Tag Archives: Bowland

A NEW ERA.

I’ve been for a cycle ride today.

I’ve owned several cycles over the years, ever since I was a child. I learnt to ride a sit-up and beg bike in a farmer’s field when I was about six. A series of second-hand bone-shaking bikes were used for getting to school. A new Triumph cycle with Sturmey-Archer hub gears was a present for passing the ‘eleven plus’. I started going further out into the countryside of Durham and Yorkshire. Youth hostelling with mates from school became a regular holiday activity.

The early Triumph bike.

When I was about 15, I became obsessed with a racing cycle in the local bike shop window. It was something special – a hand-built Baines ‘Flying Gate’. It certainly stood out from the crowd with unusual geometry, beautiful paint work, and chrome-plated forks and stays. If I remember correctly, the cost was £20, a princely sum for a schoolboy. The shop owner agreed to keep it for 4 months for me until I had saved enough money. Somehow, I must have scrimped, saved and maybe borrowed, as eventually I walked out of the shop with that bike. I don’t have a photo of that bike, but it looked like this…

It was initially in fixed-wheel mode, and I used it for 10 and 25-mile time trials on the flat roads south of Darlington. Eventually, I upgraded to Campagnola gears, two front chain wheels and five rear sprockets. As well as my daily bike, I toured the country on it in my teens – incredible freedom in those days.

I’m with the Baines, my old mate Mel alongside.

London became home for 6 years whilst I was studying. At the end of my first year, I bought an old bike from a departing student. Heavy duty with the obligatory front basket – it served me well for all those years. I was sad to pass it on to another student when I left. I wouldn’t dare to cycle in London these days.

Professional and family life took over for a few years, but it wasn’t long before I fetched the Baines from my parents’ home and started riding the Lancashire lanes. The years passed, and eventually the bike needed a respray and general upgrade. The firm warned me that there was some corrosion in the tubing, which had me worried with thoughts of a snapped fork whilst going at speed. I used it less and less, preferring a Raleigh road bike my son made up for me, more reliable and with better gearing suited to the local hills. Notice this has my original Brooks saddle and Caradice bag.

About that time, mid to late 80s, I bought a new ‘mountain bike’, a Dawes Wild Cat. It has been a superb workhorse and has travelled the trails of Britain and Europe. You may have seen its bright yellow frame in photographs on my cycling posts of the last few years. It is still going strong.

In a bout of house/garage decluttering and clearance at the beginning of the 2000s, I stripped the Baines Flying Gate down to its frame and forks and offered it for sale on eBay. There was considerable interest in what was a prewar classic. The highest bid went to a gentleman from Bradford (where the original Baines factory was), a collector of Baines cycles. It was going to a good home, and I wish I had kept his details, as it would be interesting to see his collection. My youngest son, a cycle fanatic, has never forgiven me for selling it. An inferior example of a ‘Flying Gate’ can be seen in the Bradford Industrial Museum.

I continued cycling off and on over the years, using the Raleigh for road trips; I managed it through the Trough a couple of times, not so long ago.

https://bowlandclimber.com/2014/07/29/cycling-through-the-trough/ https://bowlandclimber.com/2014/08/07/breaking-the-50-mile-barrier/

On my regular trips to the Lot Valley, I used a variety of rickety bikes to explore the French countryside, often with wine tasting thrown in. A leisurely pace was called for.

Most cycling recently has been on off-road cycle trails using the Dawes. Morecambe Bay and The Fylde are my favourites, though I have often been around the Preston Guild Wheel. I find the local roads scary with boy racers and speeding agricultural juggernauts.

In the past, I have been somewhat dismissive of electric bikes, heavy and cumbersome and not necessary for my mainly flat rides. I vowed not to invest in one until I was well on in years. But at the end of last year, I saw Ribble Cycles, a long-established and respected Lancashire firm, was having a sale. Why wait for those years to creep up on me if there is a bargain to be had?

Their hybrid e-bike was on sale, with a £500 saving on the internet. Not certain of my sizing, etc, I wanted to see the bike first before ordering. Luckily, they have a saleroom in Clitheroe. So I booked an appointment and went across to see what was on offer. The shop is an Aladdin’s cave for cycle enthusiasts with some beautiful bikes on display. The electric Ribble Hybrid ALe was perfect, well featured and not much heavier than my mountain bike. So I arranged to purchase one, which would take about a month to deliver. The good news was that the in-shop price had been reduced by £900. I took delivery before Christmas, just as my cataract operations were scheduled. Bad weather and then my own frailties have meant that it has hardly been touched. Today, I gave it a spin to get used to its handling and motor assistance. Only a short ride to visit a friend in the hills. I have downloaded the app onto my phone, which links to the bike as a form of computer. It didn’t work for me, but I’ll worry about that later. The bike itself was comfortable to ride, well geared, and the electric motor, when needed, was a help on those hills. I will be venturing further in the coming weeks.

ON MY DOORSTEP.

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I am fortunate that I can walk on paths and quiet lanes, in pleasant countryside, directly from my house, well, only just as the urban development creeps outwards. I’m frustrated at missing all this good weather, so let’s go a little further today and try a four-mile circuit.

The Chipping Road past the cricket ground leads to the Bowland Hills, but I won’t go that far today.

On past the Derby Arms, looking every bit an English country pub.

I turn off down the chestnut-lined drive to the ‘Ferraris Hotel’, which is being transformed into a more upmarket wedding and events venue. The conversions are taking longer than anticipated, don’t they always? They have named the new venue ‘Longridge House’, which it certainly isn’t. They could have used the original name ‘Black Moss House’, which is still referenced on the OS map. There is much building activity as I walk past on a right-of-way through the grounds.

The woods close to the hotel still have a decent flush of bluebell blue. The garlic is flowering and past its best for picking, not that I am tempted after my recent near-fatal accident involving the humble plant.

Something feels a little different as I reach the fields, where have all these trees been cut down from?

It is a hot day, and I am glad to make use of the memorial bench for a rest and a drink. The bench is in memory of a farmer who once cared for these fields, which I am looking out over. That is Longridge Fell in the background.

The lanes leading back to Gill Bridge are full of white blossoms. The Hawthorn hedges are resplendent with their white flowers, ‘May Blossom’. Their fragrance is not appreciated by all.

Along the verges are more patches of white – Stitchwort, Cow Parsley, and Garlic Mustard.

I take to the open pastures to head cross-country back to the village. The lambs are looking robust and have grown well in the last few weeks of perfect spring weather. These fields are the hares’ habitat, and I see four charging off into the distance, far too quickly for a photograph. Buzzards soar above, and there is a far-off cuckoo.

I march on through the normally boggy bullrush area. When did it last rain?

This shady track brings me onto Inglewhite Road, where a decent footway takes me home.

Another short, simple walk, but with all the ingredients of a nature ramble on my doorstep.

I have a list of modest projects I hoped to complete this year, including the Pilgrimage to Lichfield from Whalley, the Fife Coastal and Pilgrim trails, filling gaps of the Great Chalk Way, and the Trans Pennine cycle trail. My muscles are currently struggling, and I can’t even shoulder a rucksack, so I hope you will bear with me as I try to find enough interest in staying local.

