Category Archives: Art and architecture.

THE TURBARY ROAD, KINGSDALE.

16 Replies

Yordas Cave plus a surprise. 

Somewhere I have photos of my children, and later my grandchildren, popping out of a simple cave system on the Turbary Road above Kingsdale. After searching, I can find only one photo of my two sons with friends, taken about 40 years ago. 

Taking my first-edition copy of Wainwright’s Walks in Limestone Country (1970, 18/-) off the shelf to refresh my memory of our explorations. There it is: walk number five, The Turbary Road, Rowten Pot and Yordas Cave.

Time for a revisit.

The  Tow Scar Lane climbs steadily between walls to reach the Turbary Road. This track was thought to have been used to let people legally cut peat on the hills and transport it as fuel. The Enclosure Acts, particularly in the 18th century, divided agricultural land into fields demarcated by hedges or, as here in the Dales, by stone walls. The ‘Green Tracks’  allowed movement through the enclosures. This ‘Green Track’ was tarmacked at one time but has fallen into disuse and become a stony track. 

The morning is ‘fresh’ as we say in these parts. Windy, with the threat of rain, is a more apt description. The hilltops are wreathed in cloud, but there is brightness out to the west. I have a spring in my step, pleased to be out in the limestone country. Up to my right is Tow Scar, a line of broken low cliffs and limestone pavements; there is a trig point up there somewhere, but I’ll give it a miss as I have more interesting objectives. 

A farmer with his crook is out to tend his sheep, the same as for decades past. 

The lane seems popular with dog walkers; I encounter several on my 500ft of ascent. Two catch up to me just as the rain arrives. By the time I have donned waterproofs, I am sodden, which is often the case. I walk on; they are heading down.

Now on the open fellside the way becomes one of those delightful sheep-cropped grassy tracks through the limestone.

Familiar hills surround me: the bulky Gragareth up to my left, Whernside towering above the head of Kingsdale, and, over to the right, the stately Ingleborough. Whernside shows its summit,  but the usually distinctive Ingleborough struggles to throw off its cloudy mantle; it remains moody nearly all day.

On the map, this whole plateau is dotted with shake holes, limestone pavements, caves, and potholes.  A water-worn karst landscape. And they are here to be seen as the Turbary Road weaves along. 

This is the area I referred to in my introduction. I don’t go out of my way to visit each one, but Rowten Pot makes its presence known well in advance by the noise of water gushing down it. I refrain from going as close to the edge as I used to, but I try to get a video of the atmosphere—first, the initial stream drop, and then a few yards away, Rowten Pot itself.

The ground around Jingling Pot is where my family had their adventures, but today I can’t locate the little caves, or rather, I don’t spend enough time searching for them. I regret that now.

The rain has stopped, but the clouds persist overhead; my rain-proofs stay on for the rest of the day. Constantly, the view up to the head of Kingsdale and the slopes of Whernside holds my attention as the light changes. As for Ingleborough, well, it’s there sometimes.

I’m heading towards the location of Yordas Cave, obvious from the copse of trees;  a high stile takes me into the correct field without any need to climb walls. A large limestone block serves as my lunch seat whilst in the sunshine. Life seems good and all the cares of the world drift away.

A mountain biker is struggling up the hill; once he is on the Turbary Road, all will be plain pedalling.

My way is down alongside Yordas Gill, which will drop into the cave system. I divert to look at the waterfalls just above their descent underground, accessible only to well-equipped cavers. 

Yordas Cave was a show cave in the 19th century. I have visited it many times over the years. Today I have forgotten my torch! Being a Sunday a steady procession of people go in with portable, high-power LED lamps that give fantastic light. I inch forward into the main chamber, as far as I can safely go without a torch. I try to take photos when the cave is illuminated. For some reason, I don’t think to use flash; I rarely do.

A bloke from my native Durham is flying a drone from the entrance. We chat about his YouTube site, but I have forgotten the name. It would be good to see the footage.

To make up for my ineptitude, here are a couple of links for Yordas Cave.

https://oldfieldslimestone.blogspot.com/2014/05/yordas-cave-palace-of-norwegian-giant.html

All I have to do now is walk down the quiet road in glacial Kingsdale. It does go on a bit. Of interest, there is the dry riverbed of Kingsdale Beck. A lot goes on underground here. The waters reappear at Keld Head Resurgence, where someone is fishing. It starts raining again.

Dry Kingsdale riverbed.
Keld Head Resurgence.

At the top of the rise, a man is enjoying the view from his car. Of a similar vintage to me, it turns out he was a serious caver in the past. He has a caravan down in Ingleton and has come up here for a break, possibly whilst his wife prepares the evening meal. We natter on about all things: caving, climbing, fluorspar, cataracts, and whisky. A good half hour passes, but I’m in no rush. He even offers me a lift down the road, which of course I decline.

At the junction with Westgate Lane, there is some stone seating and a toposcope, mainly focused on the distant Bowland Fells—a good place to sit and take in our beautiful northern counties. The skies are now clear with good distant views, and even Ingleborough is smiling on us.

The straight lane will take me back to my car. An ugly transmitter is to the left, and an isolated barn by the roadside further down.

Only when I come alongside the barn do I see that it is attached to a sheepfold and has been renovated recently. A little wooden gate allows access, and a sign on the door proclaims it to be Toby’s Fold.

As you know, I am a fan of Andy Goldsworthy’s land art, and I own one of his books written with the Lakeland poet David Craig. It describes a journey down old drove roads from the Lowlands of Scotland through Cumbria to Lancashire and Yorkshire.  He erected and dismantled a sandstone arch at various sites, often sheepfolds, along the route. A crazy project, really,

In Andy’s words,  “I will make an arch in Scotland from Locharbriggs red sandstone. It will be erected in a sheepfold on the Lowther Hills near to where I live, after it will follow a drove route from Scotland through Cumbria and into Lancashire or Yorkshire. This is one group of work within the sheepfolds project which will have its origin outside Cumbria yet still leave its mark there, in common with people,animals and things which have passed through this area over the centuries, leaving evidence of their journey but neither coming or staying there.
The arch will stay overnight at folds along or close by the drove route. it will be erected and photographed at each site before being dismantled and taken to the next. Some of the folds (still identifiable on the maps) no longer exist; others are in need of repair. Several virtually derelict wooden folds will be rebuilt in stone, continuing what I see as a tradition of first drawing a fold with rail, fence, or posts before it is made in stone. The arch will, wherever possible, leave behind it a trail of revived working folds, a trail of goodwill”

So this is where the arch ended up – I never knew. Peering through the window, there it is—the red sandstone arch illuminated by small roof lights.  I always imagined that, after reading the book about the arch’s journey and seeing the photos, the arch was like one of those Looper caterpillars moving from place to place. How wonderful that, unknown to me, it has found a resting place here – but will it loop off in the future on another Goldsworthy adventure?

My car is 10 minutes down the road. It’s been a day of changeable weather, but what a great way to end the day finding the Arch.

*

NICKY NOOK.

6 Replies

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.  

I DO LIKE TO BE BESIDE THE SEASIDE.

12 Replies

The Mythic Coast.

Blackpool has switched on its illuminations, boosting tourism for a few more months. But I’m not here for the lights; I’m here for a bracing walk beside the sea. In the past, I often cycled the Fylde Coast and have written about it here many times. I can’t believe it is two and a half years since my last visit.  Today I’m motivated by yet another chapter in that 52 Ways to Walk book, Walk Beside the Sea. Not that I need much motivation to return to one of my favourite stretches on the Fylde.

The book promises:  “the sound of surf and breaking waves are deeply restorative, while reflections pique and engage our brain, and the fractal patterns of shells and waves soothe our frazzled minds” Sounds good.

I check the tide timetables as I hope to walk out onto the beach, unencumbered by my cycle, to examine some of the artworks described in that last post from here.  High 10:38;  Low 17:13.  Cleveleys. So the afternoon should work out well. Now to check the bus times from Cleveleys back to Fleetwood. The number 5 runs every half hour.

 *

I park up at about two o’clock, on the front in Fleetwood near the Knott End ferry terminus and RNLI station. It’s obvious, judging from the views across Morecambe Bay,  that the day is going to be crystal clear.

Even though I’ve previously highlighted several memorials and statues to lives lost at sea at this end of the promenade, I find myself revisiting them, as they are so poignant even to a hardened soul like myself. The shoal of fish lead me to the ‘Welcome Home’ statue.

I walk along the soft sands for a while; the sea looks so far away across the sandbanks exposed at low tide, but these are dangerous places when the tide comes in; many people have been cut off and rescued by the RNLI volunteers. They have had some unexpected and adverse critical reactions recently related to asylum seekers, but where would we be without them? The RNLI is the charity that saves lives at sea above all others.

Back on the promenade, I make good progress but keep stopping to photograph Black Combe and the Lake District across the bay.  A cargo ship is heading out from Heysham. 

The stretch to Rossall School seems to go on forever. The concrete panelling, part of the sea defences,  is relieved by panels depicting episodes from The Sea Swallow, a beautiful illustrated book by Gareth Thomson based on a folklore story of the Wyre Mythic Coast, of which more later.

The promenade sweeps onwards. My attention is divided between the panorama out to sea and the graceful seawall with its occasional artworks.

Tall installations represent local flora and the animals that depend on them.

The wavy wall continues; can you spot Blackpool Tower? It ends with another piece from The Sea Swallow.

Rossall School always looks Dickensian to me.

I’ve chosen to come in the afternoon to explore the sand at low tide. I’m starting to worry that I have missed the Shell and the Ogre installations, which I have only seen semi-submerged before. I walk on, taking in the curves of Cleveleys’s sea defences. Dog walkers far out on the sand give my seascapes some scale. I drop down onto the beach for a change and alternate between sandy and stony stretches.

I can’t resist a bit of beachcombing.

And then I spot Mary’s Shell over the next groyne.

How exciting to come up close from all angles and even get inside. The whole massive structure is encrusted by the sea’s twice-daily immersion. Lines from the poem are inscribed on the inside coils, though they’re hard to make out, and I spot a couple of other original decorations. 

 

Another groyne away, I thought I could see the Ogre sculpture, but it was surrounded by more boulders (for sea defences) than I remember before; perhaps some have been added over the years. I walk across the beach, and yes, he is there crouched and looking grumpy, a veritable ogre. He is heavily encrusted, as he becomes completely submerged at most tides.

I scramble back onto the promenade with its futuristic lighting; I must come one night to repeat this walk.

I knew the ‘Ogre’s Paddle’ was along here somewhere; incongruously next to a cinema and gym, most people walk past it without realising its significance.  I did for years, not even noticing it!

One has to seek out the relevant poem’s lines on the paddles back side.

On the promenade opposite the main street of Cleveleys is the 10m-high Sea Swallow statue. Opening like a book, the two swallows fly high. The base features engravings from the poem.

All in all, it’s an elegant structure.

It’s only a short walk to my final art installation, The Fylde Shipwreck Memorial. A memorial to all known ships lost along the Fylde coast, from Fleetwood to Lytham St Annes. It is positioned on the promenade adjacent to the site of the most recently lost ship – The Riverdance. A rusting wall of names of over 200 boats.  Time to catch my bus back to Fleetwood.

*

With the tide well out, it’s not been a day of crashing waves, but more of soft sands, silvery seas, and big open skies. My mission to visit the Shell and the Ogre at low tide is accomplished. For a comprehensive history of the Mythic Coast art, you should look here before you go. The ‘children’s’ book The Sea Swallow by Gareth Thompson, which tells the story, is one of my treasured possessions.

*

THE OLD PRESTON TRAM ROAD.

6 Replies

 

 

 

First, a bit of history.

In 1792, a canal was proposed to link the towns of Kendal, Lancaster and Preston with the Leeds to Liverpool Canal. The main traffic was to be coal, from the Wigan coalfields going north to Preston. Additionally, limestone was to be moved south. Hence the local nickname for the canal – the black and white.

