I have lost my camera with this day’s photos on. When I say lost I mean I can’t find it but I’m certain it’s in the car or the house. After much searching it still hasn’t turned up. My mind’s not focused as it is the funeral of my best friend.

Yes, it has turned up under the carseat!

The day itself, a week ago, was brilliant.

As you drive through Claughton on the Kirkby Lonsdale road an aerial ropeway crosses above you carrying clay in buckets down from high on Caton Fell to the brickworks by the road. I’ve always been curious as to what’s at the top of the ropeway. The other end of the rainbow. Today I intended to find out and dragged Sir Hugh along for company.

We parked at The Fenwick Arms, sadly closed as a result of lockdown and other financial pressures. One of the many casualties.

A steady 1000 ft. ascent on a previously cobbled track with not much to see, Claughton Hall was hidden behind trees and Claughton Beck could be heard but not seen. Near the top we walked under the upper part of the ropeway. The buckets were trundling up and down by gravity feed. Constructed in 1924, this is the last gravity feed aerial ropeway operating in Britain. We crept into the upper quarry to see where the buckets were coming from – the answer was a shed where presumably the shale and  clay was loaded. There was a large quarry behind. We need not have trespassed as there are plenty of YouTube videos.

We came out onto the open moor near the wind farm and past the restored Moorcock Hall – certainly one of the remotest houses in Lancashire with a splendid view over Morecambe Bay.

A diversion was suggested to the trig point, 361m, of Caton Moor. We had walked past here on The Witches Way in 2016 without visiting the top. It was fairly barren up here but there were good views over the northern Bowland fells with the shapely ‘peak’ of Mallowdale Pike catching our eye, one for another day?  Ingleborough of cause made an appearance.

On the way back Sir Hugh spotted a couple of workers on one of the wind-turbine blades, I think I would have walked past without noticing. They must have abseiled down for some repair work which looked perilous from below.

I tried an arty shot with the juxtaposition of wind power against nuclear, Morecambe Power Station in the blurry background.

After the excitement we found a picnic bench for a civilised lunch stop. Two ladies on an adjoining bench were having a conversation where they both spoke at the same time.

The tarmacked lane down to Brookhouse went on for ages in the ever increasing heat of the sun.

Brookhouse is a charming olde worlde village which modern times and the main road have passed by. We were glad of a sit-down in the church yard where fresh cool water was found. St. Paul’s church dates from the !6thC. Built into the West wall is a Norman Arched doorway. Set into it are stones from former buildings, various Medieval marked stones. Rather a shambles really.

Whilst in the pretty village we had time to find the Plague Stone. Set into the parapet of the bridge next to the pub is a large stone with a hollowed-out top. In Medieval times plague epidemics killed thousands of people up to the late C17th. Victims socially distanced themselves outside towns but collected food from the stone. It is thought that the depression in the stone was filled with vinegar to act as a sanitiser for the coins left in payment. Does this all sound familiar in the twenty-first century?

A field path took us to the busy A683 which we crossed to get onto the disused railway line [Lancaster to KIrkby Lonsdale] this provides a cycle way out of Lancaster city centre but sadly comes to an end near here as far as public access is concerned. The River Lune curves elegantly through the fields and despite its attractiveness there is little in the way of a marked path. A lady was swimming in one of the pools; it looked very inviting in the hot sunshine. Ahead was Ingleborough with Hornby Castle prominent upstream. Fields separated us from the brickworks with the windmills visible on the moor above.

Heading back into Claughton we crossed the site of the old railway line at Gatekeepers Cottage. There was no sign of life at The Fenwick Arms.

On the drive home I stopped to take a photo of the aerial ropeway and its yellow buckets crossing the road, I now know where they come from.

*****

                                                         Looking back along the Fairsnape ridge.

JD and I set off from St Eadmer’s Church for a round of the Bleasdale fells. It was warm and sunny from the start. As is usual in these Covid 19 days we caught up with each other’s news and discussed the state of the nation as we walked up the estate road. Before long we were faced with the long rake across the side of the fell up to Fiendsdale Head, it seemed steeper than before. Drinks were taken half way up as we suffered from the heat.

The way onwards to the summit is always boggy but with a judicious choice of cloughs and some changing of sides over the fence we made it with dry feet. There are not enough flags.

We were kept entertained by a helicopter making repeated trips with some payloads to the distant White Moss. An even stranger sight greeted us we reached the 520m true summit of Fairsnape, a substantial digger perched on the peat hags.The operator was sat in the cab so we could ascertain his mission. United Utilities [North West Water to you and me] are trying to stop peat erosion and water run off. He evens out the cloughs, the helicopter drops stones to form a barrier before heather is replanted. Easy.

Stones emptied into the cloughs.

Well on a good day like today its good work but in a storm it would be a different matter. He spoke of trying to avoid the monster getting sucked into the peat. We left him to it but wondered at the effectiveness of man in such a huge scale of wild moorland.

