There’s nothing that beats a beautiful garden for restoring one’s equilibrium. Woodlands, lawns, borders, meadows, roses, ponds and more.
Add to that a fantastic view across Chipping Vale of the Bowland Hills and some delicious cake. All in the aid of charity.
My frustrations of earlier melt away.
I’m up early, for me, and setting off for a short walk up the fell at 8 am. Gotta beat the heat.
I don’t often walk up Spire Hill these days. My ‘It’s grim up north’ Scots Pine has been cut down. They have tried to improve the fell by drainage, which is the opposite of what we should be doing; we need to restore the carbon-holding mosses up here. Trees have been cut down for no reason on the fell alongside the wall. And worst of all, the area around the trig point is desecrated by some egocentric individual who thinks this is the most iconic and desirable trig point to visit and sign his inane ‘summit book’. Shades of social media influencers – well, we don’t need them in an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, AONB. See later in my frustrated rant**
Whilst up here, I wander into a wooded area owned by United Utilities. I am astonished to find motorcyclists camping in its midst. And even more horrified to see signs of open fires. This is a high-fire-risk area, but obviously, some people don’t care. I take a picture from a distance and log a grid reference and then pass them by, probably sleeping off last night’s indulgences. I know I am being prejudiced as to their presence. But how did they get in here? There is a small gate for walkers, but the main gates are normally padlocked. I realise on the way out that the padlock has gone, and I suspect forced entry. The notice on the gate gives a phone number to report any problems. I make a note of it as my phone turns off.
Back home a little later and with my phone charged up, I try the local United Utilities number advertised at the gate. No longer usable, is the answer I receive. Looking up United Utilities online, they have a 24hr contact number. One gets the usual ‘your call is important to us’ message as they try to direct you to an online help zone. I’m having none of that and hold through several different phone options, none of which are relevant to my situation. I haven’t had a leak, a flood. or moved home, nor do I want to pay my bill.
At last, a human, or at least I think he is, answers. Name, address, phone number OK Then he asks me for my email address, and I have to stop him and explain, without all the red tape, that I haven’t phoned about a domestic water issue, but that I am concerned about one of United Utilities’ properties. He doesn’t seem to have a list of properties available. What is the postcode? Is there a house nearby? I actually find the postcode whilst talking to him, but it doesn’t help. I know I’m up against it when I offer him the grid reference. Have I what3words? It is becoming obvious that he is unable to locate the property in his system. Amazingly, he asks me once more, is there a leak or a flood? I reiterate the possible danger of a forest fire, but he doesn’t seem to have a way of dealing with that. There doesn’t seem to be any person in authority to speak to, so I suggest I might be better off phoning the police – he thinks that is a good idea, and I feel he is glad to get me off the phone.
There were many negatives there, and at the end of the call, United Utilities was unable to satisfactorily address a case of unlawful camping and the potential for a forest fire on their property. I tried my best to explain the problem and the location, but his computer system didn’t have the capacity to process my information. In the past, a handler would have written down all the information on a piece of paper and known who in the operation to speak to.
A call to the police on 101 was more straightforward; I was put through to the appropriate person. She processed my information quickly and identified the problem and its exact location. Somebody would be sent to have a ‘word’ with the campers. I have no idea of the follow-up.
One tries to do one’s best in these situations but become frustrated by the inflexibility of the systems. One hears of the same problems dealing with any of our utilities, banks, medical or other establishments.
As a follow-up, I try to complain to United Utilities. Having had no success on their phone lines, I go straight to their website. This is again a complicated affair, but I persist with the form-filling only to receive a refusal to send at the end of the procedure. A ‘bad gateway’ to blame, I do not know how to fix that problem, so I give up.
One last try: I’ll write an email directly to them, though finding their email address rather than their website is not easy. I doubt they will receive my complaint. I may try phoning them after the weekend when they may be better staffed.
** More frustration with the situation up at Spire Hill, which I visited earlier in the day. Way back, I emailed Bowland AONB, now retitled National Landscapes, and overseen by Natural England, concerning the installation of what I can only call paraphernalia. I will remind you of my photos at the time.
I received no reply from Natural England.
I next contacted the countryside officer at Ribble Valley Council to query whether any planning regulations were being broken. I emailed him photographic evidence, and he promised to look into it. After three weeks, I had heard nothing, so I spoke to him again and was told he had handed the problem to Natural England in Bowland. Nothing has been heard since. These public servants are poor at communicating with their public. Time for another telephone call next week.
To rid myself of the frustrations, this afternoon I’m planning on visiting one of our local gardens open under The National Garden Scheme for charity. Flowers and cake should calm me down.
Whittle-le-Woods to Hoghton.
I came across the Whittle Wander on the LDWA excellent website. I was looking for a short, long-distance way to get me back into the swing of things. It turns out to be a 16-mile circuit from Whittle-le-Woods “that takes in the canal, the river, and the beautiful countryside of the West Pennine Moors, reaching the Darwen Valley”. The author, Trevor Headley, a specialist in this area, has several publications. I previously walked his East side of the Ribble Valley. which was well thought out and an enjoyable route. I struggled to get Headley’s contact details to order his guide for the Whittle Wander, so I had to be content with an outline map, which I plotted onto my paper maps. Awkwardly across three 1:25,000 sheets. Incidentally, the route is not waymarked.
Thus armed, I set off on the bus to Preston, then continued on to Whittle-le -Woods. I alight at the church on the main road, and there, right next to the bus stop, is a signed footpath. The map suggests a path going between houses, so I start confidently. 
The path has the impression of antiquity, possibly the route to and from the church. I pass the Parish Club. Originally a Methodist Chapel completed in 1840. Then, in 1897, when the current Methodist Chapel was built on the A6, the building became the Parish Club until 1911, when it became ‘Whittle Pictures’ and subsequently a thriving factory. It is now repurposed once again as a community centre.
Across Chorley Old Road, once the coach route to Preston, the path runs through open countryside. Further on, there are notice boards telling of its history and recent attempts to preserve it, an old way between Leyland and Brindle. 
