By all means, guess the random locations.
A FEW QUIET DAYS.
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Tag Archives: Cumbria
CALF TOP – THE LATEST 2000 FOOTER.
Curiosity nearly killed the cat – but satisfaction brought it back.
Last week, whilst having a look at Jack’s Fold in Barbondale, we noticed a cairn-like structure high on the slopes of Castle Knott on the north side of the valley. It seemed to have a small chamber in it. Zooming in with my camera, I pronounced it to be a bush. But upon reviewing the poor photo on the computer screen, it is, in fact, a stone cairn ‘hollowed’ out. How strange, a sentry box on the fell?
I’m not the only one to notice it; Mark of Beating the Bounds had a better photo from a 2018 visit, though he didn’t explore further.
Looking at the map, I wonder if this is it, circled in red. 
My interest is aroused; an internet search doesn’t turn up anything. I need to explore on the ground. It would be a steep climb to it directly, but there is a path marked on the OS above the wall that leads to Castle Knot and Calf Top. This path starts from Eskholme and climbs Eskholme Pike first. Along the way, there is a small outcrop called Devil’s Crag that could be interesting to look at. The ridge continues to Calf Top, marked at 610m. That is 2000ft in old money, a ‘mountain ‘ in England.
Now, going back to my relatively youthful years, I ascended all the 2000-ft mountains in England and Wales, then called ‘Bridges’ after George Bridge, who had compiled a book in 1973, listing them all. The book was sparsely illustrated but with photographs by the well-known W A Poucher, FRPS. This book was complemented by an edition by Nick Wright, English Mountain Summits, 1974. These two books became my bibles as I ticked off the summits in the 70s. Finishing in 1980.
I have not looked back on that period of my life for a while!
Anyhow, here we are today. Calf Top was resurveyed in 2016 and has achieved the magical 610m/2000ft mark. Why not complete the list and at the same time search out that strange cairn?
Following my ascent of Winder yesterday, I stayed with friends in the area, so I’m just up the road from Barbon. An opportunity not to be missed. It turns out to be a tough day.
*
As I park up next to the church in Barbon, along come friends who used to live in my lane but have only very recently moved up here, quite a surprise; tea is promised for later. It’s a small, friendly world. 
I know the way into the Barbon Park Estate, and today, instead of starting the Barbon Hill Climb (a yearly motorsports event), I wander through the mature trees in a northerly direction, not strictly on the right of way, hoping there will be a gate into the open fellside above Eskholme Farm. There is, and I’ve gained a couple of hundred easy feet of ascent. I’m now in open access and free to roam. 
The land is rough with rocky outcrops everywhere. This is Silurian Sedimentary rock, sandstones and shales. Here, separated from the limestone, a younger rock. Adam Sedgwick discovered and explained the Dent fault, which separates the Carboniferous limestone country of the Yorkshire Dales from the older rock of Howgill Fells to the north. Above me is the Devil’s Crag. I make a beeline for it until I realise how steep the slope is and how laboured my breathing has become; I start zigzagging. Once at its base, I seek out in my imagination possible lines up its 25 ft of verticality. The rock is superb for climbing with lots of small but flat holds. There is some interesting folding. My shoulder surgeon has told me not to go near any climbing for up to six months; can you imagine how frustrated I am? There is no record of anyone climbing here. 
Curiosity satisfied for now, I move on. Looking back down at Devil’s Crag, the Lune Valley opens up, with the western Lakeland hills in the background. 
High above on the fell is the cairn of Eskholme Pike and I can see a group of walkers just reaching it. I find a path and plod on slowly. It turns out to be a fine viewpoint, and I stop to take panoramic photos of the surrounding area with the whole of the Lakeland Fells stretched across the horizon. 
By now, that other group are making slow progress up the open fell towards what must be Castle Knott; it looks a long, featureless way. 
On I go, following the green track on the ground rather than any dots on the map. A small cairn is reached, but the summit of Castle Knott is still a way off. 
The group ahead can be seen arriving at the cairn on Castle Knott. 
I am glad to arrive at that cairn, Castle Knott. The hills surrounding Dentdale come into view.
I pause for a rest. The figures are way ahead, and also having a rest, on the far slopes with no sign of the summit of Calf Top. This is becoming a trudge, but I don’t have to think about navigation with the wire fence for company. I do, though, think about the remoteness up here and the fact that I have to return all this way when I haven’t even seen the summit; there is no shortcut to safety. My niggly muscle problems are at the back of my mind. This negativity is unusual for me.
Once again, progress is slow; it’s only a matter of putting one foot in front of the other. But first there is a drop to a col which I will have to climb back up on the return. I pause for another rest and chocolate. The others disappear f vcrom view. 
Eventually the fence guides me over a false summit until the Trig point of Calf Top comes into view. I slump onto the ground next to the DofE group of girls I have been following; we all agree it has been a long haul to get here. They are refuelling, and I do the same. They are a friendly bunch, optimistic about their four-day Gold Award. They hope today, their first, is the toughest. Tonight they will be camping by the River Lune; I wish them well as they shoulder their large packs and move onwards. 
I now have time to consider the all-round views from this lonely top. More panorama shots and even a wobbly 360-degree video to celebrate my last 2000-footer.
The lovely Dentdale.
The Howgills, with little Winder, which I climbed yesterday.