The trig point, 510m, and cairn of Paddy’s Pole [no idea of its origin] on the western edge of Fairsnape are easy to locate in today’s clear weather but this area can be a nightmare in bad conditions and poor visibility. We both had tales of aimless wanderings.

In these conditions an easy stroll across to the trig and Paddy’s pole..

The shelter gave us a place to sit and eat lunch. I was on the lookout for flat soft areas for a future bivi night.

Along the ridge towards Parlick we were keen not to miss Nick’s Chair a lofty rocky prominence.

Nick’s chair – easy to spot in this direction.

Here is a 2014 picture of my grandson on the chair featured in one of my ‘lockdown’ quizzes.

We didn’t bother with climbing to Parlick’s summit but took a traversing path around it before descending the Zigzags down the rough fell side to Blindhurst.

Blindhurst with Beacon Fell in the distance.

Blindhurat Farmhouse.

It was then an easy walk across fields back to the church. A well devised route from JD. I believe I had a touch of sunburn.

The last time we did a similar route was almost 2 years ago to the day in Hurricane Ali, what a contrast.

*****

This all happened a few days ago. I’d driven up the minor road from Slaidburn which heads over the hills to Bentham. As I crossed the watershed at the Cross of Greet I became aware of the vast landscape ahead of me. The Yorkshire peaks of Ingleborough and Whernside, the Barbon Fells and the distant Lakes overlooked a barren landscape of upland moor. There is nothing but sheep up here and they tend to sit on the road creating an additional hazard. I’m on my way to meet up with Sir Hugh whom I’ve not seen for 6 months due to Covid problems.

From the Taham Fell road, there is a turning to Botton Head, a culdesac, more of that later and then a sign to the mysterious Lowgill. I drove down the steep narrow lane hoping nothing would come the other way. We have arranged to meet in the village near the school where parking is just possible.

We had an idea of a route up and down the valley of the Hindburn River using paths and lanes.

The paths turned out to be little used and finding the bridges to cross the numerous streams became a challenge. The first path took us up to the little Church of the Good Shepherd, erected in 1888 by the Lancaster church architects Austin and Paley. Well named as these Tatham Fells are home mainly to sheep.The road leading up to it was 1in4 with an acute bend which must make attending Sunday service in an icy winter exciting.

The Hindburn was running high and the water was the colour of a well-brewed Pekoe tea. The way we chose ran alongside for a while. The name, as in neighbouring Roeburndale, is from the deer that roamed these parts in large numbers. I imagine there will still be a few about when you are not looking, as are red squirrels apparently.

We were in pathless sheep pastures with the occasional old barn helping navigation, distant Ingleborough kept popping up on the horizon.

For a while we walked alongside the River Hindburn.

Lower Thrushgill was the first inhabited house we came across, tastefully restored from its 1798 origins. At one point the path going by it seemed to head straight into their conservatory. Out on the lane we met up with a friendly deaf and mute man clutching a poorly photocopied map of the area, we helped him on his way by pointing out hopefully the correct route. He was the first person we’d seen all-day but shortly afterwards we met a lady and boy with their dog. The boy had been bathing in the river – simple pleasures reminiscent of my own childhood.

Approaching Botton Head.

We crossed the river and walked up to Botton Head Farm at the head of the valley. This old farm dating from the C17th is at the end of that culdesac road I’d notided on my drive over. The farmer, had he seen us coming? emerged for a chat which pleasantly gave us some history of farming in the area and more. He had lived here all his life and seen most of the surrounding farms abandoned and bought for restoration as country residencies. The land becomes rough, suitable only for sheep and the scattered barns no longer needed. A dying breed. At least he put us on the right track for a lost bridleway which had us searching for stiles and bridges. A magic spot by a side stream served lunch in the sunshine.

The lost ways were ‘followed’ to a farm building strangely named Swans and then a track to the road at Ivah. Here we met up with the lady and her dog, now much friendlier [ the dog that was] and coming down the lane a jubilant walker doing sign language. He had completed his circuit, thankfully our earlier directions had proved correct and helpful. Despite his limitations, we made out that he was ‘buggered’ from the day’s exertions. We weren’t that tired as we strolled down the lane to the few houses that make up Lowgill.

An impressive marble monument was in a prominent position by the road remembering four souls lost in WW1.

Until 1960 there used to be a public house here, The Rose and Crown, this may have been it…A lot of the houses had collections of presumably local stones from the fields. They looked like tortoise shells and felt heavy. I need to correspond with ‘the Rockman’ for their origins – he came up with name  ‘septarian nodules’. Concretions of sedimentary rock and minerals from the Cretaceous seas 50 – 70 million years ago.

So our six-mile exploration of this hidden Bowland valley had been a complete social distancing success. We parted with ideas of another equidistant meetup and walk in the near future.

My quandary was whether to take the easy option of going north to link up with the motorway home or go back over those lonely hills. The latter won so it was topdown for a road trip as good as anywhere in England.

Barbon Fells, Whernside and Ingleborough.

Cross of Greet road

Distant Pendle.

Source of the Hodder.

Roman road from Newton.