A search for likely walking routes in my area, Lancashire, on the Long Distance Walkers Association site, LDWA, produces an abundance of trails, long and short. To untangle that spaghetti, one can search for paths of a certain length within one’s area of interest. The forecast is suitable for a couple of days at the end of this week, so let’s see what comes up. A twenty-mile walk in the Hynburn district, that hilly industrial area between Blackburn and Burnley, The Canal Clog, would make a good two-day walk for this time of year. The reference to clogs links back to the area’s industrial heritage, cotton mills and canals. When I first moved to Longridge, another cotton town, way back in the early seventies, there was a clog maker trading there. The walk is apparently waymarked by a pair of clogs.
The Canal Clog cuts the Hynburn Clog into a northern half and a southern circuit, which we will look at another time.
Dividing the trail into two roughly equal days with an overnight stop halfway takes some planning. A well-known hotel, The Dunkenhalgh, is just off-route but an ideal halfway point if we can begin at a suitable place. I pinpoint Whalley as the starting spot. Approximately 10 miles each day.
I enlist the help and good company of JD for this walk. He is willing and enthusiastic as always, and his wife is happy for him to be away for a couple of days.
The other day, I drove up to the New Drop Inn from the Hall’s Arms. Both these long-established locals are now closed, one becoming a business centre and the other residential units. The road was just clear of snow, but there was little room for passing other cars. The temperature hadn’t risen above freezing for a few days. I was hoping to walk around Cowley Brook Plantation to complete my year’s archive of photographs. My usual pull-ins looked dicey. I was afraid I would become stuck, so I turned tail and drove home, probably the most sensible option.
The freeze continues. Thankfully, no more snow falling around here, and the sun shines brightly. I can’t resist another attempt to walk the fell in these conditions. This time, I take caution to heart and park easily at the New Drop crossroads. The side road coming directly up from Longridge past the golf course looks treacherous, and I wish I had brought my microspikes as I walk a hundred yards or so down it.
My footprints are the only ones coming through the waterboard gate by Cowley Brook. Lovely crunching sounds as I pass into the plantation: a couple of roe deer run across my path into the trees, too fast for a photo.
Knowing my way up the hillside, I arrive at my four-way photo spot.
I have time to admire the frozen minutiae.
Continuing through the trees to reach my other fixed point.
Mission accomplished, I will put together a montage of the year later or perhaps record another year of changes in the young plantation.
While I’m up here, why don’t I go farther up the fell? It is difficult walking in the snow in the plantation, so I decide to use the road to gain the fell proper. There is very little traffic. Pendle Hill has become a giant in its winter garb.
Through the gate onto the fell, and I trudge up alongside the wall. Only a few have passed this way. I avert my eyes from the scene of the ‘Grim up North’ tree massacre. Time is a little tight, so I don’t go to the trig point but arc around at the Christmas Tree to take the balcony route back to the Jeffrey Hill carpark. The views across Bowland are spectacular, as are the distant ones into Yorkshire.
As I reach the car park, I see a motorist in trouble on the icy roads below. A notorious blackspot where cars have, in the past, slid off the hill into the fields below. I’m not sure why anyone would have driven up here in the first place. A crowd gathers out of nowhere to give advice. Luckily, the driver, unprepared in his own words, manages to dig himself out, avoid the drop and continue down the slippery road.
I march along the road back to my car, a great four miles in the perfect Winter scenery.
An overnight dump of snow has transformed the surroundings. My car, which I shall not be moving today, is under four inches of the white stuff.
The back garden looks neat and tidy for the first time in months. I put out the usual ground feed and the select seeds on the bird table. Within minutes the blackbirds are fighting over the oats, and the coal tits are raiding the seeds.
The morning slips away.
I eventually decide on a walk. I am lucky I can reach the countryside directly from my doorstep without using the car. I have no real plan. I walk past the cricket pitch. The road, where cars have passed, is easier to use than the rutted pavement. Up ‘Mile Lane’ is my usual route. I hear the joyful cries of children long before I see them sledging down the field.
Even in the semi-urban landscape, there are sheep struggling for survival.
Someone has been out early in the park and built an igloo. I used to do that and sleep out for the night in the garden.
Everyone is in a chatty mood, so progress is slow. Hence I decide on a short loop around the reservoir rather than the longer fell road, which I did yesterday. From up here, there are views across the valley to Beacon Fell and the Bowland Fells (in cloud).
I peek into Craig Y and share a picture of it on its Facebook page.
As I wander back through the streets, more snow is in the air. It won’t be good if it freezes tonight. Around the corner, a friend, JD, is building a snowman for his grandchildren. All jolly good fun.
No, I’m not on my cycle today. Mike phoned late last night with a promise of good weather and a desire to walk somewhere fresh. So here we are on the promenade between Fleetwood and Cleveleys on a freezing but bright blue sunny morning.