On the way back, I avoid some of the re-ascent by contouring around Castle Knott. I’m not convinced it helped as the ground was steep and rough.
Having bypassed Castle Knott top, I toss up in my mind whether to go looking for that cairn; have I bitten off more than I can chew? I’ve already climbed 2000ft and don’t fancy much more. But the opportunity of being up here may not come again, so where is that gate in the fence?
The ground drops away quickly, and I can’t see the wall I need to locate. Barbondale is a thousand feet below, and I reckon I need to drop about 400ft. There’s no coming back. I pick my way down carefully, avoiding bracken and scree as much as possible; the cars on the road look minute. At last I spot the corner of the stone wall not so far off to my right and start heading towards it.
Perhaps another map will explain the situation. 
Will I be able to get access into that next piece of walled-off fell? This is all access land, but some bits may have little access. As I get closer, I spot a fortuitous gap in the wall. A secured wooden gate blocks the way, and I have to climb over it; it’s a bit wobbly.
Will I be able to see the cairn? Is that the top of it over there? 
I’m on steep ground but manage to traverse across to it. The cairn is indeed tall, some 10ft or so. I come around to its valley side, and there is the chamber I saw from the road. Some 8ft tall with a stone seat at the back. Amazing. Why is it here, and when was it built? I assume it’s on land belonging to The Barbon Estate. Was it for a shepherd to take shelter or even a gamekeeper? So many questions. 
I use the seat to eat some chocolate and rehydrate, looking out over Barbondale and the opposite fells. There is some recent graffiti but no historical evidence of its antiquity.
What options do I have for continuing, given that I’m quite tired? Looking down from the cairn, the ground steepens even more with craglets and further down bracken. It would be possible with care, though a trip could cause serious problems. Better not. I couldn’t face the climb back up to the good path coming down from Castle Knott. My best option was to get out of this field and hope there is a path on the topside of the fell wall. I tackle the wobbly gate once again and trudge slowly up the hill until above the wall. There is no track, so I have no option but to traverse the rough hillside, aiming for the wire fence a third of a mile away. 
There is a gate in the fence, and it is not too far then, and going downhill at last, to pick up the path back to the cairn on Eskholme Pike. The views to the distant Lakeland Hills seem sharper at this time of day.
In the vicinity of Devil’s Crag on the way up, I had noticed other nearby crags, and coming down, I made time to explore them. One in particular was over 25ft and had some clean-looking rock just wanting to be climbed. Let’s name it Angel’s Crag. 
All I had to do now was follow my footsteps back through Barbon Park to the church in the village. The sheep have hardly moved since this morning. 
The thought of cups of tea at my friends’ new house kept me going. Alas, they weren’t at home. That’s a shame, not just because of the lack of tea, but I was going to give them the task of some local research into the origins of that mystery cairn. Some of the farmers in the Barbon Inn might know something.
For me, it’s been a long day with a lot of ascent, often on rough, steep, and stony ground. At times I could easily have turned around and shortened the day. The trip to find the cairn was on top of it all and quite taxing, but the satisfaction at the end of the day makes it all worthwhile. I hope another 2000ft hill doesn’t suddenly appear.
I’m soon on the motorway and whizzing home for a hot bath. Tomorrow will be another day.
*
*
My 52 Ways to Walk book has a chapter on Walking at Altitude. mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
My cat has just sat on the keyboard; at least she didn’t delete everything, as has happened before. Oh yes, Walking at Altitude goes on about relative anoxia and how athletes train at altitude to stimulate more haemoglobin production. Walking at altitude, and I’m now talking about the Alps or the greater ranges, is exhilarating because of the surroundings but can be debilitating with more severe hypoxia. I’ve experienced all extremes. Those days are over for me, just memories. So instead of 20,000 ft, I will have to be content today with an altitude of 2000ft; even that felt taxing.
At least I survived.
WINDER.
Let me stand again on Winder, in the magic summer breeze, Feel once more the stones and heather, watch the bracken and the tree ; Let me see again the river, and the fields and walls and farms, Sedbergh, let me feel you near me, let me take you in my arms.
A poem written in 1954 by Tim Birdsall, a former pupil at Sedbergh School. I find this poem more resonant than the oft-quoted lines from Sedbergh’s celebrated public school’s song – Winder. Sedbergh School has just celebrated its 500th year.
It is Cautley, Calf and Winder,
That make the Sedbergh man.
Sedbergh and its school are closely bound to Winder, the hill overlooking them. By tradition, all pupils of the school need to climb Winder at least once during their time at the school. I don’t think I have ever climbed Winder from the town; I’ve often come over it returning from a longer excursion in the Howgills. Time moves on, and today I’m happy to wander up and over the not-so-little hill.
There seems to be a lot of activity in the town – it is the annual Sedbergh Hills Race. They have already set off on their 14 mile/6000ft course.
After Lockbank Farm, I plod up above the wall the long way round, before starting the steeper track to the top of Winder. Fortunately, the paths are well trodden through the prolific bracken. From lower down, there appear to be several false tops to Winder; there are. I stop often to watch the town disappear below me, and to take in views of the Lune Valley, and all the other hills that surround Sedbergh.
At the trig point, a gaggle of people man the final checkpoint for the fell race. There is a trig pillar and a toposcope up here; the views are extensive, but I don’t linger. 
