Tag Archives: 52 Ways to Walk.

VISTA VISION.

Two birds with one stone – not literally.

The first figurative bird is to climb up Longridge Fell, which, for various reasons, I’ve not achieved this year; Sir Hugh’s transport comes to my rescue on this account.

The second figurative bird is to Walk with Vista Vision, yes, this week’s walk of the 52. I’m not sure whether to involve Sir Hugh in this process.

So yes, I’m hoping to kill two birds with one stone.

The morning starts with strong coffee after my sleepless night, and as it turns out, a similar but strange disruptive occurrence for Sir Hugh. (If he posts about it, I will give a link at the end) He has kindly come down to Longridge to ferry me to pastures new. I promise to then take him up high with minimal effort. The day bodes well for a fell walk—clear blue skies but with a chilly east wind, which is easily combatted with an extra layer. As expected, the layby on the southern side of the fell is busy with cars, probably mostly dog walkers. I remember in the later lockdown times, hundreds of cars parked along here, I went elsewhere.

The main track is a gradual gradient up the fellside, suitable for our advancing years. We keep a steady pace, which allows us to chat and catch up as we go. There is a lot of shared history between us.

The forestry road continues without reaching the top, so we take a side track, which has seen many fallen trees since I was last up here.

As we approach the ridge wall, I talk of the ‘promised land’ ahead, a quote from Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath.

We go through the gate onto the open fell, and there in front of us is the Vale of Chipping with the Bowland Fells stretching across the skyline—my Vista Vision. And there is more in the haze over to the Yorkshire Three Peaks. Photographs of this panorama never do it justice, well, not mine at least, even though I must have scores.

The wall leads us towards the trig point on Spire Hill, 350m. I’m really dreading it, but don’t say anything to Sir Hugh. I came up here at the end of last year and was dismayed by the inappropriate summit ‘furniture’ that had been constructed. I wrote about it at the time.

Things have taken a turn for the worse; the perpetrator has since erected an ‘information board’ that obstructs the views true fell walkers have come to admire. Sir Hugh is not impressed.

Moving on quickly.

I know the ridge trail ends up in boggy ground amongst fallen trees, so we take a relatively new mountainbike track southwards to meet the fell road. This track is a delight to walk, though I certainly wouldn’t want to ride its treacherous jumps. But what a contrast to all the crap at the trig point.

Back on the forest road, we follow it eastwards, enjoying the vistas in all directions as we go.

There was once a clearing on the fellside hereabouts with a log to sit on and admire Sam’s View. The hills bordering the Trough Road, beloved by cyclists, running through the Bowland Fells. Today, the log is disintegrating, and the view is obstructed by new tree growth. We still find a bank seat in the sunshine. As is the way we discuss diverse topics, for some reason, A J Cronin’s novel, which we probably read as sixth formers way back when. Despite recalling the medical plot, the name of the book doesn’t come to us till later in the walk – The Citadel.

Merlin picks up a noisy Robin and a Willow Warbler? I’ve no idea what the latter is doing up here, but we spot its slender profile on a waving tree top.

Sojourn over, we cut back to the main forest track and begin the homeward leg. We now have vista views to the hazy hills of East Lancashire.

A final path takes us out of the forest past one of my favourite beech trees.

All day I have been visually scanning the horizon and distant fell vistas. According to research, this, rather than focused vision, has a liberating effect on the brain’s sensors. I just know I like panoramic views from up high.

Sir Hugh’s version…https://conradwalks.blogspot.com/2026/04/longridge-fell-with-bc.html

A SHORT CITY WALK.

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The city is Preston, and whilst visiting the hospital and the Harris, I’m taking the opportunity to ‘Take a City Smell Walk’, one of my 52 Ways to Walk. I’ve found it difficult to squeeze in a walk this last week.

We have an excellent bus service from my home town of Longridge to central Preston. I don’t often visit Preston; it doesn’t have a lot to offer me, except for the newly refurbished Harris Museum and Art Gallery. But I do use this bus regularly on the way to the rail station, unfortunately, on the other side of the city. Preston bus station is widely known as an iconic brutalist building from the 60s. But I’m getting ahead of myself. First, a bus to the hospital for my physio appointment, and then a bus to the centre. A large part of my life at the moment revolves around hospital appointments and bus journeys. The good news is that I can now largely dispose of the sling, but no driving for a few weeks.

I’m making use of my time in the city by revisiting the Harris to catch up on an exhibition I only briefly touched on last time. And while I’m here, do a city smell walk, although a countryside smell walk would be preferable.

Let’s start the ‘smell’ walk at the hospital bus stop. Some beautiful cherry trees are blossoming nearby, and the soft scent hits me as I check the timetable. I walk the few yards to examine the flowers. Preston’s streets are well endowed with cherry trees, and they are a highlight of some districts at this time of year. What a shame they don’t last longer. We all use Cherry Blossom Shoe Polish.

