Category Archives: Lancashire.

A PICNIC ON GRINDLETON FELL.

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I have been walking uphill continuously for an hour and a half: about three miles and a thousand feet, but I’ve arrived at a flat stone at the edge of the woods for my picnic. I know about this stone from previous visits. Once seated, I can enjoy my sandwich and coffee with the perfect view of Pendle across the Ribble Valley. A kestrel hovers in front of me and a peregrine glides past; I hear jays in the woodland.

I’m halfway through a walk selected from Cicerone’s excellent 15 Short Walks in the Ribble Valley. I think I have covered most of these over the years. Why didn’t I think to write them up, way back when? Well done, Mark Sutcliffe,

https://www.cicerone.co.uk/short-walks

This week, I seem to be short of the mojo for anything more ambitious, so I am only too pleased to follow route No. 13 Grindelton Fell and the Pine Woods, described as challenging. I’ve probably used some of these paths before, but not necessarily in the same order, as Eric Morecambe used to say. In fact, I know I have, previously being hopelessly lost in these very woods. Pinewoods is not entirely accurate, as only a few pines are standing; most are commercial spruces.

The day broke fine, with the possibility of warm sunshine —a bonus as we move into Autumn, time to get stirring and pack a picnic. For a walk of four miles or so I won’t bother with refreshments, but for anything longer I will bring a drink and something to eat. So today it is a picnic, of sorts. I’m linking this into one of my never-ending 52 Ways to Walk series, Walk with a picnic. The author suggests carrying a picnic hamper for a different muscular challenge. Forget the basket and napkins; mine is in the rucksack, an easier option.

I’d parked in the village near the two pubs that used to be The Duke of York and The Buck Inn. The former is now becoming a private residence, and the latter has been reinvented as a gastropub, The Rum Fox.  Grindleton has a main street of stone houses leading out into the fells. Lots of side terraces and little ginnels are included in a trail marked by beehives. Apparently, the village was once renowned for its honey and jams from its orchards.

Steep climb out of the village…

…until Whitehall Lane is reached. After all that climbing, you descend to cross Grindleton Brook, then climb again across the valley.

Time to stop and look across to Pendle…

…and to focus on the insect life in the ivy. The lane leads to White Hall itself with its imposing frontage.

A bridleway continues up the fell.

The views keep opening up over the Ribble Valley.

That last photo reminds me of a bike packing trip with one of my sons; we camped down in that valley below the ruins of Simpshey. Longridge Fell in the background.

I reach the tarmacked road, where I could have easily parked. It seems popular with dog walkers who use this road and the adjacent paths.

The steady gradient continues along the edge of the trees, and the track roughens. 

Before the forest arrived, simple farmsteads stood up here; they are marked on the old maps, and you can still make out the ruins of some.

At last, the trail is heading onto the rough moorland…

…and I can see my picnic stone. Lunch over the second half of the walk takes on another aspect – walking through the dense forest. There are many tracks in the woods, many going nowhere, so I need to find the right one as I enter the trees.  A trod goes through the dying bracken in that rectangular open area between plantations. It leads me straight to the forest gate without difficulty.

Well, that is easy. But the way through the trees isn’t the broad forest track I expected. It is a slippery, stony path weaving down a steep slope. It would be better to ascend than descend – or is that just me not so sure of my balance these days?  I follow it carefully.

A Silver Birch lights up the forest.

At last, my wayward path merges into a wider track between old walls. I can’t get lost now.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot some ears in the air 30 yards away – I only just manage to get a shot before they disappear.

The watery track leads on through the dense trees with the occasional glimpse of the outside world.

Then I abruptly emerge from the woods back onto that tarmacked road. Looking back up it, I can make out the transmitter tower on neighbouring Waddington Fell.

After a pleasant stroll of about a mile down the quiet road, I am back in Grindleton.

That seemed quite a long short walk, but very enjoyable.

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WALKING AS MEDITATION.

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I’m able to do simple meditation, focusing on my breathing and reaching a relaxed state. Good for stress and general well-being, although I rarely bother. My life is pretty stress-free.  But when I come across a chapter in my 52 Ways to Walk book suggesting walking for meditation, I’m intrigued. I already know how good a walk is for decluttering the mind as well as exercising the body. But that’s not meditation; it’s just enjoyment.

