Tag Archives: Flora and Fauna

DANCING IN THE WILD.

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I can now manage stiles, so my options for walks from home multiply. Let’s visit some of our neighbouring field paths, which I usually have to myself. Given this week’s walking topic, Take a walk dance. Solitude would be an advantage. I’m not the best of dancers.

In March 1599, Will Kemp, a comic actor in Shakespeare’s company. Morris danced from London to Norwich and wrote a book about it called “Nine Daies Wonder”. It took him 23 days. His reasons for this escapade are not clear. The reasons for my walk dance are not entirely clear either. Anabelle Streets, in her book, gives us this.

“Dance has been proven to lift mood, improve balance, and boost aerobic fitness. I like to break up my walks with short bursts of dance and wave my arms in the air”  All very plausible, adding some playfulness to the activity and boosting our dopamine.

I’m ready to go, although I haven’t decided on my dance step yet.

It’s amazing what you can find on YouTube.  I’ve no idea who Su Lee is; she is not the best dancer, but it’s a simple, catchy tune to accompany me as I dance through the fields. Yes, I know I’m far too old for this malarkey.

  When I think back on long road treks, I often skipped a few steps to break the rhythm.
As children walking to and from school, we would devise some playful steps to avoid the cracks along the way. And what about kicking a tennis ball or a stone down the pavement? I still do.
  The fields are the driest I’ve seen them for a long time, there are flowers everywhere, and lots of birdsong – it makes you want to dance. I took a few of the usual photos, but thankfully no selfies, by the time I reached the road home, all dancing had stopped to preserve my dignity. My dancing days are over.

 

Out of the village. 

Down a green lane.  

Open fields and the Longridge.  

Bowland View.  

 

Sheep and lambs are bewildered by my antics.  

Sycamore
Oak.

 

Strange.  

I normally walk past this seat, but today, after all the exertions, I was glad to sit and stare at the views and blue sky. My phone ran out of juice, so you will just have to believe me. I’m pretty much out of juice myself; I realise what the last four months have taken out of my life.

A MEASURE OF CARE.

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I’m back at the Harris in Preston.

  A Measure of Care

“Artists Ruth Levene and Ian Nesbitt took a ledger written in the late 19th century out of The Harris archives and returned it to the place where it was written. The ledger was written by John Weld between 1880 and 1888, a Victorian landowner, antiquarian, naturalist, and amateur painter who lived at Leagram Hall near Chipping. The artists asked local farmers, birders, residents, ornithologists, conservationists, and historians to reflect on what they read, and their stories and observations form a new presentation in partnership with In Certain Places”

On my last visit, I wasn’t able to fully appreciate this audiovisual presentation of Bowland’s environment through modern eyes, reading the original writings of the C19th, John Weld. That time, there were too many people coming and going, and I was the only one sitting down trying to listen.

Today, by virtue of an early arrival in Preston, the room in the Harris is deserted.

I get myself comfortable on the settee and let the sounds of the countryside surround me. Here is a flavour of the presentation; the audio quality is not the best.

It begins by assessing John Weld’s book in relation to current bird species. I don’t know who the reader is.

 

The call of the Curlew is in the air.

And then two local ladies talk of the Curlew’s Bowland habitat.

 

We are given an explanation as to how modern farming methods have impacted the Curlew.

Even back in the late C19th, birds were under threat from shooting and agricultural practices.

Here is a mention of the Nightjar, a bird I’ve never seen or heard.

And of the corncrake, peewit. yellow hammer in separate videos.

Throughout the presentation, images of an imaginary future showing extinct birds being archived.  Probably unnecessary, but making a point.

The plight of the Hen Harrier is diplomatically dealt with.

I used to regularly see Hen Harriers in parts of Bowland, but they are much rarer now. A visit today from AB et famille brought back those halcyon days bouldering in Croasedale, 20 years ago, when we would nearly always see Hen Harriers along with Peregrines, Merlins, Stonechats, and Kestrels. I last climbed with AB at King’s Meaburn; he has moved to pastures new in the south of France.

There are touching comments from a local, which is a good place to finish. “I stopped shooting”

An enjoyable way to spend some time in the Harris whilst it is still being shown. I often wonder what happens to video presentations once their run is over.

And if you are interested in Hen Harriers and all things environmental, link into…                        https://www.henharrierday.uk/get-involved/skydancer-day/?utm_source=brevo&utm_campaign=Hen%20Harrier%20Action%20Late%20April%202026%20Newsletter&utm_medium=email

BAN TRAIL HUNTING.

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I have no hesitation in sharing this post regarding the proposal to ban trail hunting. I have an awful feeling it will disappear in the bureaucracy, corruption, even, of our parliamentary system. The more voices heard, the better. Let’s get rid of hunting forever, and then we can focus on game shooting.

Not for the faint-hearted.

https://wordpress.com/reader/feeds/372968/posts/6037394025

VISTA VISION.

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Two birds with one stone – not literally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Moving on quickly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

A SHORT CITY WALK.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

DEEPEST FULWOOD – BROTHERS IN ARMS.

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” We’re fools to make war on our brothers in arms”

  We find ourselves looking at two soldiers taking aim at each other across a road in a housing estate in deepest Fulwood. I hope we have not walked into some neighbourhood feud.

I had better explain how we come to be here; in fact, we are a little lost in the complexities of the estate’s convoluted roads. I have only just emerged from the hospital, having seen my shoulder surgeon for a follow-up. “It seems OK, I’ll see you again in six weeks” I forget to ask him several queries I have in mind.  Outside, the day is sunny and warm, and my chauffeur for the day, M, suggests a walk before we go for lunch. Rather than drive anywhere else, we leave the car where it is parked and set off rather aimlessly.