At its end, my map appears to show a footpath that runs right before ducking under the motorway. It doesn’t feel right, little used and overgrown. Himalayan Balsam is taking over. There is no obvious turning towards the motorway, and soon I’m heading in the wrong direction. A quick turnaround, still no sign of a motorway underpass. Is my map reading at fault, or is there really no path?
A closer look at the map later shows there was no way. 
I head back to the cottages. at Hill Foot Farm… 
…and use the road to Whittle Hills, another character house.
Then, according to my map, a farm track to North Bank Farm. Even here, the signing is confusing. I want the higher of the two motorway underpasses, A on the above map, so, ignoring the signs, I brave the farmyard and walk out at last; it seems to have taken an age to reach the other side of the motorway.
Under the motorway.
You may wonder why I have been so fixated on the map features and Rights of Way on this walk. Well, I’m into week 26 of my 52 Ways to Walk, at the longest day, – Walk with a map. I’ve been walking with a map all my life, only recently using phone OS mapping. So today I am relying completely on my paper copy of the 1:25,000 map, my phone consigned to the interior of my rucksack. I think I have an innate sense of direction, so I don’t need my compass to orientate me, it’s safely in the rucksack too, you never know. One has to constantly maintain a greater awareness of one’s surroundings, near and far, to correlate with the paper map, spotting features and signs to fix one’s position at any one time. I was lost earlier because I had misread the map – there was no continuation under the motorway from the first path.
The footpath now goes through fields, thankfully recently mown, and over some hidden stiles to emerge onto a minor road. 
Right in front is the track heading up the field towards Denham Hall, now all plain sailing and a joy to be out in the countryside. 
More fields take me to Walmsley Fold, busy with modern machinery.’ Fold is a common name on the map in these parts, originally an animal enclosure which grew into a farm or small community. 
A quiet road reached Top o’th Lane, a row of cottages originally built around 1800 for quarry and handloom workers. The loom room windows in the basements. They have a fine view across to Great Hill and the western Lancashire Pennines.
It’s good to be up high looking out over Preston, the Bowland Hills and Pendle, 
But then I find myself in a large field full of frisky cows paying me too much close attention, not so pleasant. I back off carefully until I can escape via a stile into Brindle village.
I wander into St. James’ church. Its tower is from about 1500, the naive C19th, with many changes over the years; Paley was involved, as usual. I am immediately struck by the amount of stained glass. Every wall has large windows. 
On the edge of the village is the Old Smithy and next to it the Parish Pound. 
I’m sure there is more to explore in the village, but it is time to get going; the day is heating up. Heading towards Hoghton Tower, which can be seen on its hill in the distance. I navigate through fields and country lanes, possibly using my own variation of the Whittle Wander. 
I come out onto the main road at Riley Green, next to the Royal Oak.
I could finish here, but I want to complete the loop around Hoghton Tower and the River Darwen. I have described this in more detail when I last visited here on a similar walk. I’ll make do with a few pictures today.
Whilst I am taking the photo of the Giant Hogweed, a Kingfisher flashes by – wow. 
And then I’m back at the Royal Oak for a quick half before catching the bus back to Preston. 
The Whittle Wander wanders off back to the start via Wheelton and places, but I’m leaving that half for another day, hopefully it will be as interesting as today’s walk. Won’t be just yet, though, as the heatwave settles in.
***
Beautiful Bowland.
I always stop at the crest of the Roman Road, heading from Cow Ark to the Hodder Valley, for the view of the Bowland Fells, Ingleborough and Pen-Y-Ghent. My photos never seem to portray the scene. 
I find the little car park on the edge of Newton-in-Bowland and remember to close my car doors this time. I always enjoy the riverside stretch between Newton and Slaidburn, and today I’m going to incorporate it into a short circular walk. I intend it to be short, as it is the hottest day of the year so far, breaking May records.
Newton is a pleasant hamlet of interesting stone properties, which I explored in 2020.
I only have a brief wander today as I try to find the start of my footpath out of the northern side of the village. My phone mapping isn’t working, so I’m navigating off the OS paper map. There are no signs, and I seem to be walking up a private drive. I can’t see a way out to the right, but I spot a ladder stile to the left and climb into the field. This is not where I meant to go, but a faint path leads up the hill. Maybe I should have tried harder to find the path I intended. 
Anyhow, I am on a public footpath which is rarely used by the look of it. Soon, I’m looking down at the roofs of Newton and across to Easington and Waddington Fells. 
The faint track continues up the hill, 
The fields are full of buttercups, dandelions and daisies. 
A farm up ahead is marked on the map as Crawshaw, and in a field adjacent, a basic little campsite. Two couples are sitting out in the sun, enjoying their getaway. This is the back of beyond – an idyllic spot. 
Onwards through fields where I come across one of those Peak and Northern signs I so like, I didn’t expect to see one up here. 
The next farm is hidden by a substantial shelter belt of trees. This is sheep country. The farmer and his dog are bringing in a ewe and her two lambs. We chat awhile, and he points out where the path goes. He doesn’t see many walkers up here. 
Across the way is the bulk of Burn Fell, the site of an aircraft crash in 1945. I last explored up there seven years ago – It feels like yesterday. 
It’s all downhill from here, taking in the spring flora. Strangely, there is very little bird song; this should be lapwing and curlew country. 
I come out onto Woodhouse Lane, which I am familiar with, and stroll down into Slaidburn. The pub and the Youth Hostel have both closed, but the little cafe down by the river is doing a roaring trade. A popular stopping point for bikers and cyclists, and today for picnickers on the green. I can’t resist an ice cream cone.
The River Hodder is followed back to Newton, a track I know well. 
The woods at Dunnow are alive with bird song; they look like a fantastic environment. 
I try to ignore the pungent smell of wild garlic. 
One emerges at the arched bridge over the Hodder. 
The Parkers Arms has an open door, so I end up buying a pint of Bowland Bumble Bee, a tasty pale ale, enjoyed in their garden. 