The chapter focuses on your regular footfall rather than your breathing. It suggests finding a straight, even path with as few distractions as possible. Feel the soles of your feet on the ground and focus on the steady placement of your feet and the swing of your arms. Pace doesn’t matter. Let your mind fall in with your steps and stay in the present, with outside thoughts fading. Well, that sounds easy.

Time to try it on one of my regular local walks.  It is immediately obvious on the pavement alongside the main road that passing traffic noise completely distracts me. There is no way I can relax here, so I don’t try again until I turn off into traffic-free Mile Lane; I’ve mentioned before it is nowhere near a mile. But it is quiet and has an even, straight surface enclosed by hedges. It should be ideal for the experiment. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and then start walking with all my attention on my feet. I keep a steady rhythm, and my arms swing naturally at my sides. But no, my mind wanders. I start counting my steps to keep my attention on my feet, but I’m still nowhere near achieving meditation for my mind or body. I can’t get any meaningful relaxation at all compared to my normal walking. Maybe I am trying too hard, but at the end of the half-mile lane, I admit complete failure and just enjoy my walk home.

It’s good to see the recently resurfaced path into the park is blending in with its surroundings.

So that’s it for this week’s walk. Let’s see what crops up next week; the chapters  I’ve avoided so far are getting more and more obtuse. I’ve not done them consecutively, leaving myself with the awkward ones to finish the year.

YET ANOTHER PAIR OF BOOTS.

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Snapshots – two days in September. 

Not many of you will remember the days when you bought expensive, quality leather boots, maybe Robert Lawrie’s or G. T. Hawkins. Heavy boots, with red laces and thick, screwed-on rigid Vibram soles that would take crampons and could be repaired ad infinitum. The downside was they needed ‘breaking in ‘ to let the boot’s stiff leather accommodate to your foot’s peculiarities. The accepted shortcut was to put on the new boots and, at the start of the day, find a stream or deep puddle and fully immerse them with your feet inside, then do 20 miles ignoring the pain and probable blisters. After that, you hoped the leather would match your feet.

Then, in the late 70s, Brasher Boots arrived: innovative, lightweight, waterproof, and comfortable straight out of the box. We realised that for most year-round walking in GB, we didn’t need mountaineering boots. In continental Europe, with drier weather, people had used lightweight boots for years. In contrast, true mountaineering boots evolved into rigid plastic shells that took crampons without cutting off your foot’s circulation.

So, for me, I’ve mostly made do with lightweight boots or even shoes for decades of walking around the world. The last time I used my 12-point crampons was on some steep ice on Helvellyn; wearing leather boots, my feet were frozen for the rest of the day. On non-technical alpine trekking routes, I found that microspikes were just about sufficient for those icy north cols. ‘Just about sufficient’ did lead to some hairy moments, but I’m still alive.

I’ve lost count of the lightweight boots I have worn out. I wore one pair out halfway across our tough trans-Pyrenees trek. Over the years, I’ve tried different brands, sticking with each for a few seasons.  I’ve bought my ever-lighter boots from this online outlet.

I’ve recently been impressed with Helly Hansen’s lightweight boots, and when I see a bargain, I don’t hesitate to buy: £50 rather than £ 100 or more, knowing my size will work without the hassle of returns.

After last week’s walk with the Rockman, I noticed the sole of the right boot coming away at the front. In any case, I’d already worn a lot of the tread off the boots. Time to retire them; I’ve already got plenty of ‘gardening boots’ – so in the bin they went. And time to fish out the pre-purchased identical pair from under my bed.

I’ve been planning a short backpacking trip in Yorkshire for some time. Ilkley to Shipley to Otley to Ilkley. Under ten miles a day, but including some climbing over high moorland. I’ve aborted the trip a couple of times on medical grounds, basically too many hospital appointments. Now this week’s forecast looks good, and I’ve reignited JD’s interest. Nothing is set in stone yet, but I need to do some mileage to make sure I’m fit enough to set off for three days of walking. And now I have the added challenge of new boots.

Day 1.  Longridge Fell Roads. 4.5 miles.