About three years ago, I had a few exploratory walks in the woodlands in this part of Fulwood. I remember being pleasantly surprised.  Housing estates have sprung up on land adjacent to Eastway, but parts of the original woodland have been set aside as green corridors. The numerous streams have, fortunately, formed small steep cloughs unsuitable for housing. The Woodland Trust, a worthwhile charity, has taken over their upkeep, safeguarding their future from any further development.

At the bottom of the hill, on Midgery Lane, we pick up the Guild Wheel, the walking cycle route around Preston, but soon take a path I vaguely remember into Midgery Woods. This goes alongside Savick Brook, which is not at its cleanest here in the semi-urban environment.

Savick Brook.

The young beech trees have those lovely bright green leaves of this time of year, and it’s good to see some quite old trees scattered in the woods.

 

We rise up towards the motorway, where the noise becomes very obtrusive despite a high fence. We are walking alongside townhouses visible through the trees. I hope they have triple glazing, but that won’t help when sat outside on a summer’s day.

Pleased to get away from the motorway’s edge, we follow an unknown path past a pond into the housing. And that is where we find ourselves in the middle of the gunfight.

Back in 1648, this area was known as Preston Moor, and on Augst 17th it was the site of the start of the Battle of Preston in the Second Civil War. Oliver Cromwell, with his Parliamentary army of Roundheads, had marched in from the east to confront King Charles’ supporters, the Royalist cavaliers under the Duke of Hamilton.  The Royalists were pushed back over the Ribble and routed in Walton-le-Dale. The survivors were pursued and finally defeated at the Battle of Winick two days later. A decidedly bloody era.  In the aftermath of the war, Charles I was beheaded on 30 January 1649, and an English republic was created on 19 May.

  The two soldiers we are looking at are “Brothers In Arms,” a sculpture by sculptor Thompson Dagnall, commissioned in 2005, presumably when the housing was completed. His work is quite distinctive, and many examples of his work can be found across Lancashire.  He has crafted from blocks of gritstone two soldiers pointing their guns at each other. One, a Royalist Cavalier and the other a Parliamentarian Roundhead.  The only difference is their metal hats. They are each holding a cannon pointing at each other. “The inevitable outcome of their cannons’ aims is a shared fate – the results of political and religious intolerance”   We never learn.

  The statues are to be found on Ladybank Avenue, at the junction with Williams Lane. Fulwood, PR2 9WB.

We find a path down the delightful Clough Copse, which brings us full circle back to Midgery Lane.

Only a mile or so, but a trip back through history. A piece of Preston’s history that should perhaps be better known.

     Of course, I can’t resist the opportunity to play… 

 

 

AN EASTER DAY.

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  A Catching Yellow.    A mundane post mainly about gate catches, oh! and the moon if you get to the end.

   “It’s crazy”, as Manuel would say in Fawlty Towers. It’s Easter and the weather is crazy. A few days ago, I was out in sleet and hailstones, so bad we had to curtail the walk early in one of our excellent hostalries. Then calm and warm. Then along comes Dave, the latest storm. My windows rattled all night, but this morning the sun comes out, even though  I can hardly stand up in the wind. And this evening all is peaceful, and I’m looking forward to a brilliant sunset.

  I have just returned from a six or seven-mile walk around Longridge.  Blown and blasted by the wind, but invigorated by the sunshine. My mission was to investigate changes on the ground of my, or anybody else’s, Round Longridge Walk. I have talked about the origins and development of this route over the years. The problem is that Longridge is bursting at the seams, its wasteline expanding with all that Easter chocolate. Where there were fields, hedges and trees, we now have desirable countryside housing estates, you know the language. Bowland Meadows, Primrose Drive, and Linnet Lane. All imagined in the developers’ world and all destroying what they represented. Sorry, I have gone off on one there. I keep doing that. But as Manuel would also say, “I know nothing”

  I walk down Green Nook Lane. (The term “Nook”  refers to a secluded, “out of the way” place.)  The lane leads to a secluded house, but we are diverted away over a bridge spanning the infant  Savick Brook, which winds its way to Preston and the Ribble. It doesn’t look that clean as it passes. This is not surprising, but not excusable, as we are in the centre of an industrial complex. 

  I walk alongside the touchline of one of the football pitches. It’s heavy going after all the rain, wouldn’t want to be running with the ball. I reach a bridge, followed by a new metal gate with one of those fluorescent yellow catches. Said to be hard-wearing and visually clear to all, they are becoming more common in the countryside. The field edge is better going until a dodgy bridge that will need replacing soon. A concrete track is not much better, often disappearing into mud. Originally, I used to follow this track through the farmyard out onto the main road, but there is now a gap into Alston Grange waste land. Last year, this was obstructed, but I’m pleased to find another one of those new metal gates with a yellow catch leading into the ponded area linking to paths that bring me out directly opposite Pinfold Lane. 

  A familiar route was taken down the lane which leads to a few isolated ‘farms’. It is rare to see a car along this stretch, but here’s one coming towards me – the driver’s window reveals a friend happy to chat. The lane had just reopened after a tree blew down last night, someone has cleared it – a large beech. I  suspect there will be others down in the area. I pass by the observation hides looking over a disused reservoir.  It’s too windy for many birds to be out, though there are swans on the water. The lane leading back up to the village is known locally as Happy Alley, don’t ask me why; there is a graveyard at the top. I don’t follow it that far, but take a wooden gate into the field north of the reservoir. Sheep and lambs are everywhere. I struggle to get over the wobbly stile out of the field and almost turn back, somehow, climbing over the gate was the easiest option. I daren’t risk a fall before seeing the shoulder specialist at the end of the week.