A little further down here comes the leader of the pack; I cheer him on, whoever he is. He is more than five minutes ahead of the others; of them, I only see a few – the pace must be hot today. 
I baulk at the 500 ft ascent to Arant Haw and instead take a green track toward Settlebeck Gill, with Sedbergh way below. 
This is exhilarating as it clings to the edge of the deep ravine. My only complaint is that little water flows down there at present in these heatwave times. It must be more impressive in winter after heavy rain. 
Now taking a lower track, I drop down into the Gill, here less fierce than above. The route is popular with numerous people ascending and following me down. 
I do a little dogleg across the stream, where most people seem to go straight on, and find myself on a path through ancient woodland. 
At its end there in front of me is the wooded mound of a Motte and Bailey, c1100, Castlehaw. Not that easy to make out! 
A bunkhouse nearby offers accommodation for families and friends to get together, an increasingly popular way to share time. 
The footpath goes through their garden before disappearing into the woodland again and coming out on the edge of Sedbergh through a lovely old iron kissing gate.
Even taking a footpath below Castlehaw, there is little to see in the trees of the Motte and Bailey. 
Strolling through the main street, I studiously avoid any of the bookshops.
Instead, I make my way to St. Andrews parish church. A Norman doorway leads me into the tall aisle of the church. The present church dates mainly from about 1500. The Lancaster architects Paley and Austin carried out a major restoration in 1885–86.
Above the altar in the east wall is a distinctive stained-glass window, with the one picture in the five lights. It depicts Christ calling to Andrew and Peter, the fishermen. Thought to have been installed about 1890 by Henry V Miller. 
Several other bright windows line the side walls.
On the North wall are two large, fairly recent embroideries created by a band of local stitchers, depicting local scenes and architecture. Fantastic detail.
My way back to my car takes me through some of the grounds of Sedbergh School. Lancashire CCC uses their cricket pitch on occasion each season. 
And this is the school’s view of Winder, a tough little hill in the bosom of the Howgills. 
*
ST. GREGORY’S CHURCH. VALE OF LUNE CHAPEL..
The sublime.
I have driven past this little church so many times in the last few years on my frequent travels to and from Sedbergh. It is just east of Lincoln’s Inn Bridge on the A684 coming from the motorway. 
Built in the early 1860s by the Upton family of Ingmire Estate when the LNWR Ingleton to Lowgill branch was being constructed. The railway company had sent a Mr Foyers as a scripture reader to the navvies. (Some 1,600 navvies were used to build the 18-mile line) His gospel preaching attracted many local farmers as well as the rail workers. On completion of the line in 1861, the farmers pleaded with Miss Upton of Ingmire Hall to have him stay. Hence, the church was founded.
Originally consisting of a chapel and a school room, which were combined at the turn of the century, when most of the stained glass and furnishings were installed, and the porch was added. The original architect is unknown. The church is strangely attached to a cottage on one side.
In 1917 the Upton family transferred the church from their Ingmire estate to the Church Commissioners, and it was consecrated in 1918. It was declared redundant in 1992 and is now under the wing of The Churches Conservation Trust—with a history spanning 160 years or more.
The other day I made time to stop and have a look around the church.
As I said, it is attached to its neighbouring cottage, and a large barn across the way is being renovated. 
It is not your typical rural church. The roofline has a raised glazed Lantern structure. The porch is not in scale with the rest of the building. All rather odd – perhaps, as is sometimes mentioned, the architect was employed by the railway.
The porch door has a fine knocker.
Churches Conservation Trust.
Once inside, it looks a bit gloomy; perhaps I missed the light switch. 
All is very plain, with a straight nave to the chancel and altar with no real transept. The original pews have moulded ends and carvings from the early 20th century. 
But then I became aware, or even awed by, the stained-glass windows on the west wall. All showing some Art Nouveau influence, I thought. The subjects were of a natural rather than religious nature. Each window was elaborately framed in wood on the inside, like a picture.
Looking back at the north wall were two more similar windows. 
Later research indicates that the four in the west wall and the two in the north wall were certainly the work of Frederick George Smith, the principal designer of windows for the London firm of Campbell, Smith & Co.
Hills, clouds, rivers, plants, flowers and birds are all colourfully depicted – with the intent of leading people to God through the delights of nature.
The more conventional figures of Fortitude and Justice by Morris & Co., in the chancel wall and another window in the porch, Peace, probably also by Morris, have a more direct moral and religious message,
But what a selection in such a small church. A real wow factor and totally unexpected.
I have been reading about awe in my 52 Ways to Walk book; I’m over halfway now, you will be glad to know. This week: Seek Out The Sublime. We have all had awe-inspiring moments whilst walking: a spectacular sunset or sunrise, distant blue mountains, a hidden waterfall, glorious cloud formations. Even the smallest things can be marvelled at: lichens, insects, raindrops, a rare flower, the flash of a kingfisher. The outdoors is apt to produce sublime moments you don’t get watching television, one of the joys of walking. The more curious you are, the greater the chance of something inspiring you. And have you noticed how these moments stay in the memory?
The walk I completed that day was set in spectacular scenery and was full of interest, but nothing awe-inspiring occurred. Until I stepped into this little church. 
THE YORKSHIRE DALES GRISEDALE.
