Tag Archives: Walking.

SPRING IN BLEASDALE.

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I hear the sound of Curlews in the air as soon as I leave the car. That haunting call across the rough fields.

It had been a toss up this morning, Belmont or Bleasdale. I have unfinished business on Great Hill and Spitlers Edge, but how boggy was it going to be up there. Let’s play safe and use the lanes of Bleasdale Estate for a drier round.

Spring is in the air, but only just after the last couple of days’ hailstorms. Blossom adorns the little lodge. A cheery row of daffodils line the road leading into the estate. Immediately the expanse of Bleasdale opens up with the familiar Bowland Hills as a backdrop. I don’t spot the Curlews but I do witness a few Lapwings performing their aerial display. And what is going on with those sheep and seagulls, with pheasants and jackdaw in attendance? DecoPic_20240416_140813P1050307P1050308P1050316

The wood to the right which was disappearing under foreign Rhododendrons has been grubbed up and the replacement mixed planting is only white tree casings at present, all looking very barren. But around the corner is a similar plantation now a few years old and the bird song emanating from it is orchestral this morning. They are all busy bonding and nest prospecting no doubt. Robin, Chiffchaff, Siskin, Song Thrush, Willow Warbler, Wren, Chaffinch, Tree Creeper. Goes to show how trees are so important as a habitat.

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It doesn’t look much but what bird life thrives in there.

No body is about at the buildings, once a reformatory school, as I turn right towards the more open moor. Everywhere are sheep and their lovely lambs, it is difficult to take a photo without including them. P1050319

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The two remote farms are still operating as such, whereas other properties have been converted to residential use.

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It’s awhile since I’ve been to the Bronze Age Circle. Last time was after one of our winter storms and the place was a mess with fallen trees. Time for another look although I know the fields to get to it will be muddy. All is clean and tidy the debris has been cleared away, the inner circle, indicated only by posts, and ditch are obvious again and there is a welcome planting of trees around the periphery of the site. Does it all line up with that nick in the fell’s skyline? Once the Preston Harris Museum is open again I must visit to look at the artifacts from this site. Persons unknown have been attaching ‘clooties’ to one of the remaining trees.

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St Eadmer’s Church is always worth a look, standing as it does in isolation below the fells. P1050362

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The school is no more but the buildings have taken on a new residential life. P1050371P1050372P1050374

I do eventually get caught in an April shower which looks far more severe on Fairsnape. P1050377

Then on past one of the estate’s landmark beech hedges. P1050376

There’s a bee on the gorse and a pheasant strutting his stuff, it must be spring. P1050390

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As there is nobody staying I have a look around the camping chalets in the field as I pass.  Pretty basic tent sides with an inner living space and log fire. The one I scout around, forgive my nosiness, is called Curlew. They go under the Glamping Hideaway’s banner of Lanterns and Larks. A holiday away from it all? P1050382P1050380P1050381

Sometime I must have a closer look at that little packhorse bridge near the farm. P1050386

That has been a whistle stop tour of Bleasdale, get you boots on and do it for yourself sometime.

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By the way it is more like winter again today. ‘Cast not a clout till may is out’.

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THIS MORNING.

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                                                                                               Al.

Today.  This morning the day begins well as I sit listening to a beautiful Blackbird serenading his belle. My spirit is uplifted. Then the phone rings – my climbing friend, Al, had passed away in the night. I’ve expressed my vulnerability here before, possibly cloaked in obscurity. Today I feel very vulnerable.

Yesterday.  We had been out on a gentle walk in the Bowland uplands, I was about to write a post about it. My ex-work partner and I meeting up with a close friend who had recently lost his wife to that cruel cancer of the pancreas. I had attended her funeral last week. We three walked through farms owned by The Duchy of Lancaster. now King Charles. A welcome sunny afternoon after all the rain. We talked of many things. Lambs frolicked in the fields just beginning to dry out. primroses covered the banks surrounded by reef knolls. This is Curlew country.

A chance conversation, or was it destined? at one of these remote properties with a retired teacher. Not sure how it started but at one stage –  “Do you remember Dave? I was his senior colleague for years in Blackburn”  “Bloody hell yes, a lovely bloke I climbed with him for years”  I replied. Naturally more reminiscing followed and I promised to phone Dave and tell him of the meeting and bring him up to date. 

I first met Dave in Preston Hospital when he was recovering from a serious climbing accident. An accident in which Al was influential in saving his life. Despite that accident Dave and I formed a comfy climbing partnership with his wife’s encouragement.

A few years later through Dave  I met Al (1982). I remember the day. It was at Attermire, a limestone crag north of Settle. Barrel Buttress to be precise. The start of a forty year friendship. He has made many appearances in my posts as ‘the plastic bag man’ – a reference to his trade rather than his street appearance. Regular meet ups in the Lancashire quarries every Wednesday night followed, along with the ‘rockman‘ and the ‘pieman‘. Holidays in the alps became an annual treat. Long days on the trails and long nights in the refuges. We lived life to the full is the euphemism.

We all got older and for some, physical activities were restricted. But that friendship continued with catchup meetings for a drink or a meal. Latterly all Al could manage was a phone call and then not even that. Bringing us to this morning. I ended up phoning Dave, not about my chance meeting with his headmaster but with news of Al’s death. Circles within circles. 

Thanks for bearing with my vulnerability, here are some photos of that walk yesterday with friends in Bowland including that iconic phone box, now put into another perspective.. My thoughts are with Al’s family.

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***

In the words of Bob Dylan – It’s not dark yet.

CICERONE’S LANCASHIRE. ROEBURNDALE – a walk on the wild side.

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I find myself walking along a slippy rocky ledge just above the fast flowing River Roeburn. I have long since lost the path if ever there was one. Then it all stops at a steep landslide. Go back or try to climb out into the woods above.  Chapter 8, of Cicerone’s Walking in Lancashire, ‘The Enchanted Valley’ of Roeburndale had promised so much.

I have battled with the paths down here before. This time coming in from the south with detailed instructions from the guidebook it should be a doddle. I’ve had my lunch in the little Methodist Chapel at Lower Salter and I find the ladder stile into fields above the Roeburn. There are helpful ‘Concessionary Footpath’ signs although for some reason a map presumably showing them has been vandalised. The vague path keeps above the gorge and its trees until a way down is found to the river at a footbridge I recognise. But the guide says “remain on the west bank”. I try to but the path just disappears in the undergrowth and tree cover. I retreat to the footbridge and try the east bank. P1050139

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A path comes and goes, I ignore the obvious path we had descended from this side to get here last time.  I battle on by the river hoping a better path may appear, but it doesn’t. I enter a rocky gorge and spot a vehicle ford across the river. Awkward side streams need careful attention. There are some footbridges but with their wooden slats missing, presumably only in use in season by the shooters or fishermen. I don’t know where they lead to anyhow, so I don’t risk crossing them commando style. There is even a pulley cage across the torrent a little farther on, I certainly wouldn’t risk that. There was a serious accident near here in January 2022 involving an all-terrain vehicle pulling a trailer when a bridge gave way

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The last post.

