Tag Archives: Lancashire

CICERONE’S LANCASHIRE – A lazy Sunday Wyre Walk.

Sunday and I take the easy way out again as lunchtime comes around. I pick another walk from Mark Sutcliffe’s Cicerone Lancashire guide. Not wishing to drive far, I find a low level circuit from Great Eccleston in the Fylde. It turns out to be one of the flattest routes in the county, with only a few feet of ascent on the return leg. It was good to get this rural walk out of the way before the cattle are put out into the fields.

My plan when I revisited this book was to maybe do one walk a week as an incentive to get me walking farther, but somehow I’m up to number four in just over a week. So far I’m impressed with Mark’s style, he has chosen well, and his directions have been spot on – suitable for the casual walker. Today’s walk was complicated in places, and yet I didn’t put a foot wrong.

I find a place to park in the main street only to see it is an electric charging point. Having moved the car I walk out of the village past the old pinfold, on across the main road and down a well-used, dog walkers mostly, path to the river Wyre. Here is a fairly unique private toll bridge next to the Cartford Inn. The ‘cart – ford’ prior to the original C18th bridge. In the grounds of the inn are modern staycation ‘pods’. I recognise these from a walk I found for myself last winter, or was it the one before – the pandemic seems to have confused my recall.

Easy walking along the riverbank to a footbridge where I crossed to the road near the extensive and impressive, possibly haunted, grounds of White Hall. I often wonder who owns these multi-million pound properties – Russian oligarchs?

Using farm tracks, I joined The Wyre Way, linking farms in this flat rural landscape. This is the way I should have come on my disastrous attempt on this section when I almost drowned and then lost my map, leaving me with no alternative but to follow the road.

The guidebook said, “head for the grain silo” and it was correct, the silo stood out across the field, one of the tallest I have seen.  In the distance were the Bleasdale fells,  everywhere else was flat,  a strange landscape for one accustomed to the hills.

Turnover Hall was next. There were duck ponds with piles of grain to fatten the birds before they are shot. The Hall is surrounded by hundreds of caravans, whether for sale or in storage I couldn’t make out.  Oh, and just for good  measure, the obligatory junk waiting  to be recycled.

I rejoin the Wyre embankment and walk into St. Michael’s, arriving at the road bridge near the chocolate box cottages and the Medieval church across the way.

You know I like an interesting church when I see one, this one is Grade I listed. It is thought a church existed here, near a safe river crossing, from 640AD. The Domesday book mentions a church on the same site. The present structure dates from the C15th. When you enter the church, the most obvious and unusual sound is the loud ticking of a clock, the giant pendulum hanging on one side of the tower. There are two naves and a northern Chapel. This Butler chapel has older Medieval stained-glass fragments, seemingly randomly incorporated into the windows. In the same window is a C16th Flemish sheep shearing scene. In the west wall is a striking modern window depicting the parable of the ‘sower’. Outside is a ‘Norman’ door and an ancient mounting stone. In the graveyard are  three unusually shaped graves,  these are the ‘Soldiers Stones’ dating from 1643 when a Spanish ship was wrecked on the Wyre estuary and thought to be for Spanish sailors. 

Time to move on, and I take a lane heading towards a large modern house. Whoever built it had visions of grandeur now biting the dust, the house being an empty shell.     

The rest of the afternoon I follow drainage dykes across the landscape, eventually to rejoin the Wyre for the last time before re-entering Great Eccleston.  The two bulls face each other across the high-street, with a period Austin7 on show.                                               

  That’s quite a lot for a lazy Sunday walk in this quiet corner of west Lancashire.

*****  

CICERONE’S LANCASHIRE – Parlick and Fairsnape.

I don’t often stand on the summit of Parlick Pike. If I’m heading up to Fairsnape and beyond, I take the easier traversing path bypassing it to the west, overlooking Bleasdale. But today I’m following another of Mark Sutcliffe’s walks from his Cicerone guide. I’m having a lazy week and doing walks without any planning on my part, just follow the guide step by step.  Marcus Tullius Cicero was a Roman statesman and scholar. His extensive writings showed learning and eloquence and the term Cicerone, to guide and explain, came to be. Hence, the name of the guidebook dynasty started by Walt Unsworth and Brian Evans.

So I’m stood on the pike, 432m, the wind is trying to blow me off it, but the sky is clear, and the sun is bright. A perfect Spring day. The hard work is done,  I can enjoy the rest of the afternoon on one of my favourite walks. This circuit used to be my once a week fell run years ago, I’m just pleased that I arrived here today without stopping, well apart from those sneaky photo stops. Strangely, I nearly always did it the other way around –  I’ve looked into the reasons for choice of route recently.

Down into the dip and then a choice of routes either side of the wall, dogs one side and not the other, but I never understood which or why. The wall is a masterpiece of construction, stretching up towards the summit of Fairsnape. I remember once  seeing a squirrel running along the top of it, bound for Fiensdale?, there is not a tree in sight along the ridge. These walls and fences are excellent handrails when the fell is in thick mist, which it often is. The wind is too strong for the parapenters or gliders, so I have the space and the views down into the bowl of Bleasdale to myself.

The grass has taken on that dry straw colour regularly seen after the winter months when the sun shines on the steep slopes. I was so taken by it a few years ago that I asked a local artist, Rebecca Wilmer, if she could interpret it on canvas. She knew exactly what I meant, and in fact had some slides she had taken of the very hillside matching mine. A commission was agreed, and I proudly have the painting in my living room, not everyone sees it in my eyes or the artist’s, but I saw it up here today.

There is a distant haze from the summit of Fairsnape, 510m, but I know where Blackpool Tower, Morecambe Power Station, the Isle of Man and Black Coombe should be, so I don’t have to linger in the biting wind. Shapes emerge from the summit shelter, where they have been enjoying a sheltered lunch. I was last up here in June last year, when I spent a cold night bivvying near the cairn. But of course this is not ‘the summit’, to visit it you have to run the gauntlet of the local peat bogs in an easterly direction until some stone flags appear leading you to the highest point, 520m. Since my last visit, a large cairn has been built and there is a board telling you how efforts are being made to stabilise the peat hags and reduce the water run off.