  I stick with the roads until I can turn up Tan Yard lane heading steeply up to the top of the village. There had been a tannery up near the quarries at one time. There has been some minor rerouting of the PRofW recently, an improvement that keeps it in the field rather than through houses. A new metal gate, complete with a yellow catch, leads the way. There is another one up ahead. This elevated path gives great views across Dilworth Reservoirs and across the Ribble Valley to Whalley and Pendle Hill. 

  I skirt the caravan park and come out right next to Craig Y Longridge, our renowned bouldering venue. Three youths are enjoying their first visit and doing their best to avoid the wind. A lot of my local walks seem to end up here at present.

  To follow my Round Longridge walk further would involve several stiles, so I’m happy to walk down Higher Road back home.  I am pleased with the new gates I’ve encountered and can update my description. 

  Being Easter Sunday, the shops are closed. I had been hoping to look around our new bookshop in the old chapel at the top of the main street, exciting news for Longridge. Something for next week.  

Green Nook Lane.

The first bridge and galvanised gate.

The dodgy bridge.

The new gate with yellow catch.

Either way, past ponds.

Pinfold Lane.

Happy Alley, with St. Lawrence’s and the Dog Inn prominent on the skyline.

Wooden gate.
Sheep field.

Dodgy stile.

Lower Tan Yard Lane.
Higher Tan Yard Lane.

 

 

New gate, yellow latch.

And the next.

Dilworth reservoirs and the Ribble Valley.

Distant Pendle Hill.

Into the caravan site. 

Out of the caravan site.

Craig Y Longridge.  

   *

All of a rather mundane walk today, but in view of the ongoing NASA Artemis space mission around the moon, a good excuse for a post in order to play…

 

 

 

 

ON AND ON,,,

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

  Three months of my life drifted away. 

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

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

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

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

  On and on …

 

 *

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

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

ANOTHER WEEK DAWNS.

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

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

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

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

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

LET IT RAIN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Maybe tomorrow?

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

*

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

 *

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

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

*

 

Slowly Sinking, Miami. Isaac Cordal.

MUD, GLORIOUS MUD.

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

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

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

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

THE FATE OF OUR WILDLIFE.

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As a lover of all things Bowland, I am led to believe that at least three of the Hen Harriers born in Bowland this year have gone missing in mysterious circumstances. It is therefore of interest to watch this Channel 4 report on the conviction of a gamekeeper for Hen Harrier persecution. The footage is upsetting.

Whilst I’m on the subject of wildlife crime, have a read of this summary of so-called ‘trail hunting’ and what it obscures.

Scent To Deceive Us: The Smokescreen Of Trail Hunting

Some of the privileged few feel they can ignore the law with impunity.  It is long overdue for the government of this so-called civilised country to take more positive action to outlaw these practices.

I have a nasty taste in my mouth.

UNDER THE HOWGILLS.

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More of the Lune. 

  November 1981. Day four of our Dales Way walk. We had started in Ilkley as a threesome, but by the time we arrived, via a long day to Grassington, into Kettlewell, we were down to two. An excessive night at the George in Hubberholme, when we couldn’t find the tent, didn’t slow us up. I can’t recall where we camped in Dent. The next afternoon, we diverted into Sedbergh for beer and chips before joining the Lune. I remember well our camp later that day in the meadows just before the Crook of Lune Bridge.  Our sleeping bags weren’t up to the freezing temperatures we experienced that night.

We made it to Windermere. But I don’t remember walking under the Lowgill Viaduct. I’m back here today for a walk down the Lune and beyond.

*

    The journey up the motorway goes well, I am trying to make the most of a rare good January day. The Howgills look even more attractive than usual in the low sunshine as I swish down the road past the ‘Black Horse’ towards Sedbergh. But today I take the lane signed Waterside and Firbank up the Lune Valley. I stop to take photos of the Waterside viaduct, which carried the Ingleton Branch railway line.

I eventually park under the Lowgill Viaduct, which carried the same line. onwards to Tebay, where it merged with what is now the Main West Coast Line.

The Ingleton to Tebay line, the Ingleton Branch, was built in the early 1860s by the North Western Railway as a link for them to Scotland. This never worked, and it remained a quiet branch line linking towns and villages in the Lune Valley.   It finally closed in 1964, but its structures and trackbed are still very visible in the valley today.

I’m inspired by the eleven-arched viaduct above me. What a climbing wall could be established on one of those stone arches.

  I walk down the lane, past the attractive Pool House, to the Crook of Lune Bridge. Not be confused with the Crook of Lune bridge painted by Turner further down the river at Caton. The one I cross today is a narrow, arched C16th stone bridge. Oh, and by the way, this Lowgill shouldn’t be confused with the one at the base of the Tatham Fells.

From the bridge, I look upstream towards the shapely Howgills, and downstream with Firbank Fell in the background, I will be up the latter on my return leg. It’s a day of views despite not really climbing anything higher than 1000ft.

That’s a slow start, but I’m soon in the fields bordering the River Lune, where we camped all those years ago. How come I don’t remember the viaduct?

The Dales Way is a popular route, and the path is clear, though rougher than I expected. This may be due to erosion from flooding; there is a section where the narrow trod has been bolstered with wooden boarding.

I’m walking into the low sun, so some of my photos are looking back. In places, the river rushes along, but in others it seems to be at a standstill, which I notice has a very calming effect upon me. One can imagine sitting here quietly for hours.

I arrive at Hole House with its joining arch, which I’ve been through not that long ago. *

Time for the obligatory snowdrop and catkin photos.

Leaving the Dales Way, the river is crossed via a wooden footbridge and begin a steep 700ft climb up the otherside.