The spur from the Leeds Liverpool canal reached what is now Walton Summit. Originally, an aqueduct to cross the Ribble was planned, along with many locks; this would have been overly expensive, so a ‘temporary’ tramway was constructed from the Walton wharf, with a bridge over the Ribble, in the early years of the C19th. So the canal effectively was in two halves. (The Lancaster Canal was finally connected to the rest of the national network with the recent opening of the Millennium Link; that’s another story).

Horses pulled the wagons along the Tram Road, and then there was a steam-driven chain to haul the wagons up an incline to the canal wharf in Preston. Eventually, the railways superseded the canal for commercial use, and the tramway closed in 1864.

 An old map shows the original wharfs in Preston, circled top left, and the route of the tramway down through Avenham to the Bridge over the Ribble.  The route of the tram road is highlighted on this next old map, connecting with the canal at Walton Summit.       

Since then, the canal basin in Preston has been filled in, the canal link from Walton to the Leeds Liverpool has largely disappeared, and much of the tramway line from Bamber Bridge to Walton Summit has been lost to development—the dotted sections on the map below.

Pic: Wikimedia, OS Street Map.

                                              

The original wooden tram bridge over the Ribble was completed in 1802; it needed repairs in 1890 and was severely damaged by floods in 1936. During the Second World War, the timber decking was removed to prevent any potential German tank invasion. In 1964, concrete replaced much of the wood to maintain a valuable walking and cycling route. The bridge deteriorated again, was closed to the public in 2019, and was demolished in 2024.

The Old Tram Bridge.                                                                                                                 Blog Preston.

Its future was in doubt until a government grant from the Levelling Up Fund secured the millions needed for a replacement. The new bridge was opened to much acclaim in May of this year, thus restoring the pedestrian and cycle connection to what remains of the old tram road on the south side of the river.

I’ve drawn on several websites for archived historical information.

https://www.leylandhistoricalsociety.co.uk/bb-02.html

The Old Tramway

Clicking on the photo below links to many superb period photos of the canal and old tram road.

Lancaster Canal at Cottam c1920

*

Today’s exploration on foot – I walk the lines. 

When I walked the whole of the Lancaster Canal from Preston to Kendal in 2018, I started from the remaining basin north of the city centre. There is not much evidence of the original course of the canal to the wharfs in the centre of town: the odd wall here, the odd bridge there, but nothing continuous. The University, shops, and roads have done it for it. And the start of the tram road from the wharf heading into Avenham Park has suffered the same fate.

Today’s walk nearly ended after ten minutes outside the Harris Museum; I tripped over an elevated tree root in the pavement and flew headfirst  –  grazed hands and a tear in my trousers, but luckily no more. A gentle lady came to my aid, but I reassured her I was fine – even if the pride is dented somewhat. I took a picture later in the day on my return.

I next find myself in the Georgian Winkley Square, a green oasis off Fishergate.

I had read about the state of no 28, the past home of Edith Rigby, a famous suffragette, but am surprised to see it in such a sorry state for one of Preston’s notables.

On the top edge of Avenham Park, I pick up the line of the tramway as it went down towards the steep incline above the new tram bridge. Passing the Belvedere building, approximately on the site of the engine-house that wound the tramway trucks up and down.

The bridge looks impressive from up here, with plenty of pedestrians and cyclists crossing it both ways. I drop down and use the Guild Wheel paths to try to get photographs of the bridge from either side.  It is indeed a graceful bridge serving the area well, and Preston can be proud to see it reinstated. 

From the centre I can look downstream to the old East Lancs Railway bridge I hope to cross later in the day. Beyond it and out of sight is the main line rail bridge into Preston.

Once over, I am now in Lower Penwortham, and the tree-lined old tram road stretches out in front of me. A steady stream of walkers and cyclists passes by. Fields line both sides, so you feel out of the city within minutes—the green lungs of Preston. The resurfaced track goes straight for nearly a mile, rising to Carr Wood, where paths meet. The tram road heads left, but I will be back at this spot later. The lane now goes through housing estates but still feels rural, and there are plenty of pedestrian links for the locals. Occasionally, a quiet road crosses.

Then all of a sudden it comes to an end at Todd Lane, and the tram road disappears into fields and Bamber Bridge. Thankfully, I find paths down a green corridor through the Walton Park Woods. The day has warmed up, and I find a seat near the lake for a drink and snack. I’m surrounded by nature; raised beds have been planted for butterflies and bees, herons rise from the waters, and I add to my bounty of haws. A few dog walkers pass through, but one feels in a world of your own in here.

Here is a little map highlighting the position of Walton Park woods.

I climb up onto the track of an old railway heading back to Preston.   Preston and Blackburn Railway, which opened on 1 June 1846, became part of the East Lancashire Railway two years later, which built its own bridge across the Ribble to Butler Street station and goods yard by 1850. This stretch closed to passengers in 1968 and goods in 1972. (see below *)  I’m soon back where the tram road passed by, but take a left to stay on the ELR track. These resurfaced ways create a network of walking and cycling paths south of the river, most of which I was previously unaware of. Must come with the bike and explore further. Always adding to my list.

Up ahead is a wooden sculpture, the Tree Pod by Rosie Fenwick and Ben Maris, along with pupils from Lostock Hall Secondary School. Carved from oak trunks, it lets you stand inside and peer through the holes. The Tram Road, on reflection, would benefit from some artworks, and some seats – there wasn’t a single one on the stretch I walked.

A little further is ‘Coupling Rods’  by John Packer and Martin Maudsley, paying homage to the railway history and at the same time incorporating insect-eye-like lenses,

The raised rail embankment gives views of the Preston skyline and, at one point, the New Tram Bridge across the fields. 

Now approaching the city, the disused rail bridge, with its original pedestrian walkway, crosses the Ribble.

Trains are rattling across the Main Line bridge downstream (well, not in my photo), and there is yet another view of The New Tram Bridge upstream.

From the balustraded bridge, you look down on Miller and Avenham Parks, both busy on a sunny afternoon at the end of the school holidays.

Then, all of a sudden, you are in the rail station car park, with the shops ahead where the Butler Street station and goods yard used to be until the seventies redevelopment. *

Butler Street Station, to the east of the main station, before demolition.                   Blog Preston.

I’ve enjoyed walking back into history and seeing more possibilities for exploration south of the river.  The mural on the Station Inn also reminds me to seek out Preston’s street art before too long.

*

*

You might not have read this far, but I’m going to sneak in one of my 52 Ways to Walk chapters, Exercise your curiosity muscle – Walk a Ley Line.

Well, I’m always curious when out and about, so that ‘muscle’ must be strong. I didn’t know of any obvious ley lines in this area, so I did an internet search and came across The Lamanche Zodiac from the Journal of Geomancy, joining features in a line from Preston to Cheshire.  “A star-aligned landscape formation that mirrors the constellations of the zodiac using roads, streams, churches, and ancient trackways “,  proposed by Kathryn J. Preston in 1977. Reading further only confused me more.

“The concept of ley lines was created in the early 1920s by English amateur archaeologist Alfred Watkins. While walking through Herefordshire, England, Watkins noticed that ancient sites like churches, standing stones, and burial mounds seemed to fall on continuous straight paths. In his 1925 book The Old Straight Track, he argued these lines were ancient, pre-Roman trade and travel routes used for navigation. Watkins never attached any supernatural meaning to his theory.”    Britannica

In the 1960s,  the idea evolved away from archaeology and natural features into more esoteric beliefs. They were seen as channels for spiritual or magnetic powers, connecting sacred sites or even serving as landing guides for alien visitors.

No scientific evidence shows that Ley Lines exist, so I won’t necessarily be walking the Lamanche Line.

In the past, I have created my own straight-line walks using end-to-end points of personal interest. Most notably from Blackpoll to Aldbrough on the east coast. These have been great fun to plan and walk but of no other value or meaning. To counter this negativity about the possibilities of Ley Lines, I proposed today’s walk as a chance to ‘use my curiosity muscle’ by walking the old rail lines. Simple, effective, and satisfying.

 

A SUMMER’S EVE AT CHIPPING.

14 Replies

The usual Leagram circuit, one I have repeated many times.

When I say usual, I don’t mean ordinary; this is a beautiful little walk in the bosom of the Bowland Fells.

My son, off work for a week, phones after lunch wondering whether I fancy a walk; I don’t need asking twice. I ponder where to go; recently we have been on Longridge Fell, down at Brock Bottoms and up Beacon Fell – the regular ones. Chipping comes to mind and the walk through the Leagram estate.

There is free parking at the village hall.

Chipping is a charming village with venerable stone properties. In the past, it has won ‘village in bloom’ competitions. And today it is certainly in bloom. We walk past the cottages of Club Row and the Cornerstone cafe, closed on Tuesdays.

Two pubs and a church. The post office/shop has the honour of being the longest continuously serving shop in the UK. A local wool merchant opened the first shop here in 1668. Since then, it has been used as an undertaker’s, a butcher’s, and, most recently, a Post Office.

More of the church and the other pub later.

Past the old mill, with the water wheel still just visible. Past the war memorial and onto a quiet lane.

The quiet lane takes us to the Leagram Hall estate, where a public footpath heads into the hills. Stately trees line it, though some have succumbed to recent storms.

Leagram Hall was originally built as the keeper’s lodge for the surrounding medieval deer park, or laund. It has been associated with the Weld family for generations.  https://www.chippinghistory.co.uk/assets/documents/life-at-leagram-hall

It offers a grand view over the ancient deer park, with Longridge Fell and Pendle in the distance.  On past the sheep farm, the lane meanders into the hills with a few properties hidden away. At the base of Saddle Fell, free-range eggs for sale, a road is joined to take us back to Chipping. Out of familiarity and too much chatting, photographing becomes forgotten, except for my header effort.

Down past various old mills and properties on Chipping Brook until the millpond of Kirk Mill is reached, where two lads are trying their hand at fishing, without success. Most of the houses below here were for workers at Kirk Mill and the subsequent Berry chair works. There is ample information about the works online. Their website has fascinating modern history. Watch the Grenada video in the welcome section for some vintage footage.

This property may be remembered as the ‘showroom’ for the chairs and tables.   

Back into the village by the church.

I have things to show my son at the church.

A Saxon font which may have been used as a plague stone.

We take a longer look at the Berry Memorial Window, installed in 1967. It incorporates the tools of chair-making, the two ancient sources of power, water and fire, and naturally biblical symbolic representations. If you look closely, you’ll see the water wheels and cogs, chairs, and church all depicted.

A more sinister history is associated with the churchyard. Under the ancient yew tree is the gravestone of  Lizzie Dean.

Across the way is the Sun Inn and the window where the tragedy took place. A story I’ve told many times.

Lizzie was a scullery maid in the year 1835; by all accounts, a pretty and pleasant young lady, she liked to dress in colourful clothing. That year, the poor girl had the misfortune of meeting a local lad who told her he loved her deeply. He played a cruel trick on her by proposing to her, in the hope that he could have his wicked way with her. After he had carried out his plan, he told poor Lizzie that he no longer wished to marry her. Lizzie’s heart was broken in two. You can imagine the pain she must have felt; to add to her heartache, her ex-lover proposed to her best friend, and she, against Lizzie’s wishes, agreed to marry him.

On the day of the wedding at St Bartholomew’s Church, Lizzie made her way up to the pub attic overlooking the churchyard. She calmly wrote a suicide note and placed a rope around her neck, and died in the Sun Inn’s attic.

In her clenched fist was the suicide note; it read, “I want to be buried at the entrance to the church, so my lover and my best friend will always have to walk past my grave every time they go to church.”

The one thing Lizzie has done is to bring a lot of custom to Chipping; may the poor girl rest in peace!