OUR HOME FELL.

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After my glorious day in Bowland yesterday, I was content to potter around the house today. After breakfast, I lost myself in an hour-long video depicting the climbing scene in Llanberis over the last 50 years or so. And what an anarchic scene it was, with lots of interesting characters involved, but that won’t necessarily interest you. If, however, you are curious – https://www.ukclimbing.com/videos/categories/trad_climbing/adra-6479

Another cup of coffee is being enjoyed when the phone rings. It is JD suggesting a walk up to Spire Hill (Longridge Fell to you). “It is less than 10 miles, and we will be back before it rains at 4 o’clock”. I rarely turn down an offer of a walk with good company; I’m just grateful that friends still include me. “I’ll be round to your house in 20 minutes“

My day sack is ever ready, packed with the necessaries. All I need to add is some water and snacks.

JD lives towards the top of Longridge, and it is only a short drive to the edge of the village to start the walk. It is breezy but not as cold as yesterday, so I don’t need any extra layers this time. The lane is familiar territory, and we chat the time away. Before long, we reach the Newdrop Inn crossroads, the inn is now closed and converted into residential units, but it will always be the Newdrop to us.

A little further, we leave the road to walk past a small reservoir and through rough moorland. Our attention is taken by a Roe Deer buck bounding across the land. I doubt whether my phone camera will catch it. And there is another. Their white posteriors are so prominent—magic moments.

Joining the lane, we climb higher onto the fell, now on rough ground. The land owner up here is courting controversy with drainage ditches, tree felling and worst of all, a six-foot boundary fence topped off with two unnecessary barbed wires—just the height for that lovely deer to rip open its belly.

Passing on, we weave through all the fallen trees. There is devastation on this part of the forest caused by recent storms.

Our goal is not far away now. We have a break at the trig point and watch a Peregrine fly past.

More walkers arrive, several with dogs off the lead. Not good news for ground-nesting birds, notices clearly advise the correct etiquette. But I find some dog owners self-endowed.

It’s downhill all the way on the lane past the golf club, and we reach the car as the first drops of rain appear.

A simple walk over familiar territory to that good viewpoint, Spire Hill, 350m. When walking with someone and chatting away, I don’t take many photographs, which may be a good thing. Here are a few.

The lane leading to the fell, seen high above.

There is a sheep in there somewhere.

The Newdrop.

A blurry buck, well camouflaged, except for his white rump.

This stately pine could become one of my favourite trees, I have several.

The new lord of the manor’s gates…

…and his welcoming signs.

That lethal barbed wire fence.

Picking a way through storm damage.

Spire Hill trig,350m, with the Bowland Fells in view.

Identifying Wood Sorrel.

***

Our route from the village.

CAST NOT A CLOUT.

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I’m sitting at the true summit of Fairsnape Fell, 522m. While I eat my sandwich lunch, I enjoy clear views of the three peaks of Yorkshire. I had prepared that sandwich last night, thinking I might head to Manchester to continue my pilgrimage. I awoke this morning at 6 am, came down to make coffee and feed the kittens. Retiring back to bed and crosswords, I dozed off. The sun was streaming through my window a couple of hours later. It is too late to go to Manchester with all the faffing of buses and trains. But not too late to make the best of the day with a climb up into the Bowland Hills. A sunny forecast tempts me out.

This sign will give a clue to some as to where I’m setting off from. I buy a dozen and pop them in the car before I leave.

A climb up to Saddle End Farm and on to the fell above. Another walker catches me and steams ahead. I plod on. The cold east wind of the last few days has been replaced by an equally cold wind from the west. My hands feel cold, but my steady progress keeps me warm. Although the Gorse and Blackthorn are in bloom below, the May has not flowered yet – hence the rural adage.

It’s wilderness up here. I pass the site of a tragedy long forgotten. The other walker in front of me probably doesn’t know the history.

On the 26th March 1962, three siblings left home and travelled by bus to Chipping and
walked over the fells, maybe to Langden Castle, on their return over Saddle Fell, they were caught in a blizzard, which resulted in the two brothers losing their lives due to hypothermia. Their sister survived to raise the alarm at Saddle End Farm. There was no Mountain Rescue Team in the area at that time, so police and locals searched with BAC loaning a helicopter to help. Shortly after this tragedy, two Mountain Rescue teams were formed in the area, the forerunners of Bowland Pennine MRT.

I mention the above because it is thought that the boys may have sheltered in a small stone hut. I remember early walks on Saddle Fell in the 70s, the hut being by the track I’m on today, its roof was almost intact.

Don’t forget I am the tortoise nowadays. And what worries me more is the story of the lost fellrunner in 2011.
https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-lancashire-15191235

The fast walker in front of me bypasses the true summit, probably because he doesn’t know of its existence.

I take that slight diversion to the top. An extra windproof layer is added while I gaze over to Yorkshire..

Our weather is fickle. not often that one can walk in a straight line between the two Fairsnape summits, the peat would swallow you up. But after three weeks of dry weather, the going is ‘good to firm’ and I make progress towards the western summit, with its cairn, shelter, trig point and people. It is a popular destination, and today I meet people from further afield, Easter holidaying. They are all in praise of our Lancashire hills. And all is good with clear views across Morecambe Bay and beyond.

Gliders swoosh past, making the most of the uplift from Bleasdale.

It’s a grand romp along the skyline to outwit Parlick by that rake traversing right.

More and more people are coming up, but I’m soon down out of the wind at Fell Foot. There is a bit of a rough stretch before open fields past secretive Wolfen Hall, with Pendle and Longridge Fell across the way.

I always enjoy the little valley of the infant Chipping Brook. Today in the plantation, Bird Cherries stand out.

I cut across fields with gambling lambs to reach my car – a walk far greater than its parts. Uplifting, wilderness, skylarks and sunshine. I’m ready for the rest of the year now, and I have the eggs for my supper.

***

BIRTHDAY FAMILY FUN.

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A self-indulgent post.

Birthdays come around every year. This year, we decided to celebrate as a family. A quiet getaway for us to meet up without too much fuss; no surprises, balloons or embarrassing kissagrams.

For some time since it reopened, I have enjoyed eating at the Cross Keys Inn at Whitechapel. I refer to its reincarnation in recent years. There has been a Cross Keys here for over a century; it was known affectionately to locals, tongue in cheek, as the Dorchester.

The original building was a farm called Lower Oakenhead, dating back to the mid-1700s. Sometime in the first half of the 19th century, the owners expanded into the licensed trade, and the property became a coaching inn, The Cross Keys, that operated alongside the farm. When I used to visit it in the 70s/80s, three Hesketh brothers ran the farm and inn. Often, you couldn’t get a drink until they had finished milking. I remember the pool table, open fireplace and dominoes. The brothers needed to retire to bed early for the morning’s milking but would leave the bar open with an honesty box. As well as beer, they strangely sold Uncle Joe’s Mint Balls.

ttps://chorleyinnsandtaverns.blogspot.com/p/goosnargh-whitechapel-cross-keys-inn.html

It closed eventually in 2004 and was bought in 2009 by a local builder, John Holden. He slowly renovated the inn and commenced on converting the stables, cowsaheds and storerooms into holiday lets. Reopening in 2021: The postal address of the holiday properties has been renamed Dorchester Drive in deference to its history.