The dale that nearly died.
Whilst having lunch perched on a boulder, along comes a lady walking her dog. It turns out she lives in one of the restored farms in the dale spread out below. This is Grisedale or Grisdal to the locals – everything gets shortened up here. I’ll describe my route up to here later. But first I find out about the history and more from this chatty lass. She has lived here less than a dozen years so is still a newcomer. In the 19th century, the valley was a marginal farming community of about 15 families. There was some mining and lime burning, probably as an ancillary to the farm work. There was a Quaker Meeting House and a Methodist Chapel. In the C20th, economic events, severe winters, and an ageing population led to most farms being abandoned. She tells me that even the stone walls were destroyed for the stone to be used by builders elsewhere. By 1960, only two farms were populated.
By the early 1970s, only one farmer remained living and working in the valley, and he was featured in a Yorkshire Television documentary by Barry Cockcroft, The Dale that Died. Cockcroft said that Grisedale was “the most romantic dale in all of Yorkshire…complete in its unspoilt beauty, serenity and vivid history”
I have just managed to watch the whole of this remarkable documentary. https://replay.bfi.org.uk/video/410d3845-4c55-5652-91aa-c9e3a8917b03
But the dale didn’t die, and in the latter decade of the 1900s, people bought farms and houses and created new homes. It seems to be a close-knit community now, tucked away from the hustle and bustle.
Grisedale in 1890.
*
What am I doing here today? Well, I’m exploring the upper reaches of Garsdale from where the river Clough flows down the valley to Farfield, where it joins the Rawthey. Sir Hugh and I are planning a walk to follow the Clough. The south-east slopes of Baugh Fell give rise to streams that feed the Clough. A prominent one of these is Grisedale Beck, joining the Clough at Garsdale Head. He has already walked this way; I’m just catching up.
There is ample parking at Garsdale Station, but at the back of my mind I wished I had come by train. (Bus Longridge to Clitheroe: 50 mins. Train Clitheroe to Garsdale: one hour thirty – so up to three hours) Anyhow, I’m here and walking down the lane. Even though I slowed down, I never saw a Red Squirrel. 
I go through a small gate into a reedy field. 
There will be many reedy fields today. But there is a clear path which takes me up the hill to a stile in a wall. I’m now in the bowl of lower Grisedale with the river down below. There is no sign of Clough Force as the river is virtually dry this month. 
I keep following well-signed paths through the rough reedy fields. Blake Mire house is being renovated but seems to have difficult access. Other farms are disappearing slowly.
I come out onto the minor road at Rowantree. A short stretch on the road to Moor Rigg, before I cross fields alongside the Grisedale Beck towards Reachey; there are some nice names around here – I wonder at their origins. 
Reachey looks a grand renovation, making use of a derelict barn wall in the design. But it would be reachy to get here in a hard winter.
The path onwards is a delight alongside the beck, full of flowers and rising butterflies. 
Ahead is the copse surrounding the ruins of East and West Scale, accessed by an old packhorse bridge. 
The path starts to climb away from the beck and becomes rather sketchy; not many people come this far. A strange, unnatural-looking pile of stones is crossed. (My informant tells me later that they were probably left over from when the walls were being exported elsewhere)
The path ends at the ruins of Round Ing. 
I get a little off track, if there is one, as I climb the rough fields back towards Flust. There is a good view down to the Scales ruins. 
Flust is at the end of the valley ‘road’ and is merely a barn. When the valley was depopulated, the farmhouses that were no longer occupied fell into ruin, but the barns still had agricultural value, so many were saved. The land is now farmed from elsewhere, with the stock brought here each year. 
I follow the rough track back eastwards until I find that stone to rest on for lunch and view across Grisedale to Ingleborough and Whernside in the background. “the most romantic Dale in the whole of Yorkshire” 
It is whilst I’m in this reverie that the lady and dog appear. We walk on together for a while and probably spend about an hour of interesting talk. As well as all the local information, she introduces me to the fell ponies wandering up here. 
From this vantage point, she looks down on ‘her’ Dale, recognising any cars coming or going; I suspect she doesn’t own one. 
By now I have wandered off course, and have to retrace a little to find the stile getting me into the right bit of Grisedale Common. All is open access, but I don’t want to climb walls. I spot the Dandrymire Viaduct near Garsdale Station, way below; I still have some miles to go.
My way off the common is not clear; I’m heading to Grisedale Crossing on the railway. This is the way school children from Grisedale would walk out of their Dale to school every day. The school building is just over the crossing, as marked on the photo. The viaduct on the right is one I’ve never noticed before – Lunds Viaduct. 
There is a footbridge over the crossing. The 1890s map shows a footbridge even then and the school.
Old School extended.
Lunds Viaduct.
I planned to take the footpath by the infant Ure, draining to the east coast, but with all the dallying, I am happy to walk down the road to the C18th Moorcock Inn, which never seems to be open. 
A bridleway goes alongside the railway, dodging through one of the arches of Dandrymire Viaduct before landing me back at Garsdale Station. Throughout the day, I saw railcars on the line – wouldn’t it be spectacular to watch a steam locomotive coming over that viaduct?
*
What a great day. Now for the Clough River, but we think we’ll postpone it until there’s been some rain and the water is livelier.
WARTON WANDERINGS.
