Limestone wanderings.
This is Conrad Country. That sounds like the title of a cowboy film. Do they still make them? I have the temerity to suggest taking Conrad, alias Sir Hugh, on a walk in his own backyard. I do have the backup of Walk 7 from Cicerone’s Short Walks in Arnside and Silverdale in my pocket. I never know whether we are in Lancashire or Cumbria.
We both have busy schedules, mostly consisting of hospital appointments and garage visits, but today we are able to meet up and enjoy the good weather. I give him the option of a short or a longer walk, and unsurprisingly, he opts for the latter, provided I am happy with his slow pace on any hill. I’m more than happy, the slower the better.
Walk 7. Leighton Moss and Cringlebarrow Wood is the title, but that only scratches the surface – we experience much more.
From the outset, at a lay-by in Yealand Storrs, as we enter the woods of Yealand Hall Allotment…
… a couple walking a dog, the first of several encounters along the way. When they overtake us, the dog is nowhere to be seen; it is, in fact, taking a lift. I often come across people carrying little dogs or pushing them in a pram. In the high Pyrenees, we were overtaken by a couple of female fellrunners, each with a pooch in a pouch.
We stroll through the woodland, whose floor is a limestone pavement. Rocks are everywhere around here. There are distant views down to Hawes Water, which we bypass by going down Moss Lane to the road at Red Bridge. 
We enter Trowbarrow Quarry by a track I have never used before. 
This limestone quarry operated for a hundred years, closing in 1959. In addition to lime for building and agriculture, James Ward developed new techniques for producing Tarmacadam, which combines crushed limestone with bitumen. It is now a nature reserve and climbing arena. We observe both today. Look here for an excellent overview of the reserve.
I had forgotten how extensive the quarry is; coming here for climbing, one tends to focus only on the highest walls. On the quarry floor today, a group of naturalists from Liverpool is combing the area with insect nets. The chap we talk to is enthused about a male horse fly, Sir Hugh tries to look interested. 
A brief visit to the fierce Red Wall.
But more interesting are two climbers just starting up Assagai Wall, we find some boulders to sit on and follow their progress while eating our lunch.
Finishing Assagai on those magnificent flutings.
We wander into a ‘walled-off area’ with signs asking you to watch your step – the Bee Orchid grows here, but I think we are a little early for it. Above rises the slab of Coral Sea, and that’s exactly how it originated before being tilted at right angles by the Earth’s movements. 
Nobody is climbing on the cracked main wall, so I try to find the coal seam that crosses the limestone floor, to no avail. The time I was here with the Rockman, we had no success either. Meanwhile, the insect nets are sweeping all around us. One enthusiast even has a ‘vaccum cleaner’ to suck them up! 
We, both au fait with the quarry, can not find our way out as described in the guide. Eventually, we discover the ‘carabiner gate’ and the ongoing mini gorge.
The gate is dedicated to John Mabson, of whom I can find nothing. Except for copies of the poem, an Irish funeral song.
May the roads rise up to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back,
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
May the rains fall soft upon fields
And until we meet again
May God hold you in the palm of his hand.
Very appropriate for a mountaineer.
The track has had trees cut down to encourage a more diverse flora.
Crossing the road, we enter RSPB Leighton Moss Nature Reserve and come across another type of nature enthusiast – the ‘twitcher’. Recognised by their camouflage and their loooong lenses. There is a hushed silence in the hide. Again, we feel inadequate, not able to tell a comorant from a crow. 
Now for the steep bit, in the grounds of Leighton Hall, Sir Hugh cruises it. 
Our next objective is Cringlebarrow Wood. The public footpath passes through it, but ‘Private’ notices abound. There are tracks everywhere, legal or otherwise. 
If you look closely at the map, you will see Deepdale Pond clearly marked. It’s in a ‘doline’ (a natural amphitheatre created by the collapse of a cave) and is yet another truly extraordinary place. It’s more of a swamp than a pond now. We follow animal tracks to find it. So far, I’ve been unable to convey this through a photograph and doubt I ever will. A deer makes a rapid getaway.
More woodland tracks bring us back to the car. 
A lovely wander through this limestone wonderland. ‘Conrad’s country’ has a wealth of things to explore. I’ll be back.