A straightforward walk of about five miles almost exclusively on quiet, familiar roads: I stride out with purpose. The day is nondescript weather-wise, but it suits my moderate training needs. I’m focused on the hedgerow plants and trees when I first notice pain in my left big toe.  Worse going downhill; it’s obvious the boot is rubbing. I don’t have any plasters with me; it’s just a short local walk after all. So I bear the discomfort and inwardly curse myself for being unprepared.  By the time I reach home, I have a sizeable sore; the blister has burst, leaving raw flesh. Great! That’s all I need for my Yorkshire preparation. I am too embarrassed to mention it to JD.

The road up the fell.

Bad cornering – hope they were OK.

Bowland Hills across Chipping Vale.

Day 2.  Bleasdale circuit.  7 miles.

The next day, undeterred, I need to increase my mileage, so I apply a plaster to the injury and set off on this longer walk.  Bleasdale is a gem, surrounded by the Bowland Fells, yet a world of its own, with scattered farms all part of the Bleasdale Estate centred on Bleasdale Towers. I decide on the extended circuit today, following the estate roads over towards Oakenclough at Stang Yule. I meet only one couple out exercising their dogs: a couple of Fox Terriers and a Lakeland Terrier. As time goes on, I start noticing discomfort in that left big toe again.

Reaching the road heading down, I can’t find anywhere to stop for a break, so I keep walking. At last, a stone stile gives me a seat to have some lunch and to apply an extra layer of plaster. That does the trick, and I finish off the road walk past all those lovely beech hedges.

Bleasdale.

This way to Bleasdale.
Good for them.

 

St. Eadmer.  

Start of the road walking. 

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 I daren’t look at my wound, so I have left the plasters on until it has hopefully healed a little before heading to Yorkshire. Some Compeed may be needed. As for the boot, I have stuffed a cricket ball deep into it to try and stretch the uppers.

 

 

 

ON THE STRAIGHT AND NARROW AGAIN.

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Longridge to Bolton.   One. To the Ribble at Alston. 

I’m at it again, joining places with a straight line. In the past, I have walked from my house to Sir Hugh’s in Arnside, from my house to the Pieman’s house in Skipton and a grander straight line from Blackpool to Aldborough on the east coast. I’ve written about these walks on here; if you care to search, I’ll add the links at the end of this post.

The idea came from Nicholas Crane’s Two Degrees West, in which he describes his walk in a straight line from Berwick-upon-Tweed to the Dorset coast, staying as close as physically possible to the 2 degrees west line of longitude. A book worth seeking out.

The challenge on the walks we completed was to stay within a kilometre either side of the drawn straight line. We accomplished this with very few transgressions.

I travelled with the Rockman, an old climbing friend in both senses of the word, to the funeral of a walking pal in Derbyshire the other week. On the way back, in a reflective mood, no doubt, we discussed the need to meet up more regularly for social walks. He lives in Bolton, so why not link our homes with one of those straight lines and try and walk it as closely as possible.

Today we make a start. To avoid backtracking, we need to employ the ‘two-car method’: one car driven to either end, which can involve some complicated logistics. Finding parking places can be challenging. The first important principle is to make sure each driver has their car keys on hand for when they reach the farthest car. A simple mistake is to leave your keys safely back in the other person’s car; think about it.

We rendezvous and drive to the bottom of Alston Lane, where I leave my car. We drive back to the start, my house, in the Rockman’s car and after some faffing with waterproofs, rain is in the air, set off to walk as close as possible to that straight line plotted on the map. We have an advantage today, as the footpaths are all well known to me.  I try to avoid busy roads whenever possible, even if that takes us a little away from the line.

There is a way through the new housing development; Oyster Catcher Drive leads us on a rather convoluted but virtually traffic-free route. Fauna Drive – they have killed all the fauna!  We come out at our local Aldi.

After crossing the main road, we head down the pleasant Green Nook Lane, header photo, and are surrounded by fields. Crossing the Mardale football pitches, a gate leads into fields and a dodgy bridge onto a concrete track. We have almost escaped from Longridge.

Housing estates are creeping into the countryside, but Alston Grange estate has left aside some land for recreation; possibly it wasn’t suitable for development, but that is the cynic in me talking. But it means we can walk along footpaths to cross the busy Preston Road and into Pinfold Lane. Yes, there had been a Pinfold here in the past. But of more interest now is the ancient cross base in the adjoining field. The Rockman points out a small stone with a benchmark which I’d not spotted before.