It seemed the perfect place for a family gathering, so I reserved two lodges for the weekend, with the original intention that the dogs could accompany us. Booking the meal arrangements was slightly marred by my inability to drive; I like to do things face-to-face, and telephone conversations were vague regarding seating. Eventually, a friend gave me a lift up there, and I made final arrangements but without the dogs for various reasons. At least once we were there, cars wouldn’t be needed for the weekend.

Our small family, eight of us, met up there on the Friday evening; to my relief, the lodges were spacious and luxurious. Across at the inn, we were soon seated at a table adjacent to the bar, which was extremely busy and noisy with Friday night drinkers. I’m glad I’d arranged for us to be in the separate room where we could hear ourselves talk. The evening went well, with everybody enjoying the meal and atmosphere. We retired to one of the lodges for family games.

Breakfast was served for us the next morning, and it was excellent.

The plan for the day was to walk five or six miles from the Inn without having to drive, but on returning to our lodge, the key no longer worked in my hand or all the other family members who thought they had the knack. Back to the bar. Dan, the man, came to investigate but couldn’t do any better. He phoned the property owner’s representative, but she was at the hairdresser’s. Don’t worry; it will all be sorted by the time you return from your walk. But no, all the stuff we need is in the lodge—another call to the building firm that owns the complex. John was around in no time. His key didn’t work either. A call to his friend, the locksmith, was thwarted by his attendance at a football match. He then called brother Chris to help out. By now, there was a crowd outside watching the proceedings and giving advice.

An increasing arsenal of heavy-duty tools was employed to break through the door’s bottom panel. Burglars look away. J and C managed to remove it, with J flying through the hole created, much to the amusement and applause of the crowd.

We retrieved the gear we needed for the day’s walk and left the scene of devastation.

The planned walk across fields directly from the inn went well.

Soon, we were down to the bridge over the River Brock. There was very little water in the river.

The valley was busy with families and dog walkers. We looked a mottley lot.An earth slide proved popular with children and my not-so-young grandsons.

Leaving the river, we went through fields to come out at the base of Beacon Fell. The fun included grass whistling, a forgotten art… … and impromptu rounders.

Tree hugging is de rigueur with my family. And there were some grand trees to hug.

The trig point had to be visited.
More fun was had on the gymnastic apparatus.

Some of us walked down the snake.

and of course, the cafe for coffee and ice creams. We were lucky to have a sunny day.

The route back down the fell passed through the interesting houses of Crombleholme.

I knew the path direct to the Cross Keys was usually boggy, and so it proved today, but everyone enjoyed the challenge. A few added to the challenge by jumping the streams.

Some of us went to look around the nearby churchyard to seek out a C18th sundial. The church itself was locked.

Back at the lodges, most of us had a snooze before reconvening for pre-dinner drinks.

Another successful meal followed in the much quieter dining room. The food and staff were excellent. Back to the apartment for more fun and games, although we were all tired, so retired at a sensible hour.

Sunday dawned drizzly, we packed up and returned to my house for breakfast/lunch. Cards and presents were opened. By now, it was dry, and so the whole family descended upon Craig Y Longridge, the local bouldering venue. The three grandchildren were performing feats way beyond my ability. But I did manage to cling on with my bad hand long enough for a group photo.

What a successful weekend, thanks to my family. You’re not twenty-one every year.

What’s the secret to growing old gracefully?

Time
Health
A quiet mind
Slow mornings
Ability to travel
Rest without guilt
A good night’s sleep
Calm and boring days
Meaningful conversations
Home cooked meals
People you love
People who love you back

Ah, well, I’ll be back at the hospital tomorrow.

For the record, here is our recommended walking circuit of about six miles directly from the inn.

COVID LOCKDOWN – FIVE YEARS ON.

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In late January 2020, I was staying in a pub in Stainforth, halfway through a Yorkshire Dales walk. It was Chinese New Year, and there was a Chinese Banquet on offer. My comment on my post that day – “There was talk in the bar of a new virulent virus spreading in China“

That virus crept up on us. And by March, we were locked down, a new addition to the dictionary. Perhaps, in hindsight, we should have reacted sooner, but as they say, hindsight is a wonderful thing; foresight is what is needed.

It started slowly.

30 January – The first two cases of COVID-19 in the United Kingdom are confirmed: two Chinese nationals staying in York.

4 March. The total number of confirmed cases 27.

5 March. The first death from COVID-19 in the UK is confirmed,as the number of cases exceeds100.

10 March. HM Government allows the Cheltenham Festival to go ahead.

16 March. PM says, “Now is the time for everyone to stop non-essential contact and travel”

19 March. PM says the UK can “turn tide of coronavirus” in 12 weeks.

20 March. Cafes, pubs and restaurants to close.

23 March, PM announces lockdown in the UK, ordering people to “stay at home”

16 April. Lockdown extended for ‘at least’ three weeks.

30 April. PM says, “We are past the peak” of the pandemic.

Two metres social distancing. Work from Home. Eat out to help out. Rule of six. Face masks. Three Tier System. And so it went on with second and third lockdowns.

Looking back at my posts, I started to self-isolate in February 2020. I was in a vulnerable group for various reasons and was thinking ahead of the government. My walking became restricted to my immediate locality, but I still valued daily exercise. I was lucky that on my doorstep was accessible countryside, and I made the best of local footpaths, avoiding most people.

Today, I revisited one of those local walks. What has changed in five years?

Most evidently, there is a significant housing development on this side of town. Inglewhite Meadows is its ironic name.

As I walk away from town, more expensive bungalows are lining Inglewhite Road.

Have a read and compare photos from five years ago. https://bowlandclimber.com/2020/04/20/a-bitter-taste-in-my-mouth/

These new stiles have started to appear around the district.

I am glad to get onto the quieter Ashley Lane. Even here, two ‘executive houses’ have been completed and occupied. There is no such thing as a green belt any more; anything goes. Just follow the money.

At last, I’m in the fields, and all is peace and quiet, just as it was in lockdown. Not many people use these paths anymore. I follow my instincts and eventually hit the footbridge across the stream, Mill Brook. There was once a mill further downstream near Goosnargh. The farmer sees fit to dump his waste in the field.

March Hares are popping up all over the place, and in the trees, the starlings are preparing for a murmuration I only just briefly catch..

Going back on myself, I recross the stream and head up to the waterboard pumphouse. From up here, the hills are reassuringly the same.

The Bowland Hills.

Longridge Fell.

Now enclosed by a new fence, I head towards the road. I’m sure these two were here before. https://bowlandclimber.com/2021/01/18/a-quiet-sunday/

The stile onto the busy road is lethal; you are in danger of stepping straight into the traffic.

I stroll back home, three miles completed and glad of the freedom we now enjoy. But could it all happen again?

I’ve enjoyed reading back through my old posts from that period and how we all managed.

***

THE STEEP SIDE OF LONGRIDGE FELL.

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Longridge Fell is an example of a cuesta; the ridge has a sharp drop or escarpment on its northern side and a gentler slope on its southern side.