Apart from dog walkers on the beach, it is quiet at Fleetwood. The Lakeland hills across the way are a little hazy, but Knott End and Morecambe power station seem within touching distance, especially with the zoom lens. There are reminders of rough sleeping in the shelters. We follow the fish whilst watching a ferry heading to Heysham with hundreds of wind turbines in the background. The wind farms have proliferated in this stretch of water.
The Coast Guard Lookout station is always worth a photo from both sides. But after that, with chatting, I don’t take many more.
Around the corner, heading south into the low sun, onto the renewed curving coastal defences is delightful promenading. There is barely a breeze, so we are cosy in our fleecy clothes, Mike more so with a heated gilet, one of his family’s Christmas presents.
More and more people are out from Cleveleys. Dogs and children on new bikes are everywhere. I pause to point out to Mike the ‘Shell’ half-submerged, the Ogre hidden in a groyne is completely submerged.
We planned to walk to Cleveleys and catch a bus back to Fleetwood. They say you can’t become lost walking the coast; just keep the water on one side. Somehow, we walk on towards Bispham, the busy main street of Cleveleys hidden from us on the lower prom. It takes some time to realise my mistake, and then we turn around to head north, to miss our bus stop again.. Only when we actually climb over to the road do we see our whereabouts, but luckily, there is a stop opposite the Vue cinema complex. We don’t have long to wait for the number 24 bus, which takes a convoluted route through bungalow suburbia to the ferry at Fleetwood, where the car was parked. The view across to the Lakes was much clearer, but my camera was stashed away by now.
I recommend a walk down the prom from Fleetwood on any decent day. Go as far as you like, and then bus back. Today the weather made our short walk memorable.
Back to earth—flooded roads defeated us on the lanes around Inskip. The NW region has been badly affected this week.
It’s a brand new year, but the same old weather that plagued last year: rain and plenty of it. I awoke to news of flooding in the northwest and looking out my back window, the fields were underwater. Ribchester has suffered again, so I won’t be heading that way, though it would have been good to see the Ribble in full flow at Sale Wheel. https://bowlandclimber.com/2020/02/17/sales-wheel-the-ribble-in-flood/
I decided instead to head over to the River Hodder at Higher Hodder Bridge. I suspected the Chaigley road might be flooded so I drove over the fell to drop down at Kemple End. Even on this higher road, there were one or two spots where I hesitated to drive through.
The road going down Birdy Brow was awash with flood debris and parts of the road itself were eroding.
I parked at the bottom and walked onto the bridge to view the river in full spate.
Taking the little cobbled path through the woods and over normally quiet streamlets, now dashing to meet the roaring river.
Places where I often go down to the riverside for views of the graceful bridge were underwater today, and I kept a healthy distance from the edge. The river was moving past at some pace. It’s difficult to give an impression of the water’s power in a photo so I tried a video for better effect.
Ambling on along the muddy footpath, I came upon quieter stretches of water before it sped up again, hurtling towards the Ribble, where the confluence would be quite a sight. Instead of returning the same way I picked up an unmarked track near one of the little footbridges; this took me up the hillside towards Rydding’s Farm, where walkers aren’t exactly welcomed with “dogs running loose” signs. I bypass them and take the farm track leading back to Birdy Brow. Looking back, a rather hazy Pendle Hill dominates as usual around these parts. I hadn’t walked far for my first walk of 2025. I’m pleased to see my car hadn’t been washed away and drove carefully back over the high road, stopping only to view the floods below in Chipping Vale.
Of course, while the mood takes you, it is worth listening to Johnny Cash.
The mist has abated, but wind and rain threaten the New Year’s celebrations’. On Monday afternoon, there is time for a brisk walk. I choose Beacon Fell once again for quick access and dry tracks. The car parks are packed, and families, friends and dogs throng the paths. Consulting the site map I opt for the Fellside Trail as the longest and possibly the quietest route.
I am playing with the camera my son lent me – a 20-year-old Fujifilm S3200. I don’t have the instructions, so have had a brief look at the online manual. It’s not ideal conditions today, as you will seeand hear from the video.
I wander through the trees. It is all rather gloomy, with little to attract my attention. Even at the pond, nothing much is stirring.
I get bored and strike off on a lesser track which at least takes me past a couple of carvings. Then I’m in amongst the crowds with excited children running along the back of the stone snake, all great fun.
It’s time to get home and hide away for a couple of days—here’s to 2025.
I write this in front of a roaring log fire after three dull and damp post-Christmas days. Listening to cool jazz on my new CD Player, I’m old-fashioned, I know. I am also trying to work out the intricacies of my ‘new’ camera, a present from one of my sons who has more cameras than sense.
*
It was a misty Boxing Day walk with the family on Turn Moss, Chorlton. Turn Moss is a recreational area in Stretford, a green gateway to the Mersey Valley: water meadows, woodlands, ponds, brooks and ditches—a great place to explore and walk the dogs.