It’s all downhill, literally, from here. A good manufactured path leads to a fence from where sunken tracks head on down Saddle Side. I pass the ruin with a tragic history. It is good to be out of the wind, skylarks are singing and once the fields are reached the sound of curlews and lapwings stir strong memories of the upland countryside of my youth. A dip into the valley of Chipping Brook and then the Wolfen estate road leads me back to my car. Wolfen Hall lies below Wolf Fell – possibly the last stronghold of wolves into the C15th.

I followed Cicerone’s guide easily, but I had to branch off to visit the highest point. Mark does not include this in his instructions, but his map does. Ah well, people will find their own way.

Full-frontal Parlick.

Decision time – straight up.

Parlick summit with Fairsnape behind.

That dry yellow grass.

Dogs?

Fairsnape summit’s furniture.

Boot sucking peat.

A reminder that the area was once a military firing range.

Point 520 m, with Totridge Fell in the distance.

The tragic scene on Saddleside.

Spring in the valley.

Wolfen Hall.

***

                                     Artistic impression from Parlick.  Rebecca Walmer. 2010.

*** 

CICERONE’S LANCASHIRE – Rufford and Mere Sands.

Another day, another walk. I was liable to miss the best of this sunny day as I procrastinated in bed with coffee and news feeds on the Ukraine disaster. I feel ashamed to be British as we turn away refugees at our border, Priti Patel is not my favourite politician. I would be all too happy to offer up a couple of my rooms for the most needy, as have done hundreds of Germans. Bugger Brexit and Boris and Putin.

To salvage the day and my mental state, I pick up that volume of Lancashire Walks published by Cicerone. What about 6 miles from Rufford, visiting a nature reserve I had no knowledge of despite being a supporter of Lancs Wildlife Trust.

I park up next to Rufford St. Mary’s Church, which is open to the public today. When I was last here, I learnt of the choir in the past accompanied by musical instruments, including a bassoon played by a Richard Alty. Apparently, the said bassoon is preserved in a case in the church. I was disappointed that I could not find it.

My next disappointment is that I did not visit the NT Rufford Old Hall; instead, as the day was slipping by, I set off along the Leeds Liverpool Canal and looked across to the hall which had a fantastic display of purple blue crocuses in their grounds.

I stretched my legs along the busy towpath, with flat fields all around. To the east, Winter Hill and Great Hill were prominent, but Longridge Fell looked a long way off. Soon I was heading inland and along Sandy Lane. All straight lines and winter fields.

In a yard of lorries, the owner talks of high fuel prices and a lack of drivers. Boris, Brexit and Putin again. He has an awful lot of money tied up in those vehicles.

My entry into Mere Sands Reserve was by the back door over a little footbridge. I hung my binoculars around my neck to look professional. In Medieval times, the whole area was part of Martin Mere. Attempts to drain it commenced in the C17th, and it was planted up as woodland as part of the Rufford Hall Estate. In 1958, it was sold for sand extraction which created the lakes and in 1982 sold to Lancashire Wildlife Trust for a nominal fee, thus creating the reserve we see today. The path winds around the back of the mere, where a hide looks out onto the waters. There are ducks and geese in the distance. Farther on, I came across a couple hand feeding the robins. Coots are diving. All part of a busy little reserve. The café was too busy for my patience, so I carried on to the far end of the reserve. My only criticism is that there were not many places where you get near enough to the water. Oh, and the adjoining roads sound like Silverstone with all the Sunday racers, very distracting.

The abandoned observation post above is of unknown vintage. I found a path alongside a dyke which leads me through the fringes of Rufford, somehow Venice came to mind. And then I’m back on the canal, which has been drained for this stretch, along past the Marina, and I was back into the village. The Hall had already closed, some other time.

What a pleasant way to spend a sunny Sunday afternoon. Another thumbs up to my new Cicerone guide.

CICERONE’S LANCASHIRE – Brock and Beacon.

Last year, when it was published, I ordered a copy of the new Cicerone guide book, Walking in Lancashire, by Mark Sutcliffe, I didn’t expect to find much new ground in its 40 walks that I hadn’t covered, but I thought it would be an incentive to get out in what still was some degree of Covid lockdown. Maybe one a week. Well, all that was scuppered by my plantar fasciitis, which virtually stopped me walking from August onwards. I would have been better with ‘Cycling in Lancashire’. Time has moved on, it is now March 2022, my heel is slowly improving, and I want to expand my walking distances and venues. I’ve been up and down Longridge Fell too many times.

The other day I picked up the Cicerone guide from my pile of ‘books to read’ and decided to start working my way through its offerings of day walks. A bit of a project, as my friend Sir Hugh would say. Opening the book, Walk 1 happened to cover Beacon Fell and the Brock valley, an area I know well, but it would provide a good introduction to the guide and Mark’s style of writing.

“Park at Brock Bottom. 5 miles with 800ft of ascent. 3hr.”

“This pretty route combines a riverside woodland walk through an intimate valley with a steady climb to the modest 266 m summit of Beacon Fell, which punches well above its weight when it comes to expansive views”

I wasn’t confident of those expansive views when I set off this morning in low cloud and moist air. The last two Covid years you wouldn’t have been able to park anywhere near Beacon Fell, but today only a couple of cars were in the Brock Mill picnic spot. In fact, I walked for 4 miles without seeing a soul. The riverside woodland walk was indeed a pretty route. The lively river Brock and the ancient mixed woodland was alive with birdsong. I reckon I can recognise most species on sight, but how I wished I could recognise their hidden songs.

A stretch of boardwalk looked decidedly dodgy.