There is far more of Chipping to explore than I have touched on today; it’s worth a visit. If it were in the Cotswolds, it would be inundated with tourists; let’s celebrate it as a Lancashire secret.

On the drive home, we stopped off at the Derby Arms in Thornley for a bite to eat. This place still feels like a country Inn. 

 

Outside in the beer garden is an old Fergie in good condition but painted yellow.  I wonder how many more summer’s eves like this we will enjoy as Autumn approaches.

*

CALF TOP – THE LATEST 2000 FOOTER.

16 Replies

Curiosity nearly killed the cat – but satisfaction brought it back. 

Last week, whilst having a look at Jack’s Fold in Barbondale, we noticed a cairn-like structure high on the slopes of Castle Knott on the north side of the valley. It seemed to have a small chamber in it.  Zooming in with my camera, I pronounced it to be a bush. But upon reviewing the poor photo on the computer screen, it is, in fact, a stone cairn ‘hollowed’ out. How strange, a sentry box on the fell?

I’m not the only one to notice it; Mark of Beating the Bounds had a better photo from a 2018 visit, though he didn’t explore further.

Looking at the map, I wonder if this is it, circled in red.

My interest is aroused; an internet search doesn’t turn up anything. I need to explore on the ground. It would be a steep climb to it directly, but there is a path marked on the OS above the wall that leads to Castle Knot and Calf Top. This path starts from Eskholme and climbs Eskholme Pike first. Along the way, there is a small outcrop called Devil’s Crag that could be interesting to look at. The ridge continues to Calf Top, marked at 610m. That is 2000ft in old money, a ‘mountain ‘ in England.

Now, going back to my relatively youthful years, I ascended all the 2000-ft mountains in England and Wales, then called ‘Bridges’ after George Bridge, who had compiled a book in 1973, listing them all. The book was sparsely illustrated but with photographs by the well-known W A Poucher, FRPS. This book was complemented by an edition by Nick Wright, English Mountain Summits, 1974. These two books became my bibles as I ticked off the summits in the 70s. Finishing in 1980.

I have not looked back on that period of my life for a while!

Anyhow, here we are today. Calf Top was resurveyed in 2016 and has achieved the magical 610m/2000ft mark. Why not complete the list and at the same time search out that strange cairn?

Following my ascent of Winder yesterday, I stayed with friends in the area, so I’m just up the road from Barbon. An opportunity not to be missed. It turns out to be a tough day.

*

As I park up next to the church in Barbon, along come friends who used to live in my lane but have only very recently moved up here, quite a surprise; tea is promised for later. It’s a small, friendly world.

I know the way into the Barbon Park Estate, and today, instead of starting the Barbon Hill Climb (a yearly motorsports event), I wander through the mature trees in a northerly direction, not strictly on the right of way, hoping there will be a gate into the open fellside above Eskholme Farm. There is, and I’ve gained a couple of hundred easy feet of ascent. I’m now in open access and free to roam.

The land is rough with rocky outcrops everywhere. This is Silurian Sedimentary rock, sandstones and shales. Here, separated from the limestone, a younger rock. Adam Sedgwick discovered and explained the Dent fault, which separates the Carboniferous limestone country of the Yorkshire Dales from the older rock of Howgill Fells to the north. Above me is the Devil’s Crag. I make a beeline for it until I realise how steep the slope is and how laboured my breathing has become; I start zigzagging. Once at its base, I seek out in my imagination possible lines up its 25 ft of verticality. The rock is superb for climbing with lots of small but flat holds. There is some interesting folding. My shoulder surgeon has told me not to go near any climbing for up to six months; can you imagine how frustrated I am? There is no record of anyone climbing here. 

Curiosity satisfied for now, I move on. Looking back down at Devil’s Crag, the Lune Valley opens up, with the western Lakeland hills in the background.

High above on the fell is the cairn of Eskholme Pike and I can see a group of walkers just reaching it. I find a path and plod on slowly. It turns out to be a fine viewpoint, and I stop to take panoramic photos of the surrounding area with the whole of the Lakeland Fells stretched across the horizon.

By now, that other group are making slow progress up the open fell towards what must be Castle Knott; it looks a long, featureless way.

On I go, following the green track on the ground rather than any dots on the map. A small cairn is reached, but the summit of Castle Knott is still a way off.

The group ahead can be seen arriving at the cairn on Castle Knott.

I am glad to arrive at that cairn, Castle Knott. The hills surrounding Dentdale come into view.

 

I pause for a rest. The figures are way ahead, and also having a rest, on the far slopes with no sign of the summit of Calf Top. This is becoming a trudge, but I don’t have to think about navigation with the wire fence for company. I do, though, think about the remoteness up here and the fact that I have to return all this way when I haven’t even seen the summit; there is no shortcut to safety. My niggly muscle problems are at the back of my mind. This negativity is unusual for me.

Once again, progress is slow; it’s only a matter of putting one foot in front of the other. But first there is a drop to a col which I will have to climb back up on the return. I pause for another rest and chocolate. The others disappear f vcrom view.

Eventually the fence guides me over a false summit until the Trig point of Calf Top comes into view. I slump onto the ground next to the DofE group of girls I have been following; we all agree it has been a long haul to get here. They are refuelling, and  I do the same. They are a friendly bunch, optimistic about their four-day Gold Award. They hope today, their first, is the toughest. Tonight they will be camping by the River Lune; I wish them well as they shoulder their large packs and move onwards.

I now have time to consider the all-round views from this lonely top. More panorama shots and even a wobbly 360-degree video to celebrate my last 2000-footer.

The lovely Dentdale.

The Howgills, with little Winder, which I climbed yesterday.

 

On the way back, I avoid some of the re-ascent by contouring around Castle Knott. I’m not convinced it helped as the ground was steep and rough.

Having bypassed Castle Knott top, I toss up in my mind whether to go looking for that cairn; have I bitten off more than I can chew? I’ve already climbed 2000ft and don’t fancy much more. But the opportunity of being up here may not come again, so where is that gate in the fence?

The ground drops away quickly, and I can’t see the wall I need to locate. Barbondale is a thousand feet below, and I reckon I need to drop about 400ft. There’s no coming back. I pick my way down carefully, avoiding bracken and scree as much as possible; the cars on the road look minute. At last I spot the corner of the stone wall not so far off to my right and start heading towards it.

Perhaps another map will explain the situation.

Will I be able to get access into that next piece of walled-off fell? This is all access land, but some bits may have little access. As I get closer, I spot a fortuitous gap in the wall. A secured wooden gate blocks the way, and I have to climb over it; it’s a bit wobbly.

Will I be able to see the cairn?  Is that the top of it over there?

I’m on steep ground but manage to traverse across to it. The cairn is indeed tall, some 10ft or so. I come around to its valley side, and there is the chamber I saw from the road. Some 8ft tall with a stone seat at the back. Amazing. Why is it here, and when was it built? I assume it’s on land belonging to The Barbon Estate. Was it for a shepherd to take shelter or even a gamekeeper? So many questions.

I use the seat to eat some chocolate and rehydrate, looking out over Barbondale and the opposite fells. There is some recent graffiti but no historical evidence of its antiquity.

What options do I have for continuing, given that I’m quite tired? Looking down from the cairn, the ground steepens even more with craglets and further down bracken. It would be possible with care, though a trip could cause serious problems. Better not. I couldn’t face the climb back up to the good path coming down from Castle Knott. My best option was to get out of this field and hope there is a path on the topside of the fell wall.  I tackle the wobbly gate once again and trudge slowly up the hill until above the wall. There is no track, so I have no option but to traverse the rough hillside, aiming for the wire fence a third of a mile away.

There is a gate in the fence, and it is not too far then, and going downhill at last, to pick up the path back to the cairn on Eskholme Pike. The views to the distant Lakeland Hills seem sharper at this time of day.

In the vicinity of Devil’s Crag on the way up, I had noticed other nearby crags, and coming down, I  made time to explore them. One in particular was over 25ft and had some clean-looking rock just wanting to be climbed. Let’s name it Angel’s Crag.

All I had to do now was follow my footsteps back through Barbon Park to the church in the village. The sheep have hardly moved since this morning. 

The thought of cups of tea at my friends’ new house kept me going. Alas, they weren’t at home. That’s a shame, not just because of the lack of tea, but I was going to give them the task of some local research into the origins of that mystery cairn. Some of the farmers in the Barbon Inn might know something.

For me, it’s been a long day with a lot of ascent, often on rough, steep, and stony ground. At times I could easily have turned around and shortened the day. The trip to find the cairn was on top of it all and quite taxing, but the satisfaction at the end of the day makes it all worthwhile. I hope another 2000ft hill doesn’t suddenly appear.

I’m soon on the motorway and whizzing home for a hot bath. Tomorrow will be another day.

*

*

My 52 Ways to Walk book has a chapter on Walking at Altitude. mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

My cat has just sat on the keyboard; at least she didn’t delete everything, as has happened before. Oh yes, Walking at Altitude goes on about relative anoxia and how athletes train at altitude to stimulate more haemoglobin production. Walking at altitude, and I’m now talking about the Alps or the greater ranges, is exhilarating because of the surroundings but can be debilitating with more severe hypoxia. I’ve experienced all extremes. Those days are over for me, just memories. So instead of 20,000 ft, I will have to be content today with an altitude of 2000ft; even that felt taxing.

At least I survived.

 

WINDER.

15 Replies

Let me stand again on Winder, in the magic summer breeze,                                                       Feel once more the stones and heather, watch the bracken and the tree ;                                 Let me see again the river, and the fields and walls and farms,                                                    Sedbergh, let me feel you near me, let me take you in my arms.

A poem written in 1954 by  Tim Birdsall, a former pupil at Sedbergh School. I find this poem more resonant than the oft-quoted lines from Sedbergh’s celebrated public school’s song – Winder. Sedbergh School has just celebrated its 500th year.

It is Cautley, Calf and Winder,
That make the Sedbergh man.

Sedbergh and its school are closely bound to Winder, the hill overlooking them. By tradition, all pupils of the school need to climb Winder at least once during their time at the school. I don’t think I have ever climbed Winder from the town; I’ve often come over it returning from a longer excursion in the Howgills. Time moves on, and today I’m happy to wander up and over the not-so-little hill.

There seems to be a lot of activity in the town – it is the annual Sedbergh Hills Race. They have already set off on their 14 mile/6000ft course.

After Lockbank Farm, I plod up above the wall the long way round, before starting the steeper track to the top of Winder. Fortunately, the paths are well trodden through the prolific bracken. From lower down, there appear to be several false tops to Winder; there are. I stop often to watch the town disappear below me, and to take in views of the Lune Valley, and all the other hills that surround Sedbergh.

At the trig point, a gaggle of people man the final checkpoint for the fell race.  There is a trig pillar and a toposcope up here; the views are extensive, but I don’t linger. A little further down here comes the leader of the pack; I cheer him on, whoever he is. He is more than five minutes ahead of the others; of them, I only see a few – the pace must be hot today.

I baulk at the 500 ft ascent to Arant Haw and instead take a green track toward Settlebeck Gill, with Sedbergh way below.

This is exhilarating as it clings to the edge of the deep ravine. My only complaint is that little water flows down there at present in these heatwave times. It must be more impressive in winter after heavy rain.

Now taking a lower track, I drop down into the Gill, here less fierce than above. The route is popular with numerous people ascending and following me down.

I do a little dogleg across the stream, where most people seem to go straight on, and find myself on a path through ancient woodland.

At its end there in front of me is the wooded mound of a Motte and Bailey, c1100, Castlehaw. Not that easy to make out! 

A bunkhouse nearby offers accommodation for families and friends to get together, an increasingly popular way to share time.

The footpath goes through their garden before disappearing into the woodland again and coming out on the edge of Sedbergh through a lovely old iron kissing gate.

Even taking a footpath below Castlehaw, there is little to see in the trees of the Motte and Bailey.