A satisfying round of this quiet corner of Bowland. Using the paper map makes you concentrate more on your envronment.
*
I’ve contented myself with mainly local walks for the last few months, whilst not allowed to drive post-shoulder operation. Hence, my posts have been more mundane than usual. Another week and I’ll be back driving – for good or bad, the cost of fuel will come as a surprise.
However, today I find myself walking up ‘Mile Lane’ again, my usual three-mile walk to go shopping. I don’t need to walk that far to the shops, but they say exercise is good for you. Besides, I’m testing out this week’s idea from the 52 Ways to Walk book’s entry, Walk Hungry. I’ve already done Walking after Eating, which wasn’t conclusive about whether it aided my digestion or lowered my blood sugar. Not a very scientific approach, I’m afraid.
Finishing this morning’s crossword mid-morning, I still hadn’t dressed or eaten. An opportunity to rouse myself and walk hungry. So without further hesitation, I’m out walking. Would it help regulate my fat burning and insulin levels, as some of the book’s science suggests? I would have to walk regularly before breakfast to obtain any benefits, which wouldn’t fit my rather ramshackle lifestyle.
Mile Lane again.
But there are benefits, as I enjoy the ever-changing skies, bright blue one minute and threateningly black the next. We are in a spell of changeable weather; rain is forecast by lunchtime, but it appears to blow over without troubling us. Notice in my photo across the meadows towards the village and St Wilfred’s steeple, the cows are lying down – an old folklore of rain to come. (Late afternoon, we experienced a heavy hail storm!) 
Last week I talked of the Hawthorn blossoming in our hedgerows, and was reminded by Shazza of the abundant Cow Parsley. I’m able to redress that today on Mile Lane, which I have said many times is less than half a mile long. The Cow Parsley is indeed profuse this year. 
Also very prominent in the hedgerow is another white flower, Garlic Mustard. Appropriately named ‘Jack In the Hedge’. The leaves do have a faint garlic smell.
Whilst I’m taking time examining the flora, I notice the flower spikes on the Holly. We are more used to its showy red berries in the autumn and winter, but the flowers are quite complex and often go unnoticed. 
Another strong, sweet scent comes along as I pass a Mountain Ash in full flower. The Rowan, also once called the “witch wiggin tree,” was planted outside homes in ancient times as a protection against evil and witchcraft. They are common in Lancashire; we had a lot of witches. 
With the Bowland Hills in the background, I move on into the park. Diverting to check on the Miyawaki Forest, planted here last year, it’s good to see the native trees have grown significantly this season and are reaching above the paling fence. It will be interesting to see which varieties do best.
The local council is limiting mowing in parts of the park for environmental reasons, resulting in a colourful splash of Buttercups. In amongst them is a young Oak, one of several planted by our active local Environmental Group. Things are looking up for nature, and hopefully, the younger generation will take heed. 
Did you, as a child, hold a buttercup under your pal’s chin to see if they liked butter? A glow appeared like magic. Of course, we all liked butter because the flower petals are highly reflective to attract insects.
After shopping, I reach home – my poached egg tasted that little bit better this morning. Maybe walking hungry is a good idea. Do you have a favourite walk to the shops?
What’s that noise?
It’s week 20 of my 52 Ways to Walk crusade. 20 weeks of the year gone just like that. I’m still walking locally and plan to revisit some paths I’ve not used of late. At the same time, I will try out Sing as you Stride. My singing is worse than my dancing, which I attempted a couple of weeks ago, so I’m hoping these paths are little used, and that I don’t meet anybody.
The book states, “Singing whilst walking has been used throughout history – by marching soldiers, hiking schoolchildren, dissenting protestors, and weary families.” Singing helps maintain a good tempo and takes your mind off background stress. I recognise some of that.
Thoughts of tunes from my recent musical Virtual Walking post come to mind. The ones with a marching tempo, unsurprisingly, worked best. However, other thoughts bring out different tunes. The sight of rabbits has me dragging from my memory “Run rabbit, Run rabbit, run, run, run. Don’t let the farmer get his gun, gun, gun”
I am lucky to live on the edge of the countryside. This afternoon, the hawthorne’s aroma fills the air, I am one of those who find it pleasant. An almost hidden stile leads into the fields. Not many people use these field paths, and in their isolation, I see hares and roe deer when I’m not singing. A cuckoo is heard, as is a woodpecker. Swallows are flying around, and a ‘blue’ butterfly flutters, apparently aimlessly, above the long grass. All very satisfying.
I cross and recross Westfield Brook several times as I wander on. The day is made for singing.
I come out onto a lane and almost immediately take a path I’ve not used for years, and I’m pleasantly surprised by all the young trees planted then and how they have grown in that time. 
Around the corner, I was hoping for a brew at friends’, but not unexpectedly, they are out enjoying the weather. I vary the route home by cutting through the small industrial estate at Sandbanks and then, reluctant to follow the busy main road, extend my walk across the other side into fields and then through a wood yard where roof trusses are fabricated. There is a way out at the far end if you look carefully.
Little does one know of this manufacturer on the outskirts of town.
Then you are back in the fields, cut ready for silaging, haymaking is a thing of the past. Green lanes bring me back into Longridge, where I successfully navigate one of the extensive new housing estates to home. 
The singing has ceased by now!
I can now manage stiles, so my options for walks from home multiply. Let’s visit some of our neighbouring field paths, which I usually have to myself. Given this week’s walking topic, Take a walk dance. Solitude would be an advantage. I’m not the best of dancers.
In March 1599, Will Kemp, a comic actor in Shakespeare’s company. Morris danced from London to Norwich and wrote a book about it called “Nine Daies Wonder”. It took him 23 days. His reasons for this escapade are not clear. 
The reasons for my walk dance are not entirely clear either. Anabelle Streets, in her book, gives us this.
“Dance has been proven to lift mood, improve balance, and boost aerobic fitness. I like to break up my walks with short bursts of dance and wave my arms in the air” All very plausible, adding some playfulness to the activity and boosting our dopamine.
I’m ready to go, although I haven’t decided on my dance step yet.