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Maybe I should turn back, but my stubbornness drives me on hoping to find a way that might correspond to the guidebook. The gorge deepens and my only way of progress is at the water’s edge on those slippery rock ledges just above the water. I even contemplate walking in the shallows but they are fast-flowing. This is the river that flooded in 1967, taking out all the bridges and demolishing many cottages downstream at Wray. P1050169P1050170P1050173

The camping bothy appears on the other side, it’s marked on the map so I know where I am. But the landslide looms ahead and this is where I realise my best way of escape, not necessarily the safest, is to climb the couple of hundred feet up a steep bank above me, knowing there are paths along the top edge of the woods.P1050174P1050175

It is steep and slippery and I make frequent use of tree roots, clumps of grass and my knees on my slow progress upwards. Not a place to have an accident, especially alone. I reach the top and the wall into fields but find no trace of the paths we had used in reverse last time. So I just continue following the top edge of the woods inside the fell wall. Roe deer scuttle in front of me. The GPS on my phone keeps my position up to date. P1050178P1050179P1050180P1050181

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I eventually have to climb the fence into the fields when I become hemmed in by a deer fence and then can meet up with right of way coming up from the river. This deposits me onto the lane which I nonchalantly follow back to my car parked in Wray. P1050186P1050188P1050191

All’s well that ends well. With hindsight I should not have bushwhacked for so far  searching for a path by the river. After crossing that footbridge I should have taken the path heading out of the gorge and walked back through the woods. The OS map doesn’t have the paths marked. Certainly the Cicerone guide book chapter is totally misleading for this section down Roeburndale and anybody using it will soon become lost. Undeterred I want to revisit these woods later in the year for their spectacular bluebell display, any takers?   This post has some good photos.

*

The day had started out better, walking out of Wray using little lanes and crossing Hunts Gill Beck by a bridge which narrowly avoided destruction by a falling tree.

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Wray Bridge.

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Then above Alcock’s Farm a long series of fields to Harterbeck Farm. A family are out for a pleasant Spring stroll, why didn’t I do the same? Lambing has been in full throw. The way was clear but the ground was boggy, which became rougher the farther I go, it would be just as enjoyable, probably more so, to walk up the quiet road leading to the farm without losing the views or the curlews calling. Next time. Great Coum, Gregareth, Whernside and Ingleborough were constant companions on the NE horizon.  Ingleborough always wears the crown and demands to be photographed.

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Harterbeck is a lonely farm by any standards. It obviously has a problem with moles and the windows inserted into the back wall must have involved ‘Bob the Builder’.P1050082P1050081P1050084P1050083

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I’ve been exploring Lancashire for years but I have never been into the steep-sided Pedder Gill and seen the waterfalls of Goodber Beck. Must have spent too many times abroad in warmer climes and neglected my own doorstep. From the farm, after crossing a small beck, the track drops down to the little footbridge and a bit of scrambling down the gorge gets me in close with the waterfalls. A hidden Bowland gem!   P1050087 P1050088P1050095P1050094

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P1050097P1050099P1050100A stroll down the fields and I pass through Lower Salter farmyard. The farmer is repairing his drystone wall, must be the season, but he is not as chatty as the one in Lunesdale the other day. What an isolated life they live up here. P1050125P1050127P1050129

At the road is the little Methodist Chapel. I go inside for a sit-down and snack.

 Built in 1901, the land given by Mr Francis Skirrow of Lower Salter Farm, the cost of the chapel was £180. Mr Skirrow intended the chapel to be used as a school room during the week. This is evidenced by the fact 
that the pews have holes for inkwells. However, his 
idea never materialised owing to an inability to hire a teacher. There is a commemorative plaque to Flight Lieutenant Thomas Dirk Bayliss who lost his life on July 3 1979 when his Jet Provost trainer aircraft crashed into a field near High Salter Farm after the pilot became disorientated in heavy mist and flew off course.

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Down the road and with spirits high I cross the stile onto that permissive path down Roeburndale… A walk on the wild side.

A WALK ON THE MILD SIDE – MELLOW MELLOR.

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March “comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb” is an unreliable axiom at the best of times, and these are unusual times climate wise. Looking back at my walks this March, and there haven’t been many, they have been brief interludes between rain storms. The fields and roads in the NW are still under standing water in many places. Yesterday, Good Friday, after a sunny start the storm clouds gathered, there was distant thunder and we were treated to some hefty hail showers. The lion is still roaring. We only have a couple of days for the March lamb to lead us mildly into April.

An optimistic ‘slate poem’ has appeared in the centre of the village. I still call it a village although it has become more town sized in the last few years. 20240320_160914

Yes, we are ready for some sunny warmer weather.

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Today’s short walk was more lamb than lion; weather and terrain being on the mild side. In fact I was stripping off layers as I walked up the hill out of Mellor. My first objective, easily reached, was the summit of Mellor Moor. There is a trig point, 223m, barely visible ancient earthworks, a Millennium Viewpoint pillar and the paraphernalia from a defunct Royal Observation Nuclear Blast and Fallout Monitoring Station from the cold war era. The latter is somewhere underground. I’m more interested with the 360 degree view this little hill provides, but with the day being so warm everything looks a bit hazy. Though BAE Salmesbury is prominent, are we still selling planes to Israel?  I’ve been up here on a crisp winter’s day when you could see everything from the Lakes, Yorkshire, Lancashire to Wales. P1050197P1050199P1050201

A gentle stroll down Abbott Brow admiring the blossoms in the gardens. I heard on the radio this morning that Forsythia was introduced into England in 1833 and was named in honour of  William Forsyth, an C18th botanist,  A few generations down the line came Bruce Forsyth.

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A pleasant wander across fields alongside a stream brings me to the edge of Mellor Brook. Passing between bungalows I follow a stream in a wooded dell (presumably a tributary of Mellor Brook) alongside houses. I have friends who live in one of them but they have erected a new fence so I can’t peer into their garden. The whole place is full of bird song and I stop for a snack and drink taking in the rural ambience so close to major roads and towns. P1050211P1050216

I manage to find my way up to and through Brundhurst Farm, yes there are noisy dogs as the guide book warned me. I forgot to mention this walk was featured in the Clitheroe Ramblers 25 Walks in the Ribble and Hodder Valleys book I have been using recently. I have now completed all the walks and would recommend them if the book is still in publication, it is advertised on their website. Local Walks (clitheroeramblers.co.uk)

There are lambs everywhere. A steep field takes me back to Mellor with the church steeple guiding the way. I even have time for a mellow pint in the Millstone Inn. P1050221P1050225

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An old well?