Chorlton Brook.
Turn Moss.
River Mersey.
Yesterday was worse. Misty from the word go. I eventually braved the damp and drove up to the fell. I was surprised at the number of cars parked up on Jeffrey Hill, considering there was no view. The sun just couldn’t break through.
I couldn’t face the mud on those tracks, so I settled for a short circuit of Cowley Brook Plantation lower down the fell. This is my go-to place for some quick exercise, surrounded by nature, for my well-being. I am the only one in there. I take photos as part of my year’s monthly observations, almost like a time-lapse sequence. I need to get January to complete the cycle.
The spider webs hold water droplets from the air as well as the pine needles..
I love this tree stump on my round.
More pine trees from the plantation are down since the last storms; some uprooted, and some simply snapped. I wonder if the original plantation will slowly dwindle in my lifetime. Today, as the anticyclonic gloom persists, I am happy to walk from home. Up Mile Lane and through the village.
I’ve done my shopping, made the stuffing and wrapped the presents. Time for some fresh air, we are not having a frosty winter, the air is mild but the wind is howling. A short walk would suffice.
One could hardly stand upright next to the trig point on Beacon Fell—a strong, cold wind blasting straight from the northwest. I took a photo of the next rainband coming in off the sea and one of Parlick above the conifers, then retreated to the shelter of the trees. Although I was made aware of the danger of falling trees by the groaning noises coming from them in the gale.
There was a brief break in the winter showers,, but not the wind. I parked at 2 pm in the Quarry; mine was the only car. Most peopla are crushing the supermarkets. I know, or think I know, every path on the fell, a country park, but today I halted at the new map board installed just after the pond. Why not follow the red route? The Summit Trail sounds about right. Of course, as the walk progresses, I end up using the Sculpture Trail and then the Fellside Trail and probably others.
My red trail takes me through the trees to the information centre and cafe. I was hoping they would have a bedecked real Christmas tree on display, there are plenty of specimens on the fell, so I could get a seasonal photograph to illustrate this post, mot likely my last before the big day. No luck.
I poke my nose into the building, a little late for a coffee but I join a family at the window seats to observe the many species using the bird feeders. Good to see youngsters enthusiastic about nature. At one time, this cafe boasted that it was open 364 days a year, but Covid stopped that, and now, if you want a brew or a snack, avoid Mondays or Tuesdays.
I climb up to look at Thomas Dagnall’s Orme View – now, who does that remind me of?
I now find myself on the blue sculpture trail, which I happily follow, rediscovering a series of wooden carvings.
After visiting the summit, I head back on the Fellside Trail – a quick hour’s walk. I was still the only car in the car park before heading home to check the drinks.
I’ve had my fair share of motoring breakdowns in the past. I’d not been running new cars in later years, more like old crocks. My Mazda Is now 25 years old, but it rarely lets me down. Unfortunately, the last time it did was on a ‘smart’ motorway. The experience has left me traumatised and very wary of venturing onto such motorways. I was fortunate to crawl into one of their scarce emergency refuge areas. “A ‘place of relative safety’ you can pull into if you have an emergency and need to stop driving on an all-lane running motorway”. That was only the start of my problems. Using their roadside emergency phone was almost impossible due to the constant traffic noise. Trying to give details of my AA membership and location took an inordinate time over the phone. I was eventually rescued. The next day, I installed the AA app on my mobile. (Other breakdown services are available)
‘Cometh the hour cometh the app’ to misquote Churchill and others. The hour came this week after a meet-up lunch with my Skipton cousin in the Spread Eagle at Sawley. Leaving the car park, in the Daccia this time, I heard a crunching sound from my back offside wheel. Going a little farther, it became louder, and smoke appeared from the wheel as it locked up; it was time to stop.
Time to call the AA. Simple this time: open the app, press a button on my mobile, enter a few details, and a man is on his way. He arrives in twenty minutes and diagnoses the problem – seized disc brakes preventing the wheel from rotating. He can’t tow me, and I imagine waiting a long time for a low loader to take me home. But no, this man is resourceful. He can’t free the brakes, but with a magic piece of engineering, which I didn’t understand, he fitted a freewheel to the outside of the hub. Thus, I could drive the car, although minus one brake, as he followed behind with flashing lights.
We were back at my garage before it closed. They have a backlog of work at this time of year, so I didn’t expect to see my car until after Christmas. To my surprise, I had a phone call this morning to say the job was done, new discs fitted, and I could collect it anytime. Thumbs up to the AA and my local garage.
*
Thus, I am now parked up at Chipping for a short walk to make the most of this dry, sunny day. The gritters are out in the village, just managing to squeeze through the narrow streets. It is cold.