Passing through the Waddecar Scout camp, which seems to have ready erected tents, I was wary of the flying tomahawks.

Most of this walk I did in June 2021and knowing the terrain, I was tempted to go my own way, but a bit of discipline made me follow Mark’s route – his directions were spot on. This led me to use a footpath up Gill Barn Clough, never before used. If you look carefully you can see the remains of the barn still visible under the moss which cloaks everything in the valley.

Emerging out of the clough into empty fields, the panorama of the Bleasdale Fells stole the show, as is mentioned in the guidebook.

I had never noticed this lone tree on the skyline before.

I was soon climbing up onto Beacon Fell. No sooner than they had cleared the damage from the storms at the end of 2021, then along came more storms last month, bringing down more trees. The views from the trig point were, as expected, a little hazy, definitely punching below weight. I couldn’t resist a coffee at the café, one must support local businesses.  A couple sat on the next table described how their Alsatian had been  spooked out by the coin encrusted crocodile.

Down through the new plantations, one a remembrance wood, into the coppiced willows and back to the car park where D of E Award expeditions were resting up – red, blue and yellow groups. They had a wet camp last night, but I hoped tonight would be better for them. They were all in good cheer.

I’m glad I’m coming home to a hot bath and a comfortable bed. A good introduction to Cicerone’s Lancashire walks.

NEWS FROM LONGRIDGE FELL.

*****

The last four days I’ve been up on Longridge Fell, four short walks. Today, the weather is too bad to contemplate going outdoors. Looking out of my window, I can now just see the lower slopes of the fell above the roofs of the ghastly building site. In the fields opposite, soon all will be brick.

Saturday, I was feeling stiff from our excursions on Crookrise the day before. But the afternoon was too good to miss, so I thought I would have another look at the tree damage on the ridge path through the forest. Nothing much has changed, and it is still difficult and awkward to follow. In one or two places, a chain saw, person unknown, has been in action to cut a way through.

I met a chap and his energetic Springer Spaniel walking far quicker than I over the fell, a  quick hello was all I managed before he sped into the trees. On the return journey, a recognisable Springer appeared at my heals and yes, looking behind was his master rapidly gaining ground. To cut a long story short, after some pleasant conversation, with the chap not the dog, it turned out he’d suffered a heart attack several years ago and following bypass surgery in Blackpool made a good recovery. His daily heart physio was a brisk walk on the fell, I applauded him on his fitness and expect to bump into him again if I can keep up. A positive lesson to us all.

Boundless.

Sunday came and almost went before I roused myself and suggested to Mike an afternoon stroll around the Cowley Brook Plantation on the edge of the fell. We caught up on our goings-on and enjoyed the warmth of the weak sunshine. We used some firebreaks through the conifers to the lower water intake and then followed the lively stream back up the hill. All very pleasant in this United Utilities land recently opened up for public access.

Monday morning, after arriving back from shopping, JD was on the phone stating confidently that there was a two-hour break in the rain and proposing a walk on the fell. He is not usually that optimistic. A quick change and we were leaving his house for a well-used walk along the northern base of the fell. The fields were decidedly boggy, and we often seemed to go astray on occasions linking up the farms. In the past, we have had trouble through the pheasant shooting woods where fences seem to cut through the rights of way, today was no exception with the odd fallen tree also blocking our way.

But what was to follow was unbelievable. The path goes steeply up the hillside through the woods to reach the golf course. We found the majority of the trees snapped or uprooted, a scene of complete devastation. I was too shocked to take my camera out. We battled on to find even worse, with a new sign saying the way was closed due to the tree damage. It was too late to go back, so a wall and fence were carefully climbed and then the worst of the devastation avoided reaching the empty golf course closed due to waterlogging. Of course, where we exited was a notice saying the way was closed. Too true. By then, our two-hour slot was over, the rain followed us all the way back to town. We were thoroughly soaked by then, and I just wanted to get home for a hot bath.

Tuesday and the sun appeared again. My lunchtime walk up the fell was accompanied by the sounds of joyful skylarks, a sure sign of spring. I had the trig point on Spire Hill to myself, which is unusual these days. As well as the Bowland Fells across Chipping Vale, the more distant Yorkshire three peaks were hazily visible on the horizon. I framed a photo of the trig point for a new desktop background. My usual ‘secret’ path back through the forest was also disrupted by fallen trees, It will be years before many of the damaged trees up here will be cleared. The car park at Cardwell House was filling as I arrived back.

Counting Crookrise on the Friday, that’s five out of five.  Not bad for this time of year. Today I’m content just to walk up to the supermarket.

Go careful up there.

ANOTHER INTERLUDE.

Wintry Bowland.

After the high winds, torrential rain and a morning of persistent snow the sun came out Saturday afternoon, enticing me (and many more Longridge residents) to walk around the block.

The air was still and almost warm, the hills were brilliant white and the birds were singing in the hedgerows. There were lambs in the fields. Simple pleasures.

I was glad I made the effort yesterday as today we are back to powerful winds and more rain. Don’t you just love British weather?

Here comes Storm Franklin.

A PLEASANT INTERLUDE.

My hatches are well and truly battened.  Storm Dudley has come and gone, and Storm Eunice is all around me. I won’t be venturing far – I have seen at close hand what a falling tree can do to a car. On the subject of trees falling, sadly I had one in my back garden yesterday, so I have been busy with the chain saw.

On a lighter note I had my family come visit me this week, a rarity in the last two years. There must have been an alignment of the planets so that both sons could join forces. We are still doing lateral flow tests before meeting – are we paranoid?  I appreciate their concern for their possibly vulnerable dad.

Along came my son from Preston and the partnership from Stretford with their two robust dogs. Seth, my cat, sensibly retreated upstairs for the rest of the day. After a healthy lunch I needed to get them out of the house and up the fell – referring to the dogs if not the adults.

I’ve mentioned before the plantation at Cowley Brook on Longridge Fell. This is where we headed for some exercise. The dogs made the most of it, charging through the undergrowth and jumping into any patch of water.