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The Millstone Inn.

A gentle rural three miles on a mild spring day. What’s next – April showers?

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AT LAST. THE QUAKERS AROUND SEDBERGH.

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This post has been two weeks in the writing, not that that makes it any better.

It’s been a strange time. Monday, having my haircut with Phil, a traditional barber, we all come out with the same style, fine by me. Most of our conversation was about mutual friends who have or who are shortly to depart our presence. With a humorous twist I can’t go into details here.

After my recent soaking on Longridge Fell I decided on some indoor culture for Tuesday. There were some interesting exhibitions at Abbots Hall Gallery in Kendal. I drove up in horrendous wet conditions on the motorway, found somewhere to park, £3.50, and walked to the hall only to find it only opens Thursday to Saturday at this time of year! Why didn’t I check? I phoned Sir Hugh in Arnside hoping for some sympathy and coffee, but ironically he was in Preston shopping. Drove back down the motorway in horrendous wet conditions.

Then on the Friday drove down to Manchester to visit my longtime friend, since university days, who is suffering with Pancreatic Cancer. It was a joyous occasion as we dutifully reminisced our days in various flats in London; beer, curries, girls, music and football. He showed me around his local park, John Leigh. What a wonderful space cared for by wonderful volunteers, a blue print for community parks anywhere.  

The sun shone on Saturday, Sunday and Monday but I was ill, another humorous incident I can’t recall here. The tablets were working so I hoped to take advantage of a good forecast and  complete a walk I have had in mind for some time – The Sedbergh Quaker Trail. It was not to be, three close friends died this week and I was quite depressed. I missed the good weather. 

Preparations were underway for all my family visiting at the weekend for my birthday. I awoke in the night and found that my electricity had tripped. At 3am I was paddling about in my dressing gown trying to find the problem. I isolated it to the kitchen and disconnected everything in there, but it still tripped. Into the garage for extension cables to at least keep my freezer and fridge working. The birthday dinner must be saved., not sure how I will cook it. An early phone call, Saturday morning, to our community electricians and within an an hour Paul is prowling around the kitchen with his magic electric probe. “The problem is between these sockets and the dishwasher” Visions of the walls coming down. But as both of us lie on the floor peering into the dark of that forgotten space behind the kickboard below the units the evidence is clear – a mouse has been nibbling at the wires. Within a short time he has rewired it and all is go. I’m keeping the space open until a few mice have been humanely caught and deported.

The birthday meal was a huge success. 

All of this has nothing to do with Sedbergh and the Quakers but may explain my tardiness.  

***

Historians mark 1652 as the beginning of the Quaker movement.   In that year on Pendle Hill  George Fox, (1624-1691)  is said to have had a vision commanding him to “sound the day of the Lord” to a great gathering of people.  I have written about Fox’s Well.

In June1652, fresh from his vision on Pendle Hill, George Fox arrived in Sedbergh. He did not preach in St. Andrew’s church there but the next day he was encouraged to attend a large gathering of ‘Seekers’ and other nonconformists in and around the small chapel on Firbank Fell a few miles from Sedbergh. 

Fox wouldn’t go into the chapel to preach but instead spoke for three hours to the gathered crowd from the top of a nearby crag – this is now known as Fox’s Pulpit. Many Seekers were convinced by Fox on the Fell that day and added their weight of  missionary zeal to his and what became the Society of Friends, or ‘Quakers’ – after Fox told a Derby judge to “tremble at the word of the Lord”  By 1660, there were 50,000 followers.

Meeting houses for silent prayer and contemplation, such as Swarthmoor near Ulverston, and Brigflatts near Sedbergh, were subsequently built. Brigflatts,1675, in Cumbria, is one of the most famous Quaker meeting houses, known and loved by Friends all over the world. It is acknowledged for all the simplicity of its lime-washed stone walls and interior woodwork — panelling, columns and balustrading — as one of England’s vernacular gems. For many, the peace and tranquillity of the Meeting House at Brigflatts leave a lasting impression. (information from their website.)

People of all faiths can admire the Quakers’ respect for all humans, their tolerance and belief in peace without the need for churches, rituals, holy days, or sacraments, to practice religion. Rather religion should be something one lived and acted out every day. These ideas were radical in a period where the established church held great political power, and many early Quakers were imprisoned and oppressed for these beliefs. Quakers were conscientious objectors in both world wars. Because Quakers were barred from universities and many professions, one natural outlet for them was in business.  A large number of British businesses were founded by Quakers, including such household names as Barclays, Lloyds, Carr’s, Clarks, Cadbury, Reckitt’s, Rowntree, Fry and Terry’s. The football team In Darlington that I supported as a teenager was nicknamed The Quakers from the links within the town. 

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This Tuesday the forecast is good, Despite a bit of faffing I am parked in Sedbergh by 10 am. Too soon to pick up a leaflet from the Tourist Information Office describing this walk. I’ll just have to do it from the map and follow my nose, I think I am pretty good at that.

I pay a visit to St. Andrew’s church. Once through the cemetery I’m on a quiet lane to Birks, a hamlet of farming cottages, a brief flirtation with the River Rawthey.  P1040883 P1040884

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Through muddy fields to visit Brigflatts Meeting House. What a beautiful peaceful place. Built in the style of a Cumbrian farm house, it has open doors for visitors. The porch with its ?original studded door leads into the main room. A place for prayer or contemplation. Alongside was another room used as a library of relevant books and a place to sit and have a brew. All very inclusive. P1040895P1040900P1040896P1040899

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I move on, suitably refreshed in mind and body. I think I miss a turn to Ingmire Hall but find myself on The Dales Way for the first time in 40 years. It is a little disappointing following the road verge for some while. Some rather complicated navigating through  The Oaks, holiday lets now, and I’m on the banks of the Lune for a short stretch to the strangely named Lincoln’s Inn Bridge. The adjacent farm had been an in  at one time.

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I leave the Dales Way until rejoining it later in the day, and find a way up into the mixed woodlands which will be resplendent with bluebells in a few weeks time. For photos of them have a look at John Bainbridge’s  post from 2022. P1040941P1040947

Emerging onto a narrow moorland lane at New Field.

Onwards and upwards I reach the highest point and there on the right is the rock or pulpit from where Fox is said to have preached way back in 1652. An isolated spot as you could find. P1040954P1040957P1040965

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The plaque affixed to the rock reads –

Here or near this rock George Fox preached to about one thousand seekers for three hours on Sunday, June 13, 1652. Great power inspired his message and the meeting proved of first importance in gathering the Society of Friends known as Quakers. Many men and women convinced of the truth on this fell and in other parts of the northern counties went forth through the land and over the seas with the living word of the Lord enduring great hardships and winning multitudes to Christ.

I sit atop of the rock eating my sandwich, nobody about to hear my words. The chapel mentioned up here fell into disrepair and has vanished but there is an abandoned graveyard with one lone standing gravestone.

