As one drives along the M61 between Chorley and Bolton, one can’t miss that breast-like prominence on the slopes of Winter Hill—Rivington Pike.
That is our objective today, yet another sunny autumn day as we approach November. I meet up with the ‘Rockman’ from Bolton, one of my long-time climbing partners. We don’t get together often enough, so we have a lot of catching up to do, combined with the walk.
Coffee at his house is welcome. Poppy, his Airedale, is getting too old for long walks, so she is left at home. I let the Rockman drive his local lanes to Rivington. The carparks are packed, with cars everywhere along the roadside. Of course, it is half-term. We squeeze in near GoApe, of which the Rockman is a veteran star within his family. 
The Lower Cruck Barn is busy feeding the masses. The rockman buys a piece of flapjack, which goes into my rucksack for him later.
Our walk up to the Pike is in the grounds previously owned by Lord Leverhulme, the soap magnate. He, along with T H Mawson, the landscape architect, developed the hillside into the Terraced Gardens
I am feeling lazy, and rather than detailing the historical background to the area, I would recommend reading the two links I’ve pasted above. That leaves me free to just describe the walk.
After a short way up the main avenue, we leave most of the crowds to walk a quieter path through the trees southeastwards. Gently gaining height, we chat away as more energetic dog walkers overtake us. Have you noticed that when the sun is shining, people are generally more sociable? Fallen leaves cover the path, creating an eerie atmosphere.

We double back on ourselves several times, always taking the easiest gradient. A half-hidden water trough reminds us that horse-drawn carriages would have used these lanes. 
As height is gained, the West Lancashire plains are revealed. Rivington reservoir shines out below. 
The summit of the pike comes into view, but we still have a fair bit of climbing to do.
On reaching the top, we realise there is a strong, cold wind blowing from the west. Sheltered spaces in the lee of the tower are all taken, so we opt for a bench in the open. 
The current tower was built in 1732. There had been an older, wooden beacon on the same spot. The tower was made of stone from Liverpool, and the workers were paid in ale. The foundations of the tower are older stones; in the photo below, these stones are now visible due to erosion. The tower was constructed for John Andrews, a solicitor in Bolton and owner of the Rivington estate. It was built as a hunting lodge, featuring a square room with a fireplace and a cellar.
A passing mountain biker stops for a chat, a youngster who lives at the base of the hill. It is refreshing to find a teenager who obviously enjoys adventures in the outdoors and has the scars to prove it. Maybe because I am engrossed, I virtually forget to take any photos of the scenes around us. The coast is certainly in view. We move on when our hands begin to freeze in the cold wind. He overtakes us later.
Down the steep steps we go, against the tide of families climbing up them. This is the way most people come; we are glad of our more circuitous, less strenuous and certainly quieter route.












































































