Several of you will recognise this walk, one of my winter standbys, but to disguise it somewhat, I’m walking clockwise today. Usually, I go anticlockwise, widdershins, as they say in Scotland. Everywhere is bedecked for the season.
Up past the old mills, Chipping was once an industrial hub. The chair works closed in 2011, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kirk_Mill The road is surprisingly steep.
Round the corner the lane heads to the fells, enclosed by hedges. Look at that blue sky.
And there is Parlick with its wrinkles highlighted in the low sun. I have climbed some of those gullies in winter’s past when they iced up sufficiently. And there across the valley is Longridge Fell shadowed by its larger neighbour Pendle.
At the end of the lane up to Saddle End farm, I’m pleased to see the hens are still laying, I buy half a dozen.
It’s all downhill from here with time to take in the scenery on the way to the the sheep farm.
This is where you look out over the laund, an ancient deer park. I never tire of this view.
Down through the grounds of Leagram Hall, I stop again to admire some of the ancient oaks. All too soon, I’m back at my car. The day is closing, and the northerly wind is biting deep.
I stop at the trig point. My anemometer, a licked finger held above my head, records not even a zephyr. I am well away from roads, so all is complete silence, absolute stillness—a rare occurrence in modern times. I absorb the experience and drift into another world, unaware of how time passes. The Bowland Fells look on impassively, and far away, Pen Y Ghent just nods to the occasion. This is somehow special; my regular walk transformed by the absence of sound.
I nearly didn’t make it. Halfway up after stopping for a drink, I became unsteady and started stumbling. Was this the start of a stroke? I thought, and I turned around to get back before anything worse happened. Nobody ever knows where I am. After a few more faltering steps, I realised one of my spectacle lenses had fallen out, and I was temporarily confused and disorientated. Calming down, I stopped, removed my useless glasses, and then retraced my last few metres. No sign of the missing lens, I had to repeat this course several times before I find it in the peat. No damage was done.
So I continued to the trig point. The going was boggy but nowhere near the Lincolnshire mud I experienced last week. However, I did notice a sign has appeared on the fenced-off private land that warns of sinking mud. I’m not sure who it is aimed at now that barbed wire prevents access. Possibly their workers. I see they are at work with diggers farther down the field; we still don’t know what transpires on that land.
Farther on, I found more trees down, probably Storm Darragh. It certainly wouldn’t have been quiet up here in that wind. It’s eery in the forest. Several of you have battled through the forests on Longridge Fell and realise that not a lot of clearance has occurred. I’m never sure which footpaths up here are rights of way or concessional paths, so don’t always complain to the authorities about blocked ways. In any case, would they have the funds to carry out remedial action during these austere times? So, for now, we can all have our own little adventure.
I passed the ‘Longridge Fell Christmas Tree’. I think it’s in a different position from last year. It looked a bit dishevelled, probably after a thrashing from Storm Darragh at the weekend. As I said all quiet.
Almost as an aside, I was halfway around my Longridge walk when I started noticing the substantial stone-built houses.
Longridge, apart from its agricultural surroundings, was built on the proceeds of cotton mills and quarries. We have a mix of workers’ stone terraces and grander large houses built by the owners and managers.
I have mentioned the stone quarries before, and perhaps I need to enlarge the topic sometime, as well as the mills and spinning rooms. But today just a few photos of the stone houses.
It’s getting dark and the village is lighting up for Christmas shopping. I lived in one of those stone houses in the ’70s.
Up here in Lancashire, we missed most of Storm Bert’s venom. There were a couple of days of icy weather and then lots of rain. I escaped from Chorley Hospital yesterday without any serious problems. Time to get out for a walk.
My morning was taken by awkward ‘joinery’ to enlarge the hole for Seth’s new cat flap. There are intruders on the prowl, one particular cat seems to spend most of his time in my garden and has gained entry into my house on a couple of occasions. Not what I want. With all the new houses in Longridge there are more cats about, not to mention dogs. I took the plunge and ordered an electronic cat flap that would only open to Seth’s chip. It’s arrived, and I try to decipher the instructions for programming and installing. It was easy to program, and Seth duly obliged and walked through it. That was yesterday. Today, I started on the installation, and I’m not finished yet.
The day is disappearing and I need to get out and make the most of the forecast. After all the rain, I think I’ll just opt for a road circuit up the fell. One I have done so many times. I bump into JD on the way, and we join forces for a modest stroll.
Here are a few photos taken on my phone as we progressed.
Craig Y in the strange light.
Looking out over the houses to the Ribble Valley and beyond.
A deserted Golf Course was closed because of flooding.
Cowley Brook Plantation.
Distant Pendle.
Fairsnape/Totridge group across the valley.
Looking out over Longridge reservoirs and the Fylde.
Sainsbury’s sunset.
A short walk of under five miles, the sun was setting by the time we returned. Nothing dramatic but we put the world to rights, which is a good thing.