We don’t waste much time in the bird hides overlooking the redundant reservoir. We pass a few renovated farms, one of them belonging to a friend, but there is no sign of life, so we pass on a possible coffee stop. We need to get a move on anyhow- it’s going to rain by one. Open fields give murky views across to Pendle and ahead over the Ribble Valley to the West Lancs moors.

Some farm lanes are used to progress until I locate the gate that takes us through what is a private garden to an empty farmhouse. I’m telling the Rockman of the farmers who use the adjacent land when the Wellington-clad woman wanders off into a field to tend her sheep. A scene from the past.

It’s muddy going through the next few fields; it always is, and I have difficulty  finding some of the stiles for onward progress. We find them awkward to cross; our limbs are not as flexible as before, but it gives me some photo opportunities.

The lower end of Alston Lane drops towards the river past some sympathetically restored stone properties, and then there is this – how did they get planning permission? And I’m not jealous.

There is a sign of autumn in the trees.

We walk the final few yards towards the River Ribble, where there is an old ford crossing to Balderstone Hall. Friends have crossed here before, but perhaps when the water was lower.

We are content to look across to where we will continue our adventure next time.

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Today’s map.

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Due to some technical problems and my ineptitude, I may have lost some comments from a previous version of this post. Sorry in advance.

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Links to previous straight line walks are here.

THE WAY OF THE CROW. LONGRIDGE TO ARNSIDE.

SKIPTON TO LONGRIDGE 1 – another straight line.

NORTHING 438. COAST TO COAST.

 

 

WOODLAND GREENERY, GRIZEDALE.

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Why we need trees?

Amble Amid Trees is the next chapter in my 52 Ways to Walk book, and I hope to complete it today. I was inspired by the woodlands in Lancashire’s Grizedale the other day and planned to return as soon as possible to explore them more deeply. No time like the present. This is a broadleaved deciduous woodland, so it will give me a different experience and habitat from my usual haunts: the conifer plantations up on Longridge Fell.

Do we take the trees in the English countryside for granted?  I probably do. I walk amongst them without identifying them and neglect to appreciate their importance in our ever more fragile environment. Only 13% of our land is forest, and only 2,5% is ancient woodland. Over 50% of our woodlands are in decline—the worst in Europe.

The answers to Why We Need Trees, according to  the useful Woodland Trust website, are:

1. Mitigating climate change.                                                                                                                      2. Biodiversity.                                                                                                                                                3. Health and wellbeing.                                                                                                                              4. Food production.                                                                                                                                         5. Urban green spaces.

Enough of the science; let’s go for a walk. Not a marathon, just a stroll or even a dawdle, taking in the atmosphere of the deciduous woodlands.

I choose the wooded area we skirted on our Nicky Nook walk last week, but this time park up on the Oakenclough fell road at Grizedale Bridge, the one that gives motorists great views over the Fylde and Morecambe Bay. On the OS map, a concessionary path leads into Holme Wood and alongside Grizedale Reservoir.

This seems to be a popular circular walk, judging from the cars parked up.  The constructed path leaves the parking and heads for a walled seat and then some sheepfolds, not Goldsworthy’s this time.

An interesting old slotted gate post is incorporated into the walk. Investigating some Alder trees, I see an old ford across the Grizedale Brook. Before the reservoirs were built, there would have been many cart tracks around here. The ford is circled on the 1840s map below. (See another one later in the woods). 

The first trees I come across are Alders, with their roots in damp soil. There are a lot of them on this walk. The Alder has both male catkins and female flowers and cones on the same tree.

Taking my time, I notice so much more than my usual march through the forest.  I didn’t expect to see so many alders; they are everywhere along the stream. In the wood proper, oaks and beech dominate. But because they are crowded together, they grow tall and narrow rather than their usual spreading profiles. The valley sides are densely packed with trees.

Note that the oak leaves have stems, which suggests they are Sessile Oaks; English Oak leaves have no stem. If I had found some acorns, they would have been stemless (sessile). For some reason, I couldn’t see any acorns anywhere low down.

Further on, in more open ground, Silver Birch were more prominent.