It’s amazing what you can find on YouTube. I’ve no idea who Su Lee is; she is not the best dancer, but it’s a simple, catchy tune to accompany me as I dance through the fields. Yes, I know I’m far too old for this malarkey.
Out of the village.
Down a green lane.
Open fields and the Longridge.
Bowland View.
Sheep and lambs are bewildered by my antics.
Strange.
I normally walk past this seat, but today, after all the exertions, I was glad to sit and stare at the views and blue sky. My phone ran out of juice, so you will just have to believe me. I’m pretty much out of juice myself; I realise what the last four months have taken out of my life.
I’m back at the Harris in Preston.
A Measure of Care
“Artists Ruth Levene and Ian Nesbitt took a ledger written in the late 19th century out of The Harris archives and returned it to the place where it was written. The ledger was written by John Weld between 1880 and 1888, a Victorian landowner, antiquarian, naturalist, and amateur painter who lived at Leagram Hall near Chipping. The artists asked local farmers, birders, residents, ornithologists, conservationists, and historians to reflect on what they read, and their stories and observations form a new presentation in partnership with In Certain Places”
On my last visit, I wasn’t able to fully appreciate this audiovisual presentation of Bowland’s environment through modern eyes, reading the original writings of the C19th, John Weld. That time, there were too many people coming and going, and I was the only one sitting down trying to listen.
Today, by virtue of an early arrival in Preston, the room in the Harris is deserted. 
I get myself comfortable on the settee and let the sounds of the countryside surround me. Here is a flavour of the presentation; the audio quality is not the best.
It begins by assessing John Weld’s book in relation to current bird species. I don’t know who the reader is.
The call of the Curlew is in the air.
And then two local ladies talk of the Curlew’s Bowland habitat.
We are given an explanation as to how modern farming methods have impacted the Curlew.
Even back in the late C19th, birds were under threat from shooting and agricultural practices.
Here is a mention of the Nightjar, a bird I’ve never seen or heard.
And of the corncrake, peewit. yellow hammer in separate videos.
Throughout the presentation, images of an imaginary future showing extinct birds being archived. Probably unnecessary, but making a point. 
The plight of the Hen Harrier is diplomatically dealt with.
I used to regularly see Hen Harriers in parts of Bowland, but they are much rarer now. A visit today from AB et famille brought back those halcyon days bouldering in Croasedale, 20 years ago, when we would nearly always see Hen Harriers along with Peregrines, Merlins, Stonechats, and Kestrels. I last climbed with AB at King’s Meaburn; he has moved to pastures new in the south of France.
There are touching comments from a local, which is a good place to finish. “I stopped shooting”
An enjoyable way to spend some time in the Harris whilst it is still being shown. I often wonder what happens to video presentations once their run is over.
And if you are interested in Hen Harriers and all things environmental, link into… https://www.henharrierday.uk/get-involved/skydancer-day/?utm_source=brevo&utm_campaign=Hen%20Harrier%20Action%20Late%20April%202026%20Newsletter&utm_medium=email
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
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.
There is ‘art’ everywhere you look in the newly refurbished Harris, from historical paintings, selected items from their collections and temporary exhibitions. There are over 800 oil paintings and over 6,000 watercolours, drawings and prints at the Harris.
If, on entering the rotunda, you look up, you will see a full-length 20-meter textile sculpture crafted from rayon and paper. Hannah Robson’s ‘Transformation’ sought to explore the industrial history of the local Courtaulds factory through handweaving and rayon.
There are lots of paintings of the good and possibly not-so-good people of Preston. I highlighted benefactor Harris and architect Hibbert in my last post.
A sombre family portrait from the 17th century.
Here are two Lord Mayors from the last century.
Paintings give us a glimpse into the past. 
Soon, industry dominated the town—a 20th-century painting by Charles Cundall. 
Two portraits are synonymous with the Harris Gallery.
Pauline in the Yellow Dress was painted in 1944 by her husband, H J Gunn.
Dorette was painted in 1933 by G. L. Brockhurst. 
Alongside is the bold contemporary A Portrait by Anthony Pilbro from 2000. 
In the same space as these portraits is a digital picture frame operated by a camera. You sit in front of it, compose the frame with you in it, choose a background and style, press the button and hey presto – your image is part of the Harris collection. I couldn’t resist a Napoleonic pose. 
There are more paintings from the Harris Collection scattered about this floor. I like ‘Untitled and Adam and Eve‘ by Hugh Byars, 1991. 
And the 1942 ‘In for Repairs‘, an oil by Laura Knight, while she was an official war artist.
I am always pleased to come across a Stanley Spencer. Wisteria.
*
A room is given over to –
Mr Williams researches old photographs of Preton and transforms them digitally with colour, producing some beautiful images. 
He has also taken the time to create short animated videos from some of the scenes.
*
All that art, and I have only just reached the top floor with the promise of more.
As I mentioned, the Harris has a huge collection of paintings. Let’s hope the curators are able to rotate them into the galleries. The first room features paintings selected by different communities, including HMP. ‘The peoples choise’. 
Blue Flamingo Cafe, a community dementia outreach organisation, chose ‘In the Beys Garden‘ painted by J F Lewis in 1865. He is described as an Orientalist painter but I think this painting has hints of the Pre-Raphaelite movement.
Every gallery in Lancashire should have a Lowry. Appropriately for Preston – ‘Millworkers’. 
This ainting looked interesting.
And for a touch of Edwardian prudery.
There have not been many statues on show, but up here, there is a delightful bronze, Pablo Picasso, Aged 7, by Anthony Padgett, who works in the city. 
*
I’m attracted by the sound of birdsong to a separate area where a two-screen video is playing. 
This turns out to be a fascinating look at the ecology of the Chipping area and the Bowland Fells. 
Unfortunately, a rowdy group of school children arrived as I was preparing to watch and listen. I gave it up as a bad job and will return as soon as possible to absorb the experience and learn more about the Weld family from Leagram Hall, where I often walk.