I choose a nearby squelchy, but well signed, bridleway to take me back down the valley. The Howgills are spread out in front of me, but unfortunately the summits are cloud covered.P1040973P1040975

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Half way down past Goodies Farm I cross the bed of an old railway. This was from Ingleton, via Kirkby Lonsdale and Sedbergh. to join the main line at Tebay. It opened in 1861 and the rails were finally lifted in 1967, twelve years after it had closed to passengers. I had previously passed below it near Brigflatts and seen in the distance the Waterside Viaduct. P1040992

I cross the River Lune on a recently rebuilt footbridge and back onto the Dales Way but now going in the opposite direction. P1040995P1040996P1040997

A series of farms and fields take me south. The farmer at Hole House complains about the wet weather causing problems at lambing time. At Nether Bainbridge most is falling down. 

Along the track a farmer is repairing his drystone wall. I get the whole history of the area. A magic conversation. P1050014

I leave the Dales Way at Bramaskew and walk on to High Branthwaite, taking the farm lane up to Howgill Lane which I can follow all the way back to Sedbergh. The alternative was to walk along the higher fellside of Winder Hill on open access land. After nine miles I was happy to use the traffic free lane. All the time looking at the surrounding fells. The Howgills, Baugh Fell and Dentdale with time to spot a few early flowers. The area is mostly neglected by hiking community who go elsewhere to the honey pots. I’ve not met a single walker all day on my ten mile round.P1050026

Back in Sedbergh the village is buzzing with visitors mostly decked out in the latest walking garb. The, no doubt otherwise helpful, Tourist Information closed at 4pm so I never acquired that walk leaflet.

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AN AFTERNOON WITH MERLIN.

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No not the Welsh Magician from the Arthurian myths, but the Merlin Bird ID app uploaded to my phone. This very clever app, as if by Merlin’s magic, lets you listen to a bird’s song and quickly identifies it for you, 95% accurate. You can also upload other details or photos for identification. I know the vast majority of birds if I spot them, but have always been poor with their songs. I’m aiming to improve matters by regular use of the sound ID function. Practice makes perfect. Hence Merlin came out with me today.

I nearly didn’t bother with a walk as it rained all morning and didn’t promise much better for the afternoon. But come the stoke of one pm and some optimistic brightening I am ready to go at the top of the village. My plan is to simply walk around the familiar fell road, avoiding the sodden fields and moor.

As I climb the fell road I keep stopping to listen to the birds in the hedgerows and trees. Merlin does the rest. My leisurely progress gives me time to look at my surroundings, particularly the stone walls marching alongside me. A stone placed on the verge a few years ago has started to develop a pronounced mossy growth, whereas the ancient walls are completely enveloped in vegetative growth.  P1040753P1040754P1040755

Higher up the road the north facing wall is completely different to its south facing companion.

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Dropping down to the weir at Cowley Brook I leave the road to wander up through my favourite plantation. Even the noise of the fast flowing brook doesn’t stop Merlin picking out the bird song. Straight away it identifies a Gray Wagtail and there in front of me is the tail wagging bird. I might have missed it without Merlin’s prompting.

There is water gurgling from every nook and cranny but I know how to avoid the worst bits. At the top of the plantation I rest awhile on a tree stump looking out over the Ribble Valley although all the tops including Pendle are in mist. I’ve been lucky so far as there has been some brightness and the rain has held off. I celebrate with an orange. P1040769

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Hitting the road to Jeffrey Hill I change my plan on a whim. Rather than just walk back on the road why not go up to the trig point of Longridge Fell 350m. the most southerly named ‘fell’ in England. Having set out on a road walk to avoid the mud here am I heading off up one of the squelchiest  tracks at this time of year. P1040779P1040790

There is something different about the walk alongside the wall, a tracked vehicle has been up here. I then notice the drainage ditch that they have been excavating. Why I ask? Surely not just for us walkers. Are there plans afoot to plant more trees?  I ponder this as I walk on and then notice they have dug a similar ditch on the other side of the wall. I can’t believe what I see – one of my favourite trees, the solitary Scots Pine I christened ‘Its Grim Up North’ from its windblown appearance, has been uprooted for the sake of the ditch and is lying on its side. I almost cry. How could they have done this? P1040780P1040782P1040783

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I have alluded to it many times on walks up here and have a folio of photographs of it as it wasDSC02518

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I plod on rather dejected. There are more drainage channels going in other directions. (is this the same work you saw above the Dog House Clare?)

I take that narrow tunnel through the trees. I’m expecting problems at its end as the last time I came the other way I couldn’t get through because of fallen trees. They are still there blocking the way but it looks like people have started to find a way round or more correctly through them. Only just, P1040796P1040798P1040800

I emerge near the fell wall and head up to the trig point. It is fast disappearing in the thick cloud, and is that rain I can feel? Have I misjudged the time and conditions by adding on this detour? What time does it get dark? A quick march up and then I’m heading back down through the mirk, no sign of the Bowland Hills or even Chipping Vale down below. It is excessively boggy on this stretch.  I am however rewarded by Skylarks singing joyfully overhead. Merlin and I can hear them, but there is no chance of seeing them in the mist which is getting worse. It is good to see the appropriate slate poem by the gate is still intact. Needless to say I don’t meet a soul, there isn’t even a car parked up at Jeffrey Hill, a rare occurrence given its popularity with dog walkers.

It’s just a long walk down the road now but I am getting gradually drenched. My phone with Merlin is buried in my deepest pocket. No one at the golf course which has been closed for many days this year due to a combination of flooding and mist. I still manage to find a couple of wayward golf balls in the verge, they will go to my son whom seems to loose a lot himself. There are some newborn lambs in the field, the first I have seen this year.

I am back at the car by 5pm, seven and a half miles under my belt, more than I had anticipated and I’m  ready for a good long soak in my bath.

***

For the record here is a list of the birds Merlin recognised, I only actually saw a fraction of them but I’m getting better at recognising a Robin’s song  from a Wren’s or a Chaffinch.

Robin; Blue Tit; Collared Dove; Carrion Crow; House Sparrow; Goldfinch; Rook; Starling’ Fieldfare; Chaffinch; Gray Wagtail; Coal Tit; Long tailed Tit; Wren; Great Tit; Jackdaw; Skylark; Blackbird; Goldfinch; Pheasant; Greenfinch; Dunnock. P1040874

Here’s the Robin.

***

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BELOW PENDLE AGAIN.

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I’m parked up at the same spot as a couple of weeks ago in straggly RIMINGTON. There seem to be more cars about than last time, perhaps a walking group have departed some time before me. But I never meet another walker throughout this short walk. Looking again at Clitheroe Ramblers’ 25 Walks in the Ribble and Hodder Valleys I see this is the only one I have not completed in the past. It should prove ideal for a short off the cuff walk.