A young girl is waiting at the stop, and I next pick up her perfume, Chanel, Lancome or Giorgio – I wouldn’t know, but a pleasant interlude.

The bus ride has an underlying sweaty smell, or worse, particularly as it fills to standing room only. Sweat from apocrine glands (in the armpits/groin) is odourless, but turns into pungent compounds when broken down by bacteria on your skin. Interestingly, thicker fluid is activated by stress and anxiety, leading to stronger odours. I’m not sure where this post is going. I haven’t started walking yet.

I leave the pervading diesel smell of the busy bus station.

Its surroundings have a distinct sweet odour of cannabis. A lot of people are vaping outside, so perhaps I’m just picking up their herbal flavours. Apparently, it is the various fruit scents that appeal to teenagers; there are bright vape shops on every street.

As I walk into the centre, I find myself actively searching for new smells.

Close to one of the closed, derelict pubs in this part of the city, there is the lingering urine odour typical of a rundown dingy alleyway, best avoided even in daylight.

The leathery aroma as I pass a shoe shop with an outside display, you know the one with all left feet.

That homely smell of freshly baked bread outside a Greggs, do they spray it in the air to attract customers?

The bloody smell of fresh meat from a traditional butcher’s shop in the market. Here, too, are the earthy aromas from the vegetable stall next door. I stop at the cheese shop to choose a well-matured goat’s cheese, sweaty socks come to mind, but it will be delicious later on some sourdough. And of course, the fishmonger’s display reminds one of visits to the seaside.

Leaving the market, I pass one of the street cafes which have become so popular in our towns and cities. The rich, roasted aromas of coffee draw one in; it’s coffee time anyhow.

My short city walk ends in the marketplace, where I head into the Harris. I suppose I cheated somewhat by traversing the market, which I knew would give me rich pickings. But concentrating on olfactory odours has been an interesting exercise, more so than some of the other 52 Ways to Walk.

Photographs are superfluous to an olfactory walk, but here are a few, self-explanatory.

My visit to the Harris was a great success, which I’ll write about later.

OVER THE HILL.

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Somewhere on WordPress, someone uses the title “Over the Hill”. You can imagine his or her demographics. Today, I’m over the hill whichever way you take it.

I cancelled a walk over Longridge Fell at Easter because there were no buses, and it rained anyway.

But today the weather is perfect, little wind and full sun with temperatures in the high teens. After lunch** I take the little bus towards Ribchester and alight at Ward Green near Angel’s Restaurant. As I walk up the lane, I realise I am probably overdressed for the conditions; too late now to divest myself of my jacket. I plan to take a traffic and stile free route over the tail of Longridge Fell, maybe avoiding all the noise pollution from the other day.

I pass the Written Stone, on which I have often commented.

Ralffe Radcliffe laid this stone to lye for ever AD 1655

The enclosed lane above is drier than usual, and I am soon in the fields below the development at Craig Y. The youngsters bouldering there knew nothing of how it used to be open fields.

I’m pleased to see the pair of Great Crested Grebes are back, though no sign of their courting dance today. I miss not carrying my telephoto camera.

Spot the Grebe.

It’s downhill from here, still on a very quiet lane. These houses must have a wonderful view of the Bowland Fells.

Halfway down, I take a farm track back towards Longridge, passing this curious structure built into a wall.

Past the busy working farm is a stone house recently empty. The man who lived here was always around as you walked through. I remember some of his stories.

“There was one more encounter at Sharples House. The farmer there had previously talked of having the largest cheese press in Lancashire; I believed him. In the past, many farms in the area made their own tasty Lancashire cheese. Today he seemed in a good mood, so I enquired further, and he took me to see the stone, which was indeed large and must have weighed a ton. He explained that the house was from the late 17th century. A former occupant, Peter Walken (1684-1769), had been a nonconformist minister as well as a farmer. Uniquely, he kept a series of diaries, most of which have been lost, but two from 1733-34 have been found and published by a researcher from Preston museum. The present farmer was contacted and was able to see Peter Walken’s journals, but described them as boring, though they must have given an insight into farming life in the first half of the 18th century. He also told me about a mystery from the last century: two thieves broke into the house, killing the farmer, but the daughter escaped by hiding in an adjacent barn, which he pointed out”

One wonders how much local history has been lost. The old house will soon be converted. I don’t go looking for the cheese stone. Here’s a previous photo.

To be honest, I’m feeling weary, overheated in my winter jacket, and in pain from a pulled muscle from the recent, persistent cough. I trudge on, my mind drifting to a drink and a sit-down in the farm cafe further on. A friendly dog runs up to me. I recognise her, it’s Zola, an Australian Kelpie. Not far behind is C, remember those slate poems, out enjoying the sunshine. In my weary state, I turn down the offer to accompany them, but gallantly, they turn around and head home, where I am very grateful for that drink and sit down.

The last mile past the cricket pitch and via Sainsbury’s drags on. It gives me time to look up at the way I came over the fell.

