Tag Archives: Walking

A DAY OUT WITH ZOLA.

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Or how to take five hours over a four-mile walk and enjoy it. 

I’ve been a fan of Andy Goldsworthy ever since coming across his work high on Clougha Pike.

My greatest regret is not visiting his exhibition in Edinburgh last year. Enough of the links until the end.

For me, there is always more to discover, such as his series of sheepfolds along an old droving lane, Fellfoot Road, above the Lune Valley and Casterton. I find a map on his website.

16 sheepfolds on one lane- what more could you ask for? Now who could I interest in this project? Yes, of course, my friend C, the ‘slate lady’. I’d better make room in the car for her shared dog Zola, a veteran of our escapades.

“There are numerous sheepfolds tucked in the corners of fields along Fellfoot Road, near Casterton. I have never seen such a concentration of folds.  These small, simple enclosures are connected to a walled track, like rooms attached to a corridor. 

I would like to make a work that answers the rhythm of these repeating sheepfolds and is perhaps evocative of the movement and passage of sheep brought down from the fells and driven along the track.

Large boulders sit in the adjoining fields like scattered sheep. I propose to place one large stone in each of the enclosures that I make or rebuild. The gesture will be like an arm gently gathering a stone into one corner, protecting it.”

On arrival, morning coffee is taken from a flask at the back of the parked car; needs must. I  think we are in Cumbria. The start of the drove lane is a few yards from our lay-by. A steep beginning as I pant behind the sprightly C; Zola is way ahead.   

Thankfully, I can call a halt when I spot our first sheepfold. The only clue is a stepped stile in the adjoining stone wall. Zola is immediately keen to explore, jumping into the fold and finding her way through the hog hole. Inside the four stone walls is a rather small boulder.

Apparently, these boulders – there will be more – were retrieved, dug out of the hillside above. It is difficult to believe. They seem to be sandstone, whereas the walls of the folds are limestone, the bedrock at this height. The sheepfold is a reminder of the agricultural past, and the boulder may draw our attention to the sheep within it. One down, fifteen to go.

Turning the corner, the fell lane disappears in a straight line between its stone walls. One to stride out on, but today we have folds to find. The next fold has a much more impressive boulder.

The lane is a regular dog walk for this lady.

The folds come at regular intervals in the fields either side of the lane. Each one is accessible by a stone stile through the wall, some easier to climb than others; though Zola is first through everyone at a pace—obviously a fan of Goldsworthy.

Though the folds are very similar, the boulders in each are of different sizes and have different contours. Some are pockmarked; others are covered in moss; brambles and other vegetation hide a few. We are eager to view each one, a small discovery every time. They are not easy to photograph, and in any case you would soon become bored with sixteen boulders. This is one piece of art that you have to walk through physically, as I’m sure Goldsworthy intended. I wonder how many come this way; it’s cheaper and healthier than visiting any gallery.

We wander on down the verdant lane.

These little white flowers are new to me. Achillea ptarmica – sneezewort. On the rougher upper fields, a few boulders can be seen; on the other side are real sheep.

 

 

One boulder about halfway down is crying out to be sat on; it becomes our luncheon stone.

Look at the lichens…

Refreshed, we move on, crossing the narrow road that leads to Bullpot Farm, a caving centre with access to a network of underground passages. Our fell track changes character here, becoming more open and for some reason less trodden. The bracken and flowers are almost taking over – delightful. It takes a bit more determination to reach the connecting stiles, but we find three more folds.

We come to a gate and ahead are sheep grazing; time to put Zola on her lead. After having mildly mocked me for misplacing my map a way back, C is dismayed to find she has lost the dog’s lead. Oops. She is happy to wait for me to continue to the few remaining folds, but there’s no fun in that; I’ve lost count anyway, so we begin to retrace our steps. Was it left at our lunch stone? No. Was it left further back when she climbed a gate for a better view of one of the boulders? Thankfully, there it was; Whoo, otherwise, I was planning to bring some farmer’s binder twine into an improvised use purely to impress Sir Hugh.

We retrace once again to Bullpot Lane and cut our Goldsworthy quest short. Honours are even, I think. But what is in store down this quiet lane?

Well, first we meet the sheep farmer and his sheepdog on their quad bike at Fell Yeat Farm.  The usual pleasantries over, we quiz him about the sheep folds. He is knowledgeable, but perhaps envious of the thousands-of-pounds grant that Goldsworthy received for the project. A large digger was employed to unearth those giant boulders and move them to their present and forever resting places. Fighting hard to make a living up here, I suspect he took a somewhat jaundiced view of the work. Anyhow, warming to our interest, he talks freely of the life of a sheep farmer in these parts. Next thing, we are in one of his barns, examining fleeces and discussing the profit margin, paying the shearers, and selling the said fleeces. There were two lots of fleeces from different yearlings, but I don’t remember the differences between them. The good news is that prices are on the up. Invest in wool.

He is proud to tell us of his wife’s recent achievement of completing the Three Peaks on a whim, having only set out to climb Pen-Y-Ghent.  Somehow, the talk switches to train journeys to Leeds, direct from not-so-far-off Wennington Station. And did they have a son in Australia or Canada to visit? By now, we have to make our excuses and be on our way.

Throughout this time, his sheepdog sits patiently on the quad bike. I don’t think Zola would have been over-friendly to him; you never know.

Fell Yeat Farm.
Fleeces.

 

We have only walked 100 yards when a sign proclaims Brownthwaite Hardy Plants.

To us keen gardeners, that is like a magnet; we are drawn in. The man is friendly and inviting even though we, as passing walkers, are unlikely to make a purchase. It is a pleasure to explore what is probably called an old-fashioned nursery. Forget your garden centre; there are gems around every unexpected corner. It is difficult to know where the nursery ends and his garden begins. Hydrangeas are a speciality. He has added his own artistic touches wherever we look. Lots of interesting ironworks are incorporated and for sale. I’m surprised we both don’t come marching out with an iron poppy head each.

Again, like his farmer neighbour, he is keen to chat. I suspect not many people come this way. He is passionate about his plants, so he should be, and the environment in general. His little terrier takes a liking to Zola, so all is calm.

Sorry, I have to insert another unexpected link to his nursery.

We stroll back, picking the occasional delicious blackberry and even a juicy plum. It’s one of those days.

This was our route with the backtracking highlighted, and the two interactive episodes arrowed. 

I know from a previous visit of another Andy Goldsworthy sheepfold nearby in Barbondale, so we drive to have a look. Instead of a boulder inside, we find a sheep, temporarily.

*

*

I realise it is a little cheeky, but may I use this post for my 52 Ways to Walk: Walk With a Dog? Zola added to the day’s enjoyment with her enthusiasm. I know I wasn’t in charge, but there was plenty of interaction. The episode, with or without the dog lead, gave the day a different dimension. Walking with a dog anywhere often brings added conversations, as with the lady and her two dogs early in the walk. And of course Zola was a willing photographic model and deserves to be in my headline photo. Looking back through my posts, I’ve had Days Out with Poppy, Pixie and Tilley, all friends’ dogs. My cats stay firmly at home.

THE YORKSHIRE DALES GRISEDALE.

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The dale that nearly died.

Whilst having lunch perched on a boulder, along comes a lady walking her dog. It turns out she lives in one of the restored farms in the dale spread out below. This is Grisedale or Grisdal to the locals – everything gets shortened up here. I’ll describe my route up to here later. But first I find out about the history and more from this chatty lass. She has lived here less than a dozen years so is still a newcomer. In the 19th century, the valley was a marginal farming community of about 15 families. There was some mining and lime burning, probably as an ancillary to the farm work. There was a Quaker Meeting House and a Methodist Chapel. In the C20th, economic events, severe winters, and an ageing population led to most farms being abandoned. She tells me that even the stone walls were destroyed for the stone to be used by builders elsewhere. By 1960, only two farms were populated.

By the early 1970s, only one farmer remained living and working in the valley, and he was featured in a Yorkshire Television documentary by Barry Cockcroft, The Dale that Died.  Cockcroft said that Grisedale was “the most romantic dale in all of Yorkshire…complete in its unspoilt beauty, serenity and vivid history”

I have just managed to watch the whole of this remarkable documentary.                          https://replay.bfi.org.uk/video/410d3845-4c55-5652-91aa-c9e3a8917b03

But the dale didn’t die, and in the latter decade of the 1900s, people bought farms and houses and created new homes. It seems to be a close-knit community now, tucked away from the hustle and bustle.

Grisedale in 1890.

*

What am I doing here today? Well, I’m exploring the upper reaches of Garsdale from where the river Clough flows down the valley to Farfield, where it joins the Rawthey. Sir Hugh and I are planning a walk to follow the Clough. The south-east slopes of Baugh Fell give rise to streams that feed the Clough. A prominent one of these is Grisedale Beck, joining the Clough at Garsdale Head. He has already walked this way; I’m just catching up.