Tuesday 12th November 2024 Kemple End has been a fantasy location for a number of years with its quirky name tickling my imagination. Bowland Climber has mentioned it many times during our years of walking together but it has remained a kind of mystery for me, even to my questioning its actual existence, and somehow we…
My spirits are raised this morning as the sun appears for the first time in a fortnight. I have a few jobs to complete before I go away later in the week, but soon after lunch I’m up on the fell. I park up at Crowshaw Quarry, the scene of Probes’ brilliant new boulder problem last week. There is a good view of Pendle from up here, one for another time.
I take the small track, leaving the road just down from the parking. Years ago, this was the start of one of my regular fell runs. In fact, so many years ago, that the mature plantations hereabouts were cut down, and a new one planted, which is itself coming slowly to maturity. Forestry coming full cycle.
I haven’t been up this way for a few months, and I notice the increased erosion caused by mountain bikes with fatter wheels and, in many cases, electric assistance. I commented about this recently, so will let it drop today – after all the sun is shining.
Onwards through the trees towards the infant Brownslow Brook, where I brought my children and then my grandchildren to learn the art of dam building. As I said, I haven’t been this way for a while, and there ahead of me is another recently harvested area of forest, it does look unsightly. As you climb the hill away from the bridge, the track everybody uses goes through mature beech and pine trees. But now, one of those metal gates has appeared, suggesting the path goes up to the right of the fence towards Green Thorn farm. Looking at the map, the original PRofW does go that way. Let’s see what the ‘path’ is like. For a start, the gate, which must only have been up a few weeks, isn’t shutting correctly because one of the uprights isn’t vertical and is wobbling in the soft ground. The contractors have strimmed a corridor through the reeds, but the ground is boggy and will deteriorate quickly with much footfall. I suspect most regulars will use the well-worn path through the trees. The PRofW, which was long abandoned, went up to the farmhouse, but now another metal gate brings one out of their land, bypassing the farm, back onto the forest path. What a waste of money. Red dots on this map show the gates and the alternative paths. Time will tell.
I soon reach one of the main forestry roads but continue straight across and up on a smaller path through a felled area. Strange birds fly overhead. Yesterday, I managed to mangle my camera’s zoom lens, which I suspect is beyond repair, so now relying on my phone.
I have thoughts of continuing to the trig point but can’t face the struggle through the fallen trees and all the mud. I’m content to stroll back along the forest road; just look at that blue sky. Confusion creeps in at another recent area of felling. It is surprising how different things look when the trees I’ve walked past for countless years are gone. But Pendle is always there…
…as is my favourite beech.
***
I can’t believe it, but people are coming out of Sainsbury’s with Christmas Trees.
I’m catching up on some news while recovering from my second cataract operation. I am full of admiration for the surgeon’s skill. Please excuse any typos; I still haven’t regained full stereoscopic vision.
In the last few years, I have mentioned climbing with my mate Mark on a ‘secret’ crag high in Mallerstang in the upper Eden Valley. I showed the odd photo but never gave away the location.
I played only a small supporting role in developing this lovely crag, but I enjoyed the exploratory nature of the climbing very much. The epic walk up to the crag. The peace and isolation of the fell. The views down into Mallerstang and, in the distance, to many Pennine and Howgill Peaks. The occasional train trundling down the valley, even a low-flying Dakota or microlight passing by. We had a hidden cave where we could store gear and ropes to lessen the load on our walk-up. Hammering in those belay stakes and then abseiling to clean those soaring cracks. On one occasion, when a large block came careening towards me, I dodged at the last moment—freezing and baking in the same month—the best company with Mark, Jude, and other friends.
Just look at the opening photo. You would enjoy a day’s climbing up there.
*
On a different scale, up on Longridge Fell above Craig Y is a secluded quarry, Crowshaw, which is much more accessible.
We have been climbing in there for a few years now. Robin Mueller started the ball rolling with exciting boulder problems on the curiously shaped right wall.
I returned and cleaned up the slab right of his passages, then the lower walls to the left, which offered some easier boulder problems.
I had my eye on a 15-foot rock tower, but there was a nasty, pointed boulder below it. This was duly displaced with crowbars. Yes, I know we are mad. I played around bouldering out the start, but committing to more complex moves was getting me too far off the ground. I enlisted the help of Mark, of Wild Boar fame above, and he came over to belay me in September 2015. I was glad of the rope and protection on what turned out to be a decent climb – Tweeter And the Monkey Man, about VS 5a. We noticed the imposing blank wall to its right. My musical post describes the evening.
Tweeter, with that steep wall to its right.
My attention drifted back to the left walls again. That night, both Mark and I had attempted a high-level right-to-left traverse along the lip without success. Where the footholds ran out, it became technical and strenuous. I seem to remember I was going to France the next day, so I didn’t want to end up with a broken ankle.