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C18th Bustards Farm, my starting point in the village.

It is a pleasure to be back on the better drained limestone hills after last weekend’s mud-bath. Straight forward walking out of the village, across fields on a concessionary path and then a footbridge across Ings Beck. Robins are singing from every tree, Jays are making a commotion in the woods, yellow Celandines are poking through and the sun is shining, so perhaps we have turned a corner in the seasons. I’m soon alongside Twiston Mill and on to the minor road. I resist the short diversion up to Witches Quarry, a popular limestone climbing venue.

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Twiston Mill.

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Its silted up mill pond.

Each chapter in the book is written by a different local author and the standard of accuracy has varied, todays is not the best and I have to resort to my OS mapping on the phone to find my way above Twiston. Its uphill all the way to meet the next minor road. I recognise some stretches from a reverse walk in March two years ago which helps. The Blackthorn Blossom is just starting, as it was last time I came this way. P1040666P1040665

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Looking back to the Ribble Valley.

All morning Pendle Hill has been looming above me, a little hazy at times and at the road its big end is directly above. The scenery changes here, I’ve left the green pastures and  venture onto the open moors for a stretch above Coolham Farm. This is the highest I get on Pendle’s skirts. I have to imagine Ingleborough and Pen-Y-Ghent ahead of me in the haze but can pick out Rimington far below.P1040670P1040673

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Out of nowhere a wall enclosed green lane appears heading down from Twiston Moor. I follow it, doglegging, until alongside a deep wooded clough, the upper reaches of Ings Beck. I try to take some pictures of the red buds on the Larches here but the breeze makes it difficult to focus. P1040683P1040680P1040691P1040687P1040695

Just outside the garden of Clough Head Farm is the Thomas Peel Bulcock memorial of which I knew nothing. It was erected by Thomas Bulcock in 1863 in memory of his son buried here and other relations buried in Whalley and Downham churchyards. The Bulcock family apparently had a long association with the area. P1040698P1040701

Having passed through the farmyard I find myself in one of the longest fields I’ve seen in these parts. Back to green pastures I wander down the hillside to come out onto a familiar lane. P1040704P1040705P1040710

From there I traverse the hillsides above the Ings Beck where silver rich lead was mined for many years. I wrote about this last time. Today I find the remains of the limekiln for the little limestone quarry and pass the mine managers cottage. Oh and that lamp post in the middle of nowhere.

Knowing the way I am soon back into sleepy Rimington. P1040739P1040746

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The converted Black Bull and Cosgroves ladies clothing shop. 

 A sprightly five miles.

***

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GRUNSAGILL.

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Grunsagill, no I hadn’t heard of it either. This map gives a clue, only just in Lancashire.Screenshot 2024-03-04 150021

***

I have previously come up the Skirden Beck from Bolton-by-Bowland as far as Blue Scar, but today we were heading farther up alongside its tributaries to the isolated hamlet of Grunsagill. It turned out to be quite an epic, if one can apply that word to rural Lancashire.

Mike found the walk in 25 Walks in the Ribble and Hodder Valleys by Clitheroe Ramblers. We have followed a few of their walks in recent week deep in our countryside. I notice that the publication is 20 years old now so one expects to find changes in the routes, but our experience is more that nobody is walking some of these rural paths which are becoming overgrown with poor infrastructure. What would today be like up above Bowland-by-Bowland.

Yes, it is official it has been the wettest February in recent history so we can expect mud at the very least. In fact we miss out the first water-logged field in favour of the water-logged farm lane alongside Blue Scar, with locked gates. The farm has been unoccupied for years and last time I was here I struggled to find the PROW up from Skirden Beck into and through the farmyard, only to discover there was a concessionary path bypassing the farm altogether. Forewarned we follow it today dropping us down to the beck side. Those new galvanised gates help us find the way to the footbridge and the steep climb to Ray Head Farm, 1677. The fields are merely damp. P1040578P1040579

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Barking dogs guard the farm yard but are called off as we pass through and follow more gates and newly planted hedges up towards Lodge Farm. There are hills ahead we don’t recognise and behind ever present Pendle watches our progress. So far so good. We stop to take off a few layers as the day has warmed up, the sun is shining and there is no wind. A green and pleasant land given over to sheep farming.

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We are back to wooden stiles now and the guide warns of difficult route finding, we go astray in the wrong field above and unable to gain access to New Gill Beck. Backtracking is the only option and we find our own way down through no man’s land to another new gate and the little footbridge over the beck. Out of the blue we come across a waymark for The Ribble Valley Jubilee Trail.  Later research suggests this would be a worthwhile week’s 65 mile walk through some of the best of the Ribble Valley. P1040591P1040592P1040593

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Strangely there is an in situ caravan relic in the next field, no idea how it got there. P1040596P1040598

We make better progress on a pleasant stretch alongside the beck. P1040602P1040600

And there in front of us is the imposing Beckfoot Farmhouse with its mullioned windows, dating from1686 and partly rebuilt 1876.  The lower plaque in the porch says  EBI AN.DO 1686.   P1040604P1040607P1040606P1040605

Stately living indeed and they are making changes to the landscape hereabouts, lots, and I mean lots, of tree planting but the footpath remains clear through their estate. There has also been a lot of work done along with the environment agencies to slow down the flow of water in the beck in times of heavy rain. A work in progress no doubt. It looks like an ideal place to reintroduce Beavers? P1040609P1040610

A bit of rougher ground and a dodgy footbridge brought us to the road at  Butterfields. P1040611We now follow the quiet lanes for a mile or so, at the high point Pendle comes into view again. There are lots of cyclists, presumably from east Lancashire clubs, using this switchback route. A majority of the properties seem to be holiday lets, is this the only future for English farming? See below. P1040614

We drop into Grunsagill, a once stately house and a couple of farms. Chatting to the farmer he says it is too cold and wet up here for lambing now, best in April. In fact it turns out his sheep are down in lower fields at Longridge where we have come from.
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A brief spell by Grunsagill Beck, another tributary of Skirden Beck, and we descend into what is basically a holiday village, Lower Gill.  Farm buildings done up as self catering units and attached recreational facilities including a heated pool.  P1040619P1040620

If the day had ended here we would have been very happy with our walk.

The next three quarters of a mile however were spent sinking into the worst possible flooded fields and then even worse trying to stay afloat on what was basically a slurry lagoon. Slurry is an integral part of modern farming where animal waste together with other waste organic farm matter is converted over a period of time into fertilizer that can be reused on their lands to fertilize crops. It should be in a controlled slurry pit not dumped into farm lanes. Slurry pits are dangerous enough from the point of view of deadly gases and drowning. Out here we felt very vulnerable on the virtually impassable slurry track. God knows what damage and pollution the run off into streams is creating. It can’t all be blamed on the wet weather, this is dumped farm waste. It should be looked upon as a serious enough problem as fly tipping in the countryside and sewage disposal by the big water companies.  A world away from the high end vacation focused and sanitised ‘farming’  back at Lower Gill. I wonder if it is their land and slurry?P1040626P1040629P1040631P1040630

We needed hosing down and disinfecting after the ordeal. A walk to enjoy in the summer months.

