A short post today after all those lengthy ones.
Looking through my photographs of all the sculptures I took in the Yorkshire Sculpture Park I see some interesting shapes in nature. I’ve put a few together for my amusement.
Another time I visit maybe I should just ignore the sculptures and look at the trees.
***
Crossing the bridge at the end of the lower lake one couldn’t but notice the large lady strutting across the field. I have never been a fan of Damien Hirst ever since I came across his open womb pregnant Verity in Ilfracombe, whilst walking the South West Coastal Way, and this figure before me is unmistakably his. The Virgin Mother. 2005. Damien Hirst. ”We are here for a fun time, not a long time”
And there are more in the distance but I was content with long zoom images.
Charity. 2002. Damien Hirst.
The hat makes the man. 2004. Damien Hirst.
I could have walked down the valley to the Weston Gallery but time was getting on. There is always another day and I wanted to see some sculptures this side of the lake. By now the wind was getting up and it was difficult to hold either myself or the camera steady.
Black Mound. 2013. David Nash. Oak charred in situ. Another of his that will age with time naturally.
49 Square. 2013. David Nash. Silver birch which will grow into a white square by the lake.
Oeuvre (Verdigris) 2018. Gavin Turk. A large bronze duck egg.. “I made an egg that will last forever – but now we no longer no what forever means – it depends which report you read”
Hazmat Love. 2017. Tom Friedman. Embracing, wrestling or dancing?
Mind Walk. 2022. Peter Randall-Page. A continuous line carved into Bavarian granite.
Gazing Ball. 2018. Lucy + Jorge Orta.
Notice the small heart, their reference to a close friend who died waiting for a transplant.
Diario. 2016. Mikayel Ohanjanyan. Where the steel wire cuts into the marble the names of all his friends are written.
“during our lifetime, these acquaintances shape our identity, values, and human dignity”
And now for something completely different. This is based on an Invacar, the basic three wheeler, all pale blue, issued to disabled people by the NHS for thirty years from 1948. I just about remember them. They were eventually deemed unsafe. Heaton was issued with one in 1971, he says he felt like a solitary cripple in it. Now painted gold – “from lame to Lamé”
Gold Lamé 2014. Tony Heaton.
I wander up the park through the highly polished granite shapes by Japanese sculptor Masayuki Koorida. 
Over the bridge up to the iconic Love statue.
Ha-Ha Bridge. Brian Fell.
Love. (Red Blue Green) Robert Indiana.
I was running out of time although the park closes at 5pm the galleries close at 4. Going the long way round and exploring I had misjudged it. I missed out on the Chapel’s Light Organ show and much more but I wanted to complete my Erwin Wurm tour from this morning. There were a few more in the garden but the light had gone for photography. Fortunately the majority were in the Underground Gallery where I had 20 minutes to spare – too short a time really for all his curiosities. Thankfully there was no one about to take a picture of any of my appendages poking through his caravan. All bendy vehicles, gherkins and sausages. 
The YSP is on a grand scale and the large open spaces suit a lot of the larger statues. As I intimated there is lots more to discover. Next time I may park at the Weston Entrance and walk around from there. I did think about returning tomorrow but perhaps a change of scenery is needed and I have a couple of other options. Certainly spending the two nights in Wakefield has been a winner although I think I will give the Campanile’s pizza a miss tonight.
***
This a rough map of my anticlockwise ramblings. 5 miles measured but more like 6 or 7 actually walked.
Looking through my photos of all things non-sculptural I have some interesting natural images which I may post as an alternative view.
Continuing my perambulation in the park I wander down towards the lake, the lower one. Here are two large ‘architectural’ installations from Anthony Caro.
Dream City 1996 and Promenade 1996. Sir Anthony Caro.
Promenading in front of the hall.
A strange but captivating ring of twelve animal heads from the Chinese Zodiac. The artist Ai Weiwei, a Chinese dissident, wanted them to be fun “everybody has a Zodiac connection”
Circle of heads. Ai Weiwei 2010.
Looking at my map I see there is a footpath around the upper lake which looks interesting. The two lakes were originally hand dug for Bretton Hall in the C18th and are at the centre of the park, they are connected to the River Deame which flows through the park. In amongst the trees I come across scattered artworks.
123454321 Sol LeWitt 1993. Mathematical progressions present in nature.
Idit Nathan and Helen Stratford’s Further Afield. 2021. are several railway sleepers inviting you to play.
Idee de pietra – Olmo. 2008. Giuseppe Penone. The tree is bronze, the stone real.
No sculpture park is complete without Antony Gormley. One and Other. 2000.
Ravine. Tania Kovats. 2010. Cast concrete ‘eroding’.
I particularly like this use of the old boat house. JocJonJosch. Eddy.2014. in which the three artists each have an oar, going nowhere.
Flagstone, 2016. Willem Boshoff. Belfast granite polished back to the molten state. The lettering translates – ‘a drop of water hollows a stone, not by force, but by continuously dripping’ Ovid.
At the end pf the lake by the bridge this young man is on his phone. But what is he thinking about? Network 2013. Thomas J Price. 
I’ve never been up to the Longside Gallery on this side of the park, and despite it being closed I fancy the walk. A steep field leads me upwards with good views back over the lakes and park. Hereabouts are lots of lovely trees which has given me an idea for a separate post on nature in the park.
There is nobody about as I continue along the ridge to the Round Wood and unexpectedly come across a circular stone wall, it must be one of Andy Goldsworthy’s. 
Longside Gallery. Closed.
Outclosure. Andy Goldsworthy. 2007.
Oh, there is somebody up here, a solitary figure sat looking at the view. But as I get closer he becomes much larger. Sean Henry’s Seated Figure. 2016 plays with scale. The last photo in the series fortunately has a passing lady stood next to him for perspective.
As I walk down the hill the boundary wall in the sunken Ha Ha suddenly develops small deep rectangular enclosures, could this be Goldsworthy again? In one a suspended tree has been captured, perhaps there were in the other two but decay may have moved in.
Hanging Trees. 2007. Andy Goldsworthy. (YSP photo)
I can’t get to grips with the last ‘installation’ on the hill. Seventy One Steps. David Nash. 2010. And that’s just what they are, though I didn’t count them. Charred Oak sleepers embedded in coal and slowly merging into the hillside, probably just as he imagined similar to his Barnsley lump of coal on the other side of the park. 
