove clothing layers, the day is hotting up along with their pace. They stuff their clothes onto rucksacks which they are carrying for training purposes.
Now into rhythm I begin to enjoy the walk as we climb up onto Longridge Fell, my original destination. There are daffodils and primroses along the verge and bird song in the air. Young lambs play in the fields. Aren’t we lucky to have this on our doorstep?
Instead of following their intended route up the lane to the kennels I take them off on a track through the fields, past the little reservoir, on by the long abandoned quarries and just below the expensive farm conversion to meet up with the lane leading to the plantations. They claim they had never been that way before, but I doubt their memories. They stop on the ridge for a drink, I suck on an orange. Then along the balcony path above Chipping Vale to the crowded parking on Jeffrey. The first people we had met all afternoon.
We have a quick look into Cardwell Quarry where JD and I used to climb years ago as I had seen a barn owl there the other day. We see a couple of small falcons fly out – ?merlins. In the corner I spot the barn owl, get a hurried long shot (photographically I hasten to add) before it sees us and flies out – what a wonderful bird. Now I know where it roosts I creep in another day and try and get some better images. JD is surprised to see the amount of significant rock fall that has occurred over the years. Quarries are inherently unstable, one just hopes that you are not hanging on when the rock decides to part company. Anyway climbing is banned here ever since some unruly and aggressive behaviour towards the farmer from some youths partying in there. I only hope they weren’t climbers, not that it makes any difference to the ban.
It’s all downhill on the road back to Longridge past the golf course. As part of their training they feel obliged to call in for a drink. We sit on the sunny balcony enjoying a beer whilst the golfers go over their good and bad shots of the day. All very pleasant. Resisting the temptation to stay longer we are soon back into town. I had had my walk up the fell in slightly different circumstances to those envisaged and thoroughly enjoyed the banter. It has turned out a very Good Friday after all. I’m envious of their upcoming peregrination.
A pot-pourri of images :-
A Great Crested Grebe.
A busy Craig Y Longridge.
A couple of pilgrims.
A Million pounds.
A busy Jeffrey car park.
A distant Barn Owl.
A lot of recent rock fall.
***
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.
Down on the River Wyre in St. Michael’s a tragic drama is transpiring, a 45-year-old local lady, Nicola Bulley, has gone missing whilst walking her dog by the river. You will have seen it on the national news, the trauma her family are going through as the days pass, without resolution, doesn’t bear thinking about.
Following on from the conversation I had a couple of days ago with that gent up at Otter Geer I eventually dragged myself out of bed, breakfasted, loaded the bike and drove to my usual spot at Halton station on the Lune. Make the most of each day was my intention even though it was by now afternoon. A quick whizz along the canal and I was on the bay. The tide is out, and I can hear but can’t see the birdlife out on the edge. This vast expanse of marine environment has been highlighted by the Lancs Wildlife Trust as being under threat if important EU regulations are disbanded by our reckless government. In fact my visit here prompted me to post their letter