There is ample parking at Garsdale Station, but at the back of my mind I wished I had come by train. (Bus Longridge to Clitheroe: 50 mins. Train Clitheroe to Garsdale: one hour thirty – so up to three hours) Anyhow, I’m here and walking down the lane.  Even though I slowed down, I never saw a Red Squirrel.

I go through a small gate into a reedy field.

There will be many reedy fields today. But there is a clear path which takes me up the hill to a stile in a wall. I’m now in the bowl of lower Grisedale with the river down below. There is no sign of Clough Force as the river is virtually dry this month.

I keep following well-signed paths through the rough reedy fields. Blake Mire house is being renovated but seems to have difficult access. Other farms are disappearing slowly.

I come out onto the minor road at Rowantree. A short stretch on the road to Moor Rigg, before I cross fields alongside the Grisedale Beck towards Reachey; there are some nice names around here – I wonder at their origins.

Reachey looks a grand renovation, making use of a derelict barn wall in the design. But it would be reachy to get here in a hard winter.

The path onwards is a delight alongside the beck, full of flowers and rising butterflies.

Ahead is the copse surrounding the ruins of East and West Scale, accessed by an old packhorse bridge.

The path starts to climb away from the beck and becomes rather sketchy; not many people come this far. A strange, unnatural-looking pile of stones is crossed. (My informant tells me later that they were probably left over from when the walls were being exported elsewhere)

The path ends at the ruins of Round Ing. 

I get a little off track, if there is one, as I climb the rough fields back towards Flust. There is a good view down to the Scales ruins.  Flust is at the end of the valley ‘road’ and is merely a barn. When the valley was depopulated, the farmhouses that were no longer occupied fell into ruin, but the barns still had agricultural value, so many were saved. The land is now farmed from elsewhere, with the stock brought here each year.

I follow the rough track back eastwards until I find that stone to rest on for lunch and view across Grisedale to Ingleborough and Whernside in the background. “the most romantic Dale in the whole of Yorkshire”

It is whilst I’m in this reverie that the lady and dog appear. We walk on together for a while and probably spend about an hour of interesting talk. As well as all the local information, she introduces me to the fell ponies wandering up here. From this vantage point, she looks down on ‘her’ Dale, recognising any cars coming or going; I suspect she doesn’t own one. 

By now I have wandered off course, and have to retrace a little to find the stile getting me into the right bit of Grisedale Common. All is open access, but I don’t want to climb walls. I spot the Dandrymire Viaduct near Garsdale Station, way below; I still have some miles to go.

My way off the common is not clear; I’m heading to Grisedale Crossing on the railway. This is the way school children from Grisedale would walk out of their Dale to school every day. The school building is just over the crossing, as marked on the photo. The viaduct on the right is one I’ve never noticed before – Lunds Viaduct.

There is a footbridge over the crossing. The 1890s map shows a footbridge even then and the school.

 

 

Old School extended.

Lunds Viaduct.

I planned to take the footpath by the infant Ure, draining to the east coast, but with all the dallying, I am happy to walk down the road to the C18th Moorcock Inn, which never seems to be open. 

A bridleway goes alongside the railway, dodging through one of the arches of Dandrymire Viaduct before landing me back at Garsdale Station.  Throughout the day, I saw railcars on the line – wouldn’t it be spectacular to watch a steam locomotive coming over that viaduct?

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What a great day. Now for the Clough River, but we think we’ll postpone it until there’s been some rain and the water is livelier.

BAREFOOT ON THE FELL.

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I vaguely remember, in the mid-60s, going to one of London’s theatres to watch a newly released comedy, Barefoot in the Park. As an impoverished student, I had a secret way of getting last-minute cheap theatre tickets. The production later became a successful movie with Jane Fonda and Robert Redford. Going barefoot in the park was a sign of freedom.

Our earliest ancestors walked everywhere barefoot, as do some tribes even now. But we have been wearing shoes for centuries. The earliest known shoe, over 10,000 years old, was made of sagebrush bark. The development of shoes over the ages has led to cushioning that supports our feet. But it may have created problems – our foot muscles are not as strong as they should be. There is evidence that this may cause us to tread more heavily, creating extra stress on our knee and hip joints. Our feet are not as healthy as our ancestors’, and the rates of knee arthritis have doubled in the last century; obviously, other factors come into play, such as weight, repetitive stress and injuries.

Walking barefoot, we take shorter strides, landing less heavily and with our weight more evenly distributed.  Add to this the varied sensations we feel from the different surfaces we encounter.

You may have gathered that this week’s 52 Ways of Walking is “Walk Barefoot”. Will it give me the freedom of the park and Jane Fonda’s heart, or will I end up standing on some glass or, just as bad, dog poo? I will give the parks a miss.

Longridge residents will all remember a local character regularly running around the Longridge Fell road barefoot. He is still running, but the last time I saw him he was wearing trainers.  I don’t intend to walk barefoot on the roads but choose the peaty paths on the fell itself instead.

I am on the way down from the forest and once out of the trees off come my trainers.  The path looks stony, and I take hesitant steps at first. But it’s not as bad as it looks; there is often some grass one can find to give a more gentle tread. The ground is very dry and compact; sand gets between my toes. Small pebbles are to be avoided. Once I’m in my stride, I start to enjoy the experience; I also feel different textures and temperatures through my soles, which doesn’t happen when wearing shoes. There is only a small patch of mud, but I have to get into it – instant cooling for my feet as well as instant mud between the toes to wash off later. I am disappointed not to leave ‘Man Friday’ footprints for someone to follow. It’s only a half mile back to the car, and I am moving more confidently as I go. Out of the gate onto the road, and I instantly feel the heat of the tarmac.

Yes, I did enjoy that experience, more so than many other 52 Ways to Walk. I will repeat it next time up the fell and may even venture into the forest where I think the ground will be trickier. I think I could walk forever barefoot on the grass. Obviously, I haven’t ventured far enough to test my foot muscles or even strengthen them; that would take a lot of perseverance and time. I did feel less clumsy, was placing my feet more precisely, and I think I was more in balance by spreading out my toes, which is important as you age.

One can purchase ‘shoes’ that provide a more barefoot walking experience. These minimalist shoes allow the foot to move naturally. They give you the feeling of walking barefoot while still protecting your foot from injury and dirt. Something to look into, but maybe I should have done so decades ago.

I don’t intend to show too many photos of my feet. This was the path I was on; you can see how dry it was.

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As an aside, here’s what I came across in the forest earlier. Idiotic in this heatwave.

A cosy campfire!!!

THE COAL ROAD.

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Dentdale again.

This time I’m parked at Dent Station, the highest mainline station in England, 1150ft. It’s on the famous Settle to Carlisle line. The station building is now a holiday lodge that you can book online—an unusual getaway.

My walk starts by going down the road to Cowgill, a cluster of houses at the head of Dentdale. Crossing the bridge, there is little water in the River Dee as it runs over limestone slabs. The road continues alongside the river with virtually no traffic. The water-worn limestone bedrock of the river is visible throughout. I pass the isolated Sportsman’s Inn. It is serving lunch; I don’t know how it survives out here. I should have gone inside for a quick drink and a look around, but it’s early on my walk, and I have some serious climbing coming up. Going down always means going back up.

Leaving the road, I cross over the Dee and pass Stonehouse Farm. I knew that this route would take me under the Arten Gill Viaduct carrying the Settle – Carlisle line. I wasn’t prepared for the grandeur of it. The arches are high above the gill and built of Dent black marble, actually black limestone; they dominate the valley. Built in the 1870s. 

I follow the track up the side of the gill; this was once an important way for bringing limestone and coal down from the fell. My way is steep; I plod on in the afternoon heat. We are still in a heatwave, but I’m hoping for some cooling breeze as I climb higher.

I keep looking back at the viaduct as I gain height; a train passes over whilst my back is turned. I should have made a note of the timetable.

Mountain bikers shoot past me at breakneck speed going downhill. The solitary cyclist pedalling up is having a far harder time.

The track goes on and on, but the gradient eases. I still keep looking back down at that viaduct. People appear coming downhill; I wonder where from.

At a crossroads of tracks I take the Pennine Bridleway northwards, this is the Coal Road. The map shows nearby coal pits, but I can’t see any evidence on the ground. Until now the tracks have been stony, but along here I am walking on that wonderful sheep-cropped grass of limestone uplands.

The views keep changing as I proceed; that viaduct is still visible for a while, and Ingleborough and Whernside on the skyline vie for my attention. The vista down Dentdale is idyllic, and further on Wild Boar Fell and Mallerstang come into view.

This walk has everything. I find a boulder to rest on, have some lunch and absorb the surroundings. Why have I never been up here before?  I’m walking along the upper slopes of Great Knoutberry Fell, which at 672m I must have ascended years ago when I was completing the 2000ft (609.6m) summits of England and Wales—the joys of youth when one rushed across the fells. And along here I think I find some Knoutberry plants, also known as Cloudberry. Looking back up to Great Knoutberry Fell.