Today, I was tackling that steep northern side.

A tardy start to the day meant I was too late for journying to East Lancs to continue my Manchester ‘pilgrimage’. But the forecast was too good to miss, so a quick change of plan sees me catching the number 5 bus to Chipping; there is a stop on my corner. There are only two of us heading to Chipping.

The bus turnaround is next to St Bartholomew’s Church; I wander into the graveyard to pay my respects to Lizzy Dean, whose tragic story I have mentioned several times in these pages. Her gravestone is under the ancient yew tree. The church was established before 1230 and rebuilt in 1506, so one can only guess the tree’s age.

Lizzie was a maid living in the Sun in the year 1835. She met up with a local lad who claimed the deepest love for her and proposed to her, and she gladly accepted. However, two days before the wedding, James told Lizzie he had fallen in love with her friend Elsie and called off their wedding day. He now planned to marry Elsie in the church opposite.

On the wedding day, Lizzie went up to the pub attic overlooking the churchyard. She wrote a suicide note, placed a rope around her neck, and died. The note in her fist read, “I want to be buried at the entrance to the church so my lover and my best friend will always have to walk past my grave every time they go to church.”

The story doesn’t end there. For almost 200 years, the ghost of Lizzie has haunted the Sun Inn and the churchyard opposite. Just ask anyone in the village.

A cyclist who had passed me back in Longridge whilst I was waiting for the bus is attending a grave. We exchange pleasantries. It turns out to be his parents’ grave. All his family came from Chipping, and many worked in the nearby Berry chair factory. He points out the adjacent grave where two of his uncles are buried following a car crash in Longridge in 1973. Three chairworkers died in that accident. http://kirkmill.org.uk/workmates-killed-in-tragic-accident-december-1973/

He is cycling back to Garstang while I am heading for the fell, which I can see plainly across the vale to the south—first, a stroll down historic Windy Street.

Once out of the village, I pick up a field track by the bridge over Chipping Brook. I have never found the paths easy to follow in this area, but today, things have improved by the way marking for the relatively new Ribble Valley Jubilee Trail. https://www.ribblevalley.gov.uk/mayor-1/mayors-walk

Strangely, all the gates and stiles have been dismantled, leaving free passage for animals between the fields leading to Pale Farm, and they have certainly curned up the wet ground. Lapwings are heard but not seen, but March Hares bound out in front of me. Some convoluted ‘diversions’, well signed, lead me past the next habitations.

Alongside these fields, a new wastewater treatment works is being constructed, a significant undertaking in the valley.

I then strike out across ready fields, aiming for a footbridge over the infant Loud with the steep slopes of Longridge Fell looming up above. Cardwell House, my destination, can be clearly seen at the top.
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A LOCAL RAMBLE.

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What a beautiful day again. It was a frosty start but full sun, blue skies and no wind. Perfect for a walk. Again, I’m in luck. I have a phone call from a friend, C, suggesting coffee and maybe a walk. She knows of my predicament.

My ‘pilgrimage’ to Manchester is on hold; I would probably have been there by now, given the settled weather. But I’m delighted to be able to get out; my left hand is still useless, so I feel safer with the company.

After a coffee and a catchup, we set off on some of the lanes in Thornley.

Ferrari’s Country Inn has been in the same family for years but has recently been sold to Elle R Leisure, which owns other hotels and dining venues in the NW. Originally named Blackmoss House, it was built by the Earl of Derby in 1830 and was previously used as a shooting lodge. It was part of the Derby Estates until the late 1970s when it was taken over by the Ferrari family and transformed into a wedding venue. The new owners will name it Longridge House, which I think is a bit tame and has no real connectivity. Why not Blackmoss House or Hotel?

Today, there is much building activity in progress. It looks like an extension into the garden may be planned—lots of rubble, skips full of redundant goods, and burning mattresses. We poke into the skips and find whole dinner sets of white crockery. What a waste when they could have gone to charity. We speak to the friendly foreman who says we can help ourselves to whatever. (I just had a message from C to say that a carload is already on the way to the charity shops)

We walk on away from the acrid smoke. Across the fields, more massive ‘agricultural’ buildings have appeared. There is speculation about their use; a red glow surrounds them at night! The plot thickens.

Friends live in a cottage on the ridge above; we can see his house from here. I’ll have to ask them for information. I need to visit them sometime, possibly to acquire another couple of kittens. Here is the collection from a week ago.
The fields around Blackmoss are studded with molehills; some look ginormous.

On the road, we cross Gill Bridge over the infant Loud. We discuss the strange watershed hereabouts, which has the Loud flowing eastwards away from the coast to join the Hodder, which loops all the way around Longridge Fell to join the Ribble before reaching the coast. Meanwhile, streams just to the west, Sparling Brook and Westfield Brook, flow directly to the Wyre and out to sea, a much shorter and direct route.

In geological history, the Hodder did not flow eastward around Longridge Fell to join the River Ribble but instead ran westward along the Loud Valley from Doeford Bridge to the Derby Arms north of Longridge, continuing south-westward through Halfpenny Lane on the west side of Longridge to join either Blundell Brook past Broughton church and Woodplumpton to join the River Wyre, or else Savick Brook through Fulwood to join the River Ribble (Wikishire)

No explanation for this is given. I have read somewhere that glacial deposits blocked the Hodder in a previous ice age, creating the watershed and the present flow of water. The other is that the earth’s crust buckled or tilted to create the division.

Taking to the fields, we head back. Going in the opposite direction to my usual sorties, my navigation is not up to scratch. Along here somewhere, we lose contact with C’s dog, causing some consternation for a while. Of course, she comes bounding back as though nothing had happened. Safely on the lead now through the farm, along Clay Lane and onto the roadside pavement.

Longridge Fell, looming above.

We part company at Mile Lane, which I follow up into the park.

I want to see a new tree planting here. Here is the idea.

Longridge Environment Group

We are delighted to share that Longridge is about to join a small number of pioneering towns and villages across Britain with a micro-wood, or Miyawaki micro forest, at John Smith’s Playing Field. Led by Lancashire County Council’s Treescapes initiative, experts in this approach to ecology, and supported by Longridge Environment Group.

A miniature woodland, about the size of a tennis court, which is planted with native trees at ultra-high density on a specially prepared plot. To protect the tiny young trees from damage by deer and other browsing animals, the plot is ringfenced by chestnut paling.

Woodland soils have a fundamentally different character from those in grasslands. When trees are planted directly into grassland soils, they often have a higher failure (death) rate than those planted in woodlands. While most survive, they’re vulnerable to disease and drought stress and grow very slowly, as they expend so much energy on simply staying alive and healthy.

In a micro-wood, the trees are planted into a specially prepared plot, where the ground has been modified to create conditions much better suited to young trees. First, the turf is inverted, burying the vigorous grass and competing for nutrients with the trees. Then, the ground is cultivated to loosen the soil. This opens up air pockets, allowing water to percolate through the root zone, trapping warmth and allowing the roots to grow without forcing their way through cold, compacted soil. We then add about ten tonnes of organic matter, usually spent mushroom compost or well-rotted manure, topped off with about the same quantity of bark mulch. As well as fertilising the trees, this provides an instant home to the fungi, microbes and invertebrates that form the rich ecosystem supporting the trees. The mulch will also seal in water, be invaluable in hot, dry spells, and suppress competitive weeds, replicating the effect of leaf litter on a woodland floor.