I’m becoming preoccupied with identifying the trees rather than just enjoying the ambience of the wood itself. Following a stream gives added interest. There is bird song, but not a lot at this time of day, mid-afternoon. Robins, wrens, nuthatch, blue and long-tailed tits, and a jay. I spot some grey wagtails by the stream. Mostly, though, it’s quiet and peaceful. A few flowers hang on in the undergrowth: Herb Robert and Red Campion. The raspberries are over, but there are plenty of brambles. I tell you what flourishes on the forest floor: ferns.

I was hoping to find fungi under the beech but only spotted a few on dead tree trunks. This Boletus was well past its best.

Old walls still stand from before the reservoir was built; everything is mossy and green among the trees.

This is a fine one marching up the hillside. In parts, the dreaded Rhododendron is taking over, all adding to the greenery but stifling the native trees.

The path through the woods crosses the stream several times here at an old ford. Notice the cobbles, which give it a sense of antiquity before the reservoir came.

There are scattered hollies, rowans, hawthorns, ash, willows and the occasional sycamore where the canopy is thinner. And probably far more I don’t recognise. Eventually I come alongside the reservoir, but it is mainly hidden by the tree growth. Only at its far end, where I find a seat, is there a vista along it, time to sit and stare.

What a beautiful, diverse habitat for my amble amidst trees. I’ve had a good session of forest bathing – stress lowered, and immunity boosted.

I’m soon back on the public footpath under Nicky Nook and come to the end of my woodland greenery. The large beech tree at the gate has been shredding beechnuts for decades; the floor is completely covered.

Field paths take me back to the car park.

Just before I reach the car, I notice this lone marker stone by the track; it leads to that old ford I pictured at the start of the walk. 

A reminder of the traditional agricultural landscape before the reservoirs were built and land was lost. At least here, United Utilities have had the good sense to allow access to these beautiful woods.

I have made a mental note to return here once the autumn colour arrives on the trees.

NICKY NOOK.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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THE OLD PRESTON TRAM ROAD.

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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.

 

THE FRIDAY FORAGE.

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Four fruits.

No, not the supermarket shopping list, but my choice for this week out of that 52 Ways to Walk book, Take a foraging walk. Another one ticked off.

I have another book, The Forager’s Calendar, a month-by-month guide to wild foods. I dip into it from time to time; I should do so more often.

We are on the cusp between August and September, and each month’s entry in the book gives a long list of edible possibilities. The seasons are changing weather-wise, so that things can become a little out of step. A short walk not far from home provides four obvious fruits for picking – blackberries, rowan, hawthorn and bullace. All are relatively easy to gather from a short stretch of hedge, and in a short time I have ample.

*

The obvious one at this time of year is the Blackberry. It seems plentiful, yet some fruits are shrivelled, probably from lack of water, but I find a decent patch.

I soon have enough.

I plan to combine them with some apples and cook a crumble. That is the easy one out of the way.

*

Along the hedge is a Rowan, the Mountain Ash, bursting with fruit.

I have not picked these before and have to look up a recipe for them. It doesn’t sound promising for these bitter berries; the only one really is rowan and apple jelly. To counteract the bitterness somewhat, it is best to pick the berries after hard frosts. My answer to that will be to place the berries in the freezer for a few days, bletting, before stewing with the apples.

 

*

Last year I made some sloe gin for Christmas and intend to repeat the successful treat again this year. The bush in the hedge is actually a Bullace, similar to the sloe, a member of the plum family but without the barbs. 

Again, they are best picked after a hard frost, but they will receive the freezer treatment before being bottled with the gin. 

*

The hedge itself is primarily Hawthorn, the most common hedging in Britain. Again this year there is an abundance of red berries, Haws.

The seeds of the hawthorn contain cyanide and should not be eaten. Most recipes for jams and jellies involve tedious straining, so I choose Hawthorn Schnapps instead. The berries just need steeping in vodka for a few weeks. I think I need to pick some more and may freeze them first. 

*

Whilst I’m out getting more haws, I could look for crab apples, elderberries, rose hips and juniper; and of course the mushroom season is coming on. Happy foraging.

A SUMMER’S EVE AT CHIPPING.

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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.

*

I CLIMB A HILL.

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“There is only one way to know a hill, and that is to put your feet on it and walk”  A Wainwright.  A Pennine Journey. 1938.

This post should have been about an ascent of Winder in the Howgills. But it isn’t. I’m up on Fairsnape in Bowland. Circumstances change, and I have become more flexible about my daily walking.