I wind down walking back the quiet road to Dent station, where  I spend time watching the house martins visiting their nests,

What a great day.

Topped off with a drive over to Garsdale, with the roof off, to pick up the main road to Sedbergh.

*

 

ON THE OCCY.

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A walk from Dent.

I’m glad for the fresh breeze up here on the Occupation Road, high above Dent, as the heat wave continues: with temperatures, even here in the north, in the high 20s. The Occupation Road, the Occy as the locals call it, was originally an old droving route linking Barbondale and Kingsdale. It was rebuilt in 1859 at the time of the Parliamentary Enclosures, when common fell side land was divided up into large allotments for grazing – the ‘occupied’ land. The land was stolen from the commoners. Those fields are spread out below me, with Dent Town hidden;  the other side of the valley rises to Aye Gill Pike. And there down the valley, the Howgills across the horizon. And at the head of the valley, Great Knoutberry. A panorama to savour.

I’m walking alone today, yes, yet another ‘task’ from my 52 Ways To Walk book. It’s not difficult for me, as probably 80% of my walks are alone these days; a lot of my friends have died or become incapacitated. There are, however, many advantages to solitary walking. One can decide on a walk at the last moment and just set off without any possible communication complications. One can go at one’s own speed, stop when one wants, take lots of photos and spend time just observing nature in all its forms. One can divert to visit ruins and churches that any companion might not find interesting.  One can relax and meditate without constant conversation. It is thought that the more one can create and enjoy solitude, the more resilient and contented one becomes, hence the less alone one feels.

I will not offend any of my walking companions by the above as they are of a similar ilk. In fact, on those days when one chooses a companion for a walk, one appreciates their company even more; I hope that is reciprocated. My solitary walk today is highlighted by several conversations with complete strangers that I might never have had if I were walking with friends.  Read on.

I knew I needed to be away early to avoid the afternoon heat. This wasn’t helped by oversleeping my alarm, being held up by a serious accident on the A6 and then driving past my intended motorway junction for Kirkby Lonsdale. The latter problem was easily rectified by going on to the Sedbergh junction and coming into Dent from the west. By the time I reached here, I succumbed and paid for a day’s parking, having been warned by Sir Hugh of his experience a while ago.

After all that, I’m ready to start at 10 am, which is still early for me. I know, from Sir Hugh’s post, what to expect from the climb alongside Flintergill. The lane leading to it has some pleasant properties and halfway a Meditation Centre in an old Methodist Chapel. I call in and restore my composure before continuing. The way passes early on the ‘Dancing Flags’ – limestone slabs in the gill where weavers danced on their fabrics to shrink and thicken them.

The track remains steep and rocky but provides good shade from the sun. I just plod along. I’m surprised to see this strange tree with roots growing over the path. I later learn it is the ‘Wishing Tree’ – I should have passed under it or walked round it three times, depending who you consult.

Higher up, a typical Dales barn has been preserved, and one can view the interior, where there is a jumble of old farming implements.  Not very instructive, though I like the stone trough in the wall.

The next diversion is an old lime kiln built into the hillside. 

The track becomes less rocky and shows more greenery from the summer growth. The gill itself is down below, but there is no sound of running water. It is dry from the lack of rain and the heatwave.

I encounter the first person I’ve seen since leaving Dent. A lady walking down the track with her little dog. We stop for pleasantries; it turns out she lives just the other side of the gill, and this is her daily walk, having left her husband working in their garden. From what she says, the garden is their main occupation. Having lived here twenty years, they have never really been away – “why would you?” The conversation drifts on about the local wildlife, and it transpires they have ‘tamed’ a rescued magpie. For five years he has lived in their garden and reacts closely with them. Despite its domesticity, he has found a mate most years and reared young. She goes on to tell me about the butterflies in the vicinity and to look out for Emerald Butterflies in the shrubs higher up where apparently there is a welcome seat. A pleasant quarter hour passes by.

I notice a cairn high on the right and scramble up to it. I’m glad I do; it turns out to be a toposcope highlighting all the local features of Dentdale.  I take in the views and I try to video the panorama.

The valley opens up; there is even some water in the beck.  I can see the Occupation Road up ahead, but first I take advantage of that seat to rehydrate and take in the solitude. 

I turn left at the top onto the Occy. It stretches out in front, contouring the hillside. In parts it is underwater; God knows what it would be like in winter, Rutted and awkward for walking, perhaps trashed in the past by motorbikes? But it is a joy to be up here. One has time to take in Dentdale’s different perspectives as one proceeds.

Distant Howgills. 

Dentdale fields.

Great Knoutberry.

There are ever-changing trackside flowers and butterflies. I fail to photograph the latter, but here are a few flowers, predominantly Yellow – cue Coldplay.

I stop at the junction with my downward path, Nun House Outrake, and find a boulder to perch on for my lunch. I study the map to follow the Occy onwards to Kingsdale, another time, maybe. The day drifts on.  Looking down the walled track, I spot a walker ascending slowly; you can just see him in the photo.  

I’m halfway across the stile when I involuntarily check my back pocket – no phone. So back to my lunch boulder and there it is. I could have been down in the valley before I had realised.

By now the other walker has almost reached me, striding out – a young man with a mission. But he hesitantly stops to chat. I ask about his route. He uses public transport and arrived at Dent station by rail today from Sheffield. His southern Yorkshire accent reminds me of Jarvis Cocker; in fact, he has the looks and mannerisms of the man himself. Weird. Using the Occy into Kingsdale, he will climb over Whernside to Ribble Head station. An ambitious day. He knows the area quite well but is keen to learn of other ways. I tempt him into Bowland; he has had thoughts already of walking from High Bentham station to Slaidburn or Chipping. I suspect that he doesn’t feel at ease talking to strangers, but our shared love of stravaiging opens him up. I wish him well and wish I still had his fitness. The day goes on.

I’m soon down at the working Nun House Farm.

Lower on the track, I meet a lady trying to open a gate; I fail too, and we both climb over. I give her space, as you do, and notice she is sensibly using an umbrella for shade. Inevitably, I catch up with her whilst she is searching for the path. Her northeastern accent is immediately familiar to me; not all ‘Geordies’ come from Newcastle; her softer twang is from County Durham, Consett, she tells me. Not far from where I was born in Darlington. A common bond is instantly established, and we chatter away. The umbrella is up as we wander through fields, stumbling across stiles from time to time—another enchanting chance meeting.

Where we part company, I realise I’m slightly off track and have to walk back up the road to Mill Bridge to connect with The Dales Way, The Dales High Way, and AW’s Pennine Journey, all running alongside Deepdale Beck. You wouldn’t have thought all these routes come this way judging from the height of the summer vegetation.  Most of the time there is no beck, it having dried up or gone underground in the limestone.

Even when I meet the Dee, Dentdale’s river, there is little water at the stepping stones.

A Dales Way walker comes by and, of course, stops for a chat. A laid-back gent up from Reading to walk this popular way. His wife back home is suffering temperatures into the 30s whilst he is hopefully completing the second half of a LDW in perfect conditions. He is ahead of schedule for today, and my schedule no longer exists. As we linger, I reflect that a day’s parking fee was well spent. Off he goes under that oversized backpack, and I finally achieve a butterfly photo.

Soon I’m on the cobbled streets of Dent past the memorial stone to Adam Sedgwick, the C19th geologist born in Dent. 

A delightful five-mile walk in outstanding scenery, with the benefit of walking alone yet meeting some real characters.

*

*

It’s roof down for a sparkling drive over to Barbondale and home.

 

Passing en route one of Andy Goldsworthy’s sheep folds, which reminds me I have unfinished business above Casterton. 

A WALK TO FARFIELD MILL, SEDBERGH.

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The idea for this walk came after I had read about Farfield Mill, along the river from Sedbergh. “Farfield was a woollen mill until it closed in the early 1990s after 156 years of textile production. Visitors will find heritage displays, working looms, exhibitions, craft demonstrations, art and craft for sale by resident and visiting artists, workshops and events, plus delicious food in the Tea Room”.

After our last rather energetic outing on Warton Crag, I had promised Sir Hugh an easier walk with a coffee stop halfway. I phoned him this week with my idea to be walked before the heatwave strengthened.  He, as always, was happy to go along with the plan. He has walked extensively in the Sedbergh area and wondered if I would find him some new paths.

Having negotiated the winding road from the motorway, Sir Hugh parks up near a bridge over the River Rawthey on that twisting road to Dent. We are in Cumbria, but a roadside marker gives a sense of its former allegiance. More recently, planners have bestowed the title Western Yorkshire Dales on these hills. Confused?

Some time is spent admiring the cottages of Millthrop, which were built to house the workers of the nearby mill on the other side of the river.