When we plant the trees, we first dip them in a gloop infused with mycorrhizal fungi, enabling them to tap into soil nutrients more efficiently. The soil now resembles that of a woodland rather than a field. Conventional tree planting is carried out at a much lower density. However, when woodlands form naturally, the trees often grow at very high density. The trees that thrive initially aren’t usually the ones that create the mature woodland canopy. Species such as rowan, birch and hawthorn often grow much more vigorously than oaks in the first few years. These “pioneer” species act as a nurse crop for the trees that will later form the “climax” canopy of the mature woodland. The species mix for Longridge’s microwood includes pioneer and climax species and the small trees and shrubs forming the underwood of trees growing below the canopy.

We follow the theory of potential natural vegetation, devised by Prof Akira Miyawaki, who advised this woodland creation technique in Japan in the 1970s. In a nutshell, we plant the assemblage of trees in the correct proportions that we think would grow on a site, with a few compromises if natural processes were allowed to take hold. We don’t plant sycamore because it will get there anyway, and we don’t plant ash or elm because of the diseases they’re suffering from.

Once the roots have become acclimatised, the trees will proliferate from late spring. Expect rowan, elder and other pioneer species to get going first. The odd one may put on over 1.5m in the first growing season. Some trees may even produce flowers and fruit in year one. The trees will form a dense thicket within two or three years. This will provide a home to vast numbers of insects and other invertebrates. These animals are the larder newly hatched songbirds, bats, hedgehogs, frogs, toads and newts. In time, a pair or two of breeding songbirds may nest there, and amphibians will find it a safe and sheltered place to hibernate.

They haven’t planted any trees yet, but the site looks tidy and prepared with mulch and bark. I’m not sure the fence is high enough to keep out deer. it will be interesting to see how this project develops.

My next port of call is JD’s house. Again, more coffee and catchup.

He accompanies me back, taking me through the new housing estate, which is far more extensive than seen from the road. Parts of it are quite attractive, with great views across to the Bowland Hills – for now. There seems to be an adequate number of ‘affordable’ properties, some of them bungalows suitable for the elderly.

We part company at Sainsbury’s, and I return home after a decent and interesting ramble. It’s not been easy taking pictures on my phone one-handed.

I dine on soup from the freezer for the third night running. convenient and wholesome.

A SNOWY FORAY.

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Who doesn’t like a snowy scene?

The other day, I drove up to the New Drop Inn from the Hall’s Arms. Both these long-established locals are now closed, one becoming a business centre and the other residential units. The road was just clear of snow, but there was little room for passing other cars. The temperature hadn’t risen above freezing for a few days. I was hoping to walk around Cowley Brook Plantation to complete my year’s archive of photographs. My usual pull-ins looked dicey. I was afraid I would become stuck, so I turned tail and drove home, probably the most sensible option.

The freeze continues. Thankfully, no more snow falling around here, and the sun shines brightly. I can’t resist another attempt to walk the fell in these conditions. This time, I take caution to heart and park easily at the New Drop crossroads. The side road coming directly up from Longridge past the golf course looks treacherous, and I wish I had brought my microspikes as I walk a hundred yards or so down it.

My footprints are the only ones coming through the waterboard gate by Cowley Brook. Lovely crunching sounds as I pass into the plantation: a couple of roe deer run across my path into the trees, too fast for a photo.

Knowing my way up the hillside, I arrive at my four-way photo spot.

I have time to admire the frozen minutiae.

Continuing through the trees to reach my other fixed point.

Mission accomplished, I will put together a montage of the year later or perhaps record another year of changes in the young plantation.

While I’m up here, why don’t I go farther up the fell? It is difficult walking in the snow in the plantation, so I decide to use the road to gain the fell proper. There is very little traffic. Pendle Hill has become a giant in its winter garb.

Through the gate onto the fell, and I trudge up alongside the wall. Only a few have passed this way. I avert my eyes from the scene of the ‘Grim up North’ tree massacre. Time is a little tight, so I don’t go to the trig point but arc around at the Christmas Tree to take the balcony route back to the Jeffrey Hill carpark. The views across Bowland are spectacular, as are the distant ones into Yorkshire.

As I reach the car park, I see a motorist in trouble on the icy roads below. A notorious blackspot where cars have, in the past, slid off the hill into the fields below. I’m not sure why anyone would have driven up here in the first place. A crowd gathers out of nowhere to give advice. Luckily, the driver, unprepared in his own words, manages to dig himself out, avoid the drop and continue down the slippery road.

I march along the road back to my car, a great four miles in the perfect Winter scenery.

***

DON’T FORGET TO FEED THE BIRDS.

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An overnight dump of snow has transformed the surroundings. My car, which I shall not be moving today, is under four inches of the white stuff.

The back garden looks neat and tidy for the first time in months. I put out the usual ground feed and the select seeds on the bird table. Within minutes the blackbirds are fighting over the oats, and the coal tits are raiding the seeds.

The morning slips away.

I eventually decide on a walk. I am lucky I can reach the countryside directly from my doorstep without using the car. I have no real plan. I walk past the cricket pitch. The road, where cars have passed, is easier to use than the rutted pavement. Up ‘Mile Lane’ is my usual route. I hear the joyful cries of children long before I see them sledging down the field.

Even in the semi-urban landscape, there are sheep struggling for survival.

Someone has been out early in the park and built an igloo. I used to do that and sleep out for the night in the garden.

Everyone is in a chatty mood, so progress is slow. Hence I decide on a short loop around the reservoir rather than the longer fell road, which I did yesterday. From up here, there are views across the valley to Beacon Fell and the Bowland Fells (in cloud).

I peek into Craig Y and share a picture of it on its Facebook page.

As I wander back through the streets, more snow is in the air. It won’t be good if it freezes tonight. Around the corner, a friend, JD, is building a snowman for his grandchildren. All jolly good fun.

A BOWLAND BLAST ON THE BEACON.

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Those strange days before Christmas.

I’ve done my shopping, made the stuffing and wrapped the presents. Time for some fresh air, we are not having a frosty winter, the air is mild but the wind is howling. A short walk would suffice.

One could hardly stand upright next to the trig point on Beacon Fell—a strong, cold wind blasting straight from the northwest. I took a photo of the next rainband coming in off the sea and one of Parlick above the conifers, then retreated to the shelter of the trees. Although I was made aware of the danger of falling trees by the groaning noises coming from them in the gale.

There was a brief break in the winter showers,, but not the wind. I parked at 2 pm in the Quarry; mine was the only car. Most peopla are crushing the supermarkets. I know, or think I know, every path on the fell, a country park, but today I halted at the new map board installed just after the pond. Why not follow the red route? The Summit Trail sounds about right. Of course, as the walk progresses, I end up using the Sculpture Trail and then the Fellside Trail and probably others.

My red trail takes me through the trees to the information centre and cafe. I was hoping they would have a bedecked real Christmas tree on display, there are plenty of specimens on the fell, so I could get a seasonal photograph to illustrate this post, mot likely my last before the big day. No luck.

