I have to thank John Bainbridge from Country Ways for inspiring this walk; he often writes about Sedbergh. However, it seemed to take me so long to get inspired this morning. Lots of faffing involved. Anyhow, I was parked up in Sedbergh close by the cemetery at 11 am. The day was forecast to go downhill in the afternoon. That decided me on a clockwise circuit so that I would get the views from the high ground before a plod along the lane back to town.
Some walks suit a particular direction, either because of the ease of ascent or for the views unfolding. Clockwise or widdershins. I tend to opt for a gentle, gradual ascent and deal with the views by stopping often and looking back – the best of both worlds, and so it is today.
Stepping through the arch into the cemetery, I feel I’m entering a different world, like Alice through the looking glass.
The walk has begun. A stroll down to Birks House and the footpath branching off alongside the River Rawthey. I probably make a mistake here as I keep to the riverside path rather than the PRofW, which would have passed Bruce Loch and the Pepper Pot. I have to scramble up from where my riverside path fades to join the path above—no big problem. The Loch and the Pepper Pot were part of the Akay estate, which was sold off in 1936, to Sedbergh School and the mansion was demolished. I catch a glimpse of the Pepperpot, restored by the school, as I enter the woods above the river. Some of the trees reflect the lost estate’s glory. 
Birks House and Winder.
Crossing the Rawthey at Millthrop Bridge, I walk down the line of cottages built for the workers of the nearby mill, originally for corn, then cotton, and, lastly, until 1931, wool.
An old cobbled track climbs into the hills.
The steepness gives me an excuse to pause, more than once, and look back over Sedbergh with the Howgills lurking in the background. 
The track splits, and I take the higher one, The Dales Way. 
As I reach the high point, I’m intrigued by piles of stones in the grass; were they just from clearing the fields for agriculture?
Walking the Dales Way westwards, what a view would greet you, cresting the ridge. It’s been 45 years since I came that way, so my memory is vague, but I’m happy to relive it today.
The good-walled track continues through gorse and woodlands before dropping into the fields of Gap and Hewthwaite farms—traditional vernacular C18th buildings rooted to the landscape. 
The steep, rough lane from the farms has a wall on its right with finishing flat coping stones, unusual for a farm track. Two doors offer a further clue that something grander borders the lane. 
The answer is Gate Manor, which I’ve often noticed when driving along the road to Dent. Today, I don’t see it till I’m on the other side of the valley, my photo out of sequence.
I get in a muddle in the fields by the Dairy Cottage converted dwellings. A finger post points vaguely south with the unhelpful ‘Brackensgill via deep ford’, no mention of a bridge, which is rather worrying. Estracating myself from a field, I locate the lane leading down to the ford. The lane itself is like a river, but a footbridge does appear to save the day. In fact, its steps provide a seat for a lunch stop. I wouldn’t have fancied the ford across the River Dee. A little upstream from here live my friends, and we have bathed in the Dee in the summer months. 
I reach the lane, which takes me back towards Birks. Upper Dentdale can wait for another occasion. 
For over a mile, not a car is seen, and I have time to admire the old farmsteads along the way. Stepping back into another century. 
After the side road over the graceful Rash Bridge, I come across an old abandoned Methodist chapel, Dent Foot, and then the Rash Mill, an undershot mill dating from the C16th when it was used for grinding corn. 
Outflow from the undershot wheel.
Then off the road on footpaths winding through the low hills, giving excellent views back up Dentdale and over to the Howgills, with Wild Boar Fell’s flat top visible through Gardsale. This walk has everything. 
Judging by the variety of lichens, the air quality up here is excellent – fill your lungs.
Dropping steeply down through a thicket of hawthorns, which apparently gives a stunning display in May. Today I enjoy all the red haws. 
Back alongside the fast-flowing River Dee, a beautiful arched bridge, Abbott Holme, takes me straight into a golf course, which I don’t navigate too well; fortunately, there are no players.
Woodland paths lead me along to a footbridge over the River Rawthey. Around Sedbegh, one is never quite sure which river one is following. The Lune is close by.
The old mill on the opposite bank used to be a water-powered cotton and worsted spinning mill. The lane leads back through the few houses of Birks to the cemetery and back through the arch with Sedbergh’s Winder above, celebrated in song by the school.
Far off from beck and fell,
As boyhood’s days grow dimmer,
The memory will not die
Of Winder’s clear-cut outline
Against an evening sky.
That’s a lot crammed into 5 miles. Thanks for reading.
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On a final note, a fitting memorial in that churchyard to a brave Polish airman defending another nation. Let us hope we continue to stand firm with Ukraine.
Another from a leaflet in the series of Walks with Taste in Ribble Valley, this time setting off from the centre of Clitheroe. I’m becoming lazy with route planning and relying on someone else’s choice, Ribble Valley BC this time. It promised “starting from Holmes Mill, wandering through the grounds of Clitheroe’s Norman Castle to the River Ribble for an easy riverside ramble” 
We now follow the quiet lanes for a mile or so, at the high point Pendle comes into view again. There are lots of cyclists, presumably from east Lancashire clubs, using this switchback route. A majority of the properties seem to be holiday lets, is this the only future for English farming? See below. 
I couldn’t resist a decent hill day as the weather remained fine. All change next week. ‘Head east old man’ was my mantra as I sped along the M65. Everyone else was going west to Blackpool or the Lakes. Boulsworth Hill my objective. So far so good, but the last chapter of Mark Sutcliffe’s Lancashire Cicerone guide would have had me parking above Wycoller. If there ever was a honeypot then Wycoller deserves that title. A secluded village of agricultural and hand loom workers in the C16th to C18th. Along came power looms in the C19th in nearby Lancashire towns and the population moved out. By 1896 the majority of people had moved away from the village, and it was virtually deserted. But a renaissance occurred in the mid C20th, the area was incorporated into a Country Park and people started moving back into the village renovating the properties. I well remember Longridge acquaintances of mine telling me of their plans for one of the houses in the 70s. I suspect you would have needed a bottomless purse to go ahead. For more information look at 
A good start to the day, although by now it was after noon. The expected crowds were milling around in the hamlet. Crossing and recrossing the series of 
