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.
*
More fungi.
… 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.