I’m reduced to a snail’s pace by the time I reach my house. I certainly feel over the hill.

_____

** After lunch. This week’s ‘way to walk’ topic is ‘Walk after eating,’ which doesn’t motivate me. The blurb says walking aids digestion. I’ll leave it at that.

ON AND ON,,,

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We have slipped into April. I can’t help but reflect on this passage of time. Three months of 2026 have gone by without me hardly breaking out of the bubble that is Longridge town. I have slowly and reluctantly adapted the word ‘town’ to the ‘village’ that I have known for over fifty years.

Three months of my life drifted away.

Plodding one-armed around the village every day, I’m one of the lucky ones; friends are falling away with dementia and other terminal illnesses. Today I come home with delicious curries from Rabia. I chat to acquaintances, which does make it feel like a village once more; we all have our grumbles.

I am so grateful to friends who have driven me to fresh scenery. But today I’m back to the familiar with a Walk with my Ears, this week’s project. I want to be away from people and noisy streets; I want to be able to close my eyes and focus on the auditory, away from the visible. I will take Merlin with me. I choose a route into what I hope will be open countryside, not far from home. I slip by the farm shop, nursery and cafe; agricultural diversification. Once in the fields, I switch to auditory mode, but I still pick up distant traffic noise. Deeper into the countryside, the sound of agricultural machinery intrudes. This is not what I expected: a sharp dose of reality.

I stop and listen, but the birdsong and rustles of vegetation nearby are diluted by human activity. Frustated, I carry on and come out onto the lane heading up the steep Birks Brow, where at last the background noise is absent. I stop once again and hear robins, blackbirds, carrion crows, bleating lambs and buzzing bees. My attempt to record it is interrupted by a passing car.

Time to accept that I now live in a noisy semi-urban environment. Imagine walking with your ears in the middle of Manchester, would you hear their bees? One realises the value of relatively inaccessible places, where I usually find myself. The world is becoming increasingly fragile. I wander home through the noisy streets, reflecting that my desired utopia is out of reach at present.

On and on …

Tomorrow I have a plan: catch the bus to Knowle Green and walk back over the fell tracks, hopefully with no awkward stiles that would turn me back, or worse. I’m searching for a quieter environment.

It didn’t happen, I had forgotten about Easter with a reduced bus service – and it rained.

A WEEK TO REMEMBER.

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My walking task this week – Walk to remember. I was excited, I would recall places, people and events on my daily walks around the village. Then I would return home and search for photos and diary entries to enhance the memories. But it was not to be. Walking to remember was based on flimsy research that suggested that after a short walk, one’s receptive memory is enhanced for a period. As I’m not studying for any exams or learning poetry, perhaps I should, I did not bother to test it out.

But I had a week to remember.

Another birthday came along. My family turned up trumps and took me out, first for a walk and then for a lovely meal. My daily walks around Longridge, with my arm still in a sling, are, by necessity, becoming tedious—almost a repeat of lockdown. But friends have responded and driven me to ‘new’ venues for exercise and nature. More pub meals ensued. The weather has varied from pleasant springlike to wintry storms. I spent one of those wet days in the Preston Harris Museum and Art Gallery, which gave me something to post about.

What will next week bring? I’ll be walking with my ears, the 14th of 52 ways*. Have we really reached the 14 th week of the year already? At least the clocks change this weekend, which usually sees me setting off on some multi-day walk or pilgrimage. I’m already plotting for when I’m released.

52 Ways to Walk. The Surprising Science of Walking for Wellness and Joy. Annabel Streets. Bloomsbury Publishing. 2022.

TAKE A WINDY WALK.

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My ageing house is like a Beaufort Scale for the wind. Gentle flutters at the windows, 2. Windows start to rattle, 4. Whistling down the stove flue, 6. Cold draughts through any gap, 7. Constant rattling windows, 8. Slates are falling from the roof, 9. I dread to think what a 12, hurricane, would feel like.

Today, a strong breeze is forecast, building this morning with sharp rain showers. There is a yellow wind warning with gusts up to 40mph in exposed places I stay in watching my holly and yew bending outside the window

By afternoon, the wind is stronger, but the rain has passed. Time to wrap up and get out for one of my 52 Walks. I try the back garden first. Tree branches are waving violently at times, with a ‘whooshing’ rather than ‘rustling’ sound, as there are no leaves on the trees. Quite hypnotic.

On the street, the wind is strong enough to buffet me, and with one arm in a sling, I feel somewhat vulnerable. But striding out confidently with the wind at my back Imake good time to the supermarket. Being Britain, all the talk in the shop is of the wind.

Returning by a longer route, I feel the full force of the wind through my body as well as on my face. Any hat would be in danger of taking flight. Indeed, paper litter is being blown in eddies around the streets. I look up at the fells and imagine how exhilarating it would be up there.

***

Today is just one of my local walks, but I do feel very refreshed even from this short exposure to the wind. In the past, I have had my fair share of gale-force walks and camps.