Three Brothers, but no Caves.
I am first showing the map of our wanderings, which will make little sense to you. It makes even less sense to Sir Hugh and me, and we were there, possibly.
My plan was straightforward, or so I put it across to Sir Hugh the night before. One feels nervous about suggesting an expedition into his home territory. And an expedition it was meant to be. Pouring over maps, there appeared to be three caves noted on the eastern side of Warton Crag. Harry Hest Hole, Fairy Cave and Potts Hole. All very good, but the internet search revealed little except “they are not easy to find”. But Sir Hugh was up for the challenge, not having visited any of them. As an added incentive, I threw in the Three Brothers, erratic boulders on land north of the Occupation Road, the old drovers’ route, now a prominent bridleway. He has previously visited them after several navigational attempts in years gone by. So they should be easy to find.
Why not make use of this wandering for this week’s 52 Ways to Walk – Walk to get lost. I have a feeling we will. Getting lost stimulates your brain’s spatial awareness.
The day dawns, and I arrive to collect Sir Hugh. He had had a rather disturbed previous evening tending to his elderly neighbour, who had had a fall in her garden and ended up in hospital with a suspected broken wrist. Not a good omen for our off-piste explorations. I forgot to mention that I am now driving again and keen to broaden my horizons.
A short drive and we are parking up in Warton Main Quarry – the big one. In the sunshine, it looks spectacular, but I know from experience that climbing in here is not for the faint-hearted. There is a large amount of loose rock on many of the climbs. 
After a bit of faffing (which will be relevant later), we set off along a narrow path toward the village. Just before the small quarry, we take a well-signed path up the hillside; the area is a nature reserve. 
I had tried to obtain grid references for the three caves we hoped to visit beforehand. I was not sure of their accuracy. Heading off the main track on a small trod towards the first, Harry Hest, we penetrated into the thickly wooded hillside. The path, such as it was, led us to a band of rock below, where my grid reference hinted at its location. I think we spent possibly an hour scrambling about on that rocky escarpment to no avail. Pushing through the vegetation only to hit a dead end, and then trying to find a way out again. We admitted defeat and were glad to get back onto our original track to escape. But what is that on the skyline? A black hole resembling the only picture I had found on the Geograph site. We had difficulty photographing it, just for the record, from this distance. Curiosity got the better of me, and despite all our failed attempts, I struck back up the precarious hillside only to be sorely disappointed when I reached the outcrop to find the black hole we had been trying to photograph was only a deep black slit in the rock, certainly not Harry.
A glimmer of hope.
But only a wide crack.
Tails between our legs, we managed to reconnect with a more prominent path, taking us all the way back down to the main path we had left all that time ago. A good 90% of the paths we have used so far do not appear on the map. 
All thoughts of Potts and Fairy Caves evaporated. It seemed like a long slog along the undulating, slippery limestone path to reach Occupation Road. My original plan was to follow the nearby tarmacked lane north and approach the Three Brothers from a rather roundabout direction on a track marked on the map. In view of the day passing quickly and our slow progress, plans were changed to attempt to find the Brothers directly off the drovers’ route. The map above may help, though I doubt it. The drovers’ route was a well-surfaced track between walls, but involved more ascent and descent than we were prepared for.
We were looking for a marked path that went off to the right and, thankfully, found a gate and a stile leading into the area of the Brothers. 
Both Sir Hugh and I had a grid reference for the rocks; unfortunately, both differed, but not that far out. Luckily, we hit upon an area of open ground which gave the first easy walking of the day. I found a large rock near our grid references, but no sign of any others in the increasingly overgrown surrounding woodland. 
In the meantime, Sir Hugh’s sharp eye spotted three dots on the OS map, some distance from our original coordinates. 
That was so obvious. Why hadn’t we spotted them before? Fortunately, open ground took us towards them, and a bit of bramble bashing had us alongside them.
Three eroded erratic rocks about 5m apart on the escarpment. Each one is resting on the top of the limestone pavement and not easy to photograph. But are they erratics? They are limestone, which is the local bedrock around here. Had a glacier brought them from the north? Another theory is that they were Megaliths erected for some cultural or religious purpose. For a more scientific explanation.
One.
Two.
Three.
Whatever we had found them! Not many people come this way. Was that other boulder I found earlier another brother or a distant cousin?
Somehow, we managed to find a different way out of the plantation. But we arrived back at the gate on the Occupational Road. Only then did we spot the private sign, honest m’lud. 
All we had to do now was follow the bridleway until a path headed up toward the Warton Crag summit itself. We thought we had found it, but after a fairly long stretch, we started heading downhill away from the hill. Not for the first time today, we retaced our steps. I began to doubt my ability to read the map, but, again, most of the paths trodden on the ground are not shown on it. We stuck to the sensible option and followed only uphill paths, eventually coming out at the beacon on top of Warton Crag.
It was nearly three o’clock – time for a rest, perched on the summit rocks, and a bite to eat. The view over Morecambe Bay was hazy as the afternoon heated up – we are expecting a heatwave this Spring Bank Holiday weekend. But Jenny Brown’s Point stood out, as did the railways at Carnforth. Name me a better lunch stop than this.
Dropping down, we followed our noses. Still confused by the terrain, we came unexpectedly upon Pinnacle Crag, a friendly little climbing venue of old. 