At the bottom are the remains of the ornate C17th Lady Eglinton’s well. 
I was glad I had done the long walk up the hill.
Time for a sit down and a spot of lunch.
Crossing. Nigel Hall, 2006.
The Campanile was cheap and cheerful, and was only 20 minutes away from the Yorkshire Sculpture Park in the grounds of Bretton Hall, outside Wakefield. I was parking there just after they had opened at 10am, hoping to get a full day exploring some parts of the park I had previously missed and there is always something new.
I decided to to walk the park first and go into the galleries later in the day when the weather was deteriorating. My plan didn’t quite work out.
My must see today is Trap of the Truth – over a hundred works from the quirky Austrian Erwin Wurm. I’ve tried to share a video of Wurm talking to Clare Lilley, Director of the park, but technology has defeated me. However if you click on the link below and go well down the page to their 15 minute interview you will be impressed.
https://ysp.org.uk/whats-on/exhibitions/erwin-wurm
What a nice bloke and how innovative. Here are some of his outside sculptures. Make of them what you want, there are a lot of hidden meanings relating to fashion and consumerism. 
Leaving Wurm for now I wander off into the park where round every corner one comes across some new curiosity and probably miss just as many, That is why repeated trips here always pays dividends.
Family of Man. Barbara Hepworth. 1970,
Hydra vs Bear. A fantasy, Jordy Kerwick. 2023.
Protomartyr. Elizabeth Frink. 1984. A bonze St. Stephen.
Barnsley Lump. David Nash. 1981. A lump of coal slowly disintegrating.
Whilst walking through the wheelchair accessible garden I meet one of the staff, Mick, a retired miner/mental health nurse/ Yorkshireman/grandfather and more. He was passionate about the sculpture park and works a few days a week as a general helper. Time well spent chatting to him.
Mick.
Buddha. Niki de Saint Phalle. 2000. Glistening mosaics.
Octopus. Marialuisa Tadei. 2011. More mosaics.
Sitting. Sophie Rider. 2007. The Mother hare.
Bag of Aspirations. Kalliopi Lemos. 2013. Outside the Camelia House. “human lives are valued less than their possessions”
Usagi Kannon II. Leiko Ikemura. 2013. Fukushima nuclear disaster,
A Needle Woman. Kimsooja. 2014. A needle weaving our lives.
Most obtuse quotation/interpretation so far –
“Overall my work can be summarised as an attempt to translate the longstanding historical and political ambitions of traditional figurative sculpture into a revised sculptural language appropriate to the current cultural situation. The aim of my work is to question certainties and stereotypes, introducing a variety of fact and fiction into sculpture that is descriptive but not representative of the ‘real’ world.” Kenny Hunter. Bonfire 2009.
And the most apt –
“it would be very nice to put sculpture on hillsides or in small valleys, or place them where you think it would be nice for them to be and for everybody to enjoy” Barbara Hepworth. 
Time for a coffee up at the café. Come back soon.
My passport is stamped and I’m heading over the Pennines into deepest Yorkshire. To be honest I hate the journey on the M62, particularly the ‘safe motorway’ sections. Getting around Manchester I witness some crazy driving, weaving between lanes at high speed and undertaking even using the hard shoulder. And that is after I had delayed my departure to avoid the rush hour. Around Leeds more chaos ensued. I was heading to Wakefield, home of the Hepworth Gallery.
Since 1923 the Municipal Art Gallery in Wakefield has had a high reputation for their collections and support for local artists. But it was time to expand and modernise and in 2011 the new gallery, in Brutalist style. was opened on the banks of The Calder in the city centre. Its aim was to continue to be a leading gallery with contemporary additions and also to house a large permanent collection of Barbara Hepworth’s work, helped by a family donation of her historical output.
Barbara Hepworth was born in Wakefield and went onto become one of our most famous and respected modernistic sculptors. Coincidentally Henry Moore came from nearby Castleford and they were both helped in their early careers by the Wakefield gallery.
I watch the queue of elderly all trying to fathom the complicated instructions of the carpark ticked machine. I am content to sit in the car and enjoy a leisurely flask of coffee after my hectic journey here. Time to slow down before trying my own elderly luck with the machine. The last time I was here was two years ago. A lot of water has flown under the bridge since then, quite literally judging from the volume cascading down the flooded Calder dramatically surrounding the gallery. I’m pleased it is a bright sunny day as much of the light in the galleries comes from the largo windows, and as a bonus they are being cleaned. 
I am a little disappointed to see this sign on the entrance… 
…needless to say I didn’t.
What’s on? Well apart from all the Barbara Hepworth collection there is a major exhibition of Kim Lim’s work, a collection of new acquisitions, the first solo exhibition of Andrew Cranston, a sound installation by Shenece Oretha and much more. Here is a sample pf the best.
On the stairs to the first floor galleries are four panels relating to the repression of women the world over but particularly in Iran. Women, Life, Freedom. In Sept2022 a young lady in Iran was detained for the incorrect wearing of the Hijab, her death in captivity sparked massed protests in Iran. The posters have been designed by four Iranian women , tellingly living outside their country. A good start to the day, art is never far from politics.
The galleries are in a circular arrangement from your arrival on the first floor. Its up to you which way round to go. Today I chose anti-clockwise, I think I always do.
The first room housed the newly acquired – A Living Collection. varied styles and mediums. The gallery is trying to give a better representation of female artists and those of a diverse ethnic backgrounds. A party of secondary school children up from Chesterfield were busy at work creating their own interpretations. Some were very good. The master in charge was effortlessly sketching his pupils scattered around the rooms. All very jolly and making the gallery come to life. In amongst them were a Hepworth and a Moore to remind one of the true history of the place.
My own favourites were a bright energetic painting by a young Jade Fadojutimi, Ob-Sess-Ion, and a thoughtful print from Jimmy Robert, Frammenti VII, not many Greek Statue subjects were coloured.
Mother and Child. Barbara Hepworth, 1934
The adjoining rooms shows a diverse selection of works from Scotsman Andrew Cranston, What made you stop here? From large scale paintings to small intimate oil and varnish on hardback book covers. The large Echoes, bleach and dye on canvas, had me entranced as did a few of the smaller ones, Granny and the more challenging The Sweet and the Weird, he has a fascination with fish. That is reflected in his larger fish picture which has a humorous tale behind it, which I will leave for you to discover.. 
This video tells you more about him and is worth watching.