Strolling through the main street, I studiously avoid any of the bookshops.

Instead, I make my way to St. Andrews parish church. A Norman doorway leads me into the tall aisle of the church. The present church dates mainly from about 1500. The Lancaster architects Paley and Austin carried out a major restoration in 1885–86.

Above the altar in the east wall is a distinctive stained-glass window, with the one picture in the five lights. It depicts Christ calling to Andrew and Peter, the fishermen. Thought to have been installed about 1890 by Henry V Miller.

Several other bright windows line the side walls.

 

On the North wall are two large, fairly recent embroideries created by a band of local stitchers, depicting local scenes and architecture. Fantastic detail.

My way back to my car takes me through some of the grounds of Sedbergh School. Lancashire CCC uses their cricket pitch on occasion each season.  

And this is the school’s view of Winder, a tough little hill in the bosom of the Howgills.

*

 

 

 

A DAY OUT WITH ZOLA.

23 Replies

Or how to take five hours over a four-mile walk and enjoy it. 

I’ve been a fan of Andy Goldsworthy ever since coming across his work high on Clougha Pike.

My greatest regret is not visiting his exhibition in Edinburgh last year. Enough of the links until the end.

For me, there is always more to discover, such as his series of sheepfolds along an old droving lane, Fellfoot Road, above the Lune Valley and Casterton. I find a map on his website.

16 sheepfolds on one lane- what more could you ask for? Now who could I interest in this project? Yes, of course, my friend C, the ‘slate lady’. I’d better make room in the car for her shared dog Zola, a veteran of our escapades.

“There are numerous sheepfolds tucked in the corners of fields along Fellfoot Road, near Casterton. I have never seen such a concentration of folds.  These small, simple enclosures are connected to a walled track, like rooms attached to a corridor. 

I would like to make a work that answers the rhythm of these repeating sheepfolds and is perhaps evocative of the movement and passage of sheep brought down from the fells and driven along the track.

Large boulders sit in the adjoining fields like scattered sheep. I propose to place one large stone in each of the enclosures that I make or rebuild. The gesture will be like an arm gently gathering a stone into one corner, protecting it.”

On arrival, morning coffee is taken from a flask at the back of the parked car; needs must. I  think we are in Cumbria. The start of the drove lane is a few yards from our lay-by. A steep beginning as I pant behind the sprightly C; Zola is way ahead.   

Thankfully, I can call a halt when I spot our first sheepfold. The only clue is a stepped stile in the adjoining stone wall. Zola is immediately keen to explore, jumping into the fold and finding her way through the hog hole. Inside the four stone walls is a rather small boulder.

Apparently, these boulders – there will be more – were retrieved, dug out of the hillside above. It is difficult to believe. They seem to be sandstone, whereas the walls of the folds are limestone, the bedrock at this height. The sheepfold is a reminder of the agricultural past, and the boulder may draw our attention to the sheep within it. One down, fifteen to go.

Turning the corner, the fell lane disappears in a straight line between its stone walls. One to stride out on, but today we have folds to find. The next fold has a much more impressive boulder.

The lane is a regular dog walk for this lady.

The folds come at regular intervals in the fields either side of the lane. Each one is accessible by a stone stile through the wall, some easier to climb than others; though Zola is first through everyone at a pace—obviously a fan of Goldsworthy.

Though the folds are very similar, the boulders in each are of different sizes and have different contours. Some are pockmarked; others are covered in moss; brambles and other vegetation hide a few. We are eager to view each one, a small discovery every time. They are not easy to photograph, and in any case you would soon become bored with sixteen boulders. This is one piece of art that you have to walk through physically, as I’m sure Goldsworthy intended. I wonder how many come this way; it’s cheaper and healthier than visiting any gallery.

We wander on down the verdant lane.

These little white flowers are new to me. Achillea ptarmica – sneezewort. On the rougher upper fields, a few boulders can be seen; on the other side are real sheep.

 

 

One boulder about halfway down is crying out to be sat on; it becomes our luncheon stone.

Look at the lichens…

Refreshed, we move on, crossing the narrow road that leads to Bullpot Farm, a caving centre with access to a network of underground passages. Our fell track changes character here, becoming more open and for some reason less trodden. The bracken and flowers are almost taking over – delightful. It takes a bit more determination to reach the connecting stiles, but we find three more folds.

We come to a gate and ahead are sheep grazing; time to put Zola on her lead. After having mildly mocked me for misplacing my map a way back, C is dismayed to find she has lost the dog’s lead. Oops. She is happy to wait for me to continue to the few remaining folds, but there’s no fun in that; I’ve lost count anyway, so we begin to retrace our steps. Was it left at our lunch stone? No. Was it left further back when she climbed a gate for a better view of one of the boulders? Thankfully, there it was; Whoo, otherwise, I was planning to bring some farmer’s binder twine into an improvised use purely to impress Sir Hugh.

We retrace once again to Bullpot Lane and cut our Goldsworthy quest short. Honours are even, I think. But what is in store down this quiet lane?

Well, first we meet the sheep farmer and his sheepdog on their quad bike at Fell Yeat Farm.  The usual pleasantries over, we quiz him about the sheep folds. He is knowledgeable, but perhaps envious of the thousands-of-pounds grant that Goldsworthy received for the project. A large digger was employed to unearth those giant boulders and move them to their present and forever resting places. Fighting hard to make a living up here, I suspect he took a somewhat jaundiced view of the work. Anyhow, warming to our interest, he talks freely of the life of a sheep farmer in these parts. Next thing, we are in one of his barns, examining fleeces and discussing the profit margin, paying the shearers, and selling the said fleeces. There were two lots of fleeces from different yearlings, but I don’t remember the differences between them. The good news is that prices are on the up. Invest in wool.

He is proud to tell us of his wife’s recent achievement of completing the Three Peaks on a whim, having only set out to climb Pen-Y-Ghent.  Somehow, the talk switches to train journeys to Leeds, direct from not-so-far-off Wennington Station. And did they have a son in Australia or Canada to visit? By now, we have to make our excuses and be on our way.

Throughout this time, his sheepdog sits patiently on the quad bike. I don’t think Zola would have been over-friendly to him; you never know.

Fell Yeat Farm.
Fleeces.

 

We have only walked 100 yards when a sign proclaims Brownthwaite Hardy Plants.

To us keen gardeners, that is like a magnet; we are drawn in. The man is friendly and inviting even though we, as passing walkers, are unlikely to make a purchase. It is a pleasure to explore what is probably called an old-fashioned nursery. Forget your garden centre; there are gems around every unexpected corner. It is difficult to know where the nursery ends and his garden begins. Hydrangeas are a speciality. He has added his own artistic touches wherever we look. Lots of interesting ironworks are incorporated and for sale. I’m surprised we both don’t come marching out with an iron poppy head each.

Again, like his farmer neighbour, he is keen to chat. I suspect not many people come this way. He is passionate about his plants, so he should be, and the environment in general. His little terrier takes a liking to Zola, so all is calm.

Sorry, I have to insert another unexpected link to his nursery.

We stroll back, picking the occasional delicious blackberry and even a juicy plum. It’s one of those days.

This was our route with the backtracking highlighted, and the two interactive episodes arrowed. 

I know from a previous visit of another Andy Goldsworthy sheepfold nearby in Barbondale, so we drive to have a look. Instead of a boulder inside, we find a sheep, temporarily.

*

*

I realise it is a little cheeky, but may I use this post for my 52 Ways to Walk: Walk With a Dog? Zola added to the day’s enjoyment with her enthusiasm. I know I wasn’t in charge, but there was plenty of interaction. The episode, with or without the dog lead, gave the day a different dimension. Walking with a dog anywhere often brings added conversations, as with the lady and her two dogs early in the walk. And of course Zola was a willing photographic model and deserves to be in my headline photo. Looking back through my posts, I’ve had Days Out with Poppy, Pixie and Tilley, all friends’ dogs. My cats stay firmly at home.

ST. GREGORY’S CHURCH. VALE OF LUNE CHAPEL..

5 Replies

The sublime.

I have driven past this little church so many times in the last few years on my frequent travels to and from Sedbergh. It is just east of Lincoln’s Inn Bridge on the A684 coming from the motorway.

Built in the early 1860s by the Upton family of Ingmire Estate when the LNWR  Ingleton to Lowgill branch was being constructed. The railway company had sent a Mr Foyers as a scripture reader to the navvies. (Some 1,600 navvies were used to build the 18-mile line) His gospel preaching attracted many local farmers as well as the rail workers. On completion of the line in 1861, the farmers pleaded with Miss Upton of Ingmire Hall to have him stay. Hence, the church was founded.

Originally consisting of a chapel and a school room, which were combined at the turn of the century, when most of the stained glass and furnishings were installed, and the porch was added. The original architect is unknown. The church is strangely attached to a cottage on one side.

In 1917 the Upton family transferred the church from their Ingmire estate to the Church Commissioners, and it was consecrated in 1918. It was declared redundant in 1992 and is now under the wing of The Churches Conservation Trust—with a history spanning 160 years or more.

The other day I made time to stop and have a look around the church.

As I said, it is attached to its neighbouring cottage, and a large barn across the way is being renovated. It is not your typical rural church. The roofline has a raised glazed Lantern structure. The porch is not in scale with the rest of the building. All rather odd – perhaps, as is sometimes mentioned, the architect was employed by the railway.

The porch door has a fine knocker.

Churches Conservation Trust.

Once inside, it looks a bit gloomy; perhaps I missed the light switch. All is very plain, with a straight nave to the chancel and altar with no real transept.  The original pews have moulded ends and carvings from the early 20th century.

But then I became aware, or even awed by, the stained-glass windows on the west wall. All showing some Art Nouveau influence, I thought. The subjects were of a natural rather than religious nature. Each window was elaborately framed in wood on the inside, like a picture.

 

Looking back at the north wall were two more similar windows. 

Later research indicates that the four in the west wall and the two in the north wall were certainly the work of Frederick George Smith, the principal designer of windows for the London firm of Campbell, Smith & Co.

Hills, clouds,  rivers, plants, flowers and birds are all colourfully depicted – with the intent of leading people to God through the delights of nature.

The more conventional figures of Fortitude and Justice by Morris & Co., in the chancel wall and another window in the porch, Peace, probably also by Morris, have a more direct moral and religious message,

 

 

But what a selection in such a small church. A real wow factor and totally unexpected.

I have been reading about awe in my 52 Ways to Walk book; I’m over halfway now, you will be glad to know. This week: Seek Out The Sublime. We have all had awe-inspiring moments whilst walking: a spectacular sunset or sunrise, distant blue mountains, a hidden waterfall, glorious cloud formations. Even the smallest things can be marvelled at: lichens, insects, raindrops, a rare flower, the flash of a kingfisher. The outdoors is apt to produce sublime moments you don’t get watching television, one of the joys of walking. The more curious you are, the greater the chance of something inspiring you.  And have you noticed how these moments stay in the memory?

The walk I completed that day was set in spectacular scenery and was full of interest, but nothing awe-inspiring occurred. Until I stepped into this little church.

 

THE YORKSHIRE DALES GRISEDALE.

12 Replies

The dale that nearly died.

Whilst having lunch perched on a boulder, along comes a lady walking her dog. It turns out she lives in one of the restored farms in the dale spread out below. This is Grisedale or Grisdal to the locals – everything gets shortened up here. I’ll describe my route up to here later. But first I find out about the history and more from this chatty lass. She has lived here less than a dozen years so is still a newcomer. In the 19th century, the valley was a marginal farming community of about 15 families. There was some mining and lime burning, probably as an ancillary to the farm work. There was a Quaker Meeting House and a Methodist Chapel. In the C20th, economic events, severe winters, and an ageing population led to most farms being abandoned. She tells me that even the stone walls were destroyed for the stone to be used by builders elsewhere. By 1960, only two farms were populated.