***

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RIMINGTON – ‘Time flies swiftly away’.

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For a change you may start this post with a  piece of music to set the scene.

The  tune is the hymn ‘Rimington’, composed by Francis Duckworth. He was born in the Ribble Valley village of Rimington on Christmas Day 1862 at the grocery store, now a house. When he was five he moved with his family to nearby Stopper Lane, where they ran the village shop next door to a Wesleyan Chapel and hand loom cottages, now all private residences. Francis’s mother died when he was 12 and he began a hard life of working in various family shops. He later opened his own grocer’s shop in Colne. He was well known throughout the area as an accomplished musician and organist and composed many hymns, often named after local villages. ‘Rimington’ appeared in 1904. He remained in Colne until his death in 1941. He is buried in nearby Gisburn’s churchyard where his memorial is inscribed with the first couple of lines of his famous hymn.

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*

We find ourselves parked this morning in that village of Rimington to follow another walk from Clitheroe Ramblers – 25 Walks in the Ribble and Hodder Valleys. Once again under the shadow of Pendle Hill, only a few miles from touristy Downham where I was a couple of weeks ago. But there are no tourists here, it is a curious village strung out along the lane with no obvious centre and a variety of housing styles. The Black Bull pub mentioned in the guide is nowhere to be seen, presumably closed. 

Anyhow we find our footpath heading into the fields – it is marked as a Heritage Trail, of which we know nothing. Some of the stiles are hard to spot with the sun in our eyes; as is Pendle towering above us. Yes, at last the sun is making a weak appearance today. In places the stiles have been replaced by those utilitarian galvanised kissing gates. I’m still not bowled over by them, being a dyed in the wool old git; see below. Anyway we head towards a farm through more tradional old gate posts and past a street light in the middle of nowhere. Bits of limestone break through the grass giving us a clue to the geology of the area. P1040511P1040514P1040517P1040519P1040522

Before we go farther I would like to do a poll on which of the following you feel is most appropriate in our countryside, assuming progress has to be made. Galvanised or green?

 Disused mines are marked on our map, perhaps they are something to do with the heritage trail. On the ground, pits start to appear all over the hillside and across the other side of Ings Valley. Apparently silver rich lead was recovered from here originally in the C17th from bell pits and later on an industrial scale from mine shafts. A smelt mill was built in the C19th.  “Between 1880 and 1885 the York & Lancaster United Mining Co. Ltd sank a shaft and raised some ore. Unfortunately, James Wiseman, the banksman in charge of the shaft top, fell down the shaft and was killed in September 1884”  This latter information I gleamed later from the internet where Rimington’s heritage is well represented. We should have known this before to fully appreciate and interpret the area. P1040526P1040528P1040530P1040529

We come across a small limestone quarry but fail to spot its limekiln.P1040532

There is probably a lot of heritage around here.

In the distance below Pendle is listed but modernised Clough Head Farm. We are almost on the border of Lancashire and Yorkshire hereabouts. I remember when White Rose flags were flown in Gisburn long after it had been assimilated into Lancashire. Lanes, which switchback the slopes, bring us to Middop Hall, C17th and again listed but without much change. A grand display of mullioned windows. Somewhere in the barn are remnants of Sawley Abbey. The stone from the abbeys must have been reused in many farms in the area, we have  passed some at Little Mearley Hall before. P1040536P1040537P1040543P1040541

Shortly after leaving Widdop Hall we get into conversation with a friendly farmer on his quad bike. After the usual discussion on the weather he opens up and tells us he lives at the Hall and relates its history. If only we had met him down there we may have had a closer look around.

Onwards on the deserted lane with more ups and downs than I want. Then we are heading up onto the slopes of Weets Hill to join the Pennine Bridleway on Coal Pit Lane, more heritage there.
P1040548P1040550From this elevated position the Three Yorkshire Peaks are just visible but too hazy to photograph. It is a slightly better view down the Ribble Valley towards the Parlick and Fairsnape group of Bowland. And of course you can’t get away from Pendle in these parts.P1040551P1040553Soon we are on the return leg, again on quiet lanes, through the hamlets of Howgill, Newby and Stopper Lane. Lots of interesting buildings are passed and we guess at their original purposes.

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A lot we walk past without a second glance, never mind a photograph. We do notice the plaque to Duckworth in Stopper Lane, but had no idea of the industry here. The historic photo is of the village’s joinery shop with its ‘windmill’. Screenshot 2024-02-24 213325Screenshot 2024-02-24 213447Here abouts is the village institute hall, a good half mile out of the village proper. But it does have an information board which tells us, all too late, about the Heritage Trail we have almost followed. P1040562

If you are planning to visit this area be sure to download this map from their website. https://www.rimington.org.uk/index.php/rimington-s-heritage/heritage-trail   We wish we had and feel the need to go back and check out our omissions. 

*

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The sundial on Martin Top Chapel, under scafolding today, is a reminder that this life we live is short and fleeting, and also seems to comment on the changes that have occured quite rapidly in these working villages in our lifetime.

***Screenshot 2024-02-24 203735

STRANGE LITTER.

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                                                        A crystal clear brook – but what lurks within?

The last time I was up the fell, here in Cowley Brook Plantation, I noticed litter starting to appear. Time for a clean up to hopefully stop it becoming a recurring problem.

Hailstones kept me awake all night and this morning there were some hefty showers. So I was in no rush to get out, par for the course at this time of year for me I’m afraid. Living in Longridge, which is elevated from the Preston plain, allows one to look out to the west and see what weather is coming our way for the next hour or so; the best way of weather forecasting. At two o’clock it was all blue sky.

Armed with my plastic bag and ‘litter picker’ I wandered into the trees and up to the highest point. On these remoter paths, all is relative from the road, I found only the odd can and a sweet paper or two. Working my way back down to the popular dog walking circuits, guess what I picked up the most? No prizes for the correct answer – poo bags. Some hidden in the undergrowth, others hanging from a convenient branch. 20240223_15330820240223_153806

Coming back up through the woods by the lively stream there was a rash of orange peel scattered about. 20240223_160017

And then near the gate from the road a disgusting pile of nappies and tissues.Screenshot 2024-02-23 203330

I seem to remember changing my children in the boot of the car, but that was before ‘disposable’ nappies became the norm. The throwaway society has led to ever more landfills, water pollution, ocean degradation and now a worrying apathy to the problem. Recycling will never keep up with the world’s waste. Coming up at the beginning of March is ‘The Big Plastic Count’ which helps you to focus on your own use and points the way to a more sustainable future. It all starts at home so why not sign up at Home | The Big Plastic Count  Shame they couldn’t have produced a more polished video.