*
All that remains is to visit the galleries hosting The Harris Open, an annual event that highlights local artistic talent. Anyone living or studying in Preston is free to enter. 
Here is a selection of the entrants. 
Probably my favourite – 
Out of the 400 entrants, I forgot to look who had won.
*
Despite the length of this post, I have only sampled from the vast array on display. More visits are necessary.
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
As a lover of all things Bowland, I am led to believe that at least three of the Hen Harriers born in Bowland this year have gone missing in mysterious circumstances. It is therefore of interest to watch this Channel 4 report on the conviction of a gamekeeper for Hen Harrier persecution. The footage is upsetting.
Whilst I’m on the subject of wildlife crime, have a read of this summary of so-called ‘trail hunting’ and what it obscures.
Some of the privileged few feel they can ignore the law with impunity. It is long overdue for the government of this so-called civilised country to take more positive action to outlaw these practices.
I have a nasty taste in my mouth.
My walking year wasn’t meant to start like this.
*
I had a busy and costly day yesterday.
A dental appointment in the morning – check-up and a difficult molar filling that keeps dropping out and will need some major drilling in the near future.
Physiotherapy appointment at lunch time to assess some abdominal muscular problems, which have completely stopped me from venturing out in 2026 so far. Suspect nerve impingement in my thoracic region. Hopefully not a kidney stone, as my GP’s appointment is in two weeks.
Afternoon – ultrasound scan of my shoulder, which has suffered from the bar stool episode last year. The charming radiologist tells me I have a complete tear of the supraspinatus. No quick fix there.
‘That was the day that was‘, which left me £500 less in my bank account. Having said that, I don’t begrudge a penny of it if it gets me back on the road. (OK, I know I’m lucky to be able to afford it where others may not.)
*
Today, my muscle spasms are less, thanks to the physiotherapist’s strong-arm massage on my back yesterday—time to stop the painkillers. I have watched the blue skies on several days this year and been unable to get outside and enjoy them. By lunchtime, the day is set fair, and I decide to go for my first walk of 2026. My choice of route is modest and local. It has only now struck me that the name of the estate I walk around is Bowland Meadows – serendipity.
I would have been happier in the Bowland Fells, but needs must, and at least the meadows have been granted a local name, although Bowland View would have been more appropriate. The meadows are no more, yet more countryside has been sacrificed for our mad rush to build more houses at whatever cost to nature. Barratt Homes, as the developers, fall back on giving the streets ‘nature-related’ names, as you will see in my photos. Is this to dupe the house purchasers into thinking they are moving to a rural life? What was wrong with Factory Row, Mill Street and Gas Alley? As our natural fauna and flora are being destroyed, the popularity for naming streets after birds, animals, trees and flowers has increased exponentially. There is some perverse psychology at play. Similar to the global companies offering to plant a tree for every pound spent on destroying the planet. It just doesn’t work.
Having said all that, my stroll around Bowland Meadows reveals diverse, pleasant housing, open green spaces, play areas, and a connection to the surrounding countryside, for now at least. And of course, those Bowland Fells will dominate forever.
Let us hope they appreciate the view and the ‘rural life’ they have signed up for.
Let’s also hope for some snowdrops, primroses, and bluebells to brighten their Spring.
A winter afternoon, and I’m surrounded by familiar fells, Parlick, Faisnape, Hazelhurst and Beacon, far away from the pre-Christmas hustle and bustle. It’s been a while since I was out and about, but one has to take the opportunities of fair weather as they come along at this time of year. A cooler east wind is creeping in, so hopefully that persistent wet weather is behind us for some time.
St. Eadmer’s, where I park, sits in this beautiful setting on the Bleasdale Estate. It is the only church in the UK to be dedicated to St Eadmer, an Anglo-Saxon Benedictine monk and scholar. I have written about the church and Bleasdale many times, so let’s just get on with the walk, a circuit on good tracks.
I wonder if people turned up at Bleasdale Circle for the winter solstice a couple of days ago. It’s rather a bleak spot now that its trees have toppled.
Throughout the short afternoon, the fell tops are constantly changing as clouds come and go. The sun makes a weak appearance at times, adding interest.
There are several variations to my Bleasdale walks; today, I choose widdershins on a short circuit for no obvious reason. I contemplate the lonely lives of upland farmers as I pass by their isolated properties. I meet one other person, a lady recently retired from Sussex with her two dogs, and now lucky enough to live in Bleasdale.
On the return loop, I once more peer at that packhorse bridge over the infant Brock, near Brooks. It is on private property. I’ve read that it was on the original track from Bleadale House and Reformatory School to St. Eadmers. I cross what is obviously a more modern bridge, but then the curiosity gets the better of me, and I enter the woods to backtrack above the river and look down on the older crossing. One day…
Again, on a whim, I investigate a footpath I have never used before. Leaving the estate road, it cuts across rough fields to Admarsh Barn and the church where I am parked.
St. Eadmer’s.
The track into the estate.
SIMPLY A swollen beck.
Lonely Holme House Farm.
Looking up to Fiensdale Head.
Fairsnape and Parlick.
Beacon Fell
Old packhorse bridge.
From above.
Adnarsh Barn.
While looking online for the origins of Admarsh, I came across an interesting article on Bleasdale that I hadn’t previously seen. https://e-voice.org.uk/longridge/longridge-history-society/bleasdale/ Well worth a read if you know the area.
Time to get back to the shops.
*
Looking across to Sabden from Wiswell Moor.
Wiswell Moor.
I’m intrigued by the name Jeppe Knave on the map of Wiswell Moor. Looking into it, there are various stories, but basically, he was probably Jeppe Curteys, a local robber who was beheaded for his crimes in 1327 and buried up here for whatever reason.
I set out today, halfheartedly, to see if I could locate the stone. I am really just out for a circular walk from the little village of Wiswell, making the most of another sparkling November day. I have to scrape the ice from my car this morning.
There appear to be road closures in Wiswell, but I find a quiet street to park on. Cutting across fields, I arrive on Moor Lane. New houses are being constructed up here; they will have views over the Ribble Valley to Longridge Fell and Bowland. I hope for the same as I climb higher. 