I poke my nose into the building, a little late for a coffee but I join a family at the window seats to observe the many species using the bird feeders. Good to see youngsters enthusiastic about nature. At one time, this cafe boasted that it was open 364 days a year, but Covid stopped that, and now, if you want a brew or a snack, avoid Mondays or Tuesdays.

I climb up to look at Thomas Dagnall’s Orme View – now, who does that remind me of?

I now find myself on the blue sculpture trail, which I happily follow, rediscovering a series of wooden carvings.

After visiting the summit, I head back on the Fellside Trail – a quick hour’s walk. I was still the only car in the car park before heading home to check the drinks.

BREAKDOWNS AND BOWLAND BLUE.

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I’ve had my fair share of motoring breakdowns in the past. I’d not been running new cars in later years, more like old crocks. My Mazda Is now 25 years old, but it rarely lets me down. Unfortunately, the last time it did was on a ‘smart’ motorway. The experience has left me traumatised and very wary of venturing onto such motorways. I was fortunate to crawl into one of their scarce emergency refuge areas. “A ‘place of relative safety’ you can pull into if you have an emergency and need to stop driving on an all-lane running motorway”. That was only the start of my problems. Using their roadside emergency phone was almost impossible due to the constant traffic noise. Trying to give details of my AA membership and location took an inordinate time over the phone. I was eventually rescued. The next day, I installed the AA app on my mobile. (Other breakdown services are available)

‘Cometh the hour cometh the app’ to misquote Churchill and others. The hour came this week after a meet-up lunch with my Skipton cousin in the Spread Eagle at Sawley. Leaving the car park, in the Daccia this time, I heard a crunching sound from my back offside wheel. Going a little farther, it became louder, and smoke appeared from the wheel as it locked up; it was time to stop.

Time to call the AA. Simple this time: open the app, press a button on my mobile, enter a few details, and a man is on his way. He arrives in twenty minutes and diagnoses the problem – seized disc brakes preventing the wheel from rotating. He can’t tow me, and I imagine waiting a long time for a low loader to take me home. But no, this man is resourceful. He can’t free the brakes, but with a magic piece of engineering, which I didn’t understand, he fitted a freewheel to the outside of the hub. Thus, I could drive the car, although minus one brake, as he followed behind with flashing lights.

We were back at my garage before it closed. They have a backlog of work at this time of year, so I didn’t expect to see my car until after Christmas. To my surprise, I had a phone call this morning to say the job was done, new discs fitted, and I could collect it anytime. Thumbs up to the AA and my local garage.

Thus, I am now parked up at Chipping for a short walk to make the most of this dry, sunny day. The gritters are out in the village, just managing to squeeze through the narrow streets. It is cold.

Several of you will recognise this walk, one of my winter standbys, but to disguise it somewhat, I’m walking clockwise today. Usually, I go anticlockwise, widdershins, as they say in Scotland. Everywhere is bedecked for the season.

Up past the old mills, Chipping was once an industrial hub. The chair works closed in 2011, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kirk_Mill The road is surprisingly steep.

Round the corner the lane heads to the fells, enclosed by hedges. Look at that blue sky.

And there is Parlick with its wrinkles highlighted in the low sun. I have climbed some of those gullies in winter’s past when they iced up sufficiently. And there across the valley is Longridge Fell shadowed by its larger neighbour Pendle.

At the end of the lane up to Saddle End farm, I’m pleased to see the hens are still laying, I buy half a dozen.

It’s all downhill from here with time to take in the scenery on the way to the the sheep farm.

This is where you look out over the laund, an ancient deer park. I never tire of this view.

Down through the grounds of Leagram Hall, I stop again to admire some of the ancient oaks. All too soon, I’m back at my car. The day is closing, and the northerly wind is biting deep.

ALL QUIET ON THE FELL.

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I stop at the trig point. My anemometer, a licked finger held above my head, records not even a zephyr. I am well away from roads, so all is complete silence, absolute stillness—a rare occurrence in modern times. I absorb the experience and drift into another world, unaware of how time passes. The Bowland Fells look on impassively, and far away, Pen Y Ghent just nods to the occasion. This is somehow special; my regular walk transformed by the absence of sound.

I nearly didn’t make it. Halfway up after stopping for a drink, I became unsteady and started stumbling. Was this the start of a stroke? I thought, and I turned around to get back before anything worse happened. Nobody ever knows where I am. After a few more faltering steps, I realised one of my spectacle lenses had fallen out, and I was temporarily confused and disorientated. Calming down, I stopped, removed my useless glasses, and then retraced my last few metres. No sign of the missing lens, I had to repeat this course several times before I find it in the peat. No damage was done.

So I continued to the trig point. The going was boggy but nowhere near the Lincolnshire mud I experienced last week. However, I did notice a sign has appeared on the fenced-off private land that warns of sinking mud. I’m not sure who it is aimed at now that barbed wire prevents access. Possibly their workers. I see they are at work with diggers farther down the field; we still don’t know what transpires on that land.

Farther on, I found more trees down, probably Storm Darragh. It certainly wouldn’t have been quiet up here in that wind. It’s eery in the forest. Several of you have battled through the forests on Longridge Fell and realise that not a lot of clearance has occurred. I’m never sure which footpaths up here are rights of way or concessional paths, so don’t always complain to the authorities about blocked ways. In any case, would they have the funds to carry out remedial action during these austere times? So, for now, we can all have our own little adventure.

I passed the ‘Longridge Fell Christmas Tree’. I think it’s in a different position from last year. It looked a bit dishevelled, probably after a thrashing from Storm Darragh at the weekend. As I said all quiet.

A VIEW FROM THE ‘RIDGE.

13 Replies

Up here in Lancashire, we missed most of Storm Bert’s venom. There were a couple of days of icy weather and then lots of rain. I escaped from Chorley Hospital yesterday without any serious problems. Time to get out for a walk.

My morning was taken by awkward ‘joinery’ to enlarge the hole for Seth’s new cat flap. There are intruders on the prowl, one particular cat seems to spend most of his time in my garden and has gained entry into my house on a couple of occasions. Not what I want. With all the new houses in Longridge there are more cats about, not to mention dogs. I took the plunge and ordered an electronic cat flap that would only open to Seth’s chip. It’s arrived, and I try to decipher the instructions for programming and installing. It was easy to program, and Seth duly obliged and walked through it. That was yesterday. Today, I started on the installation, and I’m not finished yet.

The day is disappearing and I need to get out and make the most of the forecast. After all the rain, I think I’ll just opt for a road circuit up the fell. One I have done so many times. I bump into JD on the way, and we join forces for a modest stroll.

Here are a few photos taken on my phone as we progressed.

Craig Y in the strange light.

Looking out over the houses to the Ribble Valley and beyond.

A deserted Golf Course was closed because of flooding.

Cowley Brook Plantation.

Distant Pendle.

Fairsnape/Totridge group across the valley.

Looking out over Longridge reservoirs and the Fylde.

Sainsbury’s sunset.

A short walk of under five miles, the sun was setting by the time we returned. Nothing dramatic but we put the world to rights, which is a good thing.