That steep wall still attracted me, but after putting a rope down it, I realised it was way too hard. I did give the ‘Friend’ slots a clean, thinking somebody may lead it. That’s how it stayed for years; not many knew of the quarry or visited it. Local climber Paul of https://crusherholds.co.uk/ has done everything at CraigY, so I thought I would show him my wall. He was impressed, but we never got around to trying it until this year, when, with a new bouldering guide coming out, he bit the bullet.
Days of rain came and went; there was a short window in the weather for one afternoon. We met up, and I rigged a top rope for him to look at the problem. Tenous moves off layback creases and minuscule footholds had him off the ground. The following moves past slopers were obviously the crux; he struggled with the sequence. Eventually, opting for a slap through past the worst hold. It all looked very insecure, and his success rate was only average. Once at the slot, he said it was OK to the top. I suggested a roped lead with some gear at half height, but as he explained, that was past the difficulties, and he was confident of the upper section.
We moved the ropes, and I got set to spot him on the first difficult section. That is when we realise that if he fell, we would both probably disappear down the steep, bramble slope below us. So I tied into the ropes and hung above the drop. The pads covered the base adequately. On came the tight edging shoes to cope with the ripples masquerading as footholds. The finger laybacks somehow kept him on until poised below the crux slaps. This time, his right hand didn’t connect well, and I could see his tendons straining to keep contact before the next slap. Only just made it. But then it was a triumphant romp to the top. Probing the Proud Line 7a+
It rained for the rest of the month.
There remains a sneaky little line to the left, if anybody fancies it before Probes has another look.
My phone counts steps for me every day, god knows what other information it collects. Those steps don’t mean much to me. I’m still recording miles walked and feet ascended, I know I should have gone metric by now. Today was a day of steps which were too numerous to count.
I find myself in Chorley for a hospital appointment. Once it is over I take the opportunity to visit B&Q and Halfords in town. A quick lunch is bought from the nearby Asda and it is decision time, what to do with the rest of the day? A recent post from Michael at https://michaelgraeme.wordpress.com/2024/10/28/out-and-about-around-rivington-and-anglezarke-again/ was at the back of my mind. I haven’t visited Rivington Terraced Gardens for years and in the meantime, a great deal of restoration work has been carried out unearthing many paths and ruins. Time to go and have a look with the added promise of the autumn colours highlighted in Michael’s post.
I park on one of the many lanes, I don’t have a map of the site so just set off on a likely path.
Soon I find one of the regular explanatory boards and take a poor picture of their rather indistinct plan, which may give me a general idea of my whereabouts. I would suggest that anyone visiting get a copy of a map and certainly, if you are interested in the surprisingly short history of the estate, (started in 1900, abandoned in 1925) read this excellent Lancashire Past article. I wish I had before visiting.
To start with the sun is trying to shine and the woods are resplendent. I find myself walking through some sort of remembrance garden planted with foreign-looking conifers. It is half term and there are lots of family groups out enjoying the day.
Coming to the steeper part I see a bridge over a beck tumbling down from the now misty heights and there alongside it a series of stepped paths. I set off up the steep and slippery steps built improbably into the hillside. They have been cleverly constructed of cantilevered gritstone slabs. Upwards I go, not knowing whether the steps will lead me anywhere. Should I even be here, there is certainly nobody else about all of a sudden. Up ahead a pallisaded bridge crosses the ravine and I pause to look back down. Eschewing the traversing trail I tackle more exposed steps winding up alongside the ravine, there is another bridge ahead and here I find a a board explaining the history and construction of The Ravine.
There doesn’t seem to be a way ahead until I spot more steps sloping across the steep hillside which eventually bring me onto a terrace with artificial caves. I had just read that these were the ‘Bear Caves’ constructed to house exotic ferns. There was abundant greenery everywhere, all this had been lost under heavy vegetation until the recent clearings in the last decade. No wonder I have never been here before.
Even more steps, until I suddenly come to a rocky embattlement and escape through an archway into the Japanese Garden with its romantic lake. Thomas Mawson who designed these terraced gardens between 1905-1922 for soap magnate Lord Leverhulme was heavily influenced by Italian and Japanese garden landscaping. I feel I’m exploring the remains of a lost civilisation.
The lakeside is a popular picnic area and I’m afraid that the ever-present problem of litter is evident here, and in other areas of the gardens.
Above the lake the stables and enclosed Kitchen Gardens are reached, all rescued from the undergrowth.Everything was done on a grand scale in Lord Leverhulme’s era.
I cross a wide track past one of the original entrances to the gardens and then a long flight of more steps and through an arch into The Lawns. At one time there were six ‘summer houses’, two have survived and been restored. They gave shelter and views out over the lawns and tennis courts. From the balcony atop one of the summer houses you can see how land had been escavated to create the level lawns.