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Millthrop Mill was one of Sedbergh’s first mills, set up in 1796, originally a corn mill that was later converted to manufacture cotton cloth. Afterwards it made horse blankets. It was powered by water from the River Rawthey through a long mill race, which was dammed higher upstream. In its heyday, Millthrop rivalled the later Farfield Mill; however, in 1967 the mill burnt down and was lost. 

Sedbergh and District History Society.

Millthrop Mill. c1900

Notice the changes from 1850 to 1910 in the maps, even the name changes.

*

All too soon we are climbing up the steep rough track out of the village, the Dales Way. I had just commented to Sir Hugh that, would you believe, there is a house up here when their Land Rover has us pinned to the wall. There it goes down the track.

It is a steady plod up, with temperatures already in the mid-20s.

Higher up, we take a breather where our track goes off left and admire the views over the valley to the Howgills.

The path is a mere sheep trod, but a delight to follow, heading up the lower slopes of Frostrow, a small hill I’ve never ascended and still haven’t, as we branch off just before it through a garden gate. In the distance, Baugh Fell almost obscures Wild Boar Fell.

Little field paths link Highside with High Hollins Farm. The friendly farmer shows off his vintage working tractor; Sir Hugh shows great interest.

Highside.

The farmer shows us an easier way down his fields; he only has 50 acres, which is hardly viable these days. A modern magical machine is baling his hay.

A pleasant interlude in an old hay meadow and then we are climbing once more to a road.

From up here, we can see the rooftops of the Farfield Mill complex.

Tea beckons and we sit outside the friendly cafe rehydrating and eating cake (Sir Hugh) and an indulgent scone with cream and jam (BC). Below us is the Clough River, which once powered the entire mill.   

*

Farfield Mill was built by Joseph Dover in 1837 to spin and weave woollen cloth. The Mill suffered a big fire in 1908 and had to be rebuilt. It was requisitioned for the production of aircraft parts during WWII. After its decline in the 1950s, it was briefly used to make cheese. Finally, it was acquired by a buildings preservation trust and became a successful Arts and Heritage Centre.                             

 Sedbergh and District History Society.

1850 map.
1910 map.

The mill is on a massive scale, with four floors now utilised to present the area’s history, host large exhibitions, and provide a multitude of studio spaces occupied by artists from far and wide; they can’t all be from Sedbergh.

Our tour of the floors is cursory given our time limits, but we do give it a good try, even making time to chat to some of the artists. Weaving in various forms is well presented and appropriate to the surroundings. Still, I am most taken by the imaginative pottery on display: if another friend had been present, I don’t think we would have escaped so easily. If you are interested in local history and have a bent to original and innovative art, a day here would be so worthwhile. I am already planning a return visit, and not just for the home-baked scones.

Nearby is a small terrace built for mill workers. But I suspect that many would have made the daily trek from Sedbergh along the riverside path that we use to walk back to Millthrop.

Our return route along the River Rawthey is a delight and thankfully cooler. Mainly in pastures, with the familiar Winder overlooking us.

 

Any shade is appreciated.

Past New Bridge, the Rawthey dawdles along.

The weir we pass was the original one for Millthrop Mill.

What a splendid outing of just under 4 miles. Full of interest, beautiful Dales scenery and the added bonus of Farfield Mill.

I realise I haven’t chosen this week’s 52 Ways to Walk. It is easy – Walk With Others. I’m not one for large or even small groups; one or two chosen companions is fine. I was hoping for two today, but Sir Hugh by himself is stimulating company. His interests are far-reaching, and I without fail glean some choice information. He is always keen to explore, and his obvious enjoyment of the countryside is infectious. And add to that, he bought me tea and a scone.  There is some benefit from occasionally walking with others. We are now in the middle of a heatwave, and I won’t be venturing far, but today’s outing has sparked ideas for the future. I was not really aware of Clough River before, but I see on the map that it winds all the way down Garsdale from Clough Force on the slopes of East Baugh Fell. Now that would make a good mini expedition for walking with others.

*

 

 

 

A WHITTLE WANDER. There’s more…

6 Replies

A loop from Whittle-le-Woods. 

I find myself back in Withnell Fold, aiming to follow some of the footpaths of the Whittle Wander I had avoided last time. If you remember, I had struggled with overgrown paths, dodgy stiles and less-than-helpful landowners – a typical country walk, you may think. That day, I gave in halfway and used the canal towpath to get me to Whittle-le-Woods. A rerun is called for to dampen those ‘what ifs’ at the back of my mind. My one navigational error of that day also needs to be addressed.

After leaving the bus in W-le-W, I simply reverse my route back up the canal. I say up the canal because the towpath climbs alongside seven locks on the way. It’s a pleasantly cool morning, and most people I meet are dog walkers. A few photos to set the scene.

 

The air is full of the perfume of Meadowsweet, which grows profusely at the water’s edge.

Plenty of Duckweed.
Serene family.

Not sure these two should be up there.

Old paper mill, Withnell Fold.

So I leave Withnell Fold now back on the actual Whittle Wander by a footpath signed to the cricket club. (The Whittle Wander doesn’t have its own markers). At the end of the lane, a gate provides access to a field and a good track continuing onto the main road into Higher Wheelton. this is better.

The pavement takes me through the hamlet as far as the Golden Lion. The flags are for England progressing in the World Cup.

Opposite, near the former school, a well-signed public footpath goes up a lane past scattered properties.

Just before entering someone’s private garden, I spot the stile leading into the adjacent field.

The fields are easy to walk in. This lamb is lost but has plenty to eat in the lush pasture.

Everything is going well, and I regret not persisting last time. Stiles and signs lead me easily through well-kept fields; I’m so pleased/excited that I just start taking pictures of stiles.

I cross a road and go down the access lane to several farms and barn conversions, but my way through is clear and signed.

Large fields take me down into a valley. A buzzard wheels overhead and keeps coming close, obviously agitated by my presence. It persists in its close and noisy attention until I’m well out of its territory; perhaps there are young about. I struggle to photograph it, despite its closeness; my right eye, which I use in the viewfinder, is blurred and awaiting laser treatment, so I’m never sure whether it’s in the frame. Usually not.

Going up the other side, a Roe Deer bounds out of the horse paddocks. Its blurred white rump is all that appears in my photo.

At Heapey, across the road, is St. Barnabas Church. It originated in the C16thand was enlarged in 1740 and 1829. It is Grade II listed. There is no access today, but graveyards are a good source of benches, and I find one for my lunch break.

Again, stiles and clear paths take me across fields, through farmyards, and on to the busy Chorley Road, but there is a footway until I reach the turn-off down past a Premier Inn to the canal bridge.

I can see the towpath below where I paced up and down trying to find a way through a dense hedge to the footpath. I know better this time, and I take a little lane parallel to the towpath but on the right side of the hedge, and there is the footpath clearly signed over a stile.

The path climbs a steep field and onwards towards the motorway. The field is heavily rutted from cows and not easy to walk on, but I’m not complaining today. Across the way are the ruins of Moss Lane Farmhouse, Grade II* listed C17th buildings which are slowly falling into ruins by the look of things.

I’m soon across the motorway, just a sneaky shot mainly to show the spire of the Mormon temple, a familiar sight to those using the M61. It is the largest such temple in Europe.

The path marked on my map goes through fields, but now there are houses. A high fence has had to be built to reduce noise from the motorway. How fast is our countryside changing these days?

Green paths lead to another, older development, Lucas Green; here are the remains of a WWII Bofors gun emplacement, for protecting the nearby Royal Ordnance Factory.

A final track brings me back into town, I bypass the Roebuck Inn this time to catch an earlier bus back to Preston.

So I can now say I have completed the modest Whittle Wander, albeit in two halves with this extra add-on. Today’s circuit has been enjoyable with none of the previous difficulties. I’m glad I came back to complete it.

 

 

 

A WHITTLE WANDER. Part Two.

15 Replies

Hoghton to Whittle-le-Woods.

I enjoyed the first part of this walk last week and was keen to return to complete the circuit. Today was strangely not so good, with overgrown paths, hidden stiles, and unhelpful landowners. Read on.

My bus into Preston arrives seconds after my connection to Hoghton leaves. I have time to visit the bus station cafe, not the best of coffees. The onward bus is modern with visual and audible announcements of the next stop, a great help in areas you don’t know well. I alight at the Royal Oak, as announced, where I finished last time.

I stroll down the road to find the footpath leading down to the canal. It looks like a private drive, no signage, but I persist past the barking dogs onto a choked path, the first of and easier of many. I’m not sure I have seen watercress flowering before.

I suddenly come onto the towpath of the Liverpool-Leeds Canal. Or is it the Leeds-Liverpool Canal? It depends on your perspective. Red rose, White rose. There is a small marina down here.

Life on the water.