I’ll finish off the cat flap tomorrow.

Bleasdale with BC

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Tuesday 12th November 2024 Kemple End has been a fantasy location for a number of years with its quirky name tickling my imagination. Bowland Climber has mentioned it many times during our years of walking together but it has remained a kind of mystery for me, even to my questioning its actual existence, and somehow we…

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Bleasdale with BC

I didn’t have time to write this one, so I’m grateful for Sir Hugh’s version.

I have one photo to add. Sir Hugh on the slippery slope. It is more straightforward to climb back up than descend.

FUNGAL ABUNDANCE?

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Am I pleased I didn’t set forth on the Sarsen Way down in Wiltshire last week? They have had more than their fair share of rain. Pottered around at home, took delivery of a new cycle (more of that later), done a bit of easy bouldering in the quarries, and had a few walks up the fell on the better days.

My eldest grandson came to stay for a couple of days and we ventured onto the now, once again, boggy fell. It will only get worse as the year progresses.

What struck me was the amount of fungi already springing up amongst the trees. Using the phone’s aps we tried our best to identify most of them. We have been short of insects this year so let’s hope for an abundant fungal autumn.

I have made it my intention this autumn to become more proficient at fungal identification, did I say that last year? There are plenty of trees down in the woods for them to grow on. Must remember to take my camera next time.

WHAT’S HAPPENING ON LONGRIDGE FELL?

8 Replies

The rockman comes to Longridge for a short walk, where else would I take him, apart from up Longridge Fell? I have an ulterior motive. Some new groundwork has been carried out on the fell, and I want to investigate.

It promises to be a hot, sunny day once more.

A new dog-poo bag bin has been installed by the gate, courtesy of Thornley and Wheatley Council. I hope someone empties it regularly, as it is not that large. The first two pieces of littering on the track are guess what?

Steadily up to the trig point, which is already occupied, we get employed as official photographers of the couple on their first visit. The views are stunning with Ingleborough and Pen-y-Ghent clearer than usual.

We warn the couple of some difficulty getting along the ridge in the forest due to all the windblown trees. Some have been cut back but more seem to have come down in the most recent winds.

Just the other day, my son sent me a picture he took in 2002 when I camped up here with my oldest grandson, who was about five or six at the time. He remembers it well, particularly the baked beans and the deer that wandered past as it became dark. Today, as we snake the easiest way through the carnage, I recognise the very spot where we had camped. A WhatsApp photo is sent to the family.

I head for what used to be ‘Sam’s Best View’ if you remember it. But new growth is obstructing what was a Bowland panorama. Time for a drink and snack anyhow, the day is heating up. The rockman is checking for additives.

We loop the loop and start heading for home. More tree debris is circumnavigated and eventually we come out onto the south side of the forest where the fell drops away to the old Clitheroe road. And there it is, right in front of us, where before was all open land, a five-foot wire fence topped off for good measure with two strands of barbed wire. I have previously reported drainage ditches being dug on the moorland, ponds being enlarged, and lots of heavy machinery damaging the fragile surface and trees. A drainage ditch has been dug on land in different ownership, on the north side of the wall, whether with permission or not. The owner, for whatever reason, doesn’t want us on his land. I won’t go into the legal wrangles that are transpiring or local speculation about what he is up to. Does he not realise deer roam this open moor and their leap will probably result in serious injury from the unnecessary barbed wire?

On the way off the fell we pass the spot where my ‘Grim up North’ pine tree stood until it was mown down by the ditch digging, It had been lying on its side and I had hopes of some regeneration when I passed it in March. Those hopes were dashed today as it has been well and truly logged up. Criminal.

So more questions asked rather than answered. I have a feeling that this will become an ongoing saga on which I will report back from time to time.

FAR END OF THE FELL.

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P1070440 No new ways today but I enjoy revisiting others and seeing what has changed since last time, bear with me. I’m up and ready early (for me) as I have an appointment at the hospital late afternoon. ( Junior doctors working on a Sunday to get the NHS back up to speed. Hope they agree to the new governments pay offer). Driving along the Chaigley road a fleet of vintage tractors is coming towards me, I pull in to get a photo. It is then I realise I have left my camera and phone at home. Some days I’m not fit to be let out.

So its back to the start, the tractors are gone and by the time I park up at Kemple End the morning is all but over. I wander past the few houses making up this community. Most are old cottages but the last house I encounter is a large new build, no doubt replacing an old barn. P1070442 P1070445 P1070448

Once in the fields I pick up the old sledge way for taking stone from the Kemple End quarries down towards Stonyhurst for construction of the Shireburn family home. Cows are thankfully docile in the heat. The building at the bottom was the stable for the sledge horses. It has been derelict for years but now after major refurbishments is a holiday cottage. P1070451 P1070453 P1070454 P1070455

Up the road is one of my favourite Stonyhurst Crosses. The Pinfold Cross is a memorial to a former servant at the College and fiddler, James Wells. It was erected in 1834 after he died in a quarry accident. On the front is inscribed the telling ‘WATCH FOR YOU KNOW NOT THE DAY NOR HOUR.’ Above this is written, ‘OFT EVENINGS GLAD MAKE MORNINGS SAD’ perhaps suggesting drunken escapades. On the left is ‘PRAY FOR THE SOUL OF JAMES WELLS’ and on the right, ‘DIED FEB. 12TH, 1834. P1070458 P1070459

The next fields have some of the meanest looking sheep around. Plenty of cows but the bull is far enough away to let me pass. P1070463 P1070464

The building you can see in the distance is marked on the map as Higher Deer House, a reference when this was the deer park of the Shireburn family who built what is now Stonyhurst College. The buildings are empty and being replaced by those ginormous agricultural sheds that are springing up everywhere. Soon will all livestock will be under cover and our fields redundant? P1070466 P1070468

I often have trouble finding the hidden stile across the field, today is no exception.

The stile leads into a jungle at the bottom of which is a footbridge over Dean Brook, then back up through more jungle to emerge onto the bridleway next to Greengore, an old shooting lodge. The raspberries are sweet.

P1070477 Renovations are going on at the old house so I take a picture of the new build in the back garden. P1070482

Now starts my long gradual ascent to Spire Hill some 600 ft above. It is a hot day and I take it slowly. More of those new metal gates keep appearing. The cyclist is a friend of mine trying out his new electric mountain bike. His wife appears as I enter the shady woods, no mountain bike for her – just taking the dog for a walk. P1070484 P1070485 P1070488 P1070491 P1070498 P1070500 It was good to get a bit of shade for a short time before walking up to the trig point, 350m. The views were a bit hazy but all the Yorkshire three peaks could be made out but perhaps not on camera. Looking down into Chipping Vale is always a revelation, spotting individual farms and lanes from on high. P1070503

I continue along the ridge into the trees still devastated by a storm a few years ago. This is a concessionary path used my many and should have been cleared by now. A black mark Tilhill Forestry, a letter is being sent off to them. They should consider the recreation value of their holdings as well as the commercial value. Its a jungle up here, it would only take a couple of blokes with a chain saw to clear a way through. P1070510 P1070507

Mountain bikers have marked a blue trial through the worst, Thank you. P1070509

At least the forestry people have cleared their own forest road eastwards, it was a nightmare before. But what a desolate mess they leave behind but given a decade or so all will look good. P1070512 P1070511 P1070513

Along this stretch I come across a cyclist enjoying the view. Pendle is always prominent from this end of the fell. I compliment him on his Brook’s saddle, a cycling thing, and we get into conversation. Turns out he lives just round the corner from me and we have several mutual acquaintances. P1070515

I escape from the forest road and take an almost hidden path through the trees back to my car at Kemple End. The shade was welcome in the heat of the day. P1070518 P1070519 P1070520

With all the stopping and chatting I was a little behind schedule and had to rush off for my hospital appointment. At least I had made the most of the day, as I should every day, but sadly often don’t.