I then suddenly find myself in the Kim Lim’s Space, Rhythm and Light. 
Her career is covered from when she arrived in England in 1954. Prints and sculptures from that time until her death in 1997. Innovative from the start she was prepared to experiment with different materials and travelled widely for inspiration. For the last 20 years of her life she carved solely in stone.
Time for a coffee in the excellent restaurant.
A room full of Hepworth, Moore and ethnic statues is given over to Shenece Oretha’s experiments with sound. In her residency here she spent time tapping and touching the different sculptures and recording with high sensitivity microphones. The results are hypnotic and enhance ones experience of the exhibits. I am entranced and try to guess which sound matches which statue. Have a listen.
The next gallery highlights Barbara Hepworths works, many of them prototypes for larger projects. The surealism was added to by the window cleaner.
There is a reconstruction of her studio and more examples of her plaster carving and bronze casting techniques. 
A room given over to The Art of the Potter highlights ceramics from the Wakefield’s collections over the years.
The last room is given over to all things Yorkshire with more Hepworth and Moore sculptures and including a painting by a Philip Reinagle, 1793, of the old Wakefield Bridge and Chantry Chapel. The chapel was built in the C14th and is one of only four surving in the England.
Looking across from the gallery window that bridge, now closed to traffic, is visible with the chapel prominent. 
Time for a walk out in the sunsgine to take a closer look and bring the picture to life.
Now to head to my cheap hotel, the Campanile on a nearby industrial estate, for a good night’s rest before the YSP tomorrow. I can’t face the M62 twice in one day.
It never used to be so busy at the Cow and Calf Rocks’ carpark A bright Saturday has brought crowds up here above an equally busy Ilkley. We are here to find the last of Simon Armitage and Pipa Hall’s Stanza Stone Poems, Beck, hidden in Backstone Beck where the latter comes down at speed towards the town. I have downloaded some ‘simple’ directions but am afraid I may get distracted by the nearby climbing crags.
Ilkley Quarry, the Cow and Calf and the Rocky Valley were favourite haunts of my early climbing days. There was plenty of traditional excitement to be had on the rounded gritstone. But no let’s find the poetry stone first.
‘Take the path out of the car park’ was an obvious start, we could manage that. The paths are more well used than I remember them, were they even here back then? But there are lots of them going off in all directions. And there are people in all directions too. Some coming up from Ilkley by way of the tarn, most like us wandering from the Cow and Calf and others from over the moor. Dogs, in all shapes and sizes, are everywhere, which gives Zola plenty of canine interactions, Clare is on hand to call her in when things are starting to get out of hand. I am amazed that she can bound off into the distance (Zola, not Clare), in a place she has never set foot in, and keep reappearing at our heels. The bracken is dead which helps us find the narrower paths. All the time we have a panoramic view of Ilkley down below in the Aire valley. 
‘Head towards a plantation’ was the next instruction, yes, but which one? A solitary Stanza Poem fingerpost then takes some of the adventure away. The sound of the beck meant we were close. ‘Scramble up alongside the beck’ was our instruction – but steps have been provided recently. ‘Squeeze through between a gorse bush and a boulder’ the guide says. But someone has cut the gorse bush back. Is this all down to the YouTube/Instagram/what three words phenomena creating honey pots in our wild countryside? I’m beginning to feel a little cheated, this was to be the climax of our poetry trail with the most difficult stone to find. Zola obviously finds it for us, but then in the end we have it completely to ourselves. 
False trail
Is this what you are looking for?
What a spot, a wild tumbling beck with the brown bracken clinging to the hillside. Water is splashing around the rocks and there in the centre of it all is the Stanza Stone. A proud boulder sitting in the flow as was Pipa Hall when she carved out the letters. We ask ourselves how did they find this elysian place? 
It is all one chase.
Trace it back the source
might be nothing more than a teardrop
squeezed from a Curlew’s eye,
then follow it down to the full-throated roar
at its mouth – a dipper strolls the river
dressed for dinner in a white bib.
The unbroken thread of the beck
with its nose for the sea
all flux and flex, soft-soaping a pebble
for thousands of years, or here
after hard rain, sawing the hillside in half
with its chain. Or here, where water unbinds
and hangs at the waterfall’s face, and
just for that one, stretched white moment
becomes lace.
©Simon Armitage 2010
A bit of precarious scrambling had us up close to the poem which is slowly taking on the patina of all the other water splashed rocks. What will it be like in another ten, twenty or fifty years? all a very short period of time for the stones up here on the moor. The references to the curlew and the dipper are perfect for the situation. If you have read any of Simon Armitage’s poems you will recognise his acute observation, engagement and ability to weave his words. If you haven’t, a good start would be an anthology of his writings – Paper Aeroplane, 1989 – 2014. The title poem at the very end is one of my favourites, a self-effacing offering worlds apart from Tennyson, Simon is no stuffy Poet Laureate.
Where next? Well I had suggested we explore the wild moor looking for those thousand years old markings in the rocks up here. Cup and ring marks and geometric carvings. I won’t bore you with our subsequent wanderings. Zola probably derived the most benefit from the open moorland obstacle course. Did we find any? I can’t say for certain, lets just leave it there. I don’t know who C Clark and Crackety Jack are.
Our only trophy was stumbling across a ‘poetry seat’ constructed in line with the poems. The sign said Marsden 451/4 miles, where we had started with Snow up in the quarries at Pule Hill in October. We have not walked the whole trail but picked off the stones on the way – Rain, Mist, Dew, Puddle and now Beck. Whichever way you approach it this gives a wonderful feeling for the Pennine scenery, the vagrancies of its weather and the talent and inspiration of the poetry team.
Going with the flow Clare posts a poem into the letter box. I wonder when it will next emerge.
On our way back to the car I indulge in some reminiscing of those carefree climbing days long ago. 
There was no congratulatory drink in the nearby Cow and Calf Inn, a quick toilet stop and I was happy to be on my way home before all those high intensity car headlights had chance to confuse me. How the mighty have fallen.
***
There is however a post script. Our journey is not yet done.
The final Stanza? Armitage and Hall spoke about a seventh, hidden Stanza Stone. Although they disputed its size, both agreed it was fairly small and had been placed within either a “wooden casket” or “hollowed-out log”. Armitage added: “We took it to a place above Hebden Bridge, where the Ted Hughes poem ‘Six Young Men’ is set, and placed it under the riverbank there.” Shortly afterwards the valley was flooded, “so we’ve no idea where it is now. It’s either in the Atlantic, or in the North Sea – or lying in someone’s cellar in Todmorden”.