I’m almost at the top of the gardens by now but, you guessed it, more steps take me up to a levelled site where once stood Roynton Cottage and then The Bungalow, one of Lord Leverhulme’s many residences. Read about the chequered history on that Lancashire Past post. All that remains now and recently uncovered is its footprint.
From here it was a short hop to The Pigeon Tower, Lady Leverhulme’s hideaway. Finally, I recognised somewhere I had visited before, usually on the way up to Rivington Pike and Winter Hill. I won’t be going up the Pike today as we are in thick mist now. Dovecotes are seen in the wall in the first photo.
I work my way carefully down more slippery steps until I’m on top of a small loggia looking out over The Italian Lake. The water level is low due to seepage and it’s not looking its best. The mist is creeping down the terraces.
The steps continue, I’m now looking for the Seven-Arched Bridge which I remember was hereabouts. I find it by unwittingly walking over it. The lane below is one of the many roads crisscrossing the estate.
Scrambling down the last bit of hillside I come to the South Lodge remains. Originally there were four lodges on the roads into the estate.
A wide track descends to the Great House Barn, which I remember as a basic cafe under a cruck roof. Now it looks more like a wedding venue, I don’t have the nerve to cross their threshold in my muddy boots.
All I have to do now is find my car, it’s down one of these roads.
My phone says I have stepped 5000 times, it felt like that. I probably walked no more than two miles. The sun disappeared early on so I never saw the best of the autumn colours, but I discovered a whole new world with a fascinating history, and the mellow mists added to the atmosphere. I wonder how many workers Sir Levehulme employed to construct his vision and how many to maintain it? Now we are mainly left with volunteers to keep the gardens accessible.
If you have two or three hours to spare come and get yourself lost in this lost world.
I didn’t know where I was heading for as I drove up onto the fell. Somehow the extra hour has thrown me today and it is lunchtime before I stir. I wondered about some bouldering at CraigY but a cold wind dissuaded me. I drove farther up, it looked like half of Preston had parked along the road to access the forest tracks. Too many people and dogs, so I continue to quieter Kemple End and squeeze into a parking spot. One of my favourite walks over the years was a small permissive path avoiding the forest roads, starting through a gateway, SD 689405, just down the hill and then snaking up through the trees eventually arriving at Sam’s Best View, if you remember it.
Things have changed. A few years ago a large area of forest on the Northern scarp was harvested and then we had the storms causing more damage to the remaining plantation. I tried to find a suitable way up this end of the fell in the heatwave of June 2023. here.
It will be interesting to have another look. That is how my walk for today evolved.
Through the gateway on a path of fallen leaves, I start the climb. The path here is quite broad and obviously used by mountain bikes. As it narrows they, the mountain bikers, have been trimming back the branches, filling potholes and creating jumps over obstacles.
Out of interest, a PRoW, marked on the map, crossing my track at SD678410 has to all extent disappeared. Blocked on the left by fallen trees and lost on the right from lack of use. Higher up some steep downhill tracks lead off right, specifically created by the mountain bikers. They look suicidal.
I become diverted by a prominent group of fungi often seen in coniferous forests. ?Hebeloma mesophaeum – Veiled Poisonpie.Moving on I recognise the dogleg in the path and follow it into the denser forest. Again branches have recently been cut back. This little used, at the time, path went right along the ridge but now after less than a quarter of a mile comes out into the area felled a few years ago.
An area of devastation which last June I couldn’t penetrate but now a path winds its way through the stumps and newly planted trees. The mountain bikers are to be thanked for this, they have carved out a track which can now be followed by walkers without having to trudge up the forest road.
There are good views back to Pendle Hill, down into the Hodder Valley and way over the Bowland Fells to Pen Y Ghent and Ingleborough.
I walk on and eventually come out at what was Sam’s Best View before the trees obscured it. I’m pleased that the path connects up again with the main ridge path and given time and use as the forest regrows will become a pleasant route sought out by the discerning walker. I suspect that the bikers will be more instrumental than walkers in keeping it open.
And there lies a problem. When I started ‘mountain biking’ 40 years ago we kept mainly to bridleways and there weren’t many of us. Most of the uphills we walked, or at least I did. Our tyres weren’t much fatter than road tyres but even then we were aware of the erosion caused by bikes on fragile ground. Fast forward four decades and there are mountain bikers everywhere, not necessarily strictly legally. The bikes have changed with full suspension, dropping seat posts and wider tyres. More importantly in recent years, electric mountain bikes have appeared. They are heavier and if used aggressively tear up the ground in an accelerating time. No more walking uphill. We are usually only aware of environmental damage when it is almost too late.
It’s great to see youngsters enjoying the trails on Longridge Fell and elsewhere but if used irresponsibly on footpaths may bring them into conflict with other users. Places like Gisburn Forest and Llandegla have been specifically ‘designed’ for mountain biking with trails for all abilities separated from other users. There is so much scope on Longridge Fell for mountain biking, as witnessed by the self-made innovative trails appearing everywhere. I wonder whether some input should be with the landowners, Tilhill Forestry, into developing a mountain biking environment. I’m well aware that could stifle and regulate the whole process. Pros and cons.