***

Screenshot 2024-07-28 220048

CHIPPING IS STILL BLOOMING.

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P1070405

Bowland is a good place to be. I have friends around me today to isolate me from the worst of world affairs, did you listen to PM Netanyahu’s (a potential war criminal) vile speech to congress yesterday? We, five former colleagues all in our dotage, set off from near that iconic Bowland red phone box in the hills beyond Chipping. I don’t know the plan but I’m in the hands of the resident local ‘guide’, sometimes it’s just good to go with the flow, even for me having a somewhat ‘in control’ psyche. P1070401 P1070402

It is all familiar for most of us but none the worse for that as we tramp westwards across the base of the fells. A posse of cows watches us from the hilltop. This is curlew country par excellence and I’m pleased to report we saw and heard several. P1070400

You may remember this ford crossing from the other day, again no one fell in. P1070404

There are eggs for sale today at Saddle End, I have brought some loose change for half a dozen. We go through a gate helpfully signed Chipping, I don’t think I’ve used before, this is exciting. P1070406

Our ‘guide’ leads us down a vague path, over a footbridge and up again to suddenly find one of those favourite P&NFA signs in the middle of a field. All well off the beaten track.

We drop down to the imposing house above the mill dam, once the house of the millowner. Yes I have been this way before. P1070412

The party straggles out as we wander through the old chair works, due for some sort of redevelopment. I’ve often wondered what the steps were going down to the brook, Ian doesn’t know but says he will ask a friend living here the next time he sees her. Well the next time he sees her is a few minutes later when she walks up the lane. She remembers her family going to the brook to wash clothes. Another one of life’s problems solved. P1070413

We catch the others up and dive into the busy Cobbled Corner café for pots of tea, soup and sandwiches. Well recommended. P1070415

I repeat my tour of the grave yard to visit Lizzie Dean’s grave under the ancient yew. Have a look at my last post on Chipping for the video tale of the whole tragic episode.

P1070418

Casting aside the sadness we enjoy the blooms in the village, It has reached the finals of the competition. P1070417

P1070423

P1070424

All is very familiar to many of you as we leave the village and enter the grounds of Leagram Hall with its lovely trees. That’s Pendle in the background. P1070428

We don’t continue to the sheep farm but cut across the park to pick up a footpath to Knot Hill. I often find this difficult to follow but today our local ‘guide’ leads the way unerringly.

All that remains is to follow the bridleway down to the ford and up the hill to our ‘guide’s’ house. A mooch around his garden and then coffee before we all disperse after yet another enjoyable Bowland walk, about 6.5 miles. P1070395 P1070398

Interestingly our one lady member is leading a walk tomorrow of friends, they call it the Chatterbox Walk. I’m thinking us men should form a group for more regular walks – the Silent Saunter.

***

Screenshot 2024-07-24 185014

CHIPPING IN BLOOM.

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P1070376

It must be that time again, when our local villages vie for the best in bloom. Chipping was all aglow this morning with some stunning displays, helped by the bright sunshine. I think they often win as the community makes such a good joint effort.

But we hadn’t come to see the flowers, we had a short walk in mind in the hills above the village. Our more ambitious trip to Ilkley Moor was delayed to another time. I had strained my side in a difficult balancing act at the top of steps attacking my overgrown hedge a couple of days ago. JD suggested this as a gentler stroll, and it was forecast to become very hot, which did transpire.

The basic straight forward walk out of the village through the grounds of Leagram, up to Saddle Side farm lane and back via Wolfen, Tweedys and Kirk Mills has been done so many times, often described here for example. Ideal for the wounded. Parking up at the village hall, JD announces he won’t bother with his boots – everywhere will be dry underfoot. I suggest boots could be better if we decide to go ‘off piste’. I am already plotting a cross country variation if my injury wasn’t worsening. Old habits die hard.

We stroll through the village, as I said resplendent in bloom, past the old watermill and out on the Leagram road. P1070347 P1070348

Walking into the estate is always a joy with the beautiful aged trees, although I see one oak has succumbed. The southerly hill in the background is Longridge Fell. P1070351 P1070354

I have been reading ‘How to read a tree’ and can recognise on this tree the south side branches growing horizontally towards the sun whilst the northern side grow more vertically to try and catch the light. What do you think? P1070353

At the sheep farm JD knows the farmer and we have an extended chat with him on all things sporting, village related and political. He never mentions his sheep which produce some tasty cheese.

Soon we come to the sign Lickhurst and Stanley, one of those classy P&PFS, which would give us an option of visiting the hidden Burnslack valley, which neither of us has done for awhile. Decision made we set off on a good surfaced lane going to Park Gate, (this was all a deer park in the past) and heading for the fells. But we leave it on a non existent way to a forded crossing of the brook. I take a photo half expectant of a dipping, but JD is as sure footed as a goat. My poles help me across. P1070358 P1070356 P1070360 P1070362

I won’t describe our onward pathless progress across the next fellside, except to say we arrive on the Stanley track some time later. Cutting back I have another attempt to photo JD’s potential soaking. No luck. P1070365

Burnslack farm, now houses, must be one of the remotest inhabited properties on this side of Bowland. The path is sensibly diverted to give them privacy. Two owls keep an eye on us as we pass through. P1070367

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Looking back to Burnslack Farm.

An ancient way leads to the next farm, Saddle End, along the base of the fell. There are the remains of several barns along here, traces of cobbles, and fresh water springs. Sir Hugh will appreciate the in situ taps on one of the farmer’s baths collecting he water. P1070372

Up here we find a place to sit for the highlight of the day, JD’s hand crafted vegetarian pasties. One can’t call them Cornish, they are well and truly Lancastrian. My neighbour gifted me a jar of home pickled red cabbage this week so I have brought some along as a perfect accompaniment. We eat like kings with a view to match. P1070371 P1070369

Sheep shearing is progressing at Saddle End. P1070373

The afternoon is steaming hot so we take the easy option down to the lanes leading back to Chipping. I am hoping for some farm eggs at the lane end but I’m out of luck. Mills line the Chipping Brook telling of iron foundries, bobbin making, cotton and chair works. All gone. The ‘millowners’ house overlooking the pond is perfect for the situation in contrast to some of the new housing creeping up the valley. P1070375

In the churchyard I show JD the grave of LIzzie Dean, behind which there is quite a tale. To tell it I suggest you watch this video.

Needless to say we have a pint in the said Sun Inn to celebrate a lovely walk and a cautious return to summer weather.

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