I take some ancient steps away from the canal onto a busy road. Thankfully, within a few yards I climb a stile into fields. But where does the path go  – no sign of other feet. There is a stile somewhere, and then I’m confronted by this.

Out of the horsey property, there is more trouble; I climb a dodgy stile, only to be confronted by impassable undergrowth.

Why don’t the property owners maintain the stiles and give adequate signage? A question I’m always asking. Would make life easier for all concerned.

Somehow I find my way to the bridge over the motorway, quite grand for a footpath.

Why do I always take nondescript pictures of motorways?

Getting out the other side is not easy. Does nobody walk these paths?  I haven’t gone far, and soon I am lost with no sign of a path. Last week I relied completely on a paper map for navigation; today I am happy to switch on my phone OS app to locate my mistakes. I dodge through a field of cows and climb into a deserted, dilapidated farmstead. With more hope than faith, I stumble down into a deep ravine and thankfully find the footbridge and steep steps back out.  I have a rest at the top and plan ahead. A field of maize will be impenetrable in a few weeks if nobody comes this way.

And it is a maze to find my way through the next ‘hamlet ‘, Ollerton Fold. All that is needed is a few discreet arrows to get the walker through, rather than blundering into gardens. One resident helps me to escape but warns of worse to come. I do get a lovely view across the valley towards Brindle with the canal below.

Then it is more of this…

…and this.I 

As I approach Withnell Fold, I am debating in my mind whether to drop down to the canal towpath for some easier going. The village is hidden from the world at the bottom of a cobbled cul-de-sac. Once a large paper mill operated here, and the terraced housing was built for the workers. Not a lot has changed, though there is some new housing in what used to be the mill complex. A good history of the village can be found here, and a local walker/historian, Boyd Harris, has even more fascinating history on his website.

Withnell Fold Farm.
Village Stocks.
Reading Room.

Most of the remaining mill buildings are ruinous, but the engine house chimney has been restored and can be seen from miles around, as in my header photograph. So after a mooch around the village, I end up on the canal towpath. The delights of the Witton Wander footpaths to Higher Wheelton and Heapey will have to wait for another time.

A group of volunteers for the Canal Trust are busy Himalayan Balsam bashing; it is very profuse in one area which borders a nature reserve.

A group of cyclists are riding from Liverpool to Leeds in a day.You can do the maths.

There are boats moored up further along, and I can indulge in my usual diversion in finding the corniest name.

 

There is more action when I reach the ‘Top Lock’, the highest of seven locks raising boats 65 feet. I ignore the inn on the other side.

Further down, two boats pass through a lock together, thereby saving water. Watching boats negotiating locks is a favourite spectator pastime.

I drop down to where a disused branch canal went off to Whittle-le-Woods and go in search of a footpath back on the real Whittle Wander. I paced up and down the towpath, using my GPS to find it, but there was no way through a thick hedge. Only now, looking more closely, do I see it was on a lane from the next bridge and not directly off the towpath (red arrow). An easy mistake to make but annoying nevertheless. I ended up backtracking and following the Whittle-le- Woods canal branch to the nearest road. 

The road, which fortunately has a pavement, takes me under the motorway past some neat cottages to the outskirts of the town.

A friendly pub, The Roebuck, beckons from across the road from the small Jubilee garden with its clock.

I sit in their beer garden enjoying a pint and contemplating the day’s walk. The state of the footpaths in the early part was disappointing. They are not well used in what should be a popular area. On the day, I made the right choice to take to the towpath, which turned out to be an interesting stretch. It was my error near the end, not identifying the correct path. I intend to return and do a loop that includes the bits of the Witton Wander I have missed, as I do find the area historically and scenically interesting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

FRUSTRATIONS.

20 Replies

I’m up early, for me, and setting off for a short walk up the fell at 8 am. Gotta beat the heat.

I don’t often walk up Spire Hill these days. My  ‘It’s grim up north’  Scots Pine has been cut down. They have tried to improve the fell by drainage, which is the opposite of what we should be doing; we need to restore the carbon-holding mosses up here. Trees have been cut down for no reason on the fell alongside the wall. And worst of all, the area around the trig point is desecrated by some egocentric individual who thinks this is the most iconic and desirable trig point to visit and sign his inane ‘summit book’. Shades of social media influencers – well, we don’t need them in an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, AONB.  See later in my frustrated rant**

Whilst up here, I wander into a wooded area owned by United Utilities. I am astonished to find motorcyclists camping in its midst. And even more horrified to see signs of open fires. This is a high-fire-risk area, but obviously, some people don’t care.  I take a picture from a distance and log a grid reference and then pass them by, probably sleeping off last night’s indulgences. I know I am being prejudiced as to their presence. But how did they get in here? There is a small gate for walkers, but the main gates are normally padlocked. I realise on the way out that the padlock has gone, and I suspect forced entry. The notice on the gate gives a phone number to report any problems. I make a note of it as my phone turns off.

Back home a little later and with my phone charged up, I try the local United Utilities number advertised at the gate. No longer usable, is the answer I receive. Looking up United Utilities online, they have a 24hr contact number.  One gets the usual ‘your call is important to us’ message as they try to direct you to an online help zone. I’m having none of that and hold through several different phone options, none of which are relevant to my situation. I haven’t had a leak, a flood. or moved home, nor do I want to pay my bill.

At last, a human, or at least I think he is, answers. Name, address, phone number OK Then he asks me for my email address, and I have to stop him and explain, without all the red tape, that I haven’t phoned about a domestic water issue, but that I am concerned about one of United Utilities’ properties. He doesn’t seem to have a list of properties available. What is the postcode? Is there a house nearby? I actually find the postcode whilst talking to him, but it doesn’t help. I know I’m up against it when I offer him the grid reference. Have I what3words? It is becoming obvious that he is unable to locate the property in his system. Amazingly, he asks me once more, is there a leak or a flood?  I reiterate the possible danger of a forest fire, but he doesn’t seem to have a way of dealing with that. There doesn’t seem to be any person in authority to speak to, so I suggest I might be better off phoning the police – he thinks that is a good idea, and I feel he is glad to get me off the phone.

There were many negatives there, and at the end of the call, United Utilities was unable to satisfactorily address a case of unlawful camping and the potential for a forest fire on their property. I tried my best to explain the problem and the location, but his computer system didn’t have the capacity to process my information. In the past, a handler would have written down all the information on a piece of paper and known who in the operation to speak to.

A call to the police on 101 was more straightforward; I was put through to the appropriate person. She processed my information quickly and identified the problem and its exact location. Somebody would be sent to have a ‘word’ with the campers. I have no idea of the follow-up.

One tries to do one’s best in these situations but become frustrated by the inflexibility of the systems. One hears of the same problems dealing with any of our utilities, banks, medical or other establishments.

As a follow-up, I try to complain to United Utilities. Having had no success on their phone lines, I go straight to their website. This is again a complicated affair, but I persist with the form-filling only to receive a refusal to send at the end of the procedure. A ‘bad gateway’ to blame, I do not know how to fix that problem, so I give up.

One last try: I’ll write an email directly to them, though finding their email address rather than their website is not easy. I doubt they will receive my complaint. I may try phoning them after the weekend when they may be better staffed.

** More frustration with the situation up at Spire Hill, which I visited earlier in the day. Way back, I emailed Bowland AONB, now retitled National Landscapes, and overseen by Natural England, concerning the installation of what I can only call paraphernalia. I will remind you of my photos at the time.

I received no reply from Natural England.

I next contacted the countryside officer at Ribble Valley Council to query whether any planning regulations were being broken. I emailed him photographic evidence, and he promised to look into it. After three weeks, I had heard nothing, so I spoke to him again and was told he had handed the problem to Natural England in Bowland. Nothing has been heard since. These public servants are poor at communicating with their public. Time for another telephone call next week.

To rid myself of the frustrations, this afternoon I’m planning on visiting one of our local gardens open under The National Garden Scheme for charity. Flowers and cake should calm me down.

 

MAD DOGS…

12 Replies

…and Englishmen.

You won’t get me out in the midday sun this week.

I manage an early-morning walk in the shade up on the fell. There is a slight breeze, but the temperature is already 26°C.

It’s a little cooler down by the stream.

I’m home well before lunch and rehydrating behind drawn curtains; the temperature is up to 31°C.

My wise cats have more sense than those mad dogs.

This Englishman will see you next week.

ON THAT TRAIL AGAIN.

31 Replies

Not all those who wander are lost. Bilbo Baggins.

Yes, you’ve guessed it, I’m on the Tolkien Trail, for the umpteenth time. I don’t think I progressed from reading The Hobbit to the Ring series, so I don’t understand all of the associations of Tolkien’s fantasy worlds and our Ribble Valley. JRR Tolkien indeed visited the area whilst his eldest son was studying at Stonyhurst College in the 1940s, and no doubt he explored a little, being an advocate of nature, but did he really lean upon the area for inspiration? It would be good to know if the green rolling Ribble Valley, which we so appreciate today, is in the background somewhere.