The nappies safely into the bag, along with a few polystyrene coffee cups from the roadside, I was ready to leave but then spotted…P1040480

…laid out near the path. Strange litter, why and by whom?

Job done, home for tea.

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.

BASHALL EAVES CIRCULAR.

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On the map this looks like a nice gentle rural walk, perfect for Mike’s training schedule before flying off to Madeira’s sunny adventures. I agreed to join him, secretly knowing the true facts from a relatively recent visit.

Another route he had chosen from Clitheroe Ramblers’ Walks in the Ribble and Hodder valleys. Today it was the Hodder.

The cloud was down on the Bowland Fells which is a shame as there is a fell race up there today. Even Longridge Fell stayed under mist as we drove alongside to park in Bashall Eaves.  We had a window of dry weather until about three this afternoon. Better get a move on.

All started well along a farm track, the guide’s instructions just said follow a waymarked route through the farm and cross five fields. Of course there were no waymarks and we had to ask the farmer the way out of his yard. He looked us up and down and delivered the fateful “there is a lot of water in the fields” before sending us into those fields. The first was the worst, a glutinous shaking morass. It was best to keep sidestepping the worst and not linger as your boots were being sucked down. To make things worse the stiles, if you could find them, were rotting and held together with string. Not a good start to the day and I knew things were to become far worse. Not many people come this way. P1040381P1040382

If we are going to have to become accustomed to water logged ground in the future I think I need to invest in some good walking Wellingtons.

Agden Farm was a Land Rover graveyard, at least the cows are kept inside,. The path, as it was, disappeared into undergrowth before tackling a steep ravine on muddy steps. This was the first of several cloughs we encountered today, steep and slippery down and steep and slippery back up.P1040390P1040386P1040393P1040398

Guesswork and some dodgy stiles delivered us to the next roller coaster, Paper Mill Wood, where at the bottom a fast flowing stream had to be forded. There was a brief respite alongside the River Hodder, the scenery idyllic. This is fishermen’s territory and there isn’t a lot of public access.P1040403P1040404P1040406P1040407P1040411P1040415

Open fields above the Hodder, with the instruction to head uphill to the three oaks. That was easy enough, they were unmistakable. Now head for a lone ash. This brought on a discussion on identifying trees in Winter mode, a skill neither of us had, I may go on a course I see they are running at Brockholes Nature Reserve.  Drop down to a stile wasn’t very helpful as we couldn’t see one. But there was the faintest evidence of a path, the first today. Not many come this way.P1040420

I was telling Mike about the next bridge, at one time erroneously marked as ‘Roman Bridge’ but more likely a mill packhorse bridge, we were heading for. How maybe 35 years ago my eldest son and I arrived at it on a walk to find it taped off and in a dangerous state. We recklessly crawled across the crumbling stonework with a large drop below us. I had returned a few times after it was rebuilt as a wooden structure in 1997. But the bridge we came to today didn’t look very impressive, perhaps my memory is playing tricks.  P1040425

No we weren’t there yet. Dropping farther into the woods we eventually arrived at the deep ravine of Mill Brook and the dramatic ‘new’ bridge. It was an impressive, as I had remembered it, and no doubt expensive, piece of engineering. The brook is 40 feet below. Having not met a single person since the first farm, a spaniel trotted across the bridge in front of us, soon to be followed by his master. The conversation that ensued turned out to be between two architects, one practising and the other retired. I listened in. He, the practising one, had just come from Lees House where he had been responsible for recent renovations. He warned us of more slippery paths to come and then posed on the bridge for his photo.P1040426P1040428

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The way onwards and upwards was indeed awkward through a series of fallen trees. Not many people come this way, get the idea.P1040435

The guide book has you continuing across fields to pick up the road for a while before doubling back to Lees House. A rather pointless exercise as there is on the map a lane direct to the house from the edge of the woods. All right, it may not be a public right of way but we were happy to risk it and we were soon through the buildings without encroaching on their privacy and back on track.

On track meant a narrow hemmed in path past Lees House and a slithering descent through the woods to yet another footbridge over Mill Brook. (I wonder if a direct way could be found alongside the brook from the near the ‘Roman’ bridge). I have never found an easy way up from this latest footbridge, often ending up in impenetrable Elephant grass. Today we staggered steeply upwards through the mud and low tree branches. Not many people come this way. The grass has not started its growing season yet, but was lurking in the background.  Eventually we were in the open fields heading to salvation. In hindsight, a wonderful thing, I think I might know a better way next time. P1040438P1040440P1040443P1040445

Salvation was reaching the farm track at Micklehurst Farm in the middle of nowhere. It was great to hear and see Lapwings flying over these fields.  Some of the caged working dogs were noisy but probably harmless, but the brown one on a short chain looked particularly menacing. How strong are those chains?

We didn’t quite make the entrance to Browsholme Hall. The seldom travelled side road took us through felled plantations, now being resurrected as nature reserves. That often in these parts is an equivalent for pheasant breeding and shooting grounds.

I diverted from the direct way back to Bashalls to show Mike the Saddle Bridge below Rugglesmire Hall. Probably from the C17th but restored, by public conscription in 1954. It is known locally as Fairy Bridge, said to have been built one night by fairies to help an old woodcutter who was being pursued by witches. A delightful spot. P1040455

In the hamlet of Bashall Eaves, maybe a dozen cottages, is a preserved Lancashire Cheese press worth a picture.P1040478

A delightful walk, all great fun. Those six miles took us over four hours. Come prepared for a testing time, but enjoy the unspoilt environment and wildlife of Bowland.

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Across the fields to Longridge Fell.

***

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A YEAR ON THE FELL.

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I have just created a file in my computer photos for a recurring picture which I hope to take every month or more often if I get the chance to see how the scenery changes through the year. I have chosen a spot in United Utility’s Cowley Brook Plantation on the edge of Longridge Fell for this project. This little area has become a favourite of mine for a quick blast of fresh air, some bird song, the delightful babbling brook and a variety of tree plantings since it was semi-cleared a few years ago. A little sanctuary, who’s development I’m keen to follow. I’m sorry I didn’t catch the snow a couple of weeks ago.

Ignore the dog walkers, the majority take away their mess, I clean up the rest. Go in the early morning or at dusk to have the place to yourself. Get off the beaten track. You may catch sight of a shy Roe Deer or a quartering Barn Owl. There is nearly always a Warbler to be heard. Last year we were visited by Crossbills.

Today I didn’t even set foot in the woods. The mist was down and there was steady rain. I was surprised to see cars parked up at the popular Jeffrey Hill spot. The fell would be squelchy to say the least and there were certainly no views. This was the forecast for the day. I only drove up to give my little car a run out after its battery had failed.Screenshot 2024-02-16 155624

And this is what it looked like today.