Phoebe watches on as Gizmo is all a blur.

Is nobody joining me?

Back home we relaxed whilst the dogs slept. To put it all into context I’ve watched the men’s and women’s teams make it through to the finals of the Olympic curling. Brilliant, as they say – ‘chess on ice’. And can anyone explain to me why Europe is on the verge of another world war?

AN INTERESTING AFTERNOON STROLL FROM CHIPPING.

There is a lot of bad weather about. Heavy rain most of the weekend and this morning, with storms forecast for the rest of the week. But there was a glimpse of sun this afternoon and I had something in mind. A post by Eunice (more of her later) and a comment from Sharon reminded me that it was snowdrop season, as if I didn’t know – having included a picture of a clump in one of my recent posts. Snowdrops are one of the first Spring flowers to bloom, helping us out of the winter gloom with shiny white petals.  I wanted to view a larger expanse such as at Lytham Hall or Bank Hall, Bretherton, but I knew of a ‘secret’ place nearby.

Leagram Hall sits on the hillside above our lovely local village of Chipping, originally a lodge for the Medieval Deer Park. It was replaced by stone structures in the C18-19th when the Weld family inherited  the estate from the Shireburns (of Stonyhurst). The present house was built in 1965 by the Weld-Blundell family. I’ve never visited the house but often walk past on a bridleway through the ancient deer park. I knew of a walled dell within their grounds which is renowned for snowdrops at this time of year. I was heading there today.

The elusive Leagram Hall.

In the parkland there were signs of tree damage from the storms of last year. An ancient oak was lying on the ground. How the mighty are fallen.

Farther up the lane and over the wall I had my first glimpse of the snowdrop spread. I was keen to get a closer look and even thought about climbing over the wall. Just then a woman appeared from the direction of the house. After a greeting and comments on the weather I asked her if she lived here. Yes she did. (She must be one of the Weld-Blundells!)  I stated I had come to see and photograph the snowdrop display and wondered whether there was any chance of getting closer. She explained the gardens were private but then proceeded to show me a hidden entrance, said be careful and left me to explore.

Over the wall.

Inside the sanctuary.

I could have finished there but as the weather was improving I decided to continue my walk up the lane towards the Bowland Hills. Laund Farm, (laund was a grassy area in a deer park)  home to a large herd of Blue Faced Leicester sheep. They pride themselves in the quality of the sheep milk cheese they produce. There was a new batch of lambs to boost the flock.

Pendle and Longridge Fell across the ‘laund’

Since I was last this way a new sign has been erected by the Peak and Northern Footpaths Society, along with its dedication to some local footpath activist. I’m always pleased to see these classy additions to the countryside and at one time considered tracking them all down – a mammoth task, no doubt completed by someone.

 

I continued on past the scattering of buildings at Birchen Lee, all slowly becoming more gentrified. The access lane from there onwards has been recently improved giving easy walking to the road under Saddle Fell, the starting point for one of my favourite ways of climbing onto the Fairsnape-Totridge fells. Today I ignored the heights and strolled down to a junction of interestingly named lanes. Some research needed there.

I didn’t drop down to Wolfen Mill, originally Dewhurst’s spindle and fly works supplying the burgeoning local cotton mills but continued down the steep lane, Saunders Rake.  Heading down to Chipping this passes the site of the Bond’s cotton spinning mill which later became Tweedy’s foundry, now occupied by a cheese factory. Farther on is the millpond for the still standing Kirk Mill, originally a cotton spinning business and later part of the chair making empire. There is a wealth of historical information on Chipping’s industrial past at https://kirkmill.org.uk/

Most of the chair factory across the road has been demolished and there were plans to develop the whole site into a hotel and venue complex. Not much seems to be happening on that front – we are all in for some difficult economic years.

Chipping was sleepy today. The Cobbled Corner Café,  thankfully recently reopened, but closed on Mondays and Tuesdays. I shall have to have a cycle ride another time for cups of tea and toast. I remembered the last time I came this way and popped into the graveyard to pay my respects to Lizzie Dean’s grave under of the old yew tree.

A good use of a February afternoon and I would recommend this modest circuit, all on tarmac,  for keeping your feet dry at this time of year. There is far more to discover in Chipping than I have mentioned.

But beware storms Dudley and Eunice are on their way…

*****

 

TOCKHOLES – END OF THE DARWEN TRILOGY.

For the third week in a row, we head to the Darwen Moors to complete another part of the footpath jigsaw. This time we park in Abbey Village, as do another 30 or so cars – a Bury rambling group is meeting up. The classic walk out of Abbey is through the Roddlesworth woods, past reservoirs, on route to Darwen Tower. We just managed to get a head start on this section.

Today we were heading in a round about way to Tockholes, that elusive village in the rough pastures west of Darwen Tower. Nobody just happens to drive through Tockholes, you have to search it out via narrow walled lanes, best done on foot as we were.

It is thought from archaeological findings that Tockholes was an ancient settlement from the Bronze Age. What is certain is that a significant Civil War battle took place nearby in the C17th, the remains of horses, cannonballs and bullets were found in a field in the village. After that, it became a centre for weaving and silk production. So what could we see today, there are over 20 listed buildings in the vicinity.

We entered the village from the moors above and came down Silk Hall Lane. The buildings here showed evidence of top floors used for weaving, with those long windows.

The footpath leading down to the rest of the village was a nightmare of awkward stiles and barbed wire, which were difficult for Poppy, the Airedale. Our thoughts turned to Sir Hugh and his wire cutting equipment. We were relieved to emerge opposite the grounds of St Stephen’s Church.  Dating from the reformation in the mid 16th century,  It was rebuilt in 1833 but fell into disrepair and was demolished and rebuilt again in 1961.