Let me know if you come across it.
***
I was up here a few days ago in the frosty weather when I talked about the Leagram Deer Park. Today was all blue sky and not an icy patch to tread warily on. I’d already walked the pleasant mile along the quiet road from the site of Leagram Mill, passing some of those iconic railings sited to give visibility on the bends. Are they just a Lancashire thing?
Now I was entering the ancient laund of Leagram. There was once an extensive deer park here in the 15 -16th centuries, l’ll come to Stanley shortly. The pale was a ditch sometimes ‘fortified’ with hawthorn hedging demarcating and protecting the deer hunting area. Parts of it can be seen on the present day estate where I am walking. From this we acquired the phrase “beyond the pale” – outside the bounds of acceptable behaviour. This how you find it with todays technology video.
Lovely parkland with Longridge Fell ‘beyond the pale’
I walk on past the blue faced sheep and decide not to take the way to Park Gate as a tractor is muck spreading across the field. I walk on with Parlick up ahead. But I’m not heading for the high Bowland Fells, I’m going to skirt around under them on the track to Lickhurst.
First I stop to buy half a dozen free range eggs from the lane that leads to Saddle End Farm. 
The Public Road ends short of the lane to the isolated Burnslack and the byway heading east is open to traffic but there are warnings to potential 4X4 users. Soon I’m at the ford over Leagram Brook, now provided with large stepping stones. Onwards becomes open moor named on the map as Stanley. 
Edward Stanley, it turns out was keeper of Leagram deer park in the Royal Forest of Bowland between 1487 and 1523, and a soldier for both Henry VII and Henry VIII. The deer park died out in the C17th and the land passed into the Townley family. That’s how you inherited or were bestowed land in those days. It remained under the Townley family until 1938 when The Duchy Of Lancaster purchased much of the land. 
Tipping my hat to to the duke or whoever I cross over Stanley and drop into Lickhurst. Remote farms, when I was working in the area, but now gentrified country properties made more accessible by bridges where there were previously fords. Having said that I got talking to a tradesman working on one of the properties who said they got caught out with the sudden snow and freezing conditions last week and spent two hours trying to get back up the hill to civilisation. 
We are in Limestone country now, lots of coral reefs and more than one lime kiln along the way. I’m always impressed by the length of the single span stone across the brook here, now balustraded for health and safety.
Then there is that isolated red phone box, worth a post of its own. It is still functional but I wonder how many times it has been used in the last year. 
One of the reasons I’m here is to visit friends at Greystonely. They are in so I enjoy an excellent coffee and them we join forces for the ongoing walk. 
The bridleway down to another ford is looking worse from wear and tear, sat navs have led the unwary down this way, or rather ‘no way’. The bridleway improves past houses and eventually bring me back to my car on the road where I part company with my friends as they find another way back home.
I can repeat this walk as many times as I like – there is something special about it and the old Royal Deer Park. Here’s to Stanley.
***
Sadly a mere three weeks after my visit the lady pictured above had died of cancer of the pancreas. I still can’t believe it.
This may take some time to write up and to read. I completed the short cycle ride on a frosty January 18th. 2024.
How many times have I cycled down the seafront from Fleetwood to Blackpool? How many times have I later flown past, with the wind behind me, the several pieces of artwork without realising their significance? The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind. A song still appropriate to the present troubles of our world and my wanderings.
Grab a coffee, relax, listen and read on.
I aim to put that right today. I have done a little research on the Cleveleys website. Over recent years the sea defence improvements at Rossall and Cleveleys have provided a wonderful promenade, a leisure amenity alongside the coast popular with walkers and cyclists. At the same time funding was secured by Wyre Council through Sea Change, a national fund designed to regenerate the coast through the Arts.
This gave rise to Cleveleys Mythic Coastline art work following the story of The Sea Swallow A children’s fairytale, written by Gareth Thompson and illustrated by Hannah McGee, it blends legends with local features. Each primary school child in Wyre was given a copy of the book in 2011. (I need to find out if any copies are still available – just this minute ordered ordered one from ABE Books.) The book tells of the epic story of land versus sea and uses old fables from this stretch of the Fylde coast with the sea swallows protecting it. A tale of an Ogre stirring up the sea with his giant paddle, threatening the waterfront community, only to be thwarted by the story’s heroine, Mary and her golden shell. Mary is granted the ability to journey to the seabed for an encounter with the sea-ogre, who covets the shell and threatens her village with inundation. I need to read the book to find out the hopefully favourable outcome. The story and pictures from the book have been the basis for the public artwork subsequently installed along the seafront.
***
To set the scene: I unload my bike as usual near the delightful ‘Welcome Home’ statue on the front at Fleetwood and pedal off in the freezing temperatures, my hands rapidly becoming numb. There are patches of ice along the promenade and the beach is frozen solid. The tide is farther out than I’ve seen it before and one can imagine the difficulties of navigating into the mouth of the Wyre and Fleetwood’s docks. Out to sea the Isle of Man ferry is heading to Heysham whilst a couple of freighters are leaving, with the back drop of Barrow, Black Coombe and the snowy Lakeland hills.
Once past the toppling coast watchers and round Rossall Point I’m onto the new tiered promenades of Rossall’s sea defences with concrete walls showing wavy themes in relief. 
Along here are three art installations I’ve not bothered to examine before. Each one consists of three slender arching columns, grass-like, decorated with a floral theme. Ragwort, Sea Holly and Sea Spurrey and their animal dependents, Cinnabar Moth, Red Tailed Buff Bee and Common Toad respectively. I can find little information on them, but obviously, they reflect coastal species. They are sited at access points to the beach for maximum impact; perhaps they are marker posts between here and Cleveleys. 
It was along here that Sea Swallows started appearing in the back wall and, at the end an impressive larger relief featuring Mary. 
I now realise there was another Mary ‘panel’ at the start of the wall farther back – it gives me an excuse to have another leisurely exploration.
The main installations of the Mythic Coast are from the storybook – The Shell, The Ogre, The Ogre’s Paddle and The Sea Swallow, and the nearby Shipwreck Memorial. They have all been put together by artists and designers from Broadbent Studio.