***
I took delivery before Christmas, just as my cataract operations were scheduled. Bad weather and then my own frailties have meant that it has hardly been touched. Today, I gave it a spin to get used to its handling and motor assistance. Only a short ride to visit a friend in the hills. I have downloaded the app onto my phone, which links to the bike as a form of computer. It didn’t work for me, but I’ll worry about that later. The bike itself was comfortable to ride, well geared, and the electric motor, when needed, was a help on those hills. I will be venturing further in the coming weeks. 
There is always time for some tree hugging.
The outcome.
Getting comfortable with my skin damage is still a big problem, but my general mobility is improving quickly, especially as I now have more freedom to exercise. I’ll be down to the shops tomorrow.
I take that slight diversion to the top. An extra windproof layer is added while I gaze over to Yorkshire.. 
In anticipation of the new arrivals, I borrowed a cage to put in my kitchen. I intend to keep them secure for a week or so until they are used to me and the house. They will also need microchipping and immunising. 
The children have developed strong attachments to most of the older cats, so I chose two of the younger ones: a male and a female. I think. Both are short-haired black kittens, the male with a white tuxedo and paws. Crusher’s children receive some money for their ‘piggy banks’, with the promise that they can come and visit anytime. 
They haven’t eaten much, so I visit Sainsbury’s around the corner for some of that addictive Sheba food. That does the trick, and they are soon tucking in. 
I phone the vets to arrange for them to be seen next week. The veterinary nurses are sad to hear of Seth’s passing but look forward to meeting the new kittens. I think they are about 9 months old and that the female has been neutered.
J
An earth slide proved popular with children and my not-so-young grandsons.
… and impromptu rounders.
More fun was had on the gymnastic apparatus. 
I cross the Irwell Viaduct (Built in 1846 from timber, but replaced with cast iron in 1881 and reopened as a cycle way in 1999) and plunge into the woods. This is Outwood Country Park, where coal mines once existed. Little, inviting paths go off in all directions.
.
The farmer sees fit to dump his waste in the field.
The village is still asleep as I find Two Brooks Lane heading south. I pass some surprisingly well-kept tennis courts for a place this size. The lane descends into a valley of rough mixed woodland; here and there are remains of buildings and watercourses. At one time, there was a bleech works here employing 200 people. Bleaching was an important part of the cotton industry. The chimney from the works still exists on the hillside, but I couldn’t spot it.
Above them are the lodges that provided water for the mill. It is a steep climb up to them but rewarded by excellent views back to the moors above Holcombe, which I passed over last time when visiting the ‘Pilgrim Cross’.
Onward and upward past Tom Nook Farm, the ancient cobbled track, Black Lane, runs straight to the ridge of Affetside. The medieval mule track from Manchester to Whalley? I notice I’m following part of the Greater Manchester Ringway LDW. 
The Pack Horse was a flourishing inn over 600 years ago, when it was on the main pack horse road to the north, the Roman road Watling Street, where Black Lane crossed. Affetside was a market village and later developed as a mining community – the row of cottages next to the inn was built for miners working narrow drift mines nearby. At the back of my mind as I leave was some story of an old skull kept behind the bar. It is too late when I do recall that it was possibly that of a local man from the 17th century.
Leaving Affetside on the straight Roman road, the high moors are behind me, and I’m walking through enclosed farmland. As a part of Greater Manchester, or though the locals still call themselves Lancastrians, as they should, many properties have been or are being renovated in not neccessarily the Pennine vernacular style. Equine stabling and enclosures have become a common site. There is more exotic wildlife at one farm. 
No long-distance route is complete without at least one golf course; I only briefly flirt with the manicured Harwood one. 
How is this for a perfect winter oak?
But what is happening here? 
I have a long chat with Dave, whose wife says he bores people, about the history of the area where he has lived for nigh on 80 years. Canals, pits, mills and railways all play a part. Cromwell and the Royalists come into play when I mention skirmishes around Preston. The fields around here, previously mined, have been allocated for housing. He hopes subsidence may destroy the sheme, a sentiment I share considering the houses built near me on shifting sands. There is so much urban waste ground for building affordable housing, but nobody seems interested in that. Meanwhile, a buzzard soars overhead.
It is World Book Day, and children leaving the nearby school are dressed in all manner of costumes. I keep my phone camera tightly in my pocket. Following signs to the church, I find myself distracted by a stunning sculpture in the park.