We sat in the relatively modern Lychgate (1906) for a brew and then explored the extensive graveyard which is said to contain 20,000 graves. An early C19th sandstone columnar sundial. There was an old school building from 1834 with a strange open air pulpit.  The stone porch of the 1833 building retained as an archway to the present insignificant church. Nearby on a cheese press base an old cross shaft and the rounded  Tocca stone beside it.  These are said to be Saxon, possibly a preaching cross, with the Tocca stone giving rise to the name of the village. ‘Tocca’  a Saxon surname and ‘hol’ a hollow. Probably not ‘touch stone’ as some legends have it, though the rounded stone was thought to have healing properties. We will never know.

‘The Touch Stone’

I seem to remember seeing a pinfold in the village on previous walks long ago, but could find no sign of it today. We did however come across an ancient well, again said to have healing properties, constructed with a so-called Norman Arch taken from a local hall. This would have been the only source of drinking water into the early C20th.

Time was passing, so we followed the ancient lanes past Tockholes Chapel, one of the first established non-conformist Chapels founded in 1662, the current building dating from 1880. Most of the old farmhouses and barns have been restored sympathetically to provide exclusive rural living.

Chapels Farmhouse.

Lower Hill.

I had bad memories of negotiating the rights of way through Red Lee Farms, where we were heading. It all seemed to go well today, we bypassed the lot somehow, which was good for progress, but I was disappointed not to see the old houses. We were back at the cars before the Bury ramblers.

Poppy seemed out of sorts today, I think she was telling us it was time for a change of scenery. Our trilogy is over.

Before we go I must make a mention of Abbey Village where we were parked. The name Abbey Village derives from Whalley Abbey, the major landowner until the reformation. Abbey Mill still remains the focal point of a largely intact early C19 industrial settlement. Established in 1840 by a John Park, it is one of the earliest surviving purpose-built integrated spinning and weaving mills in Lancashire. The rows of workers houses line the main street. The start of migration from cottage industries, as in Tockholes, to the mill towns.

*****

CATCH UP AROUND ALSTON.

                                                                             Yesterday.

Today is murky and damp, this morning I’m still in bed reading when the window cleaner appears on his ladder. He comes the first week of each month, and I have to pinch myself that we are into February already. I chat to him, standing in my dressing gown as he moves around the house. He reminds me that one or two of my windows probably need replacing, another job to put on the slow burner of my ‘things to do’.

I tend to go into slow motion in the winter months, particularly at the start of the New Year. Somewhere I have a SAD light, but significantly have not been bothered to use it. Past winters have been shortened by regular trips to sunnier climes, but that is a thing of the past for me in the present pandemic. Even my local walking is curtailed by the persistent plantar fasciitis. I have a list of friends to catchup with, many of them lying low. Parliamentary matters are not helping. Even my annual Big Garden Birdwatch didn’t go to plan. Oh well, it was good that yesterday I had phoned JD and arranged a walk with him to get out of the house and catch up with his news. The last time we were out together was in July last year!  There have been several times when his close family have been infected or isolating, touch wood I have steered clear of any forms of Covid.

A simple walk was planned around the Alston area, Preston not Cumbria. The little blue car was parked up on Alston Lane by 11am, it had been raining until then. Off we went along familiar lanes, through farms and down soggy fields, until we were walking alongside the River Ribble. No navigational decisions were needed, so we chatted away the rest of the morning, we share a broad church. A few mallards were spotted on the river, but otherwise any countryside life was keeping a low profile.

Opposite Balderstone Hall is an ancient ford crossing of the river, which JD has completed several times in summer conditions. Yesterday, he was upset that gates leading to the river bank on our side were obstructed and locked. The reason maybe the new development being undertaken here. A large “architecturally designed” property is slowly being completed, no doubt at significant cost. We wondered about the environmental impact of such a design on this rural riverside. Maybe it has already won an award. From there we made our way slowly back up the valley escarpment via rather convoluted field paths, I was trying to avoid the hard roads. In parts, we used the out of favour Ribble Way path and ended up on the wrong side of barbed wire several times. We almost had a Starling murmuration from these trees……but not quite.

JD always makes a good cup of coffee, so I was glad to drive back to his house for the rest of the afternoon. His wife, recovering from a hip operation, probably had walked farther than us on her daily exercise routine around the village.

I had not taken many photographs, due to the dull weather and too much conversation, so for a better impression of the scenery by all means look at a previous walk.

However, a couple of pictures, harbingers of Spring, probably will do more for me than that missing SAD light. Having posted this, it’s time for me to get out of the dressing gown and do something useful this afternoon. I believe in yesterday.

*****

WILD LANCASHIRE MOORS – CARTRIDGE HILL AND MORE.

I may be accused of plagiarism, today’s walk was almost a repeat of Michael’s recent exploration of these parts. I acknowledge his inspiration for this walk and accept that it would be difficult, nay impossible, for me to assemble a post of his standard. My delves into the internet came up with virtually the same history of the area.

We, the Rockman up from Bolton and I, start from the same Royal car park as last week but have another itinerary in mind. We noted the demolished mill’s pond on this occasion and then took the track up the moor. The Stepback Brook, culverted in parts, was followed past a pretty fall and into a sheltered copse known as Lyon’s Den, named after John Lyon, a seven-foot-high giant who apparently constructed a simple house of turf and heather here around 1790. There was no sign of his abode, but all around were signs in the landscape of abandoned coal pits and small stone quarries. The track we were following no doubt served one or the other.

We came out onto the windswept moors with views back to Darwen Tower wrapped in its temporary sheeting. Tracks go in all directions, but we take one to the west, leading to a shoulder with newish fencing and a gate. From there we make our individual ways, picking the driest parts up Cartridge Hill. At 402m this is the highest part of Darwen Moors and neither of us had visited it before. The hill itself was nondescript and rounded but had a stone cairn on the summit and excellent views over the Bolton hills and the Lancashire plain. Even wetter ground brought us down to pick up another pit track, this took us in the right direction under Turn Lowe. In these wild moors, finding a track you can follow relatively easily is a godsend not to be scorned.