We seemed to be following cattle tracks and came across the herd of Red Polls, who roam freely grazing invasive shrub and bracken, helping to preserve the limestone grassland. They were wearing electric tags around their necks, which I later read emit audible sounds if the cow reaches a boundary – virtual fences. 
The cattle must be doing their job, as there was an ever-changing flora throughout the day, but somehow that took second place to our objectives. Get up there to see the variety of limestone-loving plants.
We somehow ended up back at the road and followed trails and a newly laid track into the main quarry.
A group of bird enthusiasts had their scopes trained on Peregrines nesting on the crag. We were given a view and even offered a cup of tea, which, looking back on, we should have accepted.
It had been a strange day. We had walked less than four miles in six hours. Our explorations have only achieved the Three Brothers. We certainly trampled new paths, getting lost for the better part of the day. My brain just wasn’t in focus, which may explain why, on return to the car, I find I had left my door open all day.
Help yourselves.
Sir Hugh has written his version of the day, which may be truer than mine.
A reminder to anyone exploring this area – Warton Crag is renowned for its ticks. I found a couple today.
GOOD THINGS COME TO THOSE WHO WAIT.
Barbondale.
If you look at the church clock, it is 12 noon. I’ve delayed the start of my walk today to let the drizzle and low cloud give way to brighter skies. What a good decision it turns out to be.
I was initially attracted to this location, Barbon, north of Kirkby Lonsdale, by a piece on The Rivendale Review.
I liked the look of his photo of the Devil’s Crag on Eskholme Pike. But today was not the day to go wandering up there in the mist. A low-level walk should be more productive. I found a link to a walk up Barbondale itself and returning through some of the estate parklands. Even as you drive up here from Kirkby Lonsdale, the epitome of an affluent market town, you are aware of a lot of imposing gateways leading to imposing mansions—tweed jacket country. In the past, the landed gentry settled here and shaped the landscape to their liking.
I park next to the church, just as it chimes twelve. Most of the hills are hiding in low clouds. Before leaving, I take a look around St. Bartholomew’s, which was built in 1892–93, and designed by the noted Lancaster firm of church architects, Paley, Austin and Paley. Apart from the font, there is nothing of note inside.
My way goes into the private estate of Barbon Manor, built as a shooting lodge for the Shuttleworths. The manor is situated high on the hillside and well-hidden by extensive woodlands. As I walk up the access road, I am surprised to see a black and white barrier on one of the corners, but I later read that this road is used for a motor sport hill climb several times a year.
Entering the woods alongside the river, a good track is used for about a mile up the valley. Autumn is the perfect time to visit here,
As I progress, the path climbs away from the river, giving views of the surrounding hills. That’s Barbon Low Fell to the south. 
It feels much like a Scottish glen to me.
Back alongside the river, where a lively stream joins the bedrock is exposed. 
I eschew the ford for the wooden footbridge.
Several cars are pulled up alongside the road at what is probably a busy spot in the summer. Even today, dog walkers are out for a stroll, the dogs more interested in getting as wet as possible. 
The narrow road winds over to Dentdale, but I turn south and follow it back down the other side of the valley. A little red postie van completes the Scottish likeness. As you can see, the gloom has descended to just above my head. I’m walking down the Dent Fault with Silurian slate to the north and limestone to the south. Glacial erosion has shaped the valley.
I’m keeping my eyes open for a sheepfold by the roadside. Interestingly, the link I looked at for this walk mentions it only as a ‘strange sheepfold’; they obviously didn’t know of Andy Goldsworthy. He is an outdoor artist, and some of his early works were circular stone sheepfolds scattered across the north. This one is very accessible – Jack’s Fold. The stonework matches the surrounding field walls. Inadvertently, I had captured it earlier in a photo across the valley. 
I spend some time inside removing tissues and food wrappers stuffed in crevices between the stones. 
There are vast amounts of various lichens growing on the rock.
I try to get above it for a better photo, but really, a drone would be the answer. Is that going beyond his artistic vision? 
Time to move on.
At the junction, I take the even quieter lane southwards. 
This is above some authentic old sheepfolds. 
Looking back, one sees Barbon Manor above the woods I walked through earlier.
With the day brightening, as forecast, there are extensive views out across the parkland and Lunesdale. I struggle to place some of the hills seen from an unfamiliar angle—Farleton Fell, etc. 
I can’t resist a little play on these exposed rocks. 
As I approach the grounds of Whelprigg House, more mature plantations dominate. 
You can rent parts of the house for family occasions. 
More modest properties, presumably part of the estate at one time, are passed on the footpath below. The low sunshine, highlighting the autumn colours, particularly prominent today are the slopes of dead bracken on Barbon Low.
This random stone wall, incorporating large boulders, is probably from the 18th Century or earlier. 
Crossing the driveway to Whelprigg, one enters more fields, complete with intimidating Beware of the Bull signs. 
The OS map here is unusual in that it names trees in the parkland. 
Anyhow, I can’t stop taking pictures of their stunning autumn garb. 
There are some strange groundworks in the park, for which I can find no explanation—presumably an ancient field or boundary marker.
Skirting Low Bank, I enter the back streets of Barbon through the grounds of the aptly named Underfell. 