Stopping for breath at the abandoned rail track of the Ingleton Branch. I wonder whether one could follow it back to Lowgill. Wouldn’t it make a wonderful cycleway from Sedbergh?

My next rest stop is at Goodies Farmhouse, where I reach the road. The views back to the Howgills are becoming more impressive as height is gained.

There is more height to be climbed along the semi-enclosed bridleway, then onto open moorland.

At last, the top road is reached, and the stile is used as my picnic bench.

Just along the road in the wrong direction is Fox’s Pulpit and a small graveyard. I visited here a couple of years ago. *  Then the Howgills were in cloud, but today are spread out in full Cinemascope.

The lane leads to my highest point of the day, a mere 304m, a smidgem under 1000ft, but exhilarating in the windless blue sky. I walk on, soaking up the views. The M6 motorway and the main railway line can be seen sneaking through the gap to Tebay.

The Lakeland hills are over there somewhere beyond the Tebay Borrowdale. Kidsty Pike is always the prominent one in the East.

 

 

A slanty sign shows the way down the fields. Some awkward stiles to be surmounted. After crossing this one, I slide off the boards into the stream, fortunately staying upright.

The path eventually drops steeply down towards Lowgill, offering a bird’s-eye view of the valley.

I finish on the road alongside those eleven arches.

A grand five mikes.

*

  Several drone videos of the viaduct are available online.

*

*

  I noticed a small turreted church by the roadside as I drove in this morning. I have time to stop and look around on the way home. St John the Evangelist’s Church, Firbank, built in 1842.

It looks as though a spring visit is called for…

 

 

A NEW YEAR. IN BOWLAND MEADOW.

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  My walking year wasn’t meant to start like this.

*

  I had a busy and costly day yesterday. 

  A dental appointment in the morning – check-up and a difficult molar filling that keeps dropping out and will need some major drilling in the near future. 

  Physiotherapy appointment at lunch time to assess some abdominal muscular problems, which have completely stopped me from venturing out in 2026 so far. Suspect nerve impingement in my thoracic region. Hopefully not a kidney stone, as my GP’s appointment is in two weeks.  

  Afternoon – ultrasound scan of my shoulder, which has suffered from the bar stool episode last year. The charming radiologist tells me I have a complete tear of the supraspinatus. No quick fix there.

  ‘That was the day that was‘, which left me £500 less in my bank account.  Having said that, I don’t begrudge a penny of it if it gets me back on the road. (OK, I know I’m lucky to be able to afford it where others may not.)

*

  Today, my muscle spasms are less, thanks to the physiotherapist’s strong-arm massage on my back yesterday—time to stop the painkillers. I have watched the blue skies on several days this year and been unable to get outside and enjoy them. By lunchtime, the day is set fair, and I decide to go for my first walk of 2026. My choice of route is modest and local. It has only now struck me that the name of the estate I walk around is Bowland Meadows – serendipity.

  I would have been happier in the Bowland Fells, but needs must, and at least the meadows have been granted a local name, although Bowland View would have been more appropriate. The meadows are no more, yet more countryside has been sacrificed for our mad rush to build more houses at whatever cost to nature. Barratt Homes,  as the developers, fall back on giving the streets ‘nature-related’ names, as you will see in my photos. Is this to dupe the house purchasers into thinking they are moving to a rural life? What was wrong with Factory Row, Mill Street and Gas Alley?  As our natural fauna and flora are being destroyed, the popularity for naming streets after birds, animals, trees and flowers has increased exponentially. There is some perverse psychology at play.  Similar to the global companies offering to plant a tree for every pound spent on destroying the planet. It just doesn’t work. 

  Having said all that, my stroll around Bowland Meadows reveals diverse, pleasant housing, open green spaces, play areas, and a connection to the surrounding countryside, for now at least. And of course, those Bowland Fells will dominate forever. 

  Let us hope they appreciate the view and the ‘rural life’ they have signed up for.

  Let’s also hope for some snowdrops, primroses, and bluebells to brighten their Spring. 

A BIT OF DENTDALE FROM SEDBERGH.

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I have to thank John Bainbridge from Country Ways for inspiring this walk; he often writes about Sedbergh. However, it seemed to take me so long to get inspired this morning. Lots of faffing involved. Anyhow, I was parked up in Sedbergh close by the cemetery at 11 am. The day was forecast to go downhill in the afternoon. That decided me on a clockwise circuit so that I would get the views from the high ground before a plod along the lane back to town.

Some walks suit a particular direction, either because of the ease of ascent or for the views unfolding. Clockwise or widdershins. I tend to opt for a gentle, gradual ascent and deal with the views by stopping often and looking back – the best of both worlds, and so it is today.

Stepping through the arch into the cemetery, I feel I’m entering a different world, like Alice through the looking glass.

The walk has begun. A stroll down to Birks House and the footpath branching off alongside the River Rawthey. I probably make a mistake here as I keep to the riverside path rather than the PRofW, which would have passed Bruce Loch and the Pepper Pot. I have to scramble up from where my riverside path fades to join the path above—no big problem.  The Loch and the Pepper Pot were part of the Akay estate, which was sold off in 1936, to Sedbergh School and the mansion was demolished. I catch a glimpse of the Pepperpot, restored by the school, as I enter the woods above the river. Some of the trees reflect the lost estate’s glory.

Birks House and Winder.

  Crossing the Rawthey at Millthrop Bridge, I walk down the line of cottages built for the workers of the nearby mill, originally for corn, then cotton, and, lastly, until 1931, wool.

An old cobbled track climbs into the hills.

The steepness gives me an excuse to pause, more than once, and look back over Sedbergh with the Howgills lurking in the background.