Ruins of a farm appeared alongside the track – Higher Pasture Barn. Long since abandoned. I’m reading at the moment a book about the cruel Highland Clearances (On the Crofters’ Trail by David Craig) and I reflect back to all the ruined crofts I used to see on my Scottish stravaiges. In the late 19th and early 20th centuries many farmsteads on these Lancashire moors were abandoned either from natural relocation to the mill towns or by the water boards taking over the land for water catchment areas. A glance at the early OS maps shows their origins. I remember reading a learned history of the fate of the Haslingden Grane valley families when the reservoirs were constructed. A significant social clearing has occurred here on these  moors. Ironically, just down the road, Lower Pasture Barn has been saved from collapse and converted into an expensive luxury country residence.

Higher Pasture ruins.

More fortunate Lower Pasture.

But another extensive ruin was soon to be encountered on this walk. The short stretch of road to get there was a disgusting depository of rubbish – cans, bottles and take away plastic, that Bolton and Darwen can’t be proud of.

Hollinshead Hall has its own Wikipedia entry   I don’t remember visiting it before and was eager to explore the ruins. I wasn’t expecting such an extensive site. First we made use of some of the low walls for a bite to eat whilst a school trip played hide-and-seek. Once we had the place to ourselves, we could wander at will, postulating on the functions of the various spaces. Is there a master plan somewhere? What I had read about was the only remaining intact structure – The Well House and its spring. Probably the reason for the citing of the original C17th buildings, and also at one time a supposed cure for eye problems. We climbed up to have a look at it and to peer through the opening into the interior, where two large troughs are fed by an ornate Lion’s Head. The spring supplying the building is up above it, but I was distracted from further exploration by my phone falling out of a pocket into the precious waters.

The whole valley of the Roddlesworth, once meadows and pastures, has become a plantation after the water board’s purchase. We spend the next hour wandering along its old tracks, picking out sites of buildings slowly disappearing into the greenery. On the moors we meet few but down here dog walkers are out in force. We join some of them in the café for coffee and cake.

*****

DOG LITTER.

I’ve just come back from a ‘litter pick’ on Longridge Fell. It was a misty day with nothing better to do. The bag was half full of dog poo bags. My last post involved a lovely walk with Poppy, an Airedale terrier, and her responsible owner. No litter of any sort, human or canine, was deposited. Most dog owners I meet and chat to are insistent that they always clear up and dispose of sensibly. (Shazza and Eunice included I’m sure)

So, who are responsible for all those poo bags scattered across the countryside. Certainly not the dogs themselves. I suspect the same people who blazingly walk around the supermarket unmasked, who throw rubbish out of car windows, who park illegally in disabled bays, who block the pavements with their SUVs, who cut you up at motorway junctions with a finger in the air. Correct me if I’m biased, I’m getting old and crusty.

Come on, you selfish dog owners, bag it and take it home with you. Have a bit of responsibility, think about the environment and not yourselves.

Quite a collection – who will dispose of it?

ANOTHER DAY OUT WITH POPPY.

January 20.  Darwen Tower.

It’s almost 5 years since I had a day out with Poppy, the Rockman’s Airedale Terrier.

I didn’t remember the car park at Ryal Fold being so large, of course we ended up in different areas before successful rendezvousing. Whilst I was waiting, I got into an emotional conversation with  a gentleman from Darwen. He had walked up through Sunnyside Woods and was heading onto the fells, his local walk. He told me of the loss of his wife of 53 years during lockdown, and also of one of his sons. The conversation became tearful as he recollected their walks together and his now empty house. There is a huge amount of pent-up emotion from the last two years. I seem to come across these people.

The morning was perfect, frosty with bright sunshine, so lots of others were setting off on their perambulations. It was really too soon for a coffee in the café/information centre, so we just picked up the bridleway heading into the fold of hills past the workers cottages of Hollinshead Terrace. A cotton mill had stood where the car park is today. It was stone-built for Eccles Shorrock of Darwen in 1859. (He also owned India Mill in town, seen later today from above). At its peak, the mill had 333 steam-powered looms and employed 150 people. It was demolished in 1903.

National Library of Scotland, 1894 OS.

Once out onto the moor, Poppy went her own way, sniffing from grass to grass, the slow pace suited me. The frozen way led steadily uphill until it came alongside Stepback Brook. We were tempted to continue into the shady gorge and view its waterfall but decided to leave that for another day when we may explore the way farther south and perhaps the remains of Hollinshead Hall as well. No, we climbed up on a zigzag path out onto Darwen Moor. There were signs of disused mining shafts up here, ?coal. More tracks led away from long forgotten sandstone quarries.

A well-used track then headed straight to the tower. From our elevated position down to our right was Darwen, with the chimney of India Mill very prominent. More dogs joined in the fun with Poppy.

85ft high Darwen Tower, more correctly called Jubilee Tower,  was constructed in 1898 to mark Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee, the year before, but more importantly to commemorate freedom of access to the local fells. A dichotomy of interests, nonetheless. It was always known to my children as ‘the space rocket’ seen from afar.

An extract from Wikipedia is worth a read —                                                                                   Packmen, peddlers, farmers, and labourers used tracks and moorland paths to go about their business. In the 1870s the Lord of the Manor of Over Darwen, the Reverend William Arthur Duckworth, blocked ancient rights of way preventing access to the moor even though he was an absentee landlord. Game rights were a valuable commodity, and Duckworth did not wish to have his land devalued by trespassers on the moors. William Thomas Ashton, manager of Eccles Shorrock’s mines at Dogshaw Clough and Entwistle Moss used the moorland footpaths as well to deliver coal to farmers and other customers. Whenever Duckworth’s gamekeepers blocked his way, Ashton cleared the paths. The struggle led to the courts where Duckworth lost and in September 1896 people resumed walking the moorland footpaths. Ashton had died in 1884, his sons led a procession onto the moors in celebration.