By the early 1970s, only one farmer remained living and working in the valley, and he was featured in a Yorkshire Television documentary by Barry Cockcroft, The Dale that Died.  Cockcroft said that Grisedale was “the most romantic dale in all of Yorkshire…complete in its unspoilt beauty, serenity and vivid history”

I have just managed to watch the whole of this remarkable documentary.                          https://replay.bfi.org.uk/video/410d3845-4c55-5652-91aa-c9e3a8917b03

But the dale didn’t die, and in the latter decade of the 1900s, people bought farms and houses and created new homes. It seems to be a close-knit community now, tucked away from the hustle and bustle.

Grisedale in 1890.

*

What am I doing here today? Well, I’m exploring the upper reaches of Garsdale from where the river Clough flows down the valley to Farfield, where it joins the Rawthey. Sir Hugh and I are planning a walk to follow the Clough. The south-east slopes of Baugh Fell give rise to streams that feed the Clough. A prominent one of these is Grisedale Beck, joining the Clough at Garsdale Head. He has already walked this way; I’m just catching up.

There is ample parking at Garsdale Station, but at the back of my mind I wished I had come by train. (Bus Longridge to Clitheroe: 50 mins. Train Clitheroe to Garsdale: one hour thirty – so up to three hours) Anyhow, I’m here and walking down the lane.  Even though I slowed down, I never saw a Red Squirrel.

I go through a small gate into a reedy field.

There will be many reedy fields today. But there is a clear path which takes me up the hill to a stile in a wall. I’m now in the bowl of lower Grisedale with the river down below. There is no sign of Clough Force as the river is virtually dry this month.

I keep following well-signed paths through the rough reedy fields. Blake Mire house is being renovated but seems to have difficult access. Other farms are disappearing slowly.

I come out onto the minor road at Rowantree. A short stretch on the road to Moor Rigg, before I cross fields alongside the Grisedale Beck towards Reachey; there are some nice names around here – I wonder at their origins.

Reachey looks a grand renovation, making use of a derelict barn wall in the design. But it would be reachy to get here in a hard winter.

The path onwards is a delight alongside the beck, full of flowers and rising butterflies.

Ahead is the copse surrounding the ruins of East and West Scale, accessed by an old packhorse bridge.

The path starts to climb away from the beck and becomes rather sketchy; not many people come this far. A strange, unnatural-looking pile of stones is crossed. (My informant tells me later that they were probably left over from when the walls were being exported elsewhere)

The path ends at the ruins of Round Ing. 

I get a little off track, if there is one, as I climb the rough fields back towards Flust. There is a good view down to the Scales ruins.  Flust is at the end of the valley ‘road’ and is merely a barn. When the valley was depopulated, the farmhouses that were no longer occupied fell into ruin, but the barns still had agricultural value, so many were saved. The land is now farmed from elsewhere, with the stock brought here each year.

I follow the rough track back eastwards until I find that stone to rest on for lunch and view across Grisedale to Ingleborough and Whernside in the background. “the most romantic Dale in the whole of Yorkshire”

It is whilst I’m in this reverie that the lady and dog appear. We walk on together for a while and probably spend about an hour of interesting talk. As well as all the local information, she introduces me to the fell ponies wandering up here. From this vantage point, she looks down on ‘her’ Dale, recognising any cars coming or going; I suspect she doesn’t own one. 

By now I have wandered off course, and have to retrace a little to find the stile getting me into the right bit of Grisedale Common. All is open access, but I don’t want to climb walls. I spot the Dandrymire Viaduct near Garsdale Station, way below; I still have some miles to go.

My way off the common is not clear; I’m heading to Grisedale Crossing on the railway. This is the way school children from Grisedale would walk out of their Dale to school every day. The school building is just over the crossing, as marked on the photo. The viaduct on the right is one I’ve never noticed before – Lunds Viaduct.

There is a footbridge over the crossing. The 1890s map shows a footbridge even then and the school.

 

 

Old School extended.

Lunds Viaduct.

I planned to take the footpath by the infant Ure, draining to the east coast, but with all the dallying, I am happy to walk down the road to the C18th Moorcock Inn, which never seems to be open. 

A bridleway goes alongside the railway, dodging through one of the arches of Dandrymire Viaduct before landing me back at Garsdale Station.  Throughout the day, I saw railcars on the line – wouldn’t it be spectacular to watch a steam locomotive coming over that viaduct?

*

What a great day. Now for the Clough River, but we think we’ll postpone it until there’s been some rain and the water is livelier.

THE COAL ROAD.

10 Replies

Dentdale again.

This time I’m parked at Dent Station, the highest mainline station in England, 1150ft. It’s on the famous Settle to Carlisle line. The station building is now a holiday lodge that you can book online—an unusual getaway.

My walk starts by going down the road to Cowgill, a cluster of houses at the head of Dentdale. Crossing the bridge, there is little water in the River Dee as it runs over limestone slabs. The road continues alongside the river with virtually no traffic. The water-worn limestone bedrock of the river is visible throughout. I pass the isolated Sportsman’s Inn. It is serving lunch; I don’t know how it survives out here. I should have gone inside for a quick drink and a look around, but it’s early on my walk, and I have some serious climbing coming up. Going down always means going back up.

Leaving the road, I cross over the Dee and pass Stonehouse Farm. I knew that this route would take me under the Arten Gill Viaduct carrying the Settle – Carlisle line. I wasn’t prepared for the grandeur of it. The arches are high above the gill and built of Dent black marble, actually black limestone; they dominate the valley. Built in the 1870s. 

I follow the track up the side of the gill; this was once an important way for bringing limestone and coal down from the fell. My way is steep; I plod on in the afternoon heat. We are still in a heatwave, but I’m hoping for some cooling breeze as I climb higher.

I keep looking back at the viaduct as I gain height; a train passes over whilst my back is turned. I should have made a note of the timetable.

Mountain bikers shoot past me at breakneck speed going downhill. The solitary cyclist pedalling up is having a far harder time.

The track goes on and on, but the gradient eases. I still keep looking back down at that viaduct. People appear coming downhill; I wonder where from.

At a crossroads of tracks I take the Pennine Bridleway northwards, this is the Coal Road. The map shows nearby coal pits, but I can’t see any evidence on the ground. Until now the tracks have been stony, but along here I am walking on that wonderful sheep-cropped grass of limestone uplands.

The views keep changing as I proceed; that viaduct is still visible for a while, and Ingleborough and Whernside on the skyline vie for my attention. The vista down Dentdale is idyllic, and further on Wild Boar Fell and Mallerstang come into view.

This walk has everything. I find a boulder to rest on, have some lunch and absorb the surroundings. Why have I never been up here before?  I’m walking along the upper slopes of Great Knoutberry Fell, which at 672m I must have ascended years ago when I was completing the 2000ft (609.6m) summits of England and Wales—the joys of youth when one rushed across the fells. And along here I think I find some Knoutberry plants, also known as Cloudberry. Looking back up to Great Knoutberry Fell.

I wind down walking back the quiet road to Dent station, where  I spend time watching the house martins visiting their nests,

What a great day.

Topped off with a drive over to Garsdale, with the roof off, to pick up the main road to Sedbergh.

*

 

ON THE OCCY.

19 Replies

A walk from Dent.

I’m glad for the fresh breeze up here on the Occupation Road, high above Dent, as the heat wave continues: with temperatures, even here in the north, in the high 20s. The Occupation Road, the Occy as the locals call it, was originally an old droving route linking Barbondale and Kingsdale. It was rebuilt in 1859 at the time of the Parliamentary Enclosures, when common fell side land was divided up into large allotments for grazing – the ‘occupied’ land. The land was stolen from the commoners. Those fields are spread out below me, with Dent Town hidden;  the other side of the valley rises to Aye Gill Pike. And there down the valley, the Howgills across the horizon. And at the head of the valley, Great Knoutberry. A panorama to savour.

I’m walking alone today, yes, yet another ‘task’ from my 52 Ways To Walk book. It’s not difficult for me, as probably 80% of my walks are alone these days; a lot of my friends have died or become incapacitated. There are, however, many advantages to solitary walking. One can decide on a walk at the last moment and just set off without any possible communication complications. One can go at one’s own speed, stop when one wants, take lots of photos and spend time just observing nature in all its forms. One can divert to visit ruins and churches that any companion might not find interesting.  One can relax and meditate without constant conversation. It is thought that the more one can create and enjoy solitude, the more resilient and contented one becomes, hence the less alone one feels.

I will not offend any of my walking companions by the above as they are of a similar ilk. In fact, on those days when one chooses a companion for a walk, one appreciates their company even more; I hope that is reciprocated. My solitary walk today is highlighted by several conversations with complete strangers that I might never have had if I were walking with friends.  Read on.

I knew I needed to be away early to avoid the afternoon heat. This wasn’t helped by oversleeping my alarm, being held up by a serious accident on the A6 and then driving past my intended motorway junction for Kirkby Lonsdale. The latter problem was easily rectified by going on to the Sedbergh junction and coming into Dent from the west. By the time I reached here, I succumbed and paid for a day’s parking, having been warned by Sir Hugh of his experience a while ago.

After all that, I’m ready to start at 10 am, which is still early for me. I know, from Sir Hugh’s post, what to expect from the climb alongside Flintergill. The lane leading to it has some pleasant properties and halfway a Meditation Centre in an old Methodist Chapel. I call in and restore my composure before continuing. The way passes early on the ‘Dancing Flags’ – limestone slabs in the gill where weavers danced on their fabrics to shrink and thicken them.

The track remains steep and rocky but provides good shade from the sun. I just plod along. I’m surprised to see this strange tree with roots growing over the path. I later learn it is the ‘Wishing Tree’ – I should have passed under it or walked round it three times, depending who you consult.

Higher up, a typical Dales barn has been preserved, and one can view the interior, where there is a jumble of old farming implements.  Not very instructive, though I like the stone trough in the wall.

The next diversion is an old lime kiln built into the hillside. 

The track becomes less rocky and shows more greenery from the summer growth. The gill itself is down below, but there is no sound of running water. It is dry from the lack of rain and the heatwave.

I encounter the first person I’ve seen since leaving Dent. A lady walking down the track with her little dog. We stop for pleasantries; it turns out she lives just the other side of the gill, and this is her daily walk, having left her husband working in their garden. From what she says, the garden is their main occupation. Having lived here twenty years, they have never really been away – “why would you?” The conversation drifts on about the local wildlife, and it transpires they have ‘tamed’ a rescued magpie. For five years he has lived in their garden and reacts closely with them. Despite its domesticity, he has found a mate most years and reared young. She goes on to tell me about the butterflies in the vicinity and to look out for Emerald Butterflies in the shrubs higher up where apparently there is a welcome seat. A pleasant quarter hour passes by.

I notice a cairn high on the right and scramble up to it. I’m glad I do; it turns out to be a toposcope highlighting all the local features of Dentdale.  I take in the views and I try to video the panorama.

The valley opens up; there is even some water in the beck.  I can see the Occupation Road up ahead, but first I take advantage of that seat to rehydrate and take in the solitude. 

I turn left at the top onto the Occy. It stretches out in front, contouring the hillside. In parts it is underwater; God knows what it would be like in winter, Rutted and awkward for walking, perhaps trashed in the past by motorbikes? But it is a joy to be up here. One has time to take in Dentdale’s different perspectives as one proceeds.

Distant Howgills. 

Dentdale fields.

Great Knoutberry.

There are ever-changing trackside flowers and butterflies. I fail to photograph the latter, but here are a few flowers, predominantly Yellow – cue Coldplay.

I stop at the junction with my downward path, Nun House Outrake, and find a boulder to perch on for my lunch. I study the map to follow the Occy onwards to Kingsdale, another time, maybe. The day drifts on.  Looking down the walled track, I spot a walker ascending slowly; you can just see him in the photo.  