As a greenhorn backpacker on the early Pennine Way in the sixties, pre-Wainwright’s Guide of 1968, I had reached the Northern Pennines and was camped high on Knock Fell. The inevitable happened in the night as the notorious Helm Wind did its best to blow me and my tent into oblivion. I remember I was scared, and at first light packed up and braved the roaring gale back down to Dufton. I reached the pub to phone home and arrange a rescue. The locals in the bar were impressed that my tent, a cotton Black’s Tinker, had stood up to the force; it can blow at 100mph.

Still young and foolish, we set off to walk the Kentmere horseshoe one winter when gale-force winds were forecast. I’m sure there was probably a warning to stay off the hills; there certainly would be these days. The fells were covered in ice and snow, but we were equipped with crampons and ice axes. At the top of Garburn Pass, we started on the ridge to Yoke. The wind became fiercer as we gained height. The ridge is very exposed, and we had difficulty keeping on our feet. Any fall onto the icy surface had us being blown along horizontally towards the steep drop into Kentmere. Ice axes were needed to prevent us from disappearing. I have no idea why we didn’t turn back, but I vaguely remember enjoying the challenge. We reached the imposing Thornthwaite Beacon, where there was some shelter from the westerly. At least we could almost hear ourselves discuss our escape plan. There was no possibility of continuing the horseshoe over Kentmere Pike. There are not many easy ways off the ridge at the head of Kentmere in winter, and reading the map was impossible. To add to our problems, we were now in a whiteout. We needed to get down to Nan Beild pass, where there is a stone shelter and an easy way off the fells. On a compass bearing, we were literally blown down towards it, but a few degrees out, and we found ourselves descending on very steep ground. Fortunately, a break in the clouds revealed Blea Tarn directly below, and we realised our mistake before committing to dangerous territory. With relief, we changed course and reached the shelter at the pass, from which we could slowly descend out of the worst of the wind, battered physically and mentally by the experience. There was no other person to be seen out that day.

My latest memorable experience of gales was on our high-level traverse of the Pyrenees. Having crossed over from an icy France to sunny Spain, we were enjoying a high camp just off the ridge at about 2,500m, sitting around watching the sunset and distant peaks. We were unaware that a deep low-pressure system was approaching from the west. The lightning strike on the ridge above woke us in the early hours. Deafening thunder, a gale-force wind, and torrential rain followed. We battened down, dressed and packed rucksacks for an emergency exit. We must have been in the eye of the storm, as there was no respite for about two hours. We didn’t expect the tent to survive; it is still torn where we were hanging onto its flaps. Our plan was to escape down the valley to Torla in the morning and lick our wounds. But dawn broke without any further damage, and we headed to the Goriz refuge for sustenance. All in a day’s mountain travel.

So much for taking a windy walk.

ANOTHER WEEK DAWNS.

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I’m ticking off the weeks since my shoulder operation. The pain is subsiding. I saw the consultant, and he emphasised the need for my right arm in a sling for another month minimum. My brain is adapting to left-handedness, but there are so many occasions when you need two hands. I’m not complaining.

This week starts with a mixed forecast but mainly dry, allowing me to walk a few miles most days around the village. What of my 52 Ways to Walk book? I choose another week’s topic that fits my circumstances. Walk Within an Hour of Waking. Walk at Altitude, Walk by the Sea, Walk With a Dog, and others will have to wait.

Those of you who know me will realise I’m not one for the crack of dawn, except when I’m away on a multiday trek. That slothful habit, combined with my present fitful sleeping, doesn’t bode well for the task ahead. But I don’t need to be up at an unearthly hour – just walk within an hour of rising. That fits in perfectly with my first leisurely morning coffee.

The purpose of this early walk is to stimulate your receptors with natural light at the start of the day. A quick burst of cortisol and serotonin prepares one for the day ahead. I’m all for that, especially at this time of year when feeling sluggish. For years, the importance of bright natural light in winter has been recognised as a way to combat SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder), also known as the Winter Blues. (Symptoms: Low mood, lack of interest in hobbies, guilt, irritability, difficulty concentrating, craving carbohydrates, and oversleeping.) Recognise those? Somewhere, I have a ‘lightbox’ for therapy, but I always forget about it until about now.

Natural winter sunlight is what is needed. Hence, walking within an hour of waking, it doesn’t have to be a long walk, I aim to get back for my second coffee within half an hour. I’m feeling rather smug with my early morning walks, and probably more refreshed for the day ahead. Today, son number one visited to help out with transport. We had the chance later to drive up the fell for a glorious walk on the forest tracks, not a stile or ford in sight. A welcome change of scenery. Still no one-handed photographs, but I will leave you with this little number from 1966!

WALKING WITH PURPOSE.

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It’s week ten of my 52 ways to walk schedule. Ten weeks into 2026 already. The context is Walk With Purpose, though I end up physically rambling.