Renovations of sorts were being carried out on the tower, and it was cordoned off, cloaked in scaffolding and sheeting.  Over the years there have been several repairs including a new steel dome winched into place by helicopter in 2012., the last time I was up here.

On our way down the badly eroded old quarry track, modern steel industrial units glistened on the Industrial side of Blackburn, with Pendle looking rather diminutive behind. Poppy made friends with some horses in the adjoining paddock. There seemed to be tracks going off in all directions, no doubt reflecting the early industrial past.

We were heading for Sunnyhurst Woods, a public park purchased by Darwen Corporation in 1902 commemorating Edward VII’s coronation. The Sunnyhurst Inn was not open, so we continued and entered the woods through the Lychgate. It was like entering another world of trees, ferns and deep secret valleys. A handy metal seat provided by The Friends of Sunnyhurst Woods was ideal for a drinks break as it was in the sunshine. Once lower down, we came out between the paddling pool and the Greenway Shelter (the bandstand). We realised we had never been farther downstream where there are other attractions – again another time.

Lots of families and dog walkers were making the most of the sunshine and exploring the paths. How lucky to have this area on your doorstep if living in Darwen. We found our way up the valley past Earnsdale Reservoir, with the tower overlording it above. Fields took us to the original C17th farmhouse at Ryal Fold and back to the car park. The Royal Hotel was now open and  people were enjoying a socially distanced and probably cold drink in the garden.

The 4-mile walk was easy, but I didn’t feel that my plantar fasciitis appreciated it. I spent a lot of time chatting to the Rockman so wasn’t concentrating on photography, but here’s a selection….

Darwen Tower across the frosty fields.

 

Hollinshead Terrace.

 

Onto the moor…

 

… leading the way.

 

The ridge to the tower, Blackburn and Pendle in the distance.

 

The mill town of Darwen.

 

Rocket men.

 

The Rockman, Poppy and friend.

 

Entering the Rabbit Hole.

 

Not a day for paddling.

 

The bandstand.

 

Follow me, keep up.

 

Earnsdale Reservoir.

Ryal Fold from Historic England.

The Royal.

Poppy had a great time, hopefully so did the Rockman.

Thanks to Michael of The Rivendale Review fame for reigniting my interest in this area.

*****

 

I HAD A PLAN.

On recent trips up Longridge Fell, I came across a new, at least to me, path deep in the trees west of the highest point. I noticed, at the end of this narrow corridor, light coming from the west. I calculated that if I was there as the sun was setting, the light would be concentrated through that point. That was the plan.

So today, after watching another farcical Prime Minister’s Question Time, I parked up on Jeffrey Hill just after three pm. The sun was already low, and the temperature was dropping. I hurried up the drying path towards the trees leading to the trig point. The decorated Xmas tree had been stripped of tinsel and baubles. Strangely, the tree with more environmental decorations hadn’t, I removed the remaining cardboard stars, now considered as litter. I digress.

After visiting the top, I took the damp track into the forest and diverted onto the ‘new’ path. All was gloom as I walked deeper into the trees. It was obvious that I had missed the ideal time, and the sun was setting past my portal. I suspect that two weeks ago would have been the optimum for the sun shining along the corridor of trees. There is no way back, I will have to wait till next year to test my theory.

In the past I have visited places in the world where the juxtaposition of some physical feature with the sun, moon or stars, at various times of the year has had some significance for the local populace. Our forbearers took a keen interest in astronomy. They derived a cyclical calendar predicting changes in the seasons, which they connected to their agricultural practises and pagan beliefs. Having a fixed physical point in the natural landscape helped them identify the passing of the year and its recurrence. A hole in a rock on the hillside or a nick in the skyline gave some sense of time. It was then only a short step to create a megalith, sundial or more complicated celestial instruments and then observatories.  This is all a little farfetched from my little pathway lining up with the setting sun.

By the time I was back at the car park there was only one vehicle there, thankfully mine, and as I drove back to the village the setting sun was flaming the low clouds.

LANCASTER, CANALS AND COAST.

I used the abandoned railways of Lancaster for several cycle rides last year, and today I wanted to include the Lancaster Canal in a more varied circuit. Down the Lancaster Canal towpath, along the Glasson Link, take the old railway along the Lune Estuary, old railway to Morecambe, sea front to Hest Bank and complete back on the Lancaster Canal to the aqueduct over the Lune. Almost a figure of eight. Perhaps the map will explain what I intended.

I park up, as usual, at old Halton station. The area is busy with university oarpersons. I have to ride a couple of miles to join the canal at the Lune Aqueduct. I notice for the first time some exclusive looking riverside houses on the far bank, foliage normally obstructs the view. The air is still, allowing various strong aromas to float across from the adjacent industrial units; a hoppy smell, acetone and rubber. These are the only clues as to what transpires behind closed doors. I wonder what finds its way into the river.

You may remember me writing last October about ‘a good Samaritan’ who came to my aid, or more correctly my bike’s. Well, there he is again, I don’t need assistance today but stop for a chat, like old friends, and a photo.

I don’t stop for many other photos after that, as I have documented the area well on other walks.1  2  3  4

There is a ramp leading up to the elevated canal right next to the Aqueduct. A well surfaced towpath leads me quickly through the centre of the city, passing the cathedral and warehouses on the way. I use a couple of crossover bridges which used to take the barge horses over without the need for uncoupling.

Soon I’m out into the countryside and the first people I meet are from my home village, walking the canal in stages, From here on I’m struggling. The towpath is very muddy and narrow. My tyres don’t grip and I slip and slide about, feeling in danger of a headlong dive into the canal. I walk the worst stretches.

Turning off onto the side canal to Glasson brings the same problems with the mud. There are six flights of locks on this stretch. I’m relieved and weary, arriving at Glasson Dock. I head straight over the bridge to my favourite café shop for a welcome rest, coffee and homemade pie, late breakfast/early lunch. I haven’t come far, but my average speed is well below 10mph.