I’m halfway across the stile when I involuntarily check my back pocket – no phone. So back to my lunch boulder and there it is. I could have been down in the valley before I had realised.

By now the other walker has almost reached me, striding out – a young man with a mission. But he hesitantly stops to chat. I ask about his route. He uses public transport and arrived at Dent station by rail today from Sheffield. His southern Yorkshire accent reminds me of Jarvis Cocker; in fact, he has the looks and mannerisms of the man himself. Weird. Using the Occy into Kingsdale, he will climb over Whernside to Ribble Head station. An ambitious day. He knows the area quite well but is keen to learn of other ways. I tempt him into Bowland; he has had thoughts already of walking from High Bentham station to Slaidburn or Chipping. I suspect that he doesn’t feel at ease talking to strangers, but our shared love of stravaiging opens him up. I wish him well and wish I still had his fitness. The day goes on.

I’m soon down at the working Nun House Farm.

Lower on the track, I meet a lady trying to open a gate; I fail too, and we both climb over. I give her space, as you do, and notice she is sensibly using an umbrella for shade. Inevitably, I catch up with her whilst she is searching for the path. Her northeastern accent is immediately familiar to me; not all ‘Geordies’ come from Newcastle; her softer twang is from County Durham, Consett, she tells me. Not far from where I was born in Darlington. A common bond is instantly established, and we chatter away. The umbrella is up as we wander through fields, stumbling across stiles from time to time—another enchanting chance meeting.

Where we part company, I realise I’m slightly off track and have to walk back up the road to Mill Bridge to connect with The Dales Way, The Dales High Way, and AW’s Pennine Journey, all running alongside Deepdale Beck. You wouldn’t have thought all these routes come this way judging from the height of the summer vegetation.  Most of the time there is no beck, it having dried up or gone underground in the limestone.

Even when I meet the Dee, Dentdale’s river, there is little water at the stepping stones.

A Dales Way walker comes by and, of course, stops for a chat. A laid-back gent up from Reading to walk this popular way. His wife back home is suffering temperatures into the 30s whilst he is hopefully completing the second half of a LDW in perfect conditions. He is ahead of schedule for today, and my schedule no longer exists. As we linger, I reflect that a day’s parking fee was well spent. Off he goes under that oversized backpack, and I finally achieve a butterfly photo.

Soon I’m on the cobbled streets of Dent past the memorial stone to Adam Sedgwick, the C19th geologist born in Dent. 

A delightful five-mile walk in outstanding scenery, with the benefit of walking alone yet meeting some real characters.

*

*

It’s roof down for a sparkling drive over to Barbondale and home.

 

Passing en route one of Andy Goldsworthy’s sheep folds, which reminds me I have unfinished business above Casterton. 

A WALK TO FARFIELD MILL, SEDBERGH.

23 Replies

The idea for this walk came after I had read about Farfield Mill, along the river from Sedbergh. “Farfield was a woollen mill until it closed in the early 1990s after 156 years of textile production. Visitors will find heritage displays, working looms, exhibitions, craft demonstrations, art and craft for sale by resident and visiting artists, workshops and events, plus delicious food in the Tea Room”.

After our last rather energetic outing on Warton Crag, I had promised Sir Hugh an easier walk with a coffee stop halfway. I phoned him this week with my idea to be walked before the heatwave strengthened.  He, as always, was happy to go along with the plan. He has walked extensively in the Sedbergh area and wondered if I would find him some new paths.

Having negotiated the winding road from the motorway, Sir Hugh parks up near a bridge over the River Rawthey on that twisting road to Dent. We are in Cumbria, but a roadside marker gives a sense of its former allegiance. More recently, planners have bestowed the title Western Yorkshire Dales on these hills. Confused?

Some time is spent admiring the cottages of Millthrop, which were built to house the workers of the nearby mill on the other side of the river.

*

Millthrop Mill was one of Sedbergh’s first mills, set up in 1796, originally a corn mill that was later converted to manufacture cotton cloth. Afterwards it made horse blankets. It was powered by water from the River Rawthey through a long mill race, which was dammed higher upstream. In its heyday, Millthrop rivalled the later Farfield Mill; however, in 1967 the mill burnt down and was lost. 

Sedbergh and District History Society.

Millthrop Mill. c1900

Notice the changes from 1850 to 1910 in the maps, even the name changes.

*

All too soon we are climbing up the steep rough track out of the village, the Dales Way. I had just commented to Sir Hugh that, would you believe, there is a house up here when their Land Rover has us pinned to the wall. There it goes down the track.

It is a steady plod up, with temperatures already in the mid-20s.

Higher up, we take a breather where our track goes off left and admire the views over the valley to the Howgills.

The path is a mere sheep trod, but a delight to follow, heading up the lower slopes of Frostrow, a small hill I’ve never ascended and still haven’t, as we branch off just before it through a garden gate. In the distance, Baugh Fell almost obscures Wild Boar Fell.

Little field paths link Highside with High Hollins Farm. The friendly farmer shows off his vintage working tractor; Sir Hugh shows great interest.

Highside.

The farmer shows us an easier way down his fields; he only has 50 acres, which is hardly viable these days. A modern magical machine is baling his hay.

A pleasant interlude in an old hay meadow and then we are climbing once more to a road.

From up here, we can see the rooftops of the Farfield Mill complex.

Tea beckons and we sit outside the friendly cafe rehydrating and eating cake (Sir Hugh) and an indulgent scone with cream and jam (BC). Below us is the Clough River, which once powered the entire mill.   

*

Farfield Mill was built by Joseph Dover in 1837 to spin and weave woollen cloth. The Mill suffered a big fire in 1908 and had to be rebuilt. It was requisitioned for the production of aircraft parts during WWII. After its decline in the 1950s, it was briefly used to make cheese. Finally, it was acquired by a buildings preservation trust and became a successful Arts and Heritage Centre.                             

 Sedbergh and District History Society.

1850 map.
1910 map.

The mill is on a massive scale, with four floors now utilised to present the area’s history, host large exhibitions, and provide a multitude of studio spaces occupied by artists from far and wide; they can’t all be from Sedbergh.

Our tour of the floors is cursory given our time limits, but we do give it a good try, even making time to chat to some of the artists. Weaving in various forms is well presented and appropriate to the surroundings. Still, I am most taken by the imaginative pottery on display: if another friend had been present, I don’t think we would have escaped so easily. If you are interested in local history and have a bent to original and innovative art, a day here would be so worthwhile. I am already planning a return visit, and not just for the home-baked scones.

Nearby is a small terrace built for mill workers. But I suspect that many would have made the daily trek from Sedbergh along the riverside path that we use to walk back to Millthrop.

Our return route along the River Rawthey is a delight and thankfully cooler. Mainly in pastures, with the familiar Winder overlooking us.

 

Any shade is appreciated.

Past New Bridge, the Rawthey dawdles along.

The weir we pass was the original one for Millthrop Mill.

What a splendid outing of just under 4 miles. Full of interest, beautiful Dales scenery and the added bonus of Farfield Mill.

I realise I haven’t chosen this week’s 52 Ways to Walk. It is easy – Walk With Others. I’m not one for large or even small groups; one or two chosen companions is fine. I was hoping for two today, but Sir Hugh by himself is stimulating company. His interests are far-reaching, and I without fail glean some choice information. He is always keen to explore, and his obvious enjoyment of the countryside is infectious. And add to that, he bought me tea and a scone.  There is some benefit from occasionally walking with others. We are now in the middle of a heatwave, and I won’t be venturing far, but today’s outing has sparked ideas for the future. I was not really aware of Clough River before, but I see on the map that it winds all the way down Garsdale from Clough Force on the slopes of East Baugh Fell. Now that would make a good mini expedition for walking with others.

*

 

 

 

A WHITTLE WANDER. There’s more…

6 Replies

A loop from Whittle-le-Woods. 

I find myself back in Withnell Fold, aiming to follow some of the footpaths of the Whittle Wander I had avoided last time. If you remember, I had struggled with overgrown paths, dodgy stiles and less-than-helpful landowners – a typical country walk, you may think. That day, I gave in halfway and used the canal towpath to get me to Whittle-le-Woods. A rerun is called for to dampen those ‘what ifs’ at the back of my mind. My one navigational error of that day also needs to be addressed.

After leaving the bus in W-le-W, I simply reverse my route back up the canal. I say up the canal because the towpath climbs alongside seven locks on the way. It’s a pleasantly cool morning, and most people I meet are dog walkers. A few photos to set the scene.

 

The air is full of the perfume of Meadowsweet, which grows profusely at the water’s edge.

Plenty of Duckweed.
Serene family.

Not sure these two should be up there.

Old paper mill, Withnell Fold.

So I leave Withnell Fold now back on the actual Whittle Wander by a footpath signed to the cricket club. (The Whittle Wander doesn’t have its own markers). At the end of the lane, a gate provides access to a field and a good track continuing onto the main road into Higher Wheelton. this is better.

The pavement takes me through the hamlet as far as the Golden Lion. The flags are for England progressing in the World Cup.

Opposite, near the former school, a well-signed public footpath goes up a lane past scattered properties.

Just before entering someone’s private garden, I spot the stile leading into the adjacent field.

The fields are easy to walk in. This lamb is lost but has plenty to eat in the lush pasture.

Everything is going well, and I regret not persisting last time. Stiles and signs lead me easily through well-kept fields; I’m so pleased/excited that I just start taking pictures of stiles.

I cross a road and go down the access lane to several farms and barn conversions, but my way through is clear and signed.

Large fields take me down into a valley. A buzzard wheels overhead and keeps coming close, obviously agitated by my presence. It persists in its close and noisy attention until I’m well out of its territory; perhaps there are young about. I struggle to photograph it, despite its closeness; my right eye, which I use in the viewfinder, is blurred and awaiting laser treatment, so I’m never sure whether it’s in the frame. Usually not.

Going up the other side, a Roe Deer bounds out of the horse paddocks. Its blurred white rump is all that appears in my photo.

At Heapey, across the road, is St. Barnabas Church. It originated in the C16thand was enlarged in 1740 and 1829. It is Grade II listed. There is no access today, but graveyards are a good source of benches, and I find one for my lunch break.

Again, stiles and clear paths take me across fields, through farmyards, and on to the busy Chorley Road, but there is a footway until I reach the turn-off down past a Premier Inn to the canal bridge.

I can see the towpath below where I paced up and down trying to find a way through a dense hedge to the footpath. I know better this time, and I take a little lane parallel to the towpath but on the right side of the hedge, and there is the footpath clearly signed over a stile.

The path climbs a steep field and onwards towards the motorway. The field is heavily rutted from cows and not easy to walk on, but I’m not complaining today. Across the way are the ruins of Moss Lane Farmhouse, Grade II* listed C17th buildings which are slowly falling into ruins by the look of things.

I’m soon across the motorway, just a sneaky shot mainly to show the spire of the Mormon temple, a familiar sight to those using the M61. It is the largest such temple in Europe.

The path marked on my map goes through fields, but now there are houses. A high fence has had to be built to reduce noise from the motorway. How fast is our countryside changing these days?

Green paths lead to another, older development, Lucas Green; here are the remains of a WWII Bofors gun emplacement, for protecting the nearby Royal Ordnance Factory.

A final track brings me back into town, I bypass the Roebuck Inn this time to catch an earlier bus back to Preston.

So I can now say I have completed the modest Whittle Wander, albeit in two halves with this extra add-on. Today’s circuit has been enjoyable with none of the previous difficulties. I’m glad I came back to complete it.

 

 

 

A WHITTLE WANDER. Part Two.

15 Replies

Hoghton to Whittle-le-Woods.

I enjoyed the first part of this walk last week and was keen to return to complete the circuit. Today was strangely not so good, with overgrown paths, hidden stiles, and unhelpful landowners. Read on.