Let’s leave that debate to another time, there are far worse things happening in the world.
I wander back down the forest road, the clocks have changed and it will be dark a lot sooner today.
That only leaves me with the obligatory Autumn Leaf image. Pardon the pun.
I don’t on principle use Amazon, there is always a more direct online buying option. In any case, I try to buy local and support the shops in the village. So, you’ve guessed it I don’t have a Prime account. There will be a fair number of people in the Ribble Valley today cursing their Prime membership, their eagerly awaited parcels are stuck in the back of a van that is stuck on a bridleway not far from here.
I came out for a little exercise, to admire the autumn colours and do some fungal exploring. It’s that time of year, Prime Time.
The leaves are turning golden and falling fast at the same time. They are falling all around me like snow every time the wind blows. The stream is more lively than usual after some heavy rain in recent days. Excited children are playing poo sticks from the bridge, it is half-term for many. You may recognise where I am.
Most of the fungi I find are on dead wood, there are so many trees down from those frequent storms we are experiencing. A good find is a clump of ‘Jelly Ears’, its previous name now not acceptable, growing on a fallen beech. Auricularia auricula-judae has a soft, jelly-like texture. Though edible, it is not held in high culinary regard. It has been likened to “eating an Indian rubber” Though I read that it can be dried to give added flavour to stews. I leave it where I found it.
Wandering back along that bridleway I hear raised voices ahead, not the children I saw before. No there is some loud cursing going on. There, stuck half on and half off the narrowing track is a delivery van. Once alongside, I see that it is an Amazon Van, the blue type with ‘Prime’ blazoned down the side. It is a mystery as to how he progressed this far. Sat nav surely can’t be fully blamed, a hint of human error becomes apparent when the driver asks me “Can I get out if I drive on?” A resounding NO.
Another van appears at the end of the lane, no doubt sent Prime delivery from Amazon. The circus begins after some damming words between the colleagues. A tow line is set up and van number two starts pulling, only for the stricken van to slide further off the narrow track into the vegetation. More cursing ensues. The next try, I’m not sure that the two protagonists are on the same wavelength, only results in the ‘Prime’ van taking a decided lean to the port side. Now it is balanced on two wheels and in imminent danger of rolling down the hillside. My suggestion that they should remove the parcels before it is too late doesn’t go down too well. There is urgent talk on mobiles to the head office of tractors, cranes and winches.
Time to retire, it will be dark in an hour.
My curiosity is such that I am considering another nature walk along here tomorrow morning, purely for fungal research interests.
Am I pleased I didn’t set forth on the Sarsen Way down in Wiltshire last week? They have had more than their fair share of rain. Pottered around at home, took delivery of a new cycle (more of that later), done a bit of easy bouldering in the quarries, and had a few walks up the fell on the better days.
My eldest grandson came to stay for a couple of days and we ventured onto the now, once again, boggy fell. It will only get worse as the year progresses.
What struck me was the amount of fungi already springing up amongst the trees. Using the phone’s aps we tried our best to identify most of them. We have been short of insects this year so let’s hope for an abundant fungal autumn.
I have made it my intention this autumn to become more proficient at fungal identification, did I say that last year? There are plenty of trees down in the woods for them to grow on. Must remember to take my camera next time.
To untangle that spaghetti, one can search for paths of a certain length within one’s area of interest. The forecast is suitable for a couple of days at the end of this week, so let’s see what comes up. A twenty-mile walk in the Hynburn district, that hilly industrial area between Blackburn and Burnley, The Canal Clog, would make a good two-day walk for this time of year. The reference to clogs links back to the area’s industrial heritage, cotton mills and canals. When I first moved to Longridge, another cotton town, way back in the early seventies, there was a clog maker trading there. The walk is apparently waymarked by a pair of clogs. 
I hear the joyful cries of children long before I see them sledging down the field.
Around the corner, a friend, JD, is building a snowman for his grandchildren. 
All jolly good fun.
It’s difficult to give an impression of the water’s power in a photo so I tried a video for better effect.
Instead of returning the same way I picked up an unmarked track near one of the little footbridges; this took me up the hillside towards Rydding’s Farm, where walkers aren’t exactly welcomed with “dogs running loose” signs. 
I bypass them and take the farm track leading back to Birdy Brow. Looking back, a rather hazy Pendle Hill dominates as usual around these parts. 
I hadn’t walked far for my first walk of 2025. I’m pleased to see my car hadn’t been washed away and drove carefully back over the high road, stopping only to view the floods below in Chipping Vale.
Even at the pond, nothing much is stirring. 
Then I’m in amongst the crowds with excited children running along the back of the stone snake, all great fun. 