Last night I exchanged emails with Sir Hugh.

“Just sat through a two-hour funeral mass. What is that book your book club is reading? I need an antidote”   BC.

“Above and beyond!    Fludd by Hillary Mantel. A bottle of red is recommended,”   Sir Hugh.

“I’ll do both. Book ordered; bottle opened.  Thanks”   BC

 

He had mentioned this book whilst we were out walking the other day. The novel apparently presents an uncompromisingly harsh but humorous view of the Roman Catholic Church,

The funeral was a celebration of a close friend’s joyful life. She was a devout Catholic, so I respect the family’s arrangements. But the service was a mystery to me. Apart from the lovely heartfelt eulogies delivered by the girls, the rest was a dirge delivered by a robotic priest. Being non-religious in the accepted sense, I hereby apologise for my criticism.

The wake, however, was a shared recollection of times past, over fifty years for me. I don’t always remember the names of the friends from those times, but neither do they. Lots of hugs make up for it; we are a close-knit community. A few glasses of wine help.

Which all brings me round to this morning: I took Sir Hugh’s trusted advice and drank that bottle of wine last night and possibly a couple of whiskies to celebrate my friend’s life; these are emotional moments. I don’t feel like driving up to Sedbergh, and it’s raining first thing – well, at 10 am. I fester.

My 52 Ways to Walk suggests  ‘Climb hills’ – that is easy in these parts. But instead of the distant Winder, I substitute Fairsnape, just up the road. I start my climb at 12.30!

A simple circuit of Saddle Fell and Fairsnape, which I have done probably dozens of times and written about infinitum. This six-or seven-mile round used to be my fell run when I needed to get fit for the Alps or wherever. I’ve vague memories of doing it in just over an hour and a half, but I took shortcuts. Today it takes me a leisurely four hours, with all the stops for chats and lunch. I start with that walk up the lane to Saddle End Farm.

The day is fresher than of late, and on the tops a stiff wind is blowing, but perfect for walking and distant vision. It seems to be a popular walk today, with most people going clockwise, whilst I prefer widdershins. Normally I use trekking poles, but until my shoulder is a little stronger, I’m doing without them, so it’s hands-in-pockets strolling. I meet some interesting people coming the other way, which gives me a chance to rest on the endless ascent and look back at the unfolding views: distant Pendle and Longridge Fell across Chipping Vale.

Low down, I take a double look at these two trees I never noticed before. No, it’s not my camera angle; they are growing like that. It gets windy on this ridge. More green metal gates have appeared since I was last this way.

A strange whirring sound seems to be coming from somewhere up ahead; it is only when a group of men come into sight that I realise they are operating a drone. Looking across the bowl below Fairsnape, the bracken is a striking green, at the height of its growth.

Towards the top of Saddle I always pay my respects to the pile of stones that was once a shelter. This was the scene of a tragedy. I mark the approximate spot with a red dot on my map at the end.

On 26th March 1962, three siblings left home, travelled by bus to Chipping, and walked over the fells, possibly to Langden Castle. On their return over Saddle Fell, they were faced with severe winter conditions, which resulted in the two brothers losing their lives due to hypothermia. Their sister Sheila survived to raise the alarm at Saddle End Farm. The brothers probably took shelter in the hut.  There was no Mountain Rescue Team in the area at that time, so it was left to the police and locals to search; British Aircraft Corporation loaned their Whirlwind helicopter to help. Shortly after this tragedy, a South Ribble Rescue team was established, which is now the local Bowland Pennine team.

Once through the highest gate, it is easy walking. It is good to see a youngster out in the hills, and he seemed to be enjoying it.

As always, I deviate to visit the true summit of Fairsnape. 521.9m. Once up here, the views open up northwards and eastwards; until now they have been to the south. The three Yorkshire peaks are in the haze; not sure they will come out on camera. Looking north is wilderness for miles. I find a sheltered spot for lunch. 

The notice board tells of the efforts to ‘re-wet’ the peat, which is now recognised as a vital part of our efforts to combat climate change. The evidence is here: despite weeks of high temperatures and little rain, the bogs are alive and well. –

Lots of water and carbon-retaining Sphagnum Moss.