The village is full of little cottages and friendly people, and of course the C17th Barbon Inn, who serve a good pint of Timothy Taylors Landlord. I’m not sure whether I am in Lancashire, Cumbria or Yorkshire.
As I sup my pint, I have time to reflect on a brilliant afternoon’s walk, just under six miles. It was well worth waiting for. I have some ideas for more walks in this special area, and of course, I need to visit the Devil’s Crag.
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LIMESTONE PAVEMENTS, FUN, AND FUNGI.
The fun comes at Fairy Steps, which we encounter halfway through the day. This strange slot in the cliff is the scene of many struggles. Today we are descending, which I think is trickier than climbing up. One enters from the top by a horizontal weakness and then wriggle down the polished slot. Being slim helps. Do you face out or in? I prefer facing in to be able to use the few handholds. Sir Hugh chose the other way. We both take our rucksacs off before the action commences.
Safely down, we read a nearby sign explaining that the cleft was on an ancient coffin route from Arnside to Milnthorpe. The idea that pallbearers could manoeuvre a coffin up this cleft is hard to believe. Supposedly, if you climb or descend the steps without touching the limestone sides of the narrow gully, the fairies will grant you a wish.
No wish today, unfortunately.
I’m late in posting because of other commitments, etc. You can see the day unfold in Sir Hugh’s blog.
A quick look at the weather forecast and a quick phone call to Sir Hugh set us up for a walk today. We park up at the Heron Corn Mill in Beetham, a working water mill on the River Bela that produces flour traditionally. (Open Wednesdays to Sundays, in the summer) We’ve visited several times before, so give it a miss today. 
This is another walk in Sir Hugh’s domain. Within 10 yards of leaving the car, he says he has not walked this path. The same comment keeps recurring throughout the short day, but I suspect it is his long-term memory of trudging these paths in years gone by that is creating the ‘confusion’. On the other hand, I’m certain I have not walked these paths. All bodes well.
Beetham is soon behind us.
We are eager to get into the fields crossing above Beetham Hall with its C14th Pele Tower, a sign of unsettled and war-like conditions that prevailed in the Borders throughout much of the medieval period. It all looks a bit derelict, but it seems to keep standing.
Limestone squeeze stiles are common on this route, a pretest to Fairy Steps. If you can’t get through this, it’s time to turn around.
A few further stiles and we enter magical woodlands and limestone bluffs. Progress is slow, especially when Fungi spotting takes precedence.
The path wanders through the woods 
And then we are onto an extensive limestone pavement. Care is needed to avoid breaking an ankle in one of the grikes as the clints are slippery. Glacial ice sheets scraped away the soil and weathered the rock surface. Over time, the cracks have deepened due to weathering from rainwater. Wonderful.
There is no path as such, but occasionally a waymark post incongruously appears. Should we be even walking on this geological phenomena.
More fungi.
Open tracks and lanes lead us towards Fairy Steps, but it seems to take us ages. Lunch is taken on the shelf above the steps. Once down, we wander through the trees below the limestone mini cliffs. Continue reading
CONRAD COUNTRY.
Limestone wanderings.
This is Conrad Country. That sounds like the title of a cowboy film. Do they still make them? I have the temerity to suggest taking Conrad, alias Sir Hugh, on a walk in his own backyard. I do have the backup of Walk 7 from Cicerone’s Short Walks in Arnside and Silverdale in my pocket. I never know whether we are in Lancashire or Cumbria.
We both have busy schedules, mostly consisting of hospital appointments and garage visits, but today we are able to meet up and enjoy the good weather. I give him the option of a short or a longer walk, and unsurprisingly, he opts for the latter, provided I am happy with his slow pace on any hill. I’m more than happy, the slower the better.
Walk 7. Leighton Moss and Cringlebarrow Wood is the title, but that only scratches the surface – we experience much more.
From the outset, at a lay-by in Yealand Storrs, as we enter the woods of Yealand Hall Allotment…
… a couple walking a dog, the first of several encounters along the way. When they overtake us, the dog is nowhere to be seen; it is, in fact, taking a lift. I often come across people carrying little dogs or pushing them in a pram. In the high Pyrenees, we were overtaken by a couple of female fellrunners, each with a pooch in a pouch.
We stroll through the woodland, whose floor is a limestone pavement. Rocks are everywhere around here. There are distant views down to Hawes Water, which we bypass by going down Moss Lane to the road at Red Bridge. 
We enter Trowbarrow Quarry by a track I have never used before. 
This limestone quarry operated for a hundred years, closing in 1959. In addition to lime for building and agriculture, James Ward developed new techniques for producing Tarmacadam, which combines crushed limestone with bitumen. It is now a nature reserve and climbing arena. We observe both today. Look here for an excellent overview of the reserve.
I had forgotten how extensive the quarry is; coming here for climbing, one tends to focus only on the highest walls. On the quarry floor today, a group of naturalists from Liverpool is combing the area with insect nets. The chap we talk to is enthused about a male horse fly, Sir Hugh tries to look interested. 
A brief visit to the fierce Red Wall.
But more interesting are two climbers just starting up Assagai Wall, we find some boulders to sit on and follow their progress while eating our lunch.
Finishing Assagai on those magnificent flutings.
We wander into a ‘walled-off area’ with signs asking you to watch your step – the Bee Orchid grows here, but I think we are a little early for it. Above rises the slab of Coral Sea, and that’s exactly how it originated before being tilted at right angles by the Earth’s movements. 