At the top of the lane, there is a choice of footpaths, and on a whim, I take the left one, which, according to the map, goes close to Wiswell Quarry. The sheep study my slow progress upwards. Looking back, the view is definitely worth capturing in a panorama shot.
I have never climbed here. It looks a bit scrappy, but I don’t get up close. 
I drop down the cobbled quarry track to join a lane, Clerk Hill Road, which connects farms along the flank of Wiswell Moor. It goes straight ahead uphill. The last farm has a strange building with an old ‘chimney’ – a man at the farm tells me it was once an abattoir.
The quarry track.
Clerk Hill Road
Old abbatoir at Wiswell Mooor Houses.
Leaving the tarmac, the bridleway borders open access land on the moor. Yes, that’s the bulk of Pendle ahead.
Looking at the map, Jeppe Knave’s Grave is in the second field, but there was no way to enter it due to the height of a splendid dry stone wall, with no gateway along its length.
Oh well, I can give it a miss. But then a gate brings the bridleway onto the rough, open fell. I now realise I could walk up to the trig point on The Rough, which again I’ve never visited, and could I then possibly find a way back into the grave field? Off I go.
There is no track across the reedy ground alongside the wall. It’s also steeper than it looks.
As I struggle, I start to regret my decision and consider my escape. Rough by name and rough by nature. I’ve started leaving a route map in our family WhatsApp group for my nearest and dearest. But here I am already going off piste on remote moorland. As the ground steepens, it becomes less boggy, so head down and plod on. At last, I reach the watershed. There is a gate ahead, then a high ladder stile into the field I want. I regret not noting the grid reference for Jeppe’s grave. It’s over there somewhere. 
Once over the high ladder stile, there is a faint track going across the moor, and I surmise that it must lead me to the grave. Thankfully, it does. 
There are scattered rocks in a dip. Looking closer, there is an upright inscribed stone, Jeppe Knave. This seems pretty new, and yes, behind it is an older inscribed stone lying on the ground. I had not realised that the ‘grave’ was on the site of a Bronze Age burial ground, which, in any case, I wouldn’t have recognised. I can find no reference to the ‘new’ inscribed stone. Was it brought here or created in situ, and was there a need for it? 
Satisfied, I head back to the wall stile where I find an ideal spot for some lunch – the Shepherd’s Cave. The vistas over the Ribble Valley and afar are remarkable. 
Why have I never been here before? Someone I know has been here before with an interesting tale – https://conradwalks.blogspot.com/search?q=trig+Wiswell+moor.
I ritually touch the trig pillar on The Rough, 315m. Do I retrace my steps back down all that rough moor to the bridleway? But there seems to be a trod heading north-east towards the Nick. Let’s try it, so off I go again. The path improves as I follow it. 
I love walking high on the fells with my destination far off in the distance. Pendle Hill, or more correctly Spence Moor, is on the skyline. Can I see the summit of Pendle? 
A gate, with a plaque to a local cyclist, sees me off the moor.
In no time, I’m at the Nick of Pendle with Sabden down in the valley, and the ski club on the north side. Busy with traffic, I’m brought back to reality. But I only have a few yards to go before I hop over a wall back onto the moor.
Soon, I join an old trackway leading down to Wymondhouses. Ingleborough and PenYghent are just visible at the head of hazy Ribblesdale. In front of me, Longridge Fell and the Bowland Fells 
I recognise the buildings from a walk in the past. There is a sign above the door which I can’t read from this distance, but looking back at previous posts I find this photo explaining it. 
The higher path I take is very boggy, and I inevitably end up with wet feet. Not many come this way; somewhere I have gone off track. I rejoin the public footpath at Audley Clough, and fortunately, there is a stile. Climbing out of the clough, I am suddenly back in cultivated fields, and an obvious path leads to Cold Coats farm. 
The grass and puddles have been frozen since this morning.
All I have to do is stroll back along the lane to Wiswell and find which street I parked my car in.
A very satisfying day, with the bonus of finding Jeppe Knave’s grave and enjoying an unexpected high moorland ridge walk.
*
I’m not sure what to make of the recent additions next to the trig point on Longridge Fell, Spire Hill. It must have been a few weeks since I’ve been up here. I didn’t intend to come here today.
I was intent on heading for a quiet way across the fells to the Nick of Pendle from Wiswell. But as I sit in the car about to set off, I realise the day is slipping away. Pendle can wait. I need to take advantage of this sunny day, so I quickly change plans and park up on one of the roads on Longridge Fell. It looks to be busy. 
However, my way up the lane is unfrequented.
The open fell arrives on cue. Wild, rugged, and wet.
Gannow Fell, on open-access land. The local landowner seems to think differently. 
At the next stile, I climb past the head-high barbed wire fence – a death trap to the deer that have lived up here for centuries. 
Circling the forest, I arrive at the wall, where I join groups coming up from the Jeffrey Hill carpark. More join in, having climbed from the lower road more directly than I. It’s bound to be busy on a sunny Sunday. 
Of course, the views to the north are stunning. 
It is at the trig point that I am surprised by the recent additions of ‘Fell furniture’. A sturdy wooden bench has been built next to the wall, with a totally incongruous little coffee table attached. Worse is a structure incorporating a locked summit book and information on trig points, which is already disintegrating, that we don’t need. Anyone requiring information on trig points, whether specific or general, can find it on the OS Website. A waste bin liner is attached – who is going to empty this? Generally, the summit of the fell is relatively litter-free, and I do a litter pick there every few weeks. I fear the bin liner will only attract litter because people will use it rather than take their rubbish home. The structure resembles a payment station found in carparks.
I want to get more photos of the installation, but a large group of ramblers arrives and takes over the summit. I move on.
I have questions to ask about these recent additions.
Who gave permission? Who is the landowner?
What does the Forest of Bowland AONB think? Was it consulted?
Is it appropriate on an open felt top?
What do local walkers who frequent these paths think?