My bus into Preston arrives seconds after my connection to Hoghton leaves. I have time to visit the bus station cafe, not the best of coffees. The onward bus is modern with visual and audible announcements of the next stop, a great help in areas you don’t know well. I alight at the Royal Oak, as announced, where I finished last time.

I stroll down the road to find the footpath leading down to the canal. It looks like a private drive, no signage, but I persist past the barking dogs onto a choked path, the first of and easier of many. I’m not sure I have seen watercress flowering before.

I suddenly come onto the towpath of the Liverpool-Leeds Canal. Or is it the Leeds-Liverpool Canal? It depends on your perspective. Red rose, White rose. There is a small marina down here.

Life on the water.

I take some ancient steps away from the canal onto a busy road. Thankfully, within a few yards I climb a stile into fields. But where does the path go  – no sign of other feet. There is a stile somewhere, and then I’m confronted by this.

Out of the horsey property, there is more trouble; I climb a dodgy stile, only to be confronted by impassable undergrowth.

Why don’t the property owners maintain the stiles and give adequate signage? A question I’m always asking. Would make life easier for all concerned.

Somehow I find my way to the bridge over the motorway, quite grand for a footpath.

Why do I always take nondescript pictures of motorways?

Getting out the other side is not easy. Does nobody walk these paths?  I haven’t gone far, and soon I am lost with no sign of a path. Last week I relied completely on a paper map for navigation; today I am happy to switch on my phone OS app to locate my mistakes. I dodge through a field of cows and climb into a deserted, dilapidated farmstead. With more hope than faith, I stumble down into a deep ravine and thankfully find the footbridge and steep steps back out.  I have a rest at the top and plan ahead. A field of maize will be impenetrable in a few weeks if nobody comes this way.

And it is a maze to find my way through the next ‘hamlet ‘, Ollerton Fold. All that is needed is a few discreet arrows to get the walker through, rather than blundering into gardens. One resident helps me to escape but warns of worse to come. I do get a lovely view across the valley towards Brindle with the canal below.

Then it is more of this…

…and this.I 

As I approach Withnell Fold, I am debating in my mind whether to drop down to the canal towpath for some easier going. The village is hidden from the world at the bottom of a cobbled cul-de-sac. Once a large paper mill operated here, and the terraced housing was built for the workers. Not a lot has changed, though there is some new housing in what used to be the mill complex. A good history of the village can be found here, and a local walker/historian, Boyd Harris, has even more fascinating history on his website.

Withnell Fold Farm.
Village Stocks.
Reading Room.

Most of the remaining mill buildings are ruinous, but the engine house chimney has been restored and can be seen from miles around, as in my header photograph. So after a mooch around the village, I end up on the canal towpath. The delights of the Witton Wander footpaths to Higher Wheelton and Heapey will have to wait for another time.

A group of volunteers for the Canal Trust are busy Himalayan Balsam bashing; it is very profuse in one area which borders a nature reserve.

A group of cyclists are riding from Liverpool to Leeds in a day.You can do the maths.

There are boats moored up further along, and I can indulge in my usual diversion in finding the corniest name.

 

There is more action when I reach the ‘Top Lock’, the highest of seven locks raising boats 65 feet. I ignore the inn on the other side.

Further down, two boats pass through a lock together, thereby saving water. Watching boats negotiating locks is a favourite spectator pastime.

I drop down to where a disused branch canal went off to Whittle-le-Woods and go in search of a footpath back on the real Whittle Wander. I paced up and down the towpath, using my GPS to find it, but there was no way through a thick hedge. Only now, looking more closely, do I see it was on a lane from the next bridge and not directly off the towpath (red arrow). An easy mistake to make but annoying nevertheless. I ended up backtracking and following the Whittle-le- Woods canal branch to the nearest road. 

The road, which fortunately has a pavement, takes me under the motorway past some neat cottages to the outskirts of the town.

A friendly pub, The Roebuck, beckons from across the road from the small Jubilee garden with its clock.

I sit in their beer garden enjoying a pint and contemplating the day’s walk. The state of the footpaths in the early part was disappointing. They are not well used in what should be a popular area. On the day, I made the right choice to take to the towpath, which turned out to be an interesting stretch. It was my error near the end, not identifying the correct path. I intend to return and do a loop that includes the bits of the Witton Wander I have missed, as I do find the area historically and scenically interesting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A WHITTLE WANDER. Part one.

12 Replies

Whittle-le-Woods to Hoghton.

I came across the Whittle Wander on the LDWA  excellent website. I was looking for a short, long-distance way to get me back into the swing of things. It turns out to be a 16-mile circuit from Whittle-le-Woods “that takes in the canal, the river, and the beautiful countryside of the West Pennine Moors, reaching the Darwen Valley”. The author, Trevor Headley, a specialist in this area, has several publications.  I previously walked his East side of the Ribble Valley. which was well thought out and an enjoyable route. I struggled to get Headley’s contact details to order his guide for the Whittle Wander, so I had to be content with an outline map, which I plotted onto my paper maps.  Awkwardly across three 1:25,000 sheets. Incidentally, the route is not waymarked.

Thus armed, I set off on the bus to Preston, then continued on to Whittle-le -Woods. I alight at the church on the main road, and there, right next to the bus stop, is a signed footpath. The map suggests a path going between houses, so I start confidently.

The path has the impression of antiquity, possibly the route to and from the church. I pass the Parish Club. Originally a Methodist Chapel completed in 1840. Then, in 1897, when the current Methodist Chapel was built on the A6, the building became the Parish Club until 1911, when it became ‘Whittle Pictures’ and subsequently a thriving factory. It is now repurposed once again as a community centre.

Across Chorley Old Road, once the coach route to Preston, the path runs through open countryside. Further on, there are notice boards telling of its history and recent attempts to preserve it, an old way between Leyland and Brindle.

At its end, my map appears to show a footpath that runs right before ducking under the motorway. It doesn’t feel right, little used and overgrown. Himalayan Balsam is taking over. There is no obvious turning towards the motorway, and soon I’m heading in the wrong direction. A quick turnaround, still no sign of a motorway underpass. Is my map reading at fault, or is there really no path?

A closer look at the map later shows there was no way.

I head back to the cottages. at Hill Foot Farm…

…and use the road to Whittle Hills, another character house.

Then, according to my map, a farm track to North Bank Farm. Even here, the signing is confusing. I want the higher of the two motorway underpasses, A on the above map, so, ignoring the signs, I brave the farmyard and walk out at last; it seems to have taken an age to reach the other side of the motorway.

Under the motorway.

You may wonder why I have been so fixated on the map features and Rights of Way on this walk. Well, I’m into week 26 of my 52 Ways to Walk, at the longest day, – Walk with a map. I’ve been walking with a map all my life, only recently using phone OS mapping. So today I am relying completely on my paper copy of the 1:25,000 map, my phone consigned to the interior of my rucksack. I think I have an innate sense of direction, so I don’t need my compass to orientate me, it’s safely in the rucksack too, you never know. One has to constantly maintain a greater awareness of one’s surroundings, near and far, to correlate with the paper map, spotting features and signs to fix one’s position at any one time. I was lost earlier because I had misread the map – there was no continuation under the motorway from the first path.

The footpath now goes through fields, thankfully recently mown, and over some hidden stiles to emerge onto a minor road.

 

Right in front is the track heading up the field towards Denham Hall, now all plain sailing and a joy to be out in the countryside.

More fields take me to Walmsley Fold, busy with modern machinery.’ Fold is a common name on the map in these parts, originally an animal enclosure which grew into a farm or small community.

A quiet road reached Top o’th Lane, a row of cottages originally built around 1800 for quarry and handloom workers. The loom room windows in the basements. They have a fine view across to Great Hill and the western Lancashire Pennines. 

 

It’s good to be up high looking out over Preston, the Bowland Hills and Pendle,

But then I find myself in a large field full of frisky cows paying me too much close attention, not so pleasant. I back off carefully until I can escape via a stile into Brindle village.

I wander into St. James’ church. Its tower is from about 1500, the naive C19th, with many changes over the years; Paley was involved, as usual. I am immediately struck by the amount of stained glass. Every wall has large windows. 

On the edge of the village is the Old Smithy and next to it the Parish Pound. I’m sure there is more to explore in the village, but it is time to get going; the day is heating up. Heading towards Hoghton Tower, which can be seen on its hill in the distance. I navigate through fields and country lanes, possibly using my own variation of the Whittle Wander.

I come out onto the main road at Riley Green, next to the Royal Oak. 

I could finish here, but I want to complete the loop around Hoghton Tower and the River Darwen. I have described this in more detail when I last visited here on a similar walk. I’ll make do with a few pictures today.

 

Whilst I am taking the photo of the Giant Hogweed, a Kingfisher flashes by – wow.

And then I’m back at the Royal Oak for a quick half before catching the bus back to Preston.

The Whittle Wander wanders off back to the start via Wheelton and places, but I’m leaving that half for another day, hopefully it will be as interesting as today’s walk. Won’t be just yet, though, as the heatwave settles in.

***

 

 

 

ON THAT TRAIL AGAIN.

31 Replies

Not all those who wander are lost. Bilbo Baggins.

Yes, you’ve guessed it, I’m on the Tolkien Trail, for the umpteenth time. I don’t think I progressed from reading The Hobbit to the Ring series, so I don’t understand all of the associations of Tolkien’s fantasy worlds and our Ribble Valley. JRR Tolkien indeed visited the area whilst his eldest son was studying at Stonyhurst College in the 1940s, and no doubt he explored a little, being an advocate of nature, but did he really lean upon the area for inspiration? It would be good to know if the green rolling Ribble Valley, which we so appreciate today, is in the background somewhere.

In these days of Instagram and social media, many places tied to a film, book or TV scene have become must-visit spots for that selfie.  The shopkeepers and pubs nearby will be rubbing their hands if their village or street is featured on TV week after week, but what of the local population who have to endure inconsiderate parking and intrusive behaviour? Try going to Haworth on a weekend. The same is happening to previously hidden beauty spots; the litter generated in some corners of the Lakeland is staggering. Internet searching even provides lists of ‘iconic’ locations.

So how does The Tolkien Trail fit into the scheme of things? Many of us have explored and enjoyed the area around Stonyhurst for decades without a thought of Tolkien or Middle-earth. Local enthusiasts and the tourist board seem to have hit upon the idea in the early 2000s, conveniently at the height of the Lord of the Rings film series’ popularity: literary connections were made and leaflets printed, and it has increased in popularity ever since. It has been included in several guidebooks, and YouTube videos are freely available. There are no standout Tolkien locations for the Instagram brigade, aside from perhaps Cromwell’s Bridge, to distract the walker. This trail is all about the natural scenery, which one hopes the visitors appreciate.

I arrive in Hurst Green at lunchtime, the streets are packed with cars, signs implore considerate parking, and there is a small car park at the village hall (voluntary contributions). I know I am adding to the problem. Why didn’t I catch the hourly bus from Longridge or come midweek?

I tend to walk the route widdershins, thus avoiding that long drag back up from the river to the village right at the end of the day. Most of the leaflets and guides go clockwise, and this is reflected in the steady stream of folk coming towards me all afternoon. Without exaggeration, at least a hundred; at one point, I wondered whether there was a sponsored walk underway. But the wide landscape easily swallows them, and as I said, there are no real honey spots. On reflection, I don’t recall seeing any litter.

A wedding reception is in full flow at the Shireburn Arms, a popular venue with stunning views over the Ribble Valley. Through their car park, a gate leads into a field that drops down to the River Ribble. 

Towards the bottom, it narrows alongside a steep gorge before crossing the stream.

Alongside the river, the pipeline carrying water to Blackburn is a graceful addition to the scenery. One is uniquely walking on Astroturf. A solution to prevent erosion on this popular stretch. Strips salvaged from an athletic track were laid down a decade ago and seem to be lasting well.