We all need a ‘purpose’ in life, generally, and motivation on a daily basis. I’m not normally good at it, drifting through life a lot of the time. But unable to drive a car at present, I have resolved to take a daily walk to shop at my nearby supermarket. My purposeful walk. A simple goal with no need to consider the surroundings, navigation or the weather. Just march to the shop on an all-too-familiar path. And march it is – without distractions, I find myself walking at a much faster pace than normal. My eyes are focused on the pavement ahead, instinctively knowing my general whereabouts. I do notice the minutiae; cracks in the pavement between my feet, gutter litter, and a heightened awareness of birdsong from within the hedgerows. Traffic noise is sublimated, and I probably pass friends without a nod.

Apparently, people walking with a purpose, to work or the shop, do so at a quicker-than-normal l pace. I mentally picture the bowler-hatted workforce crossing into the city.

My brisk daily utilitarian walking undoubtedly provides physical benefits, and in my semi-rural environment, possibly reduces stress. Though all those city walkers look somewhat stressed, mindfulness wasn’t invented back then.

These shopping trips are too mundane to describe further, although thinking back, I once did

For the last few sunny days, hopefully heralding spring, I’ve been lengthening my recreational strolls around the village, aware that any fall would not be good for my recently repaired shoulder joint. But the same scenery each time is becoming tiresome after less than a fortnight. I need a change of horizons. I selfishly phone a friend, Sir Hugh, suggesting a meet-up and a short walk. He is, as ever, keen. Time to tell him, “Oh, but I can’t drive”. He still takes the bait and arrives at my house the next morning. My sensible plan is to keep to roads or decent tracks. I have a regular circuit of Leagram in the Bowland foothills. which fits the bill. He is my transport to fresh vistas.

I am still unable to take photos one-handed, the left at that. I can barely type, so it is over to him to fill in the details. https://conradwalks.blogspot.com/2026/03/in-steps-of-mole-chipping-with-bc.html

The least I can do is treat him to a post-ramble coffee and cake at the Cobble Corner Cafe.

I hope my family don’t see the photos. I’m back at the consultant surgeon’s tomorrow

RECOVERING.

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Thinking I wouldn’t be out walking for a while, I planned to write a post about Virtual Walking. I may still do so. But, no, I’ve just returned from a few miles of real walking around the village.

My right shoulder is patched up and in a sling for 4 to 6 weeks. The postoperative pain is easing. In the past, I would have struggled to write with my left hand; these days, I can take to the keyboard, no matter how clumsily. Apparently, the standard of handwriting among schoolchildren is deteriorating due to the use of digital keypads. No doubt their spelling has taken a nosedive, too.

I take a phonecall from JD enquiring about my well-being. I reassure him I’m fine. “In that case, would you like to go for a walk?” I jump at his offer. Fair enough, he has to tie my shoelaces and help me with a jacket before we set off. Somehow, that reminds me of a line from Bob Dylan’s Tangled Up in Blue song.

I must admit I felt a little uneasy When she bent down to tie the laces of my shoe.

One of the finest songs he has written, so let’s listen to the rest of it.

All of which has nothing to do with JD or today’s walk.

We take to the new estate and weave our way, complaining about the blandness of the housing and the hedgehog-unfriendly, all-encompassing wooden fences. When they were being built, I wrote to Barretts about this environmental faux pas – they obviously took no notice of me. We escape alongside a well-known budget supermarket and head down a once green lane. Industrial estates are bypassed to emerge on a much older housing estate, which has fared well over the decades.

I was wondering how to incorporate this walk into my 52 Ways to Walk series. Walk Alone or Walk Barefoot don’t fit; you will have to wait for them. It so happens we chose one of the sunniest afternoons of this up to now dismal year. The temperature must have been in the teens, and one could feel the sunon your cheeks. So let’s choose ‘Walk in Sunshine’.

We all now know about the link between sunshine, UV rays, vitamin D production, and the benefits it brings to our immune system. It is now thought that sunshine itself acts on our immune systems, independent of vitamin D. For us living in the northern hemisphere, where sunlight is in short supply, SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) is a well-known affliction in the winter months. Sunlight plays an important role in setting our circadian rhythms. So a walk in the sunshine does make us feel good, and it certainly does today. I used to spend a good deal of the winter months climbing and walking in sunnier climes, and I’m sure it contributed to my ongoing long-term general fitness. Time will tell. Of course, one must be aware of the dangers of excessive UV light and take precautions to prevent skin damage. Tangled up in Sun.

We walk on and take a newly constructed path along the edge of another housing estate, which offers splendid views over the Alston reservoirs. I can’t take photos with one hand, so I will have to return here soon to illustrate the views that some of the luckier houses enjoy.

As we pass through the centre of the village, our pace is interrupted by the acquaintances we meet and greet. Between us, we seem to know a lot of people, the advantage of village life as it once was. But now, with all those extra hundreds of houses in the estates I’ve mentioned, there are far more ‘strangers’ in town.