The track splits, and I take the higher one, The Dales Way.

As I reach the high point, I’m intrigued by piles of stones in the grass; were they just from clearing the fields for agriculture?

Walking the Dales Way westwards, what a view would greet you, cresting the ridge. It’s been 45 years since I came that way, so my memory is vague, but I’m happy to relive it today.

The good-walled track continues through gorse and woodlands before dropping into the fields of Gap and Hewthwaite farms—traditional vernacular C18th buildings rooted to the landscape.

The steep, rough lane from the farms has a wall on its right with finishing flat coping stones, unusual for a farm track. Two doors offer a further clue that something grander borders the lane. 

The answer is Gate Manor, which I’ve often noticed when driving along the road to Dent. Today, I don’t see it till I’m on the other side of the valley, my photo out of sequence.

I get in a muddle in the fields by the Dairy Cottage converted dwellings. A finger post points vaguely south with the unhelpful ‘Brackensgill via deep ford’, no mention of a bridge, which is rather worrying. Estracating myself from a field, I locate the lane leading down to the ford. The lane itself is like a river, but a footbridge does appear to save the day. In fact, its steps provide a seat for a lunch stop.  I wouldn’t have fancied the ford across the River Dee. A little upstream from here live my friends, and we have bathed in the Dee in the summer months.

I reach the lane, which takes me back towards Birks. Upper Dentdale can wait for another occasion.

For over a mile, not a car is seen, and I have time to admire the old farmsteads along the way. Stepping back into another century.

After the side road over the graceful Rash Bridge, I come across an old abandoned Methodist chapel, Dent Foot, and then the Rash Mill, an undershot mill dating from the C16th when it was used for grinding corn. 

Outflow from the undershot wheel.

Then off the road on footpaths winding through the low hills, giving excellent views back up Dentdale and over to the Howgills, with Wild Boar Fell’s flat top visible through Gardsale. This walk has everything.

Judging by the variety of lichens, the air quality up here is excellent – fill your lungs.

Dropping steeply down through a thicket of hawthorns, which apparently gives a stunning display in May. Today I enjoy all the red haws.

Back alongside the fast-flowing River Dee, a beautiful arched bridge, Abbott Holme, takes me straight into a golf course, which I don’t navigate too well; fortunately, there are no players.

Woodland paths lead me along to a footbridge over the River Rawthey. Around Sedbegh, one is never quite sure which river one is following. The Lune is close by.

The old mill on the opposite bank used to be a water-powered cotton and worsted spinning mill. The lane leads back through the few houses of Birks to the cemetery and back through the arch with Sedbergh’s Winder above, celebrated in song by the school.

Far off from beck and fell,
As boyhood’s days grow dimmer,
The memory will not die
Of Winder’s clear-cut outline
Against an evening sky.

  That’s a lot crammed into 5 miles. Thanks for reading.

*

*

  On a final note, a fitting memorial in that churchyard to a brave Polish airman defending another nation. Let us hope we continue to stand firm with Ukraine.

BAILEY’S LISTED BUILDINGS.

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Aighton, Bailey and Chaigley is a combined parish in the Ribble Valley, centred on Hurst Green. Many of you will have walked hereabouts, Longridge Fell, Stonyhurst College and the Tolkien trail, without realising its parish name. Today I’m exploring the Bailey area, west and south of Hurst Green. Looking at the map this morning for inspiration, I notice Bailey Hall with a moat surrounding it. Checking Historic England, it shows up as a Grade II-listed C17th house on an earlier C14th site, of a Chantry Chapel. A public footpath goes through its grounds.

A short drive and I’m parked in Hurst Green. I take the familiar track alongside Dene Book, which I’ve described many times. Renovation of the two houses along here is underway. Looking down through the bare trees, one can see the spot where a mill race came off the Brook to serve a bobbin mill further down the valley.

I walk on past the quarry to reach Sandy Bridge, a substantial structure for the little valley. Of course, this highway previously served Greengore, a C16th Hunting Lodge for the medieval Stonyhurst Deer Park.

The waterfalls above the bridge are particularly lively today and stand out well through the bare trees.

I don’t go as far as Greemgore, as I want to use some field paths I may not have trodden before. There is a hazy view of Pendle across the valley, header photo. I know I’m going to get muddy. I navigate through the yard of Hill Farm and, on in the fields below the shapely Doe Hill, with its crown of trees.

Bailey House is next, and the way is clear. This is a grade II-listed C17th building, partially hidden from the right-of-way.

I come out onto the main Longridge Road at the site of the now-demolished Punch Bowl Inn. (On old maps, it was named Fenton Arms) There is a lot of local controversy over the fate of this Grade II listed C18th inn. I walk down the lane beside the rubble.

An empty house is passed, and then a concrete drive winds through the fields towards Bailey Hall. I’ve not been down here for decades. Approaching the buildings, I pass barns that I later find out are cruck-framed. The largest barn has been converted to impressive living accommodation.

Bailey Hall stands alone, with the remains of the surrounding moat visible. Some windows have been bricked up, presumably in response to the 1696 Window Tax introduced under King William III. The whole building appears unbalanced to me.

The remains of the Chantry Chapel are difficult to make out, mainly a pile of stones. It had been built and occupied as an outlier to Whalley Abbey. so the local population could pray without difficult travel.

The moat is clearly seen on the east side of the house, where I enter the woods and drop down to a footbridge over Bailey Brook. (interestingly marked as Foot Stick on old OS maps)

The way across the fields to grade II listed Merrick’s Hall (Priest’s House on the old map) is marked by white poles, which are a great help; if only more farmers would do the same. The hall is unoccupied and in a poor state. Through the south side windows, I can just make out an elaborately carved fire surround in one room. At the front of the hall are some interesting mullioned windows, but all a little sad.