To give the perpetrator due credit, he does leave his name. A Stewart Duxbury, who adopted the trig pillar when the OS were releasing them. But the fact that he has taken responsibility for the trig pillar doesn’t give him the right to interfere with the surrounding fell top. I hope he is reading this article, and I would be very happy to discuss the matter further with him. Why not arrange a meeting up there?
Away from the crowds, I find a new track dropping off the fell used by mountain bikers. Discretely constructed through the trees. Some of the jumps make me shudder.
I find a tree stump for a quiet lunch, hidden away only yards from one of the main forest tracks. 
Then it is down off the fell on the usual paths, yet another brilliant autumn day..
I would value any comments, as usual, particularly on my worries for the fell, especially from people who use Longridge Fell. I have no more right to the open countryside than anybody else, but I do try to respect it.
*
Is it a myth or a fact?
Friends, who have lived in Longridge all their lives, tell me that a route out of Longridge to the Thornley farms, clustered roughly along the 150m contour line on the north side of the fell, was the one postmen of old walked. No amount of historical searching, well, Google, if I am honest, has found any specific reference to this route. Maybe someone will know.
Looking at the map, there is indeed a series of farms along that side of the fell. Was it that they were established where springs issued from the fellside? Whatever they are there, and it would have been logical for the footpostmen of bygone times to link them together on the contour rather than to follow each farm’s individual access track up and down the hillside. There are paths on the ground that link up these farms, and it is these I will follow for the first part of today’s walk. 
I start in the park at the top of Longridge. I am waylaid by dog walkers wanting to chat, and dogs wanting treats. The way is actually the old quarry railway, which came this far —a popular walk with locals using Mile Lane or heading to the cafe at Little Town Dairy.
The day promises well. 
The rails went as far as Billington’s Farm below Lord’s Delph Quarry. An old gritstone stile leads onwards into the fields.
The track has the feel of an old way. 
A cluster of properties is passed before the track, as it is, takes a gate by Old Rhodes/Martin’s Croft. A cobbled courtyard serves two or three properties.
A bit of a dog leg, and I’m walking past Sharples House, which has a hidden history.
This is from a previous post.
“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 the 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. One wonders how much local history has been lost.”
The next property is very much a working farm. The right of way onwards is clear.. 
I’m approaching Higher Birks. I’ve always been fascinated by this structure in its wall. I still don’t know the answer. 
These are obviously mounting stones and are, in fact, grade II listed. C19th. 
Birks Brow Lane heads up to the fell, all very rural. 
But my way takes a stile and heads further into the countryside, with the Bowland Fells looking on. 
The way is well provided with bridges and stiles. 
Even the odd clapper stone, no longer used. 
C18th White Fold. 
The lady at Bradley’s Farm is happy to chat and is proud to point out Blackpool Tower visible way across the Fylde. Her view of Bowland from the doorstep is far more impressive. 
The next house and barn conversion are immaculate, shame about the gate on the footpath. I have gone astray here before, but today I notice a tiny footpath sign on the fence. So I go over the gate with difficulty; obviously, it would not open.
But this gets me on track through the plantation, where a great deal of felling has taken place in recent months. It’s a mess from the heavy vehicles, but should recover. Dale House across the fields looks as though it has been a row of cottages at one time. 
This reminds me to take a look at the old OS maps, courtesy of the National Library of Scotland. Superficially, nothing much has changed along here. The same properties existed in 1847. Now, some are still farms, but others have been gentrified, and their barns have converted. One, Sowerbutts, has disappeared.
Looking down into Thornley, one can see how modern farming has changed, with those massive sheds sprouting up everywhere. 
I’m now on the edge of the rough land with the fellside above, Jeffrey Hill. From up here, the views across Chipping Vale to the Fairsnape fells are stunning. 
The path weaves through Giles Farm, and the views into Bowland become even better. 
There is even a distant view of Waddington Fell, one of my hilltopsfrom the other day. You can just make out its mast. 
That’s the limit of my ‘Postie’ route, I wonder if it ever was?
Dropping down the hillside, I join an equally historic bridleway which runs through Wheatley to Thornley Hall and beyond. I remember this as a virtually impassible boggy trench, but drainage work and resurfacing a while back have given it a new lease of life—a delightful stretch.
Finding a stone wall to sit on. I stop for some lunch in the sunshine and contemplate the changing face of the countryside. There’s that farm complex I saw from above. In dairy farming, to be economical, one needs to be milking 100s of cows, which probably hardly see a blade of grass. My grandfather’s farm, on which I grew up, had no more than twenty.
There is another problem in the countryside – illegal dumping of rubbish. We have a lot more these days, and it doesn’t biodegrade. Just off the lane I’ve now reached is an old quarry, Blue Stone. I’m amazed to find it filling with waste materials. This looks like ‘organised’ dumping – I doubt its legality. One reads of unscrupulous individuals advertising rubbish clearance, only for them to subsequently illegally dispose of it. Is this happening here, or is the quarry’s owner responsible? 
What an eyesore, and I suspect toxic waste. Moving on, what’s that taste in my mouth?, I continue along the little lane… 
…I come into Wheatley, which consists of a few converted properties based around a farm. The date stone is inscribed 1774. They always used to keep a bull in the end barn. 
Out of interest, as I traverse the lower lane, I pass the start of the access tracks to all the properties I walked by higher up. 
Surprisingly, one of those new gates gives access back onto a little-used path in the fields. 
Soon, I am faced with this virtually impassable barbed wire ‘stile’. Luckily, no clothes were torn, surmounting it. The next stile was rotten wood and wobbly. Why spend all that money on a new gate without repairing subsequent stiles? 
Back at Matin’s Croft, I don’t come through the fields; instead, I use the lane up to Billingtons and then the park, wth plenty of daylight left. An interesting walk without the postbag. 
Let’s hope we may enjoy a few more autumn days like this.
*
The above shows Waddinton Fell on the left and Easington Fell on the right.
The last thing I need when I’m trying to squeeze in an afternoon fell walk is a road closed sign. 