An unexpected Walk in the Sunshine thanks to JD. A bonus in February and a definite boost to my recovery. I can start planning some of those British Pilgrimage walks I have in store for this year.

SCRAPING THE BARREL.

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I have little to write about, unless you are interested in my never-ending visits to doctors, dentists, and hospitals. Walking is in short supply. But to keep on schedule with my 52 Ways to Walk book, I need to Take a Twelve-Minute Walk. Despite her previous assertion that long, slow walks are mind-enhancing, I am now being encouraged to walk quickly for a short time to improve my metabolism. That is ideal as it fits in with my busy schedule and the changeable weather. In fact, I repeat it daily most of this week.

There is a good flat pavement out of the village past the cricket pitch. Timing myself from the pub, without visiting it, I walk quickly and cover over three quarters of a mile, that works out at four miles an hour. I enjoy the physicality without beoming breathless and look forward to the challenge each day. Before you know it, I could be back to running. When I was working nights, each morning at seven, I would run the same footpath to the next pub and back, two and a half miles, before going to bed.

Yes, a quick walk does get the blood flowing.

I’ve also had the odd visit to the fell whilst I can still drive. I walk up to the old tree stump and back through the plantation.

A shoulder operation on Friday will curtail me for some time. Normal service will resume as soon as possible.

RAIN … careful what you ask for.

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My rain dance backfired. The temperature has plummeted, and we wake up to snow this morning. That is not one of my 52 Walks.

My son and partner are coming up to see me and taking me out for lunch. The two dogs enjoy the journey and know my house well. They are more excited about seeing my kittens again than about the treats I offer. The kittens take it in their stride.

Our usual walk with the dogs is in the plantation on the fell. On the way up, as the snow thickens, I begin to have doubts about the wisdom of driving high, but there is no ice on that nasty corner, and we park safely without incident.

What a difference a dusting of snow makes to the landscape. Everything is brought into focus, distances seem to spread, and the surrounding hills look twice their height. We are the only ones out, so we have the privilege of being the first to leave footprints. Well, not exactly, the dogs rush ahead, so we are left following pawprints as we weave through the trees. The air is bitter, but the tree cover eliminates any windchill.

A good time is had by all, and we retreat to the cosy bar of a local inn. The dogs sprawl out in front of the woodburner, enjoying their doggy sausages.

What a great way to spend a few hours in good company and a brief winter wonderland.

LET IT RAIN.

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I recall a walk last year when I was passing through trees in a sudden downpour, the air cleared, and a freshness filled my nostrils. A combination of petrichor and scent from the leaves. It was a very vivid change. still clear in my mind, though I can’t remember where or when, so I can’t find a reference to it in my posts.

The forecast for this week is rain every day, as if we hadn’t had enough.

Not having much free time, I am limited to local short walks. So I bring the week’s topic, Walk in the Rain, into action, slightly out of sync with my 52 Ways to Walk book. No one need ever know.

I have several choices: walking from my house on good surfaces or a short drive up the Fell. Despite waking most mornings to rain, by the time I set off to the shops or around the estates, the air has cleared, and hardly a drop of rain falls. The only evidence of the downpours is puddles everywhere and waterdroplets hanging from the branches. I feel overdressed in full waterproofs.

As the week progresses, I need to plan more carefully if I want to get wet. Driving up the fell should get me into the low cloud and hopefully rain. On two occasions, this bodes well, the windscreen being well splattered as I park up.

But within seconds of putting a foot outside, there is complete calm. The day is still dull, but there is no rain in the air. Normally, I would say I am blessed, but I now feel cursed for my rain walk.

The walking is still pleasant in the cool, unpolluted air and with the wet foliage, but I’m not getting the full tactile experience of rain falling. Nor do I notice all those scents supposedly released from the foliage. I can’t be too disappointed, as I’m sure there will be many days in the year when I’m drenched.

Maybe tomorrow?

This came up a few weeks later. https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/videos/c78rk48lnxro

Whilst on the subject of weather, I hope the early appearance of one of ‘my’ hedgehogs isn’t brought about by climate change, when his food may be in short supply, and when we may see plummeting temperatures this weekend.

And on the subject of Climate Change, today, President Trump has revoked laws established to reduce our dependence on fossil fuels and limit greenhouse gas emissions. A dangerous and ill-founded decision made partly to appease his pals in the oil industry. This is how the BBC reports it.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/cn0zdd7yl4vo

Slowly Sinking, Miami. Isaac Cordal.

MUD, GLORIOUS MUD.

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My 52 Ways to Walk book, Annabel Streets, has muddy walking as its topic this week. There is no shortage of mud in the fields and paths at the moment. It’s been the wettest January in years.

I can’t quite get my head around some of the science offered for the benefits of walking in mud. There is talk of Geosmin being released by bacterial activity in wet soil. Apparently, we can detect its earthy odour in minute amounts. It is supposed to improve our mood. Certainly, the smell of rain on dry ground, Petrichor, is pleasant and is partially due to Geosmin.