The farmer has a sizeable collection of scrap metal.

I have never been in St. John’s parish church, just across the road, so it’s yet another discovery for today. Built in 1838, it has a plain interior. What strikes me immediately is a beautiful stained glass window reminiscent of the Arts and Crafts style of William Morris and Burne-Jones. The box pews were removed in the early 20th century and replaced with pine pews.

The church prides itself on its eco-sustainability; it won a coloured glass award. On the west wall is a charming church clock.

All I have to do is walk down the steep Dene to finish this worthwhile little circuit of Bailey.

The Bayley Arms (note the change in spelling) looks very dilapidated, let’s hope it doesn’t suffer the same fate as the Punchbowl.

*

National Library of Scotland.

OUT OF THE ROUGH.

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Dusty and Dinkley.

  In my last post, some time ago, I was in the rough.

  Well, I seem to have taken some time to escape. Out of nowhere, my throat became encased in sandpaper, and my voice struggled to function. A week of hot drinks, gargling and cough medicines ensured the bug didn’t get onto my chest, the main worry for us oldies. Disturbed sleep was mitigated with whisky. 

  Of course, there was that stormy Friday when one of my mature trees snapped in half, pulling with it a climbing rose I’ve had for 40 years with stems thicker than my arms. The devastation was evident from my kitchen window, but I was in no state to go out and sort it. 

  On the mend, I eventually ventured out with a chainsaw and loppers. But that rose was a nightmare; it would hook me up from all angles, taking lumps out of my jacket and skin. An hour a day was all I could manage—slow progress and still not all cleared. 

   For company, I would bring out my kittens to play in the garden. Oscar is becoming a proficient climber, while Dusty quarters the lawn, honing her skills in pursuit of insects.  I need to keep an eye on them as a tom from across the road is very aggressive towards them. 

  In a second, Oscar is up a tree, but little Dusty is chased out of the garden.

  That was the start of three days of worrying for her safety. I went around neighbours’ gardens and alleys, rattling tins and knocking on doors. I left bedding and a litter tray out to offer her some olfactory guide back. I resorted to a Facebook message. And it rained nonstop.  She was spotted in a garage but ran off, which gave me hope. But it was unlikely she would willingly return to my garden after the scare she had experienced. 

  To my joy, yesterday, after a vain morning search for her, she turned up in my porch. A lovely neighbour found her in their garage and coaxed her out. She was happy to be picked up and brought home. With relish, she tucks into a juicy chicken drumstick. Oscar is thrilled to see her, and we are now all having a cosy purring night together.

  I hope we are all out of the rough.

*

  Which is all a prelude to my walk today. It would have been easy to sink into another coffee and a book, but the sun shine beckons—time to get moving. I have in mind a gentle walk alongside the Ribble at Dinkley. 

  Surprisingly, I am the only car in the usually popular Marles Wood carpark. To vary the day and for an easy start, I just walk along the road to the pub and church at Old Langho. It’s a quiet stretch of road, and I relax into a gentle rhythm, enjoying the crisp air and sunshine. 

  I remember when this house was a pub, The Tanners Arms and then a Chinese Restaurant, Mr Foo’s? Allegedly, he lost the place playing mahjong. 

  I’m not sure when the next bus will come along here.

  I pause at the sandstone bridge over Dinkley Brook.

  My obligatory shot of Pendle, with his head in the clouds. 

  The Black Bull hasn’t opened yet, and there is a burial service at St. Leonards Church, so I move on. You can read more about the church and Brockhall Hospital cemetery here and here.  

  More lodges are being built on the adjacent site. I am soon through and dropping down to cross Dinckley Brook for the second time this morning.

  Once up the slope, I head for the cluster of houses. Dinckley is a scattered community. Rather than continue on the lane, which I’ve walked before, I fancy a footpath going past Cravens, which might give me a view from the hillside over the Ribble. I often feel anxious walking down private drives, but I needn’t have worried; a series of gates takes me through their yard and back out into fields. The views I hoped for don’t materialise due to a belt of woodland above Dinckley Hall, but I do look across to Longridge Fell above Hurst Green.

  And there is this stately oak.

  Wire fencing hems me in; its purpose becomes apparent at a gate. The wigwams are just visible on the skyline before I reach the road going down to the hall. 

  Now on familiar territory, I make my way past that lovely shiny new bridge, replacing a ferry and a previous suspension bridge, whose opening plaque from 1951 is still on display.

  Despite all the rain we have had, the river is running low, with the shingle beaches visible.  

  The flood debris left on the banks, some 10 feet or more above today’s level, is scary.

  The bridge is better viewed from this angle.

  As I say, the river is low and ambling along at a slow pace, which I happily go along with. Entering Marles Wood, the only leaves left are on the young beech trees.  

  The river picks up pace approaching the rapids, but bears no resemblance to when it is in full flow. The Wheel is barely turning.

  I sit on a rock, drinking my coffee, watching the river flow by; at peace with the world.

*

But never mind Dinckley, Dusty is the star of the show.

* 

IN THE ROUGH.

16 Replies

                                                     Looking across to Sabden from Wiswell Moor.

Wiswell Moor.

   I’m intrigued by the name  Jeppe Knave on the map of Wiswell Moor. Looking into it, there are various stories, but basically, he was probably  Jeppe Curteys, a local robber who was beheaded for his crimes in 1327 and buried up here for whatever reason.  

  I set out today, halfheartedly, to see if I could locate the stone. I am really just out for a circular walk from the little village of Wiswell, making the most of another sparkling November day. I have to scrape the ice from my car this morning.