In these days of Instagram and social media, many places tied to a film, book or TV scene have become must-visit spots for that selfie.  The shopkeepers and pubs nearby will be rubbing their hands if their village or street is featured on TV week after week, but what of the local population who have to endure inconsiderate parking and intrusive behaviour? Try going to Haworth on a weekend. The same is happening to previously hidden beauty spots; the litter generated in some corners of the Lakeland is staggering. Internet searching even provides lists of ‘iconic’ locations.

So how does The Tolkien Trail fit into the scheme of things? Many of us have explored and enjoyed the area around Stonyhurst for decades without a thought of Tolkien or Middle-earth. Local enthusiasts and the tourist board seem to have hit upon the idea in the early 2000s, conveniently at the height of the Lord of the Rings film series’ popularity: literary connections were made and leaflets printed, and it has increased in popularity ever since. It has been included in several guidebooks, and YouTube videos are freely available. There are no standout Tolkien locations for the Instagram brigade, aside from perhaps Cromwell’s Bridge, to distract the walker. This trail is all about the natural scenery, which one hopes the visitors appreciate.

I arrive in Hurst Green at lunchtime, the streets are packed with cars, signs implore considerate parking, and there is a small car park at the village hall (voluntary contributions). I know I am adding to the problem. Why didn’t I catch the hourly bus from Longridge or come midweek?

I tend to walk the route widdershins, thus avoiding that long drag back up from the river to the village right at the end of the day. Most of the leaflets and guides go clockwise, and this is reflected in the steady stream of folk coming towards me all afternoon. Without exaggeration, at least a hundred; at one point, I wondered whether there was a sponsored walk underway. But the wide landscape easily swallows them, and as I said, there are no real honey spots. On reflection, I don’t recall seeing any litter.

A wedding reception is in full flow at the Shireburn Arms, a popular venue with stunning views over the Ribble Valley. Through their car park, a gate leads into a field that drops down to the River Ribble. 

Towards the bottom, it narrows alongside a steep gorge before crossing the stream.

Alongside the river, the pipeline carrying water to Blackburn is a graceful addition to the scenery. One is uniquely walking on Astroturf. A solution to prevent erosion on this popular stretch. Strips salvaged from an athletic track were laid down a decade ago and seem to be lasting well.

Pendle pops up on the horizon and is with us all day.

Yellow Loosestrife and Geraniums give some colour.

Approaching Jumbles…

…and Tracy’s seat. 

The giant hogweed we are warned against. Do not touch!   

Hacking Ferryman’s house, Kemple End in the background. 

17th-century Hacking Hall. 

Site of the Hacking Ferry, which operated until the 1950s, Tolkien’s era. The Calder is joining in. 

For more on the ancient ferry – https://bowlandclimber.com/2020/02/23/roads-to-nowhere-part-2-hacking-ferry/

All along this stretch,  chattering Sand Martins are swooping over the river. One is just as likely to see a Little Egret as a Heron these days.

 

The Hodder is joining from the left.

The ancient Winckley Oak.

 

I learned to drive one of these before I was a teenager. 

Stonyhurst College towers come into view. 

That iconic bus shelter with a handy seat…

… and a view of Pendle. 

C16th packhorse bridge. Cromwell’s army unlikely crossing. 

One is now following the Hodder, which is mostly hidden by the summer vegetation. There are some good little bays for paddling along this stretch.

And a lively weir further on.  

The trail climbs away from the river to Hodder Place, once a preparatory school for Stonyhurst College, but before that, a cotton mill owner’s property. Was there a mill on the Hodder below? I don’t think so, his must have been elsewhere..

I march through the grounds of Stonyhurst College before taking the footpath back to the village, arriving down Smithy Lane next to the photogenic Shireburn Almshouses.

Gothic Revival style St. Peter’s.

Almshouses.

I enjoyed my slow wander through our beautiful countryside and, like Bilbo Baggins, didn’t get lost once.

For a shorter version of this walk – https://bowlandclimber.com/2025/03/01/tolkien-in-the-mists-of-time/

***

A RIVER RIBBLE RAMBLE.

11 Replies

Follow a river. 

Yes, I’m onto my next week of 52 Ways to Walk, all about walking by rivers. The book says “researchers found that a landscape that included running water had a restorative effect. Was it the sound of running water? The light reflecting from its surface? ….  The presence of water makes many of us feel calmer.” 

I have a favourite short walk along the banks of the River Ribble—time to revisit.

Looking back, I have completed several long-distance paths following rivers, so there must be something attractive about them. The Speyside Way, The Wyre Way, The Tees Way, The Severn Way, The Dearne Way, The Thames Way – the list could go on. And of course pertinent to today’s stroll, The Ribble Way.

Does one go upstream from the coast to the source? Or do you start high and follow the river down?  The choice is yours, but I tend to favour source-to-sea aesthetically.  Finding the source is not always easy, as there are often myriad streams up on the fells. It is rare to find the highest legitimate spring giving birth to a great river. I thought I found it on the Bollin Valley Way in the Macclesfield Forest. I might have been mistaken.

Getting back to today’s excursion by the Ribble, which is one of the great northern rivers, arising high in the Pennines and gathering waters on its way to its estuary out past Preston. The proposed ‘Way’ alongside it is flawed by a lack of access to its banks for over half its length. Landed gentry and fishing syndicates intervene. Successive governments have fallen short on this aspect of our freedom to enjoy the countryside. Between Preston and Ribchester is a prime example, from Red Scar to almost Ribchester, the long-distance route is nowhere near the river.

But my Ribble loop is legal and strangely not even used by the official Ribble Way. Here is a map of my extended loop walk. I find a place to park at the bottom of Alston Lane, and to make the route longer and more interesting, walk back partway up the lane, passing the University’s observatories and the gates to Alston Hall.

An almost hidden stile leads into a field. It’s signed for the Ribble Way, but there have been few through recently. Yes, that’s Pendle in the background.

Finding a way down to a hidden stile that collapses as I cross it. I spend time on the Lancashire County Council app photographing the evidence and posting a report. Do they have the time or money to deal with these problems?  The next stile is more substantial. There is even an old Ribble Way sign.

The grass in the field is long, and I almost step on a hare that bounds off. A large bird flies out of a tall tree – it must be a buzzard, but it just doesn’t seem right, an osprey??  They have been seen at Brockholes Nature Reserve just downriver from here. A flowering elderberry in the hedge row reminds me to make some cordial from the pink-flowered one in my garden.

Leaving The Ribble Way, a track takes me down to another hidden series of stiles in a wooden dell. One stile is easier to crawl beneath than to try to climb over. I seem to be having a problem with stiles today, old age?

Reaching the lane, I am only a few yards from where I parked. This has been a pleasant ramble in itself, but I haven’t reached the river yet. I turn left and soon enter a horse paddock. Fortunately, the residents are resting in the heat, so don’t bother me—a field of buttercups.

Soon, I am heading down to the river at last. I hear it before I see it. The Ribble speeds along over minor rapids before settling down to a lazy flow. What a contrast to wintery conditions, we hardly had any rain the last couple of weeks. I try to capture the atmosphere in a video.  

The path alongside the river has been strimmed, presumably for the fishermen who access this stretch, so I can walk effortlessly, whilst watching the flow of the water. I must admit it is calming.

There are places where one can access little stony beaches, and the water looks tempting on a hot sunny day. But the river is still cold, a young boy tragically died this week, a few miles upriver at Ribchester.

I’m almost at the bottom of the ‘loop’ and can look inland towards Longridge Fell. Continuing the circuit, there, on the opposite bank, is Balderstone Hall. The river becomes shallow here over rocky shelves, and this was the site of an ancient ford. I was tempted today.

Leaving the river, I pass the new build that was under construction last time I was here. It looks very severe, not at all in keeping with its surroundings.

Walking up the rural lane, I come across this tractor parked up. If I see a vintage tractor, I include a photo for certain readers – well, this one is brand new, straight out of the saleroom; if they have tractor salerooms.

Taking the bridleway towards Old Alston Hall.

I watch a couple of young girls putting their ponies through their paces. A pleasant chat with their father, but I’m not invited in for tea.

https://historicengland.org.uk/listing/the-list/list-entry/1072296?section=comments-and-photos

I walk past their large barn, and around the corner is my car parked in a shady spot.

A walk I’m happy to repeat at any time of the year, hidden rural Lancashire, and especially that invigorating river.

 

BANK HOLIDAY, BEER AND ICECREAM.

7 Replies

Beautiful Bowland.

I always stop at the crest of the Roman Road, heading from Cow Ark to the Hodder Valley, for the view of the Bowland Fells, Ingleborough and Pen-Y-Ghent. My photos never seem to portray the scene.