There is no quick way around Waddington, so it is even later, 1 pm, when I park up at the summit of the B6478 road over to Newton. This road doesn’t seem to have its own name, unlike nearby ‘The Trough’ or ‘Birdy Brow’. Long ago, we called it The Moorcock Road. But the Moorcock Inn has been gone for decades, replaced with private houses.
Anyhow, I am here, the sun is shining, and the air is clear. I’m looking forward to a short fell excursion. Walking down the road from the parking, I pass Walloper Well. The fresh water flows continuously most of the year, passing cyclists often top up if they know about it. In the past, this would have been essential for horse-drawn carriages. 
My footpath leaves the road here, across boggy ground, and I wonder if it is the correct one as I flounder in the mire. Eventually, it becomes clearer and drier. I’ve been here many times, but not often in such brilliant conditions. 
Striding onwards, I don’t go to investigate Old Ned or The Wife, piles of stones on the moor. I’ve checked them out before, and they are just what the map says—piles of stones. I have never found an explanation for their origins.
The Wife?
Leaving the Right of Way, I follow a quad bike track towards the summit of Easington Fell. It’s all open access anyhow. The views open up in all directions, but most obviously towards the Yorkshire Three Peaks across the Craven Gap. A few stones mark the summit, a modest 396m.
Turning around, I head back to the road. Initially, I had planned to extend the walk into Grindleton Forest, but looking at the time, I think better of it. The wind is increasing, and it is feeling quite cold.
Over to my left, across the Ribble Valley, Pendle looks as proud as ever. 
There is a clear track back after I get through the fell gate, which seems easier than usual. 
A cross stile reminds me that the Lancashire Witches Way comes across here before heading into Bowland. 
All I have to do is follow the obvious track back to the road seen across the way. It is boggy but not too bad. Just wait until we have had some more rain. I’m aiming straight to the quarry at the summit of the road with Waddington Fell and its prominent mast behind. I can see my car clearly —the only one. 
On a whim, I decide to climb up onto Waddington Fell. But I first have to circumnavigate the extensive quarry, which is not in operation on weekends. Dropping down the road for some distance to a gate I know, which gives access onto the fell. It’s all supposed to be Open Access, but gates and walls get in my way. Nonetheless, I arrive at the trig point. Is it 395m or 396m, equalling Easington Fell, which I stood on less than an hour ago? I don’t care, as it is one of the best viewpoints in the area.
360 degrees. Down Chipping Vale, The Bowland Fells and beyond, Yorkshire’s Three Peaks, Ribblesdale, and Pendle, obviously. My attempt at a whole-panorama shoot on my phone didn’t work out, so here are a few shots from my camera that don’t do it justice. 
The walk back is along the rim of the massive quarry. 
Easington Fell in the background.
A bonus as I make my way around are views down to the Hodder Valley with the village of Newton nestled in below Beatrix Fell.
I’m still the only car parked up.
A short but very satisfying afternoon. I’m relieved to be back in the car. On Waddinton Fell, I was exposed to a vicious wind, and the temperature dropped significantly—time to get the woolly hat and gloves out of the cupboard. And it is the end of British Summer Time for this year.
*
Chipping to Longridge.
I remember visiting relations as a child in the fifties. I had to be on my best behaviour and speak only when spoken to. A lot of the time, I didn’t even know how they were related to me. My grandmother was one of thirteen, so there were so many great aunts to visit. They always seemed to be great aunts rather than uncles. Often, ‘Uncles’ and ‘Aunts’ were just close family friends. I survived the ordeals, and now sadly, all those relatives have passed away. I hope I didn’t subject my children to the same; at least family sizes have diminished somewhat.
What am I waffling on about? You may remember I adopted two wild little kittens earlier in the year. Time moves on, and they are growing into fine young cats, still completely mad but a joy to be with. Their relatives live on the fell, and it is time I paid them a visit. So today I plan a walk which passes their house. I don’t take my kittens with me, I hasten to add.
Dusty and Oscar hanging out.
I am able to catch a bus virtually from outside my house, which takes me to Chipping, from where I can walk back through the fields. Last time I did something similar, I came back over Longridge Fell, and I found it arduous. This time I will keep to the foothills and visit the relations.
The buses run hourly. I board the 12.15, and I’m in Chipping in less than a quarter of an hour, quicker than I drive these country roads. Only three people use this service today, and yet the road is busy with cars travelling between the two villages. A few years ago, when the bus service was threatened with closure, there was a massive outcry from the local population. They haven’t learnt their lesson.
I don’t need to explore Chipping, which has been done many times. But I do call in at the church and pay my respects to Lizzie Dean. Listen to this local raconteur’s story.
Ignoring the delights of the Sun Inn, Cobblestone Cafe and the Farm Shop, I march on through the top of the village, past the village community centre and the period Club Row cottages to Three Way Ends. 
I pause to look back at the three sisters, Longridge Fell, Pendle and distant Weets Hill, lined up on the horizon. The changing light, particularly on this northern side of Longridge Fell, becomes an ever-present diversion throughout the walk.
Then I take to the fields. Most of the time, the way is clear, even though it is not walked often. Rambling at its best.
Is there some racial segregation going on here? 
I have time to stop at different points to view the fells around me.
I emerge onto a country lane, one of those around here that really go nowhere. 
Down the lane, there is an awkward stile to climb in the banking before the white house. Notice the iron railings placed on corners around here to improve visibility. 
Back in the fields, I’m heading initially to Crow Trees Farm, on the southern slopes of Elmridge Fell. Through a grove of trees, which I remember being planted. 
An old track skirts the fell, and a C18th milestone gives it some antiquity. Clitheroe is eight miles, Blackburn and Garstang are etched on the other faces. 
I know I’m approaching my friends’ property when I see some decent Jumar cord replacing the farmers’ usual tatty baler twine. 
And there is the family. 
Tea is served before I move on, and familiar paths take me back to Longridge. 
An afternoon’s rural jaunt in Lancashire’s best and with a purpose. Let’s hope more like it can be squeezed in before winter.
*