First up was Mary’s Shell, a large piece of spiralling metal in a shell shape on the Cleveley beach below the café. Looking through it at low tide is the sea; at high tide, it becomes completely submerged. The complex Conch shell was made from stainless steel in Ulverston, with a blast finish and weighs in at 17 tons. Today, the tide was out, and I could have, should have, gone down the steps to come up close, but with the bike in tow, I was content to view from the promenade.
The Ogre is easily missed alongside the boulder groyne just south of the Shell. It is in fact a boulder carved to represent the crouching giant. He was hand carved from a single fifteen ton block of limestone by the stonemason Adrian Wright and fittingly submerged for a lot of the time. Today, I was lucky, and he was plain for all to see. Again, I should have gone down onto the beach for a closer look, but as I said a good excuse to return.
Can you spot him?
The Ogre’s Paddle is on the higher promenade, unceremoniously in front of the cinemas and gym. The paddle was constructed in purple heart wood from South America, carved with decorations and text from the story by the woodcarver John Merrill.
“the Sea Ogre’s paddle drifted up to lie on the muddy sand like some strange offering”
The Sea Swallow monument is right in the middle of the promenade. A 10m tall sculpture, its shape inspired by the feel of a book coming to life and the swallows flying out of it.. The swallows are the town’s protectors, and I now realise are representative of Sea Terns. Just look at that blue sky.
“This feature acts as a visual beacon to draw people from the town centre to the seafront” . The granite was supplied by Hardscape, and the aluminium structure fabricated and installed by Chris Brammall Ltd. of Cumbria.
‘For at night they stand together on the sea wall, as if protecting the town with their great white wings.’
Illustrations from the book have been carved and blasted into the granite base of the sculpture. “maybe somewhere along the coast, the shell waits for someone to find it again”
You may have noticed everything is curvy (wavy) on Cleveleys promenade, often practically to soften the force of the waves but more of an ongoing architectural statement. I think it works quite well.
The last piece, the Shipwreck Memorial, stands proudly on the Cleveleys Promenade. A huge piece of iron, 15mm thick, laser cut with the names of lost vessels. It stands 4.5m tall against the sky, supported by two huge solid pieces of timber. The metalwork is slowly rusting, as would have the sunken ships.
It acts as a memorial to all known ships lost along the Fylde since 1643. It is positioned on the promenade at Cleveleys, adjacent to the site of the most recently lost ship – The Riverdance, which ran aground in 2008 and became a tourist attraction as it slowly lost its cargo and was subsequently dismantled. In the same area the wooden ribs of The Abana, sunk in 1894, still show up at low tide. Apparently, they can be seen through the disc in the memorial, I should have looked more carefully.
On the wooden supports are a couple of panels listing all the ships with more information about their wrecking. A sobering list, a huge graveyard of over 200, The first listed as Unidentified, wrecked near Fleetwood in 1643 having run aground after being set on fire by Loyalists in the Civil War. In more modern times, the Trawler industry suffered disproportionately. A full list of wrecks has been transcribed onto a page on the Cleveleys website.
A final installation – Coloured Sea Swallows, cast in resin, was planned to sit along the seawall on the Cleveleys promenade. They have been temporarily removed following the unfortunate theft of several of them, and are awaiting re-siting.
Historical picture.
The Shipwreck Memorial stands on the border between Wyre (Cleveleys) and Blackpool. I’ve gone as far as I want today; it’s time to head back.
But first I stop to watch some activity on the beach. They are building more stone groynes to prevent potentially dangerous deep-side channels from developing across the beach. Blocks of stone, Granite from Shap and Limestone from Carnforth, have been ‘dumped’ on the beach. Concrete ramps to allow access along the beach have been built, and they are now starting to carefully place the boulders at right angles to the prom, forming the groynes. Each block weighs between 3 and 8 tons; anything lighter would get washed away in storms.
Needless to say, I haven’t seen any Sea Swallows but a cheeky Starling joined me for some lunch. 
Thanks for sticking with me. Maybe listen to Bob again.
***
The Tolkien Trail website has – “Tolkien Trail famous ‘Middle Earth’ walk: People come from all over the world to walk the famous Tolkien Trail. To follow in the footsteps of J.R.R. Tolkien himself, for seven and a half miles, and see how he was inspired by the beautiful landscape of Lancashire. Immerse yourself in this wonderful part of the countryside.” That may be so but we didn’t meet another soul today from any part of the world.
I was never into fantasy fiction but I love the scenic Ribble Valley for its own sake. That is why I keep coming back to walks around Hurst Green and the Rivers Hodder and Ribble. So here we are again, in Hurst Green on a quiet Friday morning, with the temperature hovering around zero. Mike is always on the lookout for easy walks of about 4 miles suitable for his walking group, preferably starting at and finishing at a pub. This is my latest suggestion. We are parked outside the Bailey Arms, presently unoccupied, but the thriving Shireburn Arms is only a stone’s throw away. We follow lanes out of the village towards Stonyhurst College, through its grounds down to the River Ribble where we pick up the Tolkien Trail back to Hurst Green. A pleasant varied 4 miles.
Here are a few pictures…
Will they ever reopen?
Alms Houses, worth a picture every time.
The spooky cemetery.
The Statue of Our Lady, Mary, also known as ‘Our Lady of the Avenue’ was installed in 1882.
The iconic college view.
A winter’s scene.
What is this tree with all the low untidy growth?
Imposing! How much per term these days?
St. Peter’s.
Exploring off-piste. The former Fives Courts. There are not many left in the country, due for renovation.
And a house for bats next door.
Down past Cross Gill Farm towards the river.
A snowy Pendle dominates the Ribble Valley.
The elusive historic cross.
Hobbit Hill, a ‘bespoke wedding venue’ cashing in on the Tolkien theme.
On the Trail.
Reused Astro turf – lovely to walk on, every trail should be carpeted with it.
The Victorian aqueduct bridge.
The deep ravine below Hurst Green.
A lot of work has gone into the trail recently, this was an eroded mess before.
Top class.
***
As I walked gingerly along the icy lane the gentleman coming the other way greeted me with “gan canny“, not an expression often heard in Lancashire. He was just as surprised when I responded automatically with “wye aye man“. Two northeasterners meeting on a frosty day, both walking like penguins on the ice.