I find the little car park on the edge of Newton-in-Bowland and remember to close my car doors this time. I always enjoy the riverside stretch between Newton and Slaidburn, and today I’m going to incorporate it into a short circular walk. I intend it to be short, as it is the hottest day of the year so far, breaking May records.

Newton is a pleasant hamlet of interesting stone properties, which I explored in 2020. 

I only have a brief wander today as I try to find the start of my footpath out of the northern side of the village. My phone mapping isn’t working, so I’m navigating off the OS paper map. There are no signs, and I seem to be walking up a private drive. I can’t see a way out to the right, but I spot a ladder stile to the left and climb into the field. This is not where I meant to go, but a faint path leads up the hill. Maybe I should have tried harder to find the path I intended.

Anyhow, I am on a public footpath which is rarely used by the look of it. Soon, I’m looking down at the roofs of Newton and across to Easington and Waddington Fells. The faint track continues up the hill,

The fields are full of buttercups, dandelions and daisies.

A farm up ahead is marked on the map as Crawshaw, and in a field adjacent, a basic little campsite. Two couples are sitting out in the sun, enjoying their getaway. This is the back of beyond – an idyllic spot.

Onwards through fields where I come across one of those Peak and Northern signs I so like, I didn’t expect to see one up here.

The next farm is hidden by a substantial shelter belt of trees. This is sheep country. The farmer and his dog are bringing in a ewe and her two lambs. We chat awhile, and he points out where the path goes. He doesn’t see many walkers up here.

Across the way is the bulk of Burn Fell, the site of an aircraft crash in 1945. I last explored up there seven years ago – It feels like yesterday. 

It’s all downhill from here, taking in the spring flora. Strangely, there is very little bird song; this should be lapwing and curlew country. 

I come out onto Woodhouse Lane, which I am familiar with, and stroll down into Slaidburn. The pub and the Youth Hostel have both closed, but the little cafe down by the river is doing a roaring trade. A popular stopping point for bikers and cyclists, and today for picnickers on the green. I can’t resist an ice cream cone.

The River Hodder is followed back to Newton, a track I know well.

The woods at Dunnow are alive with bird song; they look like a fantastic environment.

I try to ignore the pungent smell of wild garlic.

One emerges at the arched bridge over the Hodder.

The Parkers Arms has an open door, so I end up buying a pint of Bowland Bumble Bee, a tasty pale ale, enjoyed in their garden.

A satisfying round of this quiet corner of Bowland. Using the paper map makes you concentrate more on your envronment.

* 

 

 

NO SINGING TODAY.

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Singing and walking may become a theme this week.

We, the Rockman and I, were on our way back from visiting the Pieman in Yorkshire. He has had a rough time of late, slow recovery from a hip operation, only to be followed by a disastrous fall, which broke his other hip, ending in a prolonged hospitalisation. He is making some progress and was just about up to our company. We go back a long way, climbing and walking, and have shared many an epic. So there was a lot to chat about, and his wife is very patient. Not to over tire him, we leave early afternoon, and that is how we find ourselves parked up for a visit to the Singing, Ringing Tree.

The Singing Ringing Tree is one of a series of four 21st-century landmarks, or Panopticons (structures providing a comprehensive view), in East Lancashire. I have written about it before and have visited several times. The Rockman had expressed a desire to visit the site, and as it wasn’t that far off our planned journey, we made the effort to run the gauntlet of traffic through Colne and round Burnley on the M65. Climbing a thousand feet up minor roads onto the moors, we reach Crown Point with dramatic views over Burnley and the backside of Pendle. The little car park always looks a bit dodgy, made worse by litter and flytipping.

The result of all that climbing is that it is decidedly chilly up here, but the strong breeze bodes well for the singing. The Singing Ringing Tree has been constructed from open-ended metal pipes, which, in the right conditions, i.e. windy ones, produce an eerie whistling sound that I’ve experienced on more than one occasion. Think of blowing across the top of a milk bottle. It can be seen in the distance, tree-like, and it is only a ten-minute walk away.

The statue is quite dramatic on the edge of the moorland, looking down to the industrial Burnley conurbation as well as Pendle and Rossendale. The three peaks are visible on a good day. But never mind the views we had come to hear it singing, and today, for some reason, it wasn’t. Was the wind in the wrong direction?  I blew down a few tubes, but that didn’t impress my companion.

Defeated, we returned to the warmth of the car for our continuing ride home.

Thanks to the Rockman for driving me to see the Pieman, which was a worthwhile visit. I’m only sorry he wasn’t rewarded with a singing tree. So here, to appease him and you, is a YouTube video of the tree in a more melodious mood.

For those of you who haven’t read some of my historic trekking posts, here’s an explanation of the affectionate names I use for my four close friends of many decades. The Pieman – the caterer. The Rockman – the geologist. The Professor – the teacher. The Plastic Bag Man – the purveyor of all things in plastic bags, sadly no longer with us. Heaven forbid what they call me.

No singing today, but let’s see what the week brings.

VISTA VISION.

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Two birds with one stone – not literally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Moving on quickly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

DEEPEST FULWOOD – BROTHERS IN ARMS.

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

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

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

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

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

Savick Brook.

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

OVER THE HILL.

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Somewhere on WordPress, someone uses the title “Over the Hill”. You can imagine his or her demographics. Today, I’m over the hill whichever way you take it.

I cancelled a walk over Longridge Fell at Easter because there were no buses, and it rained anyway.

But today the weather is perfect, little wind and full sun with temperatures in the high teens. After lunch** I take the little bus towards Ribchester and alight at Ward Green near Angel’s Restaurant. As I walk up the lane, I realise I am probably overdressed for the conditions; too late now to divest myself of my jacket. I plan to take a traffic and stile free route over the tail of Longridge Fell, maybe avoiding all the noise pollution from the other day.

I pass the Written Stone, on which I have often commented.

Ralffe Radcliffe laid this stone to lye for ever AD 1655

  The enclosed lane above is drier than usual, and I am soon in the fields below the development at Craig Y. The youngsters bouldering there knew nothing of how it used to be open fields.

I’m pleased to see the pair of Great Crested Grebes are back, though no sign of their courting dance today. I miss not carrying my telephoto camera.

Spot the Grebe.

It’s downhill from here, still on a very quiet lane. These houses must have a wonderful view of the Bowland Fells.

Halfway down, I take a farm track back towards Longridge, passing this curious structure built into a wall.

Past the busy working farm is a stone house recently empty.  The man who lived here was always around as you walked through. I remember some of his stories.

  “There was one more encounter at Sharples House. The farmer there had previously talked of having the largest cheese press in Lancashire; I believed him. In the past, many farms in the area made their own tasty Lancashire cheese. Today he seemed in a good mood, so I enquired further, and he took me to see the stone, which was indeed large and must have weighed a ton. He explained that the house was from the late 17th century. A former occupant, Peter Walken (1684-1769), had been a nonconformist minister as well as a farmer. Uniquely, he kept a series of diaries, most of which have been lost, but two from 1733-34 have been found and published by a researcher from Preston museum. The present farmer was contacted and was able to see Peter Walken’s journals, but described them as boring, though they must have given an insight into farming life in the first half of the 18th century. He also told me about a mystery from the last century: two thieves broke into the house, killing the farmer, but the daughter escaped by hiding in an adjacent barn, which he pointed out”

One wonders how much local history has been lost. The old house will soon be converted.  I don’t go looking for the cheese stone. Here’s a previous photo.

 

To be honest, I’m feeling weary, overheated in my winter jacket, and in pain from a pulled muscle from the recent, persistent cough. I trudge on, my mind drifting to a drink and a sit-down in the farm cafe further on. A friendly dog runs up to me. I recognise her, it’s Zola, an Australian Kelpie. Not far behind is C, remember those slate poems, out enjoying the sunshine. In my weary state, I turn down the offer to accompany them, but gallantly, they turn around and head home, where I am very grateful for that drink and sit down.

The last mile past the cricket pitch and via Sainsbury’s drags on. It gives me time to look up at the way I came over the fell.

I’m reduced to a snail’s pace by the time I reach my house. I certainly feel over the hill.

      _____

  ** After lunch.  This week’s ‘way to walk’ topic is ‘Walk after eating,’ which doesn’t motivate me. The blurb says walking aids digestion. I’ll leave it at that.

ON MY DOORSTEP.

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I am fortunate that I can walk on paths and quiet lanes, in pleasant countryside, directly from my house, well, only just as the urban development creeps outwards. I’m frustrated at missing all this good weather, so let’s go a little further today and try a four-mile circuit.

The Chipping Road past the cricket ground leads to the Bowland Hills, but I won’t go that far today.

On past the Derby Arms, looking every bit an English country pub.

I turn off down the chestnut-lined drive to the ‘Ferraris Hotel’, which is being transformed into a more upmarket wedding and events venue. The conversions are taking longer than anticipated, don’t they always? They have named the new venue ‘Longridge House’, which it certainly isn’t.  They could have used the original name ‘Black Moss House’, which is still referenced on the OS map. There is much building activity as I walk past on a right-of-way through the grounds.