I don’t think mud does anything for me. But out of curiosity, I have to don my boots, Wellingtons would have been better, and walk through it, where normally I would try to avoid it. There is a corner of the fell where mud is ever present. I tramp around in it, gradually getting wetter and wetter. Yes, there is Geosmin or something in the air, but it doesn’t improve my mood. Not a very scientific experiment, I admit. My mood generally improves when I am outdoors: walking, climbing, gardening, birdwatching, or whatever. There must be multiple factors at play – I’m just not sure mud is one of them. The only benefit is for my balance as I try not to nose-dive into all that mud.

As an aside, I find a large carrier bag hidden behind a wall on the fell. It contains half a dozen large canisters of nitrous oxide, so called laughing gas. They seem heavy, but I’m not sure whether used or full. Have they been dumped after a ‘session’, or are they hidden for pick up later? At the end of my muddy walk, I collect the carried bag and its contents and take them to our local waste disposal site. The men there are used to this – “we get loads”. They have a special locked enclosure for them. I do worry about the health of our children in these modern times and the availability of this dangerous substance, along with all the others. What a simpler childhood I enjoyed all those years ago.

A NOSEY AROUND THE VILLAGE.

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Is it a village or a town I wonder?

Longridge was once a village centred on stone quarries and cotton mills. But that was long ago, there has been steady development in the last 50 years, until it is now a dormitory town of Preston.

The population in 2000 was about 7,000; it is now estimated at 12,000. So I think it is, in fact, a town even though the established locals still refer to it as a village. Make of that what you wish; it is irrelevant to today’s walk.

Delving into my 52 Ways to Walk book for this week, I have the snazzy title Breathe as you walk. That sounds fairly obvious. But no, there is more to it than that – let’s focus on Nitric Oxide, NO. (not be confused with nitrogen dioxide, NO₂, a brown gas and major air pollutant or Nitrous Oxide, N₂O, which is laughing gas) When I studied Biology in the sixties, Nitric oxide was established as highly reactive, having a lifetime of a few seconds, and I don’t recall any properties that applied to the human body. But we are in a different century, and it has assumed some importance to our physiology.

Nitric oxide is a vasodilator discovered in our bodies a mere 30 years ago. One source is from the nasal membranes, so nasal breathing delivers it directly to our lungs, helping to improve oxygen uptake. I have double-checked some of the science, and there is relevant and reliable clinical research. Interestingly, if you hum at the same time, more nitric oxide is produced.

Nasal breathing is already known to filter out more airborne pathogens than mouth breathing, and it also slows breathing, having a relaxing effect well known to Yoga followers.

Hence, on my walk today, I will try to breathe through my nose as much as possible. I realise that most of the time, when exercising, I predominantly breathe through my mouth. A gentle walk around the village/town is chosen. On the flat, slow nasal breathing is easy once you concentrate. Going uphill, breathing in through my nose but breathing out through my mouth works best. I don’t notice any extra energy on this limited walk. Of note, I am much more aware of the traffic fumes when breathing through the nose. Urban walking is probably not the healthiest option when it comes to pollution. On the contrary, at other times the scents of the countryside will be more acute with nasal breathing.

On the whole, during my walk, I find that trying to concentrate on the nasal breathing interrupts my enjoyment of the surroundings and my train of thought. More practice is needed.

I follow one of my usual circuits. Out past the cricket pitch, up Mile Lane (which is only half a mile), and down the path onto the top park. Here I divert to have a look at the little Miyawaki tree plantation. Most are just sticks at this time of year, but I notice yew trees and gorse in amongst them.

Down Higher Road, I pass the terraced row of stone cottages, said to be the first erected by a mutual building society.

At the top of the main street is a little fast-food outlet advertising burgers and wraps, not the sort of place I would normally use. But through the grapevine, I learned they prepare a daily curry, cooked on site in small batches from natural ingredients. I have started to pop in when passing to see what’s on offer in the curry department. Everything I have tried so far has been authentic and delicious. I go in today and come away with a portion of black bean dhal and some vegetable pakoras. Rabias Kitchen – my little piece of India in Longridge. As one has to say – other outlets are available. In fact, Longridge is saturated with takeaways.

I cut back through our recreational park with its children’s playgrounds, skate park, and now the brand-new Pump Track. I stand and stare at some of the youngsters pumping their way around the circuit. It looks like great fun. Let’s try to give our children something to prise them off their screens and possibly keep them away from more antisocial behaviour. Our community is not immune to vandalism and drug problems.

As an example of antisocial behaviour – I cpme across flytipping by the roadside next to a new estate.

This is followed by a thorough soaking from a motorist driving over the speed limit through a large puddle. Nose breathing took a dive as I swore at his rapid passing.

I don’t expect to venture far this next couple of weeks, what with the weather and appointments. Local walks will have to do.