Pendle pops up on the horizon and is with us all day.

Yellow Loosestrife and Geraniums give some colour.

Approaching Jumbles…

…and Tracy’s seat. 

The giant hogweed we are warned against. Do not touch!   

Hacking Ferryman’s house, Kemple End in the background. 

17th-century Hacking Hall. 

Site of the Hacking Ferry, which operated until the 1950s, Tolkien’s era. The Calder is joining in. 

For more on the ancient ferry – https://bowlandclimber.com/2020/02/23/roads-to-nowhere-part-2-hacking-ferry/

All along this stretch,  chattering Sand Martins are swooping over the river. One is just as likely to see a Little Egret as a Heron these days.

 

The Hodder is joining from the left.

The ancient Winckley Oak.

 

I learned to drive one of these before I was a teenager. 

Stonyhurst College towers come into view. 

That iconic bus shelter with a handy seat…

… and a view of Pendle. 

C16th packhorse bridge. Cromwell’s army unlikely crossing. 

One is now following the Hodder, which is mostly hidden by the summer vegetation. There are some good little bays for paddling along this stretch.

And a lively weir further on.  

The trail climbs away from the river to Hodder Place, once a preparatory school for Stonyhurst College, but before that, a cotton mill owner’s property. Was there a mill on the Hodder below? I don’t think so, his must have been elsewhere..

I march through the grounds of Stonyhurst College before taking the footpath back to the village, arriving down Smithy Lane next to the photogenic Shireburn Almshouses.

Gothic Revival style St. Peter’s.

Almshouses.

I enjoyed my slow wander through our beautiful countryside and, like Bilbo Baggins, didn’t get lost once.

For a shorter version of this walk – https://bowlandclimber.com/2025/03/01/tolkien-in-the-mists-of-time/

***

A RIVER RIBBLE RAMBLE.

11 Replies

Follow a river. 

Yes, I’m onto my next week of 52 Ways to Walk, all about walking by rivers. The book says “researchers found that a landscape that included running water had a restorative effect. Was it the sound of running water? The light reflecting from its surface? ….  The presence of water makes many of us feel calmer.” 

I have a favourite short walk along the banks of the River Ribble—time to revisit.

Looking back, I have completed several long-distance paths following rivers, so there must be something attractive about them. The Speyside Way, The Wyre Way, The Tees Way, The Severn Way, The Dearne Way, The Thames Way – the list could go on. And of course pertinent to today’s stroll, The Ribble Way.

Does one go upstream from the coast to the source? Or do you start high and follow the river down?  The choice is yours, but I tend to favour source-to-sea aesthetically.  Finding the source is not always easy, as there are often myriad streams up on the fells. It is rare to find the highest legitimate spring giving birth to a great river. I thought I found it on the Bollin Valley Way in the Macclesfield Forest. I might have been mistaken.

Getting back to today’s excursion by the Ribble, which is one of the great northern rivers, arising high in the Pennines and gathering waters on its way to its estuary out past Preston. The proposed ‘Way’ alongside it is flawed by a lack of access to its banks for over half its length. Landed gentry and fishing syndicates intervene. Successive governments have fallen short on this aspect of our freedom to enjoy the countryside. Between Preston and Ribchester is a prime example, from Red Scar to almost Ribchester, the long-distance route is nowhere near the river.

But my Ribble loop is legal and strangely not even used by the official Ribble Way. Here is a map of my extended loop walk. I find a place to park at the bottom of Alston Lane, and to make the route longer and more interesting, walk back partway up the lane, passing the University’s observatories and the gates to Alston Hall.

An almost hidden stile leads into a field. It’s signed for the Ribble Way, but there have been few through recently. Yes, that’s Pendle in the background.

Finding a way down to a hidden stile that collapses as I cross it. I spend time on the Lancashire County Council app photographing the evidence and posting a report. Do they have the time or money to deal with these problems?  The next stile is more substantial. There is even an old Ribble Way sign.

The grass in the field is long, and I almost step on a hare that bounds off. A large bird flies out of a tall tree – it must be a buzzard, but it just doesn’t seem right, an osprey??  They have been seen at Brockholes Nature Reserve just downriver from here. A flowering elderberry in the hedge row reminds me to make some cordial from the pink-flowered one in my garden.

Leaving The Ribble Way, a track takes me down to another hidden series of stiles in a wooden dell. One stile is easier to crawl beneath than to try to climb over. I seem to be having a problem with stiles today, old age?

Reaching the lane, I am only a few yards from where I parked. This has been a pleasant ramble in itself, but I haven’t reached the river yet. I turn left and soon enter a horse paddock. Fortunately, the residents are resting in the heat, so don’t bother me—a field of buttercups.

Soon, I am heading down to the river at last. I hear it before I see it. The Ribble speeds along over minor rapids before settling down to a lazy flow. What a contrast to wintery conditions, we hardly had any rain the last couple of weeks. I try to capture the atmosphere in a video.  

The path alongside the river has been strimmed, presumably for the fishermen who access this stretch, so I can walk effortlessly, whilst watching the flow of the water. I must admit it is calming.

There are places where one can access little stony beaches, and the water looks tempting on a hot sunny day. But the river is still cold, a young boy tragically died this week, a few miles upriver at Ribchester.

I’m almost at the bottom of the ‘loop’ and can look inland towards Longridge Fell. Continuing the circuit, there, on the opposite bank, is Balderstone Hall. The river becomes shallow here over rocky shelves, and this was the site of an ancient ford. I was tempted today.

Leaving the river, I pass the new build that was under construction last time I was here. It looks very severe, not at all in keeping with its surroundings.

Walking up the rural lane, I come across this tractor parked up. If I see a vintage tractor, I include a photo for certain readers – well, this one is brand new, straight out of the saleroom; if they have tractor salerooms.

Taking the bridleway towards Old Alston Hall.

I watch a couple of young girls putting their ponies through their paces. A pleasant chat with their father, but I’m not invited in for tea.

https://historicengland.org.uk/listing/the-list/list-entry/1072296?section=comments-and-photos

I walk past their large barn, and around the corner is my car parked in a shady spot.

A walk I’m happy to repeat at any time of the year, hidden rural Lancashire, and especially that invigorating river.

 

CLASSIC YORKSHIRE DALES.

17 Replies

Conistone Dib and PIe.

The sound of Curlews calling and the Skylarks singing is still in my ears. I have just returned from a wonderful little walk over in Yorkshire. It was probably new to me; at least, I have no recollection of being there before. If I had to take a stranger on a Yorkshire Dales walk away from the crowds of Malham, Gordale or Burnsall, I would choose this one that I’m about to try and describe.

I’m not sure how it came into my radar, Conistone Dib rang a bell somewhere.

Parking in Conistone is discouraged, so I park by the bridge over the Wharfe. I’m here fairly early to secure a parking spot, as it’s half-term, and to get a head start before the heat of the day kicks in.  Pony trekkers are coming down the lane from the centre of the village.

The village is a mishmash of stone farms and cottages. I suspect many incomers have done up the properties, as elsewhere. There is a maypole in the central triangle; I’ve no idea whether it is used any more. I’m kicking myself for not visiting St Mary’s Church, built on the site of a medieval predecessor. Modern pews were incorporated in the 50’s, designed by Thompson of Kilburn, the church mouse man. He incorporated discrete mice into his works. Our family had a cheese board from him, a mouse was running up the handle. Now, where has that gone?

A gate leads into the limestone environment above the village. And all of a sudden, you are climbing a few rocky steps into a narrow gorge. There was once a watercourse that created this dramatic place. Its local name is Gurling Trough, reflecting the noise of water going down a drain. I’m already excited.

The walls of the gorge narrow as you thread through it. The path is rocky but not difficult.

At one point, I notice some discreetly placed bolts indicating a climbing route up the blank-looking rock.

White stonecrop plants grow in crevasses.

A lovely water-worn scoop gives a scramble out of the rocky ravine.

All of a sudden, you are in a grassy valley with scree slopes on either side. Ahead is a steep crag high up on the right. The back of my mind tells me I have climbed there years ago, but I have no recollection of having walked through that stunning gorge to get to it—time to check my diaries and climbing guides. Bull Scar.

I ponder this as I walk deeper into the valley. A lady dog walker appears from a gate. She lives in the village and is very proud of the area. So she should be. The way she came from is the easiest way up, but she tells me you can go straight up, which involves some rock climbing. Guess which way I go. T

There she goes down her valley.

My way narrows once more, and yes, there is some rock scrambling to gain the fell rim. A very satisfying end to the climb from the village.  The view back down is impressive.

I meet up with The Dales Way, a long-distance path from Ilkley to Windermere. I walked the route with The Pieman and The Eyeman back in 1981, but don’t remember being up here. I’m almost certain we just followed the Wharfe along the valley from Grassington to Kettlewell. Or is it my memory playing tricks again?

My planned route is to walk back along the Dales Way towards Grassington, but first, I make a short detour north to investigate Conistone Pie. Just off the main track is a ‘pie-shaped’  rocky pinnacle that is calling out to be climbed. I stand on the top, king of the castle, with excellent views up Wharfedale and across to Kilnsey Crag.

I find a sheltered spot below the rocks for an early lunch. A couple walking between Kettlewell and Grassington, come over to investigate and climb up – that’s them on the top.

They are from Sheffield, camping by the river in Kettlewell and enjoying this glorious spring weather. She has a lovely, drawn-out Yorkshire accent, reminiscent of Lucy Beaumont, the comedienne. I would think we chat for half an hour or so; nobody is in a rush up here on a perfect day. We stroll on together for a while, but I’m soon distracted by photographing the local flora.  They wander off towards Grassington.

The cowslips and orchids are past their best, but there are good displays of Bird’s Foot Trefoil, Tormentil, Buttercups, Daisies, Violas, Speedwells, and many more I don’t recognise. “Look how they shine for you”

The warm sunny day has all the skylarks in the area singing away up high, and there is a constant background calling of the curlews. They put a spring in your step as you march along this elevated limestone balcony.

Looking at the map, it is annotated everywhere in that antiquated print: Hut Circles, Cairns, Ancient Settlements, Field Enclosures.   Of course, none of these is easy to identify with an untrained eye. I try hard and perhaps discern some of the paths of some linear walls. A drone would be useful but totally intrusive.

Sheep are pretending to be stones.

But most impressive are the relatively modern stone walls criss-crossing the plateau—a symbol of the Dales.

Few trees survive up here. I like this one.

Dropping down towards Grassington, there is the site of a medieval village marked on the map, but I don’t go that far. Another time, it would be worth carrying on to explore and maybe have some refreshments in the village before returning through Grass Wood, renowned for its Bluebells in season.

I do a U-turn and head back along the escarpment, but lose my intended path and end up on a smaller trail through Bastow Wood. A blessing in disguise, as I enjoy the shade and the variety of broad-leaved trees and a different flora.

I emerge back onto the open limestone ground and pick up my intended track. This turns out to be a spectacular wander back down to Conistone. First, it winds down between blossoming hawthorns.

Then across the head of a deep dry valley, Dib Scar.

I’m rewarded with a bird ‘s-eye view of the crags down its southern bank. There must be climbing on those steep 25m walls. (The guidebook lists lots of  hard routes, some now bolted, but all too difficult for me, which is probably why the whole valley is new to me)

There’s a whole lifetime of climbing down there.

The path goes along the flank of the valley before breaking away through fields straight back into Conistone village. That’s Kilnsey Crag and Great Whernside in the distance.

The curlews are a constant companion, and I have the varied limestone flora at my feet all the way. I’ve just identified this plant, which has been abundant throughout the day. Crosswort.

Those six or seven miles have been a delight. I would recommend this walk to those of you who, misguidedly, read my posts for inspiration. I apologise for all those photos of rock faces. You know where I come from.

***