Nobody is climbing on the cracked main wall, so I try to find the coal seam that crosses the limestone floor, to no avail. The time I was here with the Rockman, we had no success either. Meanwhile, the insect nets are sweeping all around us. One enthusiast even has a ‘vaccum cleaner’ to suck them up! 
We, both au fait with the quarry, can not find our way out as described in the guide. Eventually, we discover the ‘carabiner gate’ and the ongoing mini gorge.
The gate is dedicated to John Mabson, of whom I can find nothing. Except for copies of the poem, an Irish funeral song.
May the roads rise up to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back,
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
May the rains fall soft upon fields
And until we meet again
May God hold you in the palm of his hand.
Very appropriate for a mountaineer.
The track has had trees cut down to encourage a more diverse flora.
Crossing the road, we enter RSPB Leighton Moss Nature Reserve and come across another type of nature enthusiast – the ‘twitcher’. Recognised by their camouflage and their loooong lenses. There is a hushed silence in the hide. Again, we feel inadequate, not able to tell a comorant from a crow. 
Now for the steep bit, in the grounds of Leighton Hall, Sir Hugh cruises it. 
Our next objective is Cringlebarrow Wood. The public footpath passes through it, but ‘Private’ notices abound. There are tracks everywhere, legal or otherwise. 
If you look closely at the map, you will see Deepdale Pond clearly marked. It’s in a ‘doline’ (a natural amphitheatre created by the collapse of a cave) and is yet another truly extraordinary place. It’s more of a swamp than a pond now. We follow animal tracks to find it. So far, I’ve been unable to convey this through a photograph and doubt I ever will. A deer makes a rapid getaway.
More woodland tracks bring us back to the car. 
A lovely wander through this limestone wonderland. ‘Conrad’s country’ has a wealth of things to explore. I’ll be back.
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ANYONE FOR SCOUT HILL, LUPTON?
There aren’t many takers. At 285m Scout Hill is the 1795th tallest in England. http://www.themountainguide.co.uk. Not exactly inspiring. But I know a hill when I see one and this one was a prominent feature on the northern horizon when we were last up on Hutton Roof. It can be seen towering, or more accurately peeping, over Farleton Fell in the photo below taken on that day. I did have to look it up later to identify it as Scout Hill The seed was sown.
Encouraged by last week’s walk with Sir Hugh I plotted an easy route in the Lupton area to include Scout Hill. He thinks he has been up it before, and although I fully believe him details are very vague. He is keen to test his improving health by another easy ascent, surely it can’t make my hip any worse.
Parking is complicated by road works, water pipe installations. It takes me some time to orientate myself amongst the little lanes and the busy A65 flying past with lay-bys full of cars. By then we are through lush green fields and above the lively Lupton Beck. Farleton Fell is there above us, and it remains that way all day. Sir Hugh recognises the lovely footbridge over the waters, and we come out by the Plough pub. What I thought would be an easy ramble by the beck took us much longer than envisaged. We haven’t come far, and perhaps we should have retired to the pub for lunch. 
Now up the lane to Crabtree Farm, quite steep in parts. They have diversified into clay pigeon shooting and are busy constructing a holiday park with those ubiquitous Gypsy Caravans, more like road menders huts quips Sir Hugh when he gets his breath back from the ascent. On we go, quite steep in parts. My hip is hurting, but I don’t say anything, there is no turning back. It is a delightful lane.
Crabtree Lane – Scout Hill is ahead with a tree near the hidden summit.
Once in the open we are on the slopes of Scout Hill, but there is no sight of its summit Trig. It won’t take us long after leaving the wallside right of way, climbing through the gorse to reach the summit. Should I just nip up and down quickly leaving Sir Hugh down here? No he is having none of that. Should I just let him nip up and down whilst I study the abundant fungi? We plod on. It is a strange fell with bits of ancient walls and little rivulets appearing from nowhere. There is still no sign of the summit, there are supposed to be communication masts up there. It is getting serious when compass bearings are taken and followed.
Not there yet.
But what’s this? Another wall and descent between us and our rapidly receding trig point. I’m secretly hoping we can’t get across, and we can call the whole thing off. 
But no, we can squeeze through a gated gap and the summit is ours. It turns out to be a good viewpoint particularly to the hills to the east – Gragareth et al. If only it was a bit brighter. The Lakes are in clag, and we have some debate as to which is Arnside Knott, Sir Hugh’s local fell. The communication towers are largely ignored. 
We squeeze back through the gate and head towards a prominent stone. Standing or not? A good lunch spot nonetheless.
Back on the right of way we waste no time abandoning it for an attractive path which at the far end proclaims ‘Private No Right of Way’. We are now on metalled lanes wandering across the hillsides, some barely drivable and going we know not where. It’s all downhill from here. Coming across the first person we have seen all day he promptly turns around and walks past us with a brief nod. It’s a strange area. Farelton Fell looms ahead of us. I am glad when the roadworks come into sight and the little car is there. 
Felt I had bitten off more than I could happily chew today, just don’t always believe the map, the summit may have moved.
Today was tagged under The Lake District and nearby Lancashire, need a new tag for Cumbria whose borders wander around in this area.
Sir Hugh’s post will appear in due course.
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