The woods close to the hotel still have a decent flush of bluebell blue. The garlic is flowering and past its best for picking, not that I am tempted after my recent near-fatal accident involving the humble plant.

Something feels a little different as I reach the fields, where have all these trees been cut down from?

It is a hot day, and I am glad to make use of the memorial bench for a rest and a drink. The bench is in memory of a farmer who once cared for these fields, which I am looking out over. That is Longridge Fell in the background.

The lanes leading back to Gill Bridge are full of white blossoms. The Hawthorn hedges are resplendent with their white flowers, ‘May Blossom’. Their fragrance is not appreciated by all.

Along the verges are more patches of white – Stitchwort, Cow Parsley, and Garlic Mustard.

I take to the open pastures to head cross-country back to the village. The lambs are looking robust and have grown well in the last few weeks of perfect spring weather. These fields are the hares’ habitat, and I see four charging off into the distance, far too quickly for a photograph. Buzzards soar above, and there is a far-off cuckoo.

I march on through the normally boggy bullrush area. When did it last rain? 

This shady track brings me onto Inglewhite Road, where a decent footway takes me home. 

Another short, simple walk, but with all the ingredients of a nature ramble on my doorstep.

*

I have a list of modest projects I hoped to complete this year, including the Pilgrimage to Lichfield from Whalley, the Fife Coastal and Pilgrim trails, filling gaps of the Great Chalk Way, and the Trans Pennine cycle trail. My muscles are currently struggling, and I can’t even shoulder a rucksack, so I hope you will bear with me as I try to find enough interest in staying local.

WHAT’S HAPPENING ON LONGRIDGE FELL?

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The rockman comes to Longridge for a short walk, where else would I take him, apart from up Longridge Fell?  I have an ulterior motive. Some new groundwork has been carried out on the fell, and I want to investigate.

It promises to be a hot, sunny day once more.

A new dog-poo bag bin has been installed by the gate, courtesy of Thornley and Wheatley Council. I hope someone empties it regularly, as it is not that large. The first two pieces of littering on the track are guess what?

Steadily up to the trig point, which is already occupied, we get employed as official photographers of the couple on their first visit. The views are stunning with Ingleborough and Pen-y-Ghent clearer than usual.

We warn the couple of some difficulty getting along the ridge in the forest due to all the windblown trees. Some have been cut back but more seem to have come down in the most recent winds.

Just the other day, my son sent me a picture he took in 2002 when I camped up here with my oldest grandson, who was about five or six at the time. He remembers it well, particularly the baked beans and the deer that wandered past as it became dark. Today, as we snake the easiest way through the carnage, I recognise the very spot where we had camped. A WhatsApp photo is sent to the family.

I head for what used to be ‘Sam’s Best View’ if you remember it. But new growth is obstructing what was a Bowland panorama. Time for a drink and snack anyhow, the day is heating up. The rockman is checking for additives.

We loop the loop and start heading for home. More tree debris is circumnavigated and eventually we come out onto the south side of the forest where the fell drops away to the old Clitheroe road. And there it is, right in front of us, where before was all open land, a five-foot wire fence topped off for good measure with two strands of barbed wire. I have previously reported drainage ditches being dug on the moorland, ponds being enlarged, and lots of heavy machinery damaging the fragile surface and trees. A drainage ditch has been dug on land in different ownership, on the north side of the wall, whether with permission or not.  The owner, for whatever reason, doesn’t want us on his land. I won’t go into the legal wrangles that are transpiring or local speculation about what he is up to. Does he not realise deer roam this open moor and their leap will probably result in serious injury from the unnecessary barbed wire?


On the way off the fell we pass the spot where my ‘Grim up North’ pine tree stood until it was mown down by the ditch digging, It had been lying on its side and I had hopes of some regeneration when I passed it in  March. Those hopes were dashed today as it has been well and truly logged up. Criminal.

So more questions asked rather than answered. I have a feeling that this will become an ongoing saga on which I will report back from time to time.

IF YOU GO DOWN TO THE WOODS TODAY…

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A follow-up to my post of last week on Woodland Trust sites in Fulwood.

I had to go into Preston to pick up my camera after its repairs. Wilkinson’s has served me well over the years and many cameras with personal care.. My pocket Lumix Leica had started with a fault  involving the electronic zoom – it wouldn’t. I persisted for a while using the manual setting but eventually returned it to the shop for attention under its two-year warranty. The young shop assistant tried to tell me I had damaged the zoom by dropping the camera, I explained I hadn’t. He wrote about ‘damage’ on the repair form and said he would speak to his manager – he didn’t. Subsequently, I was informed the camera’s zoom mechanism was replaced and ready for picking up at a charge of £167. I phoned to say I had disputed the cause of the failure and expected the warranty to cover the charges, the temporary assistant said he would speak to the manager – he didn’t.

I arrived in the shop clutching my warranty and asked to speak to the manager. He was very understanding and agreed that the repairers had said there was no sign of any physical damage. Of course there was no charge, I thanked him for his fairness. I will no doubt be giving this independent but expanding business, my custom in the future as opposed to the internet. Just don’t deal with the young temporary assistants.

Being keen to try it out and as I was in town I thought I would visit the two Woodland Trust woods in Fulwood omitted last week. They didn’t fit into my circular walk being more stand-alone sites. The Woodland Trust website gave me maps and access points.

ASDA WOOD.

“Public access is informal and limited. There is a stile on the southern boundary which is used irregularly as a foot access route to Asda, a network of informal unsurfaced paths run through the site for approx. 500 metres. The woodland is not thought to be well-used except perhaps by a small number of people as a shortcut to the superstore.”

“The small size of this site, and the fact that it is surrounded by housing and a superstore limits its value as a wildlife habitat. Unfortunately the woodland does not l ink with any other habitats, and there is no opportunity to extend it. However, it is a mature and stable woodland which provides a refuge for urban wildlife.”

Not exactly encouraging. I parked up in the far corner of the superstore car park and found the shortcut mentioned, a muddy informal track connecting to Eastway. What else did I find? Well everywhere along the border of the wood with the car park an unbelievable amount of dumped rubbish. Not just the odd drinks bottle or takeaway box, no everything but the kitchen sink. There was probably a sink in there somewhere. A lot of the mess was Asda packaging hurriedly discarded whilst on the premises, but others must park up here, well away from the public eye, and have a right clear-out. It was disgusting, and I am surprised Asda  are not sufficiently ashamed and embarrassed to do something about it.

My enthusiasm for the oaks, birch, hawthorn and sycamore dwindled – it was so messy at the edges. The woods drop away steeply and would be difficult to access even if there were paths. Best stay away, or at least just sit in the car park listening to the bird song whilst you throw away your rubbish. I notice The  Woodland Trust does’n put their usual signs up here, or more likely they have been burnt.

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Eastway gate into Asda Wood.

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Deeper in the wood.

CLOUGH COPSE.

“A popular wood with local dog-walkers and joggers Clough Copse consists of a wide variety of tree life including oak, ash, sycamore, cherry, beech, elder, hazel and holly. Bluebells, dog’s mercury and red campion can be spotted as well.”

Sounds more promising. I’ve never been into these housing estates alongside The Guild Wheel.  A maze of roads, upmarket houses and plenty of green spaces. From one of the roads where I parked I eventually found a path onto the Guild Wheel which I followed downhill towards the Old Tannery on Savick Brook. On the map I had spotted a track heading back up into Clough Copse. This well maintained way alongside a smaller brook is local authority owned. There are bridges and steps leading off into  unseen housing. The deep clough divides and there didn’t seem to be any track up the right-hand branch. The Woodland Trust announce their presence. I followed the pleasant left-hand clough and yes there were dog walkers about.

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Out of the estate to the Guild Wheel to start.

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Finding a way in off the Guild Wheel.

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A small ‘smoke-free’ children’s’ playground appeared on the edge of the housing. I continued upwards with the stream below giving interest. Patches of Wood Anemone, Lesser Celandines and Primroses added colour. Only the Blackthorn was showing any blossom.

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All too quickly I popped out the other end onto some unknown road and was able to find my way back to the car. Really this wood is just a narrow strip  offering locals a welcome green way out of their estate. Again there was plenty of bird song, so it is providing a habitat for our wildlife.

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tempsnipASda (2)

!. ASDA WOOD.     2. CLOUGH COPSE.   Purple, route walked.

Maybe Clough Copse would be worth a revisit when the bluebells are out and the trees leafed up. But really it is only of use to the surrounding estate. Stay well away from Asda Wood.

My curiosity satisfied and the camera tested. Now after the two visits I have in my mind’s eye an idea for a pleasant walking circuit of the best of the Woodland Trust sites in Fulwood. But let’s wait until the woods are farther on after Easter.