Refreshed, I join the rail track alongside the estuary, the tide is out, for a much quicker ride back into the city. I pass right in front of the old warehouses, Harbour Master’s office and waterfront pubs of the renovated St. George’s Quay I need to explore this area of Lancaster more, the celebrated Maritime Museum is housed here. Ahead is the Millennium Bridge, which takes me across the Lune and onto the familiar rail track to Morecambe. St. George’s Quay is better viewed from this side.

Spot the shopping trolley.

The front at Morecambe is quiet, I have a quick ride down the stone pier before following the Bay around to Hest Bank. Side-streets take me back onto the Lancaster Canal and a much better towpath all the way to the balustraded Lune Aqueduct.

I’m pleased overall with this 28 mile circuit, level all the way with plenty of interest and of course those incomparable views across the bay. The second half of the ride has thankfully been far easier than those muddy canal paths to Glasson, for which I need to find an alternative before next time.

BEACON FELL – Déjà vu.

A couple of weeks ago I wrote of the devastating storm damage in the forests on Longridge Fell, well today I witnessed the same on Beacon Fell. The difference being that here, as it is a public park, the foresters have been busy clearing much of the damage making the place safe for the public. I imagine that at the time of the storms, early December, the public would have been excluded.

I only came up here this afternoon for a short walk, I seem to have been up and down Longridge Fell most days during the holidays – time for a change of scenery.

The sun was trying to make an appearance.

Parked up in the little quarry on the quieter east side of the fell, a modest circuit was completed from there. The little pond was looking particularly attractive in the low light. I wish I could paint. Round the corner piles of cut timber started to appear and it was obvious that there had been a lot of storm damage in amongst the trees. Logging machinery was scattered about, being a Sunday, nobody was working. I expect that when they replant, they will use more sustainable native species. Where there is destruction, there is hope.

Not a word about the virus.

AFTERMATH OF THOSE STORMS.

If you go up to the woods today, you’re in or a big surprise.

There must have been a lot of trees blown down in our recent storms, Arwen and Barra, I started to notice them as I walk farther along the fell. I haven’t been past the trig point on my tentative walks to see if my Plantar Fasciitis is improving. Today I intended to give it a sterner test, if you can call 6 miles a test.

It was when I met a couple who had turned back because of the difficulties that I questioned my sanity for continuing. Already I’d had minor diversions around fallen trees, but I fought my way through onto one of the obvious forest tracks on the ridge, thinking I had escaped the worst. Even this track was completely obliterated a little farther on as I approached what was named Sam’s View, a panoramic clearing. I had to go well off route to avoid the worst of the fallen timber. I could hear voices in the forest to my left and suddenly a family of four emerged looking rather dishevelled, they had been in there awhile trying to navigate around the damage. The father showed me their tortuous wanderings on his phone, I pointed them to a safer track.

I’d intended going as far as Kemple End on the ridge, but the way forward in that direction, a little difficult at the best of times, was wholly choked with fallen trees. I was glad just to return to the main forest road. Lots of families and lots of dogs were promenading this track, it was a Bank Holiday after all. I soon went my own way and traversed the fell back to my car. My heel is certainly improving, providing I stick to soft ground.

It was reassuring that most of the original Scots pines and Beech trees had withstood the storms.

Go careful up there.

OF THE SEASON.

I came out today and climbed the fell to try and capture a suitable photo for my season’s greetings. Maybe a robin, maybe a patch of snow or some holly berries or even a man in a Santa hat. No, I have failed, as you can see from my photo above. All was grey and gloomy.

It’s been that sort of week.  Most days I didn’t venture out into the raw weather. I was kept busy wrapping presents and mulling over wine. Making lists and peeling vegetables. Phoning distant friends not seen for months, even years. Avoiding the crowded last minute shopping. Enduring lateral flow tests and crossing fingers, already two of my grandchildren will be absent from the festivities. So this is Christmas.

  One bright spot today was a repainted slate poem in a cupboard with a humorous line – which made me smile.

Strange things happen on Longridge Fell.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS.

ANOTHER DAY — ANOTHER TREE.

I had been told by Clare, of Slate Poems fame, of another decorated Xmas Tree on the fell. I was up here to find it. Parking was difficult on this fine Sunday afternoon, remember the chaotic parking situation in our earlier lockdowns. The good weather had brought lots of families out at the start of the Christmas Holidays.

Would you believe it?  As I walked through the gate onto the fell, I bumped into Clare herself exercising her beautiful Collie.

I normally take the more northerly track overlooking Chipping Vale, I call it the ‘panoramic balcony track’, but there is also a track following markers going straight up the fell leading to boggy terrain, best avoided. Incidently this track goes through the site of some Bronze Age hut circles and burial grounds, I have tried unsuccessfully to locate these on the ground in the past. 

This was the way to the decorated tree and the way I followed today. The stone cairn has had an addition of balanced stones, often seen on rocky beaches, I suspect they won’t survive a winter storm. Not far past the cairn is the tree. It was decorated with more environmentally friendly items; fir cones, wooden ornaments and nut strings for the birds. Satisfied with my ‘find’ I continued on through those forementioned bogs to regain the regular track, which does have its own boggy moments.

The other Xmas Tree with its tinsel and Angel topping was passed, and I reached the Trig point. There were good views, but nothing compared to yesterday’s cloud inversion. Circling through the forest, I was surprised at the number of trees that must have come down in our recent storms.

Once looking across the Ribble Valley, Pendle and Samlesbury there was a repeat of the cloud inversion * in a southerly direction.

* Cloud inversions take place when the temperature is warmer higher up – such as on a hill or mountain – than it is down at the bottom of a valley

The colder air at the lower level traps mist and fog creating the impression of mountain summits floating above the clouds.

*****

Map showing the two Xmas trees…