  There appear to be road closures in Wiswell, but I find a quiet street to park on. Cutting across fields, I arrive on Moor Lane. New houses are being constructed up here; they will have views over the Ribble Valley to Longridge Fell and Bowland. I hope for the same as I climb higher.

  At the top of the lane, there is a choice of footpaths, and on a whim, I take the left one, which, according to the map, goes close to Wiswell Quarry. The sheep study my slow progress upwards. Looking back, the view is definitely worth capturing in a panorama shot.

   I have never climbed here. It looks a bit scrappy, but I don’t get up close.

  I drop down the cobbled quarry track to join a lane, Clerk Hill Road, which connects farms along the flank of Wiswell Moor. It goes straight ahead uphill. The last farm has a strange building with an old ‘chimney’ – a man at the farm tells me it was once an abattoir.

The quarry track.

Clerk Hill Road

Old abbatoir at Wiswell Mooor Houses.

  Leaving the tarmac, the bridleway borders open access land on the moor. Yes, that’s the bulk of Pendle ahead.

  Looking at the map, Jeppe Knave’s Grave is in the second field, but there was no way to enter it due to the height of a splendid dry stone wall, with no gateway along its length. 

  Oh well, I can give it a miss. But then a gate brings the bridleway onto the rough, open fell. I now realise I could walk up to the trig point on The Rough, which again I’ve never visited, and could I then possibly find a way back into the grave field?  Off I go. 

 

    There is no track across the reedy ground alongside the wall. It’s also steeper than it looks.

  As I struggle, I start to regret my decision and consider my escape. Rough by name and rough by nature. I’ve started leaving a route map in our family WhatsApp group for my nearest and dearest. But here I am already going off piste on remote moorland. As the ground steepens, it becomes less boggy, so head down and plod on. At last, I reach the watershed. There is a gate ahead, then a high ladder stile into the field I want. I regret not noting the grid reference for Jeppe’s grave. It’s over there somewhere.   

 

  Once over the high ladder stile, there is a faint track going across the moor, and I surmise that it must lead me to the grave. Thankfully, it does.

  There are scattered rocks in a dip. Looking closer, there is an upright inscribed stone, Jeppe Knave.   This seems pretty new, and yes, behind it is an older inscribed stone lying on the ground.  I had not realised that the ‘grave’ was on the site of a Bronze Age burial ground, which, in any case, I wouldn’t have recognised. I can find no reference to the ‘new’ inscribed stone. Was it brought here or created in situ, and was there a need for it?

  Satisfied, I head back to the wall stile where I find an ideal spot for some lunch – the Shepherd’s Cave. The vistas over the Ribble Valley and afar are remarkable.

 

  Why have I never been here before?  Someone I know has been here before with an interesting tale – https://conradwalks.blogspot.com/search?q=trig+Wiswell+moor.

  I ritually touch the trig pillar on The Rough, 315m. Do I retrace my steps back down all that rough moor to the bridleway? But there seems to be a trod heading north-east towards the Nick. Let’s try it, so off I go again. The path improves as I follow it.

  I love walking high on the fells with my destination far off in the distance. Pendle Hill, or more correctly Spence Moor, is on the skyline. Can I see the summit of Pendle?   A gate, with a plaque to a local cyclist, sees me off the moor.

 In no time, I’m at the Nick of Pendle with Sabden down in the valley, and the ski club on the north side. Busy with traffic, I’m brought back to reality. But I only have a  few yards to go before I hop over a wall back onto the moor.  

  Soon, I join an old trackway leading down to Wymondhouses. Ingleborough and PenYghent are just visible at the head of hazy Ribblesdale. In front of me, Longridge Fell and the Bowland Fells

  I recognise the buildings from a walk in the past. There is a sign above the door which I can’t read from this distance, but looking back at previous posts I find this photo explaining it.  

  The higher path I take is very boggy, and I inevitably end up with wet feet. Not many come this way; somewhere I have gone off track.  I rejoin the public footpath at Audley Clough, and fortunately, there is a stile. Climbing out of the clough, I am suddenly back in cultivated fields, and an obvious path leads to Cold Coats farm.

  The grass and puddles have been frozen since this morning.

  All I have to do is stroll back along the lane to Wiswell and find which street I parked my car in.

  A very satisfying day, with the bonus of finding Jeppe Knave’s grave and enjoying an unexpected high moorland ridge walk.

*

SPIRE HILL DESPOILMENTS.

10 Replies

I’m not sure what to make of the recent additions next to the trig point on Longridge Fell, Spire Hill. It must have been a few weeks since I’ve been up here. I didn’t intend to come here today.

I was intent on heading for a quiet way across the fells to the Nick of Pendle from Wiswell. But as I sit in the car about to set off, I realise the day is slipping away. Pendle can wait. I need to take advantage of this sunny day, so I quickly change plans and park up on one of the roads on  Longridge Fell.  It looks to be busy.

However, my way up the lane is unfrequented.

The open fell arrives on cue. Wild, rugged, and wet.

Gannow Fell, on open-access land. The local landowner seems to think differently.

At the next stile, I climb past the head-high barbed wire fence – a death trap to the deer that have lived up here for centuries.

Circling the forest, I arrive at the wall, where I join groups coming up from the Jeffrey Hill carpark. More join in, having climbed from the lower road more directly than I. It’s bound to be busy on a sunny Sunday.

Of course, the views to the north are stunning.