I stroll over to the well-positioned trig point, 510m, cairn and shelter; gliders drift past. 

The ridge onwards to Parlick is a joy to walk, with views down into Bleasdale and across the Fylde plain.

You can see in this photo of Parlick that I sneak off to the right onto a traversing line, omitting the summit.

Perhaps those new green metal gates are an improvement. I’m soon back down at Fell Foot, near where most people have parked and walked up from.

The lane towards Wolfen Hall may not be legal for its full length, but I do get unobstructed views of Pendle and Longridge Fell.

I am warned of a bull in the fields where I usually traverse, so I am content to walk down Wolfen Hall’s access road; this one is legal. It brings me to the cluster of holiday cottages on the site of the disused Wolfen Mill. The original millpond is incorporated into the grounds.

Back at the car, I buy my fresh farm eggs; Spanish omelette for tea tonight?

So that’s my ’52’ walk for this week sorted, a lot easier than some of the more perverse challenges – and you should see what’s coming up.

It was interesting talking to people visiting this area for the first time and hearing how amazed they were by the scenery.  Mind you, it was almost perfect weather, good old Bowland.

*

 

MY SHORT WALK.

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Any time of day, I often pop up the fell for a quick walk; I’m able to squeeze it in no matter what else I am doing. Today was no different. After faffing about all morning, where does the time go? I don’t feel up to a longer walk, so I park up at the usual place.

By chance, a United Utilities worker is repairing the wooden gate. You may remember my frustration with United Utilities’ response to my call to their ‘help’ line the other week regarding illegal camping in this same wood. It is good to have the opportunity to speak with one of their employees.

He had been alerted to the problem via the police at the time. Already, he has replaced the padlock on the double metal gate, and today he has come for minor repairs and to post another notice about the fire risk. He has had a walk around checking for any problems. His area covers from Slaidburn to Preston, and he explains the various pipelines UU is responsible for. We have a complicated system with water coming from several sources and being pumped around to supply our towns. Longridge has a concentration of reservoirs. At present, there is anxiety about fires on their properties, but trespass and damage are ongoing problems, particularly in urban areas.

The new notice will be vandalised within weeks, is his depressing comment.

 

 

I leave him to his repairs, and I wander into the woods, noticing changes as the summer progresses. There are patches of Bell Heather flowering, and the Ling Heather is only just starting to bloom.

I love these little cones on the Cypress trees. 

Bilberries are very scarce for some reason, not enough for a pie; but the Rowan is putting on a good show. Birds are flitting around the trees; I spot Willow Warblers, Chiffchaff, and Redpolls, but not the Siskins, probably hiding in the taller pines.

The higher, less-used paths are now tangled in bracken and difficult to follow, but I persist.

I go down to the water; it is not as bubbly as normal. We have had no significant rainfall for weeks.

Across the brook, the new plantation is coming on; in a few more years, we will have a pleasant mixed woodland.

Back alongside the main path is a patch of Knapweed. It is alive with insects: bees, hoverflies, and butterflies.

I try a video of the butterflies busy over the Knapweed.

My short walk always enriches.

BAREFOOT ON THE FELL.

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I vaguely remember, in the mid-60s, going to one of London’s theatres to watch a newly released comedy, Barefoot in the Park. As an impoverished student, I had a secret way of getting last-minute cheap theatre tickets. The production later became a successful movie with Jane Fonda and Robert Redford. Going barefoot in the park was a sign of freedom.

Our earliest ancestors walked everywhere barefoot, as do some tribes even now. But we have been wearing shoes for centuries. The earliest known shoe, over 10,000 years old, was made of sagebrush bark. The development of shoes over the ages has led to cushioning that supports our feet. But it may have created problems – our foot muscles are not as strong as they should be. There is evidence that this may cause us to tread more heavily, creating extra stress on our knee and hip joints. Our feet are not as healthy as our ancestors’, and the rates of knee arthritis have doubled in the last century; obviously, other factors come into play, such as weight, repetitive stress and injuries.

Walking barefoot, we take shorter strides, landing less heavily and with our weight more evenly distributed.  Add to this the varied sensations we feel from the different surfaces we encounter.

You may have gathered that this week’s 52 Ways of Walking is “Walk Barefoot”. Will it give me the freedom of the park and Jane Fonda’s heart, or will I end up standing on some glass or, just as bad, dog poo? I will give the parks a miss.