A NEW YEAR – A NEW WALK AT LAST.

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Slow walking in Uldale.

Driving up the M6 from Preston is always busy and often an accident blackspot, but suddenly, after junction 36, the road empties and all is peaceful with fewer lorries. I’m heading for junction 37, the one with an abrupt stop up the hill and no roundabout. This junction gives access to the Western part of the Lakes, as well as to the Howgills and the hills around Dent, now called the Western Yorkshire Dales National Park, even though they are now mainly in Cumbria. Historically, both Sedbergh and Dent were in the West Riding of Yorkshire until 1974, so maybe there is some logic in the naming. Dent certainly feels like a Yorkshire Dales village. The road winds down to Sedbergh and gives an intimate view into the heart of the Howgills, which sets the pulse going.

Since some friends of mine moved into Dentdale a few years ago, this has been a regular trip for me, particularly in the last three years when we were busy developing a climbing area, Blackbed Scar, on Wild Boar Fell. Today I have a gentler walk in mind, the first of the year, really, due to other circumstances. I’ve read about the waterfalls on the River Rawthey in hidden Uldale, but never explored them. A good enough reason to travel north to the hills, but stay low on a dry day with cold winds. I find that Metcheck often gives the more accurate local forecast. *

I’ve taken a book off my shelves for another appraisal—52 WAYS TO WALK, by Annabel Streets.

Each week, it suggests, one week at a time, different themes and ideas to keep your walks varied. There is a lot of dubious science incorporated, which is probably why it was relegated to my shelves. But we all recognise the physical and mental benefits of walking, so there is no harm in varying our routines. Time to start a new year with a weekly chapter from the book. We are already into the 4th week of 2026, so I can skip the first three chapters: Walk in the Cold, Improve Your Gait. and Walk, Smile, Greet. I feel I have covered those in my daily walk around the corner to the shops. So this week’s chapter comes up with Just One Slow Walk. She controversially suggests that long, slow walks are more beneficial than short, high-intensity periods. Soon to be contradicted in her week 7 chapter – Take a Twelve-Minute Walk. Whatever, I am happy to go along with the slow theme today, having been out hardly at all this year. The main reason, anyhow, is always to reduce your time sitting.

So I find myself parked up at Rawthey Bridge, just north of Cautley, where the river branches off into Uldale. That forecast is partially correct: the air temperature is about 7, but with stronger winds than expected, it feels freezing, hat and gloves from the set off.

There is no path up the initial section of the gorge, so I pick up an unmarked bridleway into the low hills, Bluecaster, to the south west of the river.

The map shows several fords along the way; I’m expecting wet feet. That doesn’t take long in the waterlogged ground.

Of course, one tends to visit waterfalls for their full effect after rain, so I can’t complain. Height is gained, and then the valley traversed high above the river, hidden in the wooded depths. All around are familiar fells, Cautley Spout cradled by the Howgills, the back of Wild Boar and distant Nine Standards.

The sun is in my eyes, ensuring that I manage to step onto as many unseen deep bogs as possible. The theme of Slow is easily followed.

In parts, there are signs of stone culverts and banking, suggesting packhorse use long ago.

Shake holes remind me I am in Limestone country.

At last, the now vague path levels alongside the rushing river at a footbridge, which gives good views of the first falls upstream. I do wonder what the length of water downstream in the wooded gorge that I have bypassed would have revealed. I am sure someone will have canyoned the whole length. I could cross the bridge and complete my modest circular walk back down the opposite side of the valley, but a faint path continues on this side. The map shows a path that extends another half mile or so to an abandoned quarry, which was no doubt its raison d’être.

Treading carefully on the slippery limestone, I follow the river past a series of falls over tilted strata. There seem to be some good deep swimming pools along the way.

My video aims to give a sense of the sounds and sights of the falls. All very dramatic in this lonely valley.

Reaching the quarry area, the eroded path is forced onto a lip directly above the water. It looks tricky, so I make my excuses and decide, probably sensibly, to turn around and retreat. Further on, the river levels out and then disappears around the corner to more unseen falls. In drier weather and with companions, I would have gone on.

Later, YouTube shows the gorge becoming inaccessible and drones being used to view the taller falls, so today I made the right decision. But the thought of a summer’s direct exploration up the waters is at the back of my mind. Of course, Mark Richards has been there more than once.

Back at the bridge.

I cross over, climb up, bypass Uldale House and wander slowly back along the deserted lanes.

The only traffic is the red postie’s van.

There are some lonely sheep farms up here; at one time, their lives probably didn’t stretch much further than Sedbergh every few weeks.

This was previously a school, which closed in 1940.

Dropping back down to Rawthey Bridge, I can trace the boggy start of the walk on the low hillside opposite with Cautley Crag in the background.

I finish the afternoon warming up and chatting over a pot of tea at my friends’ Dentdale house. Here’s to more slow walking.

bowlandclimber

Walks and climbs