It is at the trig point that I am surprised by the recent additions of ‘Fell furniture’. A sturdy wooden bench has been built next to the wall, with a totally incongruous little coffee table attached. Worse is a structure incorporating a locked summit book and information on trig points, which is already disintegrating, that we don’t need. Anyone requiring information on trig points, whether specific or general, can find it on the OS Website.   A waste bin liner is attached – who is going to empty this? Generally, the summit of the fell is relatively litter-free, and I do a litter pick there every few weeks. I fear the bin liner will only attract litter because people will use it rather than take their rubbish home. The structure resembles a payment station found in carparks.

I want to get more photos of the installation, but a large group of ramblers arrives and takes over the summit. I move on.

I have questions to ask about these recent additions.

Who gave permission? Who is the landowner?

What does the Forest of Bowland AONB think? Was it consulted?

Is it appropriate on an open felt top?

What do local walkers who frequent these paths think?

To give the perpetrator due credit, he does leave his name. A Stewart Duxbury, who adopted the trig pillar when the OS were releasing them. But the fact that he has taken responsibility for the trig pillar doesn’t give him the right to interfere with the surrounding fell top. I hope he is reading this article, and I would be very happy to discuss the matter further with him. Why not arrange a meeting up there?

Away from the crowds, I find a new track dropping off the fell used by mountain bikers. Discretely constructed through the trees. Some of the jumps make me shudder.

I find a tree stump for a quiet lunch, hidden away only yards from one of the main forest tracks. 

Then it is down off the fell on the usual paths, yet another brilliant autumn day..

I would value any comments, as usual, particularly on my worries for the fell, especially from people who use Longridge Fell. I have no more right to the open countryside than anybody else, but I do try to respect it.

*

HOT OFF THE PRESS.

8 Replies

Dean Clough Reservoir.

  I buy far too many books; I’ve a little stash awaiting my attention this winter.  I’m currently reading Alan Cleaver’s ‘The Postal Paths’, a loving look back at the ways our rural postmen used to travel before they were issued with vans. That particular purchase stemmed from my attempt to follow one of our local postie paths under the fell.

  In the past, I have often been inspired and guided by publications from Cicerone Press. Set up way back by two Lancashire lads, Walt Unsworth and Brian Evans, climbers and walkers who had a flair for researching routes and producing damn good guidebooks for the rest of us to follow. I would hazard a guess that you will have one or more on your bookshelf.

  Their regular newsletters appear in my digital newsbox. For November, they were tempting me with 20% off all their catalogue. My ambitions are limited these days, so aspiring treks in far-off places I can ignore, but a newish series of Short Walks in various UK destinations caught my eye. A few were promptly ordered. In the bundle that arrived yesterday was one on the Ribble Valley, which was only just published this year and written by Mark Sutcliffe, whom I respect as a trusted guidebook author. Okay, I have probably walked the Ribble Valley to death, but I am always curious about how others approach it.

  Walk No. 5 – Dean Clough Reservoir seems an ideal, fairly local walk for these short days between the showers. Today, the rain isn’t forecast until three this afternoon. Yes, I’ve walked this particular area several times, but Mark gives a new twist to the familiar and maybe paths that I have never explored.  I didn’t know one could walk the south side of the reservoir, and who doesn’t love navigating a golf course? 

  One advantage of Cicerone is that once you have purchased one of their guidebooks, you can download a GPX file of the route onto your phone. Of course, I forgot to do that today, but it is not necessary as the book has good OS mapping and an accurate description of the route. 

  Time to get walking. In fact, it is just before midday when I park up at an abandoned Indian restaurant in Langho. The last time I came this way, I arrived by train, which is a more sensible approach. But needs must. 

  I know the way up a residential road to where the footpath sneaks behind the last house and attempts to follow a stream bed, which is slowly, or perhaps rapidly, eroding away. Today, with the slippery leaves, it becomes a bit of an obstacle course.  The obstruction caused by a fallen tree, which I encountered last time, has been cleared, but the path now seems more precarious. Of course, I emerge onto the lane at York unscathed.

  It’s still all uphill past the cottages. Locals stop to chat, and I struggle to catch my breath.

  The Lord Nelson pub is left behind as I climb another steep lane. More locals join in; this is a popular walk. I stop to look back across the Ribble Valley to Longridge Fell.

  Through a gate, I end up on the open common of the ridge with no name.  Rather than head up to the rocks along with everybody else, my way slants across to the right, passing some tough-looking ponies, before rough ground down to the bridleway above Deans Clough Reservoir. Yes, there is rain in the air.

  I follow this up to the prominent band of trees on the hillside.  Doesn’t gorse brighten your day, whatever the month?

  I’ve traversed this way several times, but as I said, I was unaware that there is a permissive footpath along the south side of the waters. So that’s where I head. A decent path provided by United Utilities skirts the shore all the way to the dam, leaving you to enjoy the views right through to Pendle. One can never get away from Pendle in the Ribble Valley. I’m not sure why the reservoir has a dividing weir, but it appears that you can walk across it.

  Across the main dam, I climb back up onto the ridge, but instead of heading back down to York, I veer right towards Whittle Hall.  From up here, trying to ignore Pendle, there are views back across hidden East Lancashire.  

  The buildings of Whittle Hall are navigated surprisingly easily, and now for the golf course.

  So I just follow the black and white posts; there doesn’t seem to be any golfers out. But what a view they have over to Kemple End. The ground is treacherously wet; crampons or at least golf studs would be of help. Soon, however, I’m in an old byway—Doctots Rake, avoiding all the fairways. I wonder how that name originated.

  Once over the railway, I pass the clubhouse, but don’t seem to find a way in for that promised cup of coffee.

  Not to worry, I’m back at the car in ten minutes and home in twenty. What a good choice for a Short Ribble Valley walk.

  And today, storm Claudia is creeping past, and bits of my roof are falling off.. 

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