Longridge residents will all remember a local character regularly running around the Longridge Fell road barefoot. He is still running, but the last time I saw him he was wearing trainers.  I don’t intend to walk barefoot on the roads but choose the peaty paths on the fell itself instead.

I am on the way down from the forest and once out of the trees off come my trainers.  The path looks stony, and I take hesitant steps at first. But it’s not as bad as it looks; there is often some grass one can find to give a more gentle tread. The ground is very dry and compact; sand gets between my toes. Small pebbles are to be avoided. Once I’m in my stride, I start to enjoy the experience; I also feel different textures and temperatures through my soles, which doesn’t happen when wearing shoes. There is only a small patch of mud, but I have to get into it – instant cooling for my feet as well as instant mud between the toes to wash off later. I am disappointed not to leave ‘Man Friday’ footprints for someone to follow. It’s only a half mile back to the car, and I am moving more confidently as I go. Out of the gate onto the road, and I instantly feel the heat of the tarmac.

Yes, I did enjoy that experience, more so than many other 52 Ways to Walk. I will repeat it next time up the fell and may even venture into the forest where I think the ground will be trickier. I think I could walk forever barefoot on the grass. Obviously, I haven’t ventured far enough to test my foot muscles or even strengthen them; that would take a lot of perseverance and time. I did feel less clumsy, was placing my feet more precisely, and I think I was more in balance by spreading out my toes, which is important as you age.

One can purchase ‘shoes’ that provide a more barefoot walking experience. These minimalist shoes allow the foot to move naturally. They give you the feeling of walking barefoot while still protecting your foot from injury and dirt. Something to look into, but maybe I should have done so decades ago.

I don’t intend to show too many photos of my feet. This was the path I was on; you can see how dry it was.

*

As an aside, here’s what I came across in the forest earlier. Idiotic in this heatwave.

A cosy campfire!!!

A WHITTLE WANDER. There’s more…

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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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

LITTER.

8 Replies

I do a litter pick-up on Longridge Fell.

Litter drives most people mad.  Cans, bottles, food wrappers, dog poo bags. Unfortunately, they are everywhere these days. Our roadsides are a disgrace, and our footpaths often the same. I do a regular ‘litter pick’  on Longridge Fell, as do others, and I think it has helped. But recent episodes of irresponsible wild camping have left a lot of litter. Time to clear it; nobody else will.

This fits in perfectly with my 52 Ways to Walk – Pick Up Litter As You Walk chapter for this week.

Litter is so intrusive visually, especially in rural surroundings; not so great in towns either. It can harm wildlife and pollute our rivers. One wonders what the cost is for local authorities?

So let’s get picking. I wander through the woods; the odd can and dog poo bag are easily dealt with.

Soon I am at one of the sites of an open fire. I collect discarded melted bottles and bits of metal barbecue mesh. Can you understand the mentality of anyone lighting fires in the middle of a forest during a heat wave? 

I have a full carrier bag, and when I reach another campfire site, I need to return the next day with a bigger bag.

I have a very satisfied feeling for doing some good for the environment and my community. People I meet are interested and give me encouragement in the task at hand. All to the good. So, on your next walk, why don’t you do a little litter-picking? Go on, it’ll give you a boost and help the environment at the same time. It’s not so easy if you don’t go prepared. A litter grabber, gloves and bags are really needed. One tip from the book is to have two separate bags, one for recyclables and one for landfill, as you won’t feel like sorting through the mess later.

 

 

CALM RESTORED.

5 Replies

 

There’s nothing that beats a beautiful garden for restoring one’s equilibrium. Woodlands, lawns, borders, meadows, roses, ponds and more.

Add to that a fantastic view across Chipping Vale of the Bowland Hills and some delicious cake. All in the aid of charity.

My frustrations of earlier melt away.

MAD DOGS…

12 Replies

…and Englishmen.

You won’t get me out in the midday sun this week.

I manage an early-morning walk in the shade up on the fell. There is a slight breeze, but the temperature is already 26°C.

It’s a little cooler down by the stream.

I’m home well before lunch and rehydrating behind drawn curtains; the temperature is up to 31°C.

My wise cats have more sense than those mad dogs.

This Englishman will see you next week.

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.

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