I was out for a walk from home, not wanting to drive unnecessarily on the frozen roads even though some of the snow has melted. I chose to do another circuit of my ‘Around Longridge Walk’. Friends have asked for a detailed description so I was tying up loose ends for the definitive. Let me know if you want a copy. As I’ve mentioned before, the walk has metamorphized into a longer circuit to keep it as rural rural as possible whilst avoiding the new housing developments. This worked well today as the fields were safer to walk on than the icy pavements and lanes. An added bonus at this time of year is that the cattle are safely tucked up in their barns and that the boggy sections are frozen over, well almost. 
I didn’t get going till lunchtime and by the time I was finishing the seven and a half mile (12k) circuit the sun was setting. Home to a hot bath and a mince pie with a glass of Laphroaig, left over from Christmas. Hopefully that is the end of the seasonal excesses. 
Whilst on the subject of icy roads, two conversations this week with lady workers in one of our local supermarkets had me thinking. They both were worrying about their evening journey home by car. The roads had been like ice rinks in the early morning and they had seen several minor bumps whilst driving in. Yet they both lived within a mile of work and had probably not even thought of walking there instead of using the car. How many others are doing the same, all those children driven a short distance to school every day. Never mind the dicey roads at this time of year what about a change of thought on car usage for short distances for the rest of the year. Our roads are clogged and our children are becoming obese. Or am I too late to the party to even suggest this? The environment and healthy living seem to bypass most of the population.
There were several examples on the dangers of winter driving along my way.
A notorious local bend.
Oh! and just to lighten the mood a distant photo of an icy Pendle, one of the many sights to be seen around Longridge. 
Gan canny.
I nearly didn’t make it. But here I am with my cheese and onion slice and a hot coffee watching the world go by.
Glasson Dock is quiet today, very few people about which is unusual. The lady in the shop/café says things have been ‘dead’ since the New Year. A few workmen from the docks, people visiting the Smokehouse, the occasional dog walker. But as I say it is virtually a ghost town, not even the motorcyclists have braved the cold dull day.
The harbour basin is still empty though cranes have arrived to repair the outer sea gates. I wonder how this has affected the ports diminishing trade. No sign of the The Victoria Inn reopening. I’ve just learnt there used to be another pub on the harbour front – The Caribou, possibly the oldest property in Glasson. One day I should give the Dalton Arms pub round the corner another chance, it seems to have improved with better reviews. But today I’m content with my coffee.
One good piece of news is that the Port of Lancaster Smokehouse have managed to open their modern shop on the quayside right next to the café. I wander in to have a look around – they have a wide selection of their own wood smoked products and lots of deli type delights from mainly local suppliers. I come away with some smoked mackerel as a present for friends I hope to visit later in the day. 
***
But first I have to cycle back to Halton by the Lune where my day had started. 
Last time I headed for Glasson from here on my bike in December I was thwarted by a puncture. That other episode when I demolished my car’s tailgate occurred after a Glasson Cycle ride. Last winter I couldn’t get through floods and ended up with very wet lower limbs when I dismounted and retreated for safety. The story and pictures are here.
Was Glasson becoming my ‘bête noire’?
I almost didn’t make it today.
The old railway out of Lancaster makes a perfect cycle way alongside the Lune all the way to Glasson. I rarely cycle on roads now so I treasure the safer off road experience. All is going well through the city. my replacement inner tube holding up well. Once out of the industrial area one is suddenly in open countryside. Bird watchers are focused on hundreds of geese in a nearby field, all is drained land either side of the way. I pass a couple of walkers with a brief chat and head straight on. But is that another flood ahead? It stopped raining a few days ago so I wasn’t expecting any problems. Exactly the same spot where I came to grief last winter. But surely it can’t be very deep. I ride into it, crushing the ice as I go. Things then become a little scary, the water deepens and the ice has my wheels slipping sideways. De-ja-vue. I gingerly dismount and turn around after maybe 20 yards. My way to Glasson is blocked, but wet feet are luckily my only problem. 
Calling it a day I cycle back along the lane to meet up with the two walkers once again. They had been closely following my progress into the water before proceeding farther themselves. We agree it is impossible to get through. But what is this right by them? A small track goes into the undergrowth and continues along slightly above the flooded lane. I had not noticed this last time. In fact the narrow path is probably on the actual line of the railway embankment, the lower flooded lane a more recent addition. 
We walk along together, they are wanting to get to the Canal and go back to Lancaster. The water down to the right is now a lake of considerable size and depth, turning round was a wise decision. This way has been used before for exactly the same purpose as ours today. We are rewarded after 500m, rejoining the lane where it goes up to Aldcliffe. They to the canal and I thankfully onwards for that coffee in Glasson. 
***
A very popular climb from Scorton on the edge of the Bowland Fells. I never get bored of this little fell. How many times have I been up it? See here, there and everywhere.
But where has the name come from? Who was Nicky? No amount of internet searching gives any clue, locals don’t seem to have any idea either. Any suggestions?
A nook is “a small quiet place or corner that is sheltered or hidden from other people” That’s not the case up here any more, there is nearly always a steady stream of people walking up the steep steps from Wyresdale. They don’t know any better as there are far pleasanter ways to reach the modest summit from more roundabout ways. JD and I followed one of these to the top today.
The side road I normally park on was closed due to works, but there was plenty of space on the main road into Scorton. The ‘works’ didn’t progress much whilst we were out for the day. How much local authority funds are wasted for the lack of adequate overseeing? Too many questions today.
We left the lane at the inviting Wyre Way signs. I blamed the low winter sun for our almost blind wanderings over only just frozen fields. There was certainly one point where a new fence across the line of the right of way was lacking a stile, (GPS defines these spots accurately, note to Lancs Highways Authority sent) The onward haphazard wanderings however were all my fault. We found ourselves, don’t ask me how, in a bare harvested maize field which had the appearance of a pheasant shoot. I was concerned it could become a peasant shoot if we didn’t find a way out. The road was just across the other side of the hedge but we couldn’t find a gate. I suggested we swallowed our pride and retreat back to the right of way. But no, JD is sometimes more persistent, obstinate and intrepid than even I. He is to be seen escaping from Colditz. 
Regrouped we soon left the lane onto the bridleway up into the woods of Grize Dale. We were not the only ones, a large shooting party were just setting off into undergrowth to kill a few pheasants. (Is this activity exclusively male I wonder?) Fortunately we were well on our way before the shots ran out, would have been a shame to spoil the day. The rhododendrons are taking over on this side of the fell. 
The reservoir seemed fuller than usual, but that was no surprise after all the rain in December. Today was all blue sky, the feel like temperature in the brisk easterly was well below zero. More to come this next week, no more rain in the foreseeable future. But as we live in the northwest we will wait and see. 
I took JD on the long way round to find the easier graded ascent of Nicky, as you can see from my map. That surveying pillar guided us upwards but it was a false siren, the true summit was still some way up the hill. The shining white trig point was soon reached along with many others coming the other way, all well wrapped up against the wind, and their dogs. Only 215m but a view all around. The outlying Bowland Fells behind us, the Fylde below us and the motorway heading up to Lancaster and the more distant Lakes. It is said you can see from the Great Orme to The Isle of Man. 
The onward path, previously eroded and muddy, has been upgraded with chippings and soon we are back in the valley. Is Applestore café closed on Tuesdays? Maybe we missed a chance there. I was pleased to find the public footpath around Snow Hill barn is still passable and possibly improved. It took us into woods above a very steep drop into the brook. Escape was possible over a wooden footbridge. JD noticed the original stone slab bridge below, it was still intact, if a little narrow. Obviously Health and Safety have been in play. 
The parking was busier now in early afternoon opposite that iconic, seen from the M6, church steeple. What a lovely little round and we were back for tea.
***
This is not the day I had intended. The weather, is it really only the English who are obsessed about the weather? has at last changed from that dreadful rain to frost and sun for the next few days. I was ready for it. Spent time yesterday replacing a punctured inner tube with a brand new one. Cycling gear donned this morning – Glasson here I come. Not so fast laddie, the tyre has deflated overnight. I hadn’t the will to start again with the wheel, it is always the awkward back one. The bike is unceremoniously dumped back in to the garage for another time and I head in for an extra coffee.
Surely I can’t waste another day, I have missed too many this holiday season either from the persistent gloom affecting the weather and my mood.
My usual short winter walk from Chipping is on the lanes circling Leagram Hall. I love the approach up the drive with the prominent oaks, alas some have gone missing in the last few years’ storms. The snowdrops will soon be making an appearance in that copse over the wall. This land was once a Royal deer park in Medieval times. Names on the map, Laund Farm, Park Gate and Pale Farm, bear reference to its origins and there is an interpretation board telling me all. The background is Longridge Fell and Pendle. Now sheep are the main source of meat. 
The lane is quite slippy in parts where the overnight frost persists, the air temperature is just above zero but as there is no wind feels pleasant enough. More than pleasant really with the sun shining, a perfect Winter’s afternoon for walking. And the good citizens of Chipping are making the most of it – a steady stream of friendly walkers encountered all the way around.
I’m heading towards the hills, Parlick, Fairsnape and Wolf Fell, but then skirt round the base of them before dropping down to the site of Wolfen Mill. This was a water powered mill built in the 16th Century. Historically the mill made spindles and bobbins for the local spinning mills, closing production in the 1920’s. All changed now with luxury holiday accommodation. 
I walk down the lane above the tumbling Chipping Brook, which powered Wolfen Mill and several more down its course through the village. Kirk Mill, originally cotton spinning, being the largest My very last picture shows a waterwheel which was restored several years ago at a property in the centre of the village. 
I take a signed but rather enclosed footpath on the outskirts of the village which brings me down a lane of houses, Broad Meadow. Friends lived here in the late C20th years, both deceased now, a trip down memory lane. A lot of the old properties from the C17th in Chipping are listed and the quaint streets and pubs are popular with visitors. I’ve written about them many times before. Slowly newer housing is encircling the village but the heart remains the same. 
A simple stroll on good surfaces with plenty of interest which I highly recommend to local readers. Ideal for families.
I have enjoyed the year reading all of your adventures. The Lakes, Silverdale, Rivington, Ribble Valley, the Thames Valley, Cheshire, even Manchester, the US of A, Coastal ways, Northumberland. I hold them all dear.
Castles, boutique hotels, camping pods and caravans, village inns, tents in remote places, wild water swimming. You have planned your explorations carefully.
Books to read, towns to visit, art to find, food to relish, music for my ears.
Nature in abundance, history documented, environmental comments and political asides.
I’ve enjoyed them all. Thank you. Sorry mine have been limited in response.
What’s next on the horizon? I look forward to your posts appearing in my inbox. Ignore the endless boring and predictable YouTube contents, the obvious uncomfortable selfies and forgettable Facebook pages. No I rely on your intellectual input to keep me sane, grounded and stimulated. ‘Anonymous’ yet a real group of people sharing their thoughts, interests, desires and images. WordPress or Blogger are your platform. You know who you are. Thank you.
Here’s to an illuminating 2024.
I’ve been up the fell, as usual, this time hoping to get a festive shot for you. I failed. Maybe JD should have worn a Santa hat. We missed that photo opportunity.
It turned out to be a better day than we had envisaged. I promised sunshine all day, but the morning started misty and damp. Our first phone conversation at 9.30 am ended by “let’s speak again at 10.30” Time for another coffee in bed for me and time for him to complete the Times Cryptic Crossword in record time. By 10.30 there was blue in the sky, at least at my end of Longridge. He can see the Bowland Fells from his house and said they were clearing.
We drove up to the parking at Intack. There were lots of cars on the road side. We settled for the rough spot above Crowshaw Quarry, no climbing today in the greasy conditions. A large pile of retrieved doggy bags by the gate greeted us, lovely. At least somebody, I imagine the foresters, are collecting them for later disposal. Let’s not get bogged down with environmental problems – it is the season of good will. My good will extended to the half dozen dog walkers (all dogs are innocent) we passed in the first half mile, after that we never met a soul.
We left the main track to get us to the modest trig point, but what a view as we crested the ridge and peered down into Chipping Vale with the Bowland Hills stately in the background. OK we encountered a bit of mud on the way. The last time we attempted to follow the ridge eastwards fallen trees were a problem. (I can’t remember the name of the storm) They still are, be prepared to take lots of diversions in the forest. Blue dots have appeared intermittently on trees showing a way of sorts.
Eventually we emerged from the trees onto the forest road. It was good to see that this has now been reopened and the the timber cut up ready for collection. Easy walking took us around the loop before plunging down the little path through new growth, more Christmas Trees than you could imagine. The beech wood was looking a bit bedraggled with recent topplings and decay which had me hunting down fungi once more. 
As we strolled back along the road clouds were coming in – we had had our window of sunshine. The forecast is poor to say the least so I don’t think I will be out much before Christmas therefore …
All the very best to anyone reading and here’s to a more peaceful 2024.
*
My lethargy of the other day cycling around the Bay was compounded the next day on a cycle ride to Glasson Dock. The back tyre finally deflating completely and despite frequent stops to pump it up the journey back was tedious and tiring. The repair can wait for another day – I’m going walking today.
I have Bleasdale tagged, and I see I have posted getting on for 50 times with it included. A number of those posts will have involved the surrounding fells – Bleasdale Moors, Hazelhurst, Fairsnape and Parlick – a perfect horseshoe enclosing the lower pastures and the scattered properties on the estate. The roads through the estate are private but pedestrian access is possible by the numerous rights of way. One of the reasons the area is high on my popularity list is that the tracks on a whole give good dry walking even in the worst of weathers and yet you feel you are out in the hills without stepping foot on them.
I was here at the end of October for a Sunday stroll. On that occasion I kept to the tracks to the East under Fairsnape and Parlick. The most visited by virtue of its church, school and the Bronze Age circle. Today I took advantage of the tracks to the West passing Bleasdale Tower to the road over to Oakenclough. They kept my feet dry and reached a height of 230 m with views over the Fylde and Pennines. ‘Far Bleasdale’ is a term I have invented for this walk of only 4 miles.
Along the road signs are that farmers are diversifying. 
As you can see it wasn’t a day for photography.
Fairsnape and Parlick.
Beacon Fell.
Towards Bleasdale Moors.
There were few splashes of colour. 
I was soon on the higher track with its views to the south and then down the road to my car. 
A pleasant way to spend a quiet couple of hours amidst all the Christmas clamour.
I have been visiting Morecambe on my ‘off road’ cycle rides for some time now, there is a good network of cycle paths in the Lancaster area. And that is where I am, the only choice – clockwise or anticlockwise? A tossed coin determines my day, simple enough.
Lethargy sets in from the word go – I’ve not been on my bike since that unfortunate episode back at the end of August. It took two months to get my car repaired. My bike has sat in the garage for three months, I gave the front wheel some more air but think the back is OK. I capitulate early on and walk up the ramp to the canal aqueduct. Even on the flat I am struggling to keep up a decent pace and I am very wary of the narrower sections of the towpath under bridges. The water looks very cold. I realise my back wheel is taking the bumps badly, yes it is underinflated. I press on even though I know I should maybe give it some assistance with the hand pump. I’m too lazy to bother. Anyhow the sun is shining and there are few people about, let’s just get on with it. Where have all the ducks gone?
Soon I am on the famous promenade stretching ahead of me for four or five miles. The tide is in and the water lapping up to the sea defences. With the sun shining the cluster of boats, usually seen floundering in the mud, give the impression of a Mediterranean bay. 
As I near the Midland I can here a bell chiming, I instantly know where it is coming from – the Time and Tide Bell on the Stone Jetty. One of several around the coast of Britain. I have documented this bell before and photographed it at different states of the tide, but this is the first time I have heard its ghostly sounds. Makes me think of shipwrecks and sea sirens from the deep. I get up close and feel the vibrations, I try a video just for the sound but of course the wind noise always intrudes. That is why on the telly the reporters have those big fuzzy mikes dangled in front of them.
A couple of ladies walk by. “It must be 12 o’clock the bell is chiming” “No I think you will find it keeps on chiming” says the other.
I must make the effort one day and dine in the Art Nouveau Rotunda of the Midland. Today I just cycle by and eat a banana on a promenade bench. The sea is perfectly calm.
I’m always a little wary of a short section of the cycle path past the station and down a dingy alley. I have had a near miss assault there in the past by dodgy characters. Today it is blocked by council workers clearing the ditches and they tell me there is no way through. They agree about the potential danger and explain there are no cameras on that section, a situation easily solved with little cash funding. Anyhow I follow their suggested diversion, which with the aid of my phone’s maps, brings me back onto the cycleway past their work and more importantly past the dodgy section. Thanks for that, I will keep using it in future.
My progress becomes laboured as I pedal the old railway back into Lancaster, over the rattly Millennium Bridge and on alongside the Lune to Halton. 
My arrival at the car park coincides with the Lancaster University’s rowing club’s Christmas festivities. I hope they all survived their river escapades, I am sure health and safety will keep an eye on the students more than in my day.
I should have pumped my tyre up way back when. Stubbornness or laziness? More likely stupidity. I was knackered at the end – I thought the bell was tolling for me.
Colours grey pervade
In mist footsteps disappear
today on the fell
The last time I wrote about the colour grey in fifty shades my blog had more than the usual visits, most of them disappointed never to return. My attempt on a Haiku will put off the rest.
I don’t know why I went up the fell today, all was mist but there was something warm in the air. Or at least there was in the afternoon after I had roused myself from a strange overlong sleep. I had had no real exercise since that magic day on Ilkley Fell last week. Though occasions spent catching up with friends and family had been worthwhile. There is only so much time one can spend writing Christmas cards and thinking of presents. I had put up my decorations – well an artificial tree in the porch and a home made wreath on the door, that will have to do. Time for a walk.
No cloud inversion today. The mist stayed with me all the way up, but mist has no threat to me on home ground. Familiar paths were running with water. Not ideal you may think but I was enjoying myself, I had time to wonder why. There were no views but I was still able to see the valley, Pendle and the Three Peaks in my mind’s eye, an ideal day for recollecting scenes. Vivid for me but not for strangers.
A friend I met, there were only the two of us up there, at least had an excuse for being out – his lively terrier’s daily exercise. Yes it also fulfilled my erratic daily exercise, I’m not counting steps on my phone. Have you ever looked at what they are tracking when you open up your life to Google et al?
With landmarks coming and going out of the mist the fell looked mountainous at times. Water was running down most of the tracks and the boggy areas were treacherous. There was some colour at the ‘Longridge Fell Christmas Tree’ I am not sure about all that plastic glitter on the fell although I must say that last year its originator cleared all away by 12th night.
I didn’t stop long at the trig. I took my usual diversion on the way back and was surprised too see two large trees blocking the path. They hadn’t been here a couple of weeks ago, must have come down in recent gales. Scary. The light in the tunnel was even darker than usual.
Mine was the only car back at the road and I hadn’t answered why I do it.
*
By now the sky showed promise of better things.