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Jeffrey Hill car park. 


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Cowley Brook plantation.

These were my first photos taken in January, nothing dramatic. I’ll revisit on a better day for the February view. The view to the west I thought was too enclosed, but I may change my mind on that for the sake of completeness. 

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To the east.


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To the north. 


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To the south.

On the map below the green marker is approximately where I have decided to record the changing year. By pure chance it is on the line of an ancient Roman Road coming up from Ribchester, serendipity.Screenshot 2024-02-17 161842

In view of the lack of any decent photos today I’m sharing this one, give me Longridge Fell any day.

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Waiting for a bus on the South Col Everest.

IN THE SHADOW OF PENDLE.

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After all that arty stuff over in Yorkshire last week it is time to get back to some proper Lancashire walking.

This walk is described as a classic in the booklet published by Clitheroe Ramblers – 25 Walks in the Ribble and Hodder Valleys. An excellent little production from 2004 with several authors describing their favourite local walks. I can vouch for most of them.

Wednesday is the only decent day of the week before a yellow warning for snow and ice. I thought of going for my usual cycle ride around Morecambe Bay and visiting Sir Hugh, but he turns out to be occupied, it can wait till another time when he is free. All this thinking and procrastinating and it is nearly lunchtime. Who else would be free for a quick short walk – I phone JD and he says he will be ready in 15 minutes, that’s what friend are for. Somehow I feel I need company today.

An easy drive and we are parked up by the little stream in Downham, one of the prettiest villages in Lancashire. The estate does not allow overhead electricity lines, aerials or satellite dishes etc , making it a popular location for period films. The classic 1961 film Whistle Down the Wind was based on the area and more recently the BBC 1 series Born and Bred. Many of the buildings in the village and surroundings are listed, including the stone bridge we are parked by.

But we haven’t come to look at the houses, no we have a brisk 5 miles to walk in the limestone country below towering Pendle. The guide book is very functional and basically just gives you directions without any historic or geological embellishments.

Chapter 14. A Downham Classic. Gill Morpeth.

We are soon unto fields heading towards Worsaw End Farm and there below us is the barn where Alan Bates (AKA Jesus or ‘the man’) sought refuge from the law and entranced the children from the village in that famous 1961 film, Whistle Down the Wind. Hayley Mills is the girl feeding and protecting him. I have just found out that the original novel was written in ’59 by Mary Hayley Bell, wife of John Mills and mother of the star Hayley Mills. If you get a chance to watch this black and white movie you will recognise a lot of the scenery but it is deeper than you think with strong allegorical passages as well as Lancashire humour.  “he’s not Jesus, he’s just a fella”

The phrase ‘Whistle down the wind’ comes from Falconry. When falcons are released to hunt they are sent upwind and when turned loose for recreation they are sent downwind. So down the wind is to be cast off to find ones own path. There is no wind today and we have a map so perhaps there are no similarities to be drawn. We just get on with walk.

Above us is the rounded Worsaw Hill, a grassed over limestone reef knoll which today is popular with the local sheep. I went up it once for a spectacular view down the Ribble Valley, well Clitheroe Cement works at least. We pass briefly into the yard of the farm featured in the film and than are back into fields alongside the meandering Worston Brook. We spot an almost hidden ‘packhorse bridge’. The water looks so clear, having come down from Pendle. I remember fishing as a child for Crayfish in these Pennine becks. I met a woman recently who was doing some research for DEFRA on crayfish in certain locations, they are apparently a very good indication of water pollution.

We approach Worston but don’t visit it, half a dozen houses and a good rural inn, The Calf’s Head. Instead we take a direct route up the fields towards Pendle. I don’t recognise this way, but when I look at my map from the last time I have, So much for my memory. I do know I have been past Little Mearley Hall many times and point out the windows supposedly taken from Sawley Abbey after the dissolution. I warn JD about the tied up dog that will surprise us round the side of the barn, yes he is still there today but seems to have lost his bark. The farmer is busy planting new mixed hedging along the way, they have grubbed up so much in the past..

The walk now follows for a mile or so a line of farms scattered at the foot of Pendle, Angram Green, Moorside, Barkerfield and Hookcliffe, all looking ancient and steeped in Lancashire’s countryside. As always with JD the conversation is stimulating and far reaching. We are making good time without stopping as I want to delver him home to help his wife with the grandchildren after school.

Cutting across fields towards another reef knoll the guide mentions a barn at Gerna a strange name for these parts, ?Nordic. The farm itself has been gentrified.

Soon we are following the lively beck back into Downham, the cottages here having the water run under there front entrances.

That’s been a quick walk for me, just two hours for the five miles which bodes well for my rehabilitation into longer trips, of which I have a few in mind.

Here’s a few snaps to give you a flavour of the area and maybe entice you to Downham for this enjoyable walk.

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Pretty Downham cottage.

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Worsaw Hill.

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The ‘Jesus’ barn.

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Disappearing bridge over Worston Beck. 

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Hazy view down the Ribble Valley. Kemple End, Beacon Fell and Parlick.

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JD hoping we don’t have to go all the way up Pendle. 

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Little Mearley Hall with the Sawley windows to the left. 

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A little disinterested today. 

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Good to see hundreds of mixed hedging plants going in. 

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Don’t follow your satnav, they were soon coming back. 

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Diversifying into paper cups.

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More limestone knolls below Pendle, and Rad Brook.

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Downham Beck. 

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Another pretty Downham cottage.

***

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NATURAL YSP.

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A short post today after all those lengthy ones.

Looking through my photographs of all the sculptures I took in the Yorkshire Sculpture Park I see some interesting shapes in nature. I’ve put a few together for my amusement.

Another time I visit maybe I should just ignore the sculptures and look at the trees.

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YSP MISCELLANY III.

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Crossing the bridge at the end of the lower lake one couldn’t but notice the large lady strutting across the field. I have never been a fan of Damien Hirst ever since I came across his open womb pregnant Verity in Ilfracombe, whilst walking the South West Coastal Way, and this figure before me is unmistakably his. The Virgin Mother. 2005. Damien Hirst. ”We are here for a fun time, not a long time”

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And there are more in the distance but I was content with long zoom images.

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Charity. 2002.  Damien Hirst.

 

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The hat makes the man. 2004.  Damien Hirst.

I could have walked down the valley to the Weston Gallery but time was getting on. There is always another day and I wanted to see some sculptures this side of the lake. By now the wind was getting up and it was difficult to hold either myself or the camera steady. 

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Black Mound. 2013. David Nash. Oak charred in situ. Another of his that will age with time naturally.

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49 Square. 2013. David Nash. Silver birch which will grow into a white square by the lake.

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Oeuvre (Verdigris) 2018. Gavin Turk. A large bronze duck egg.. “I made an egg that will last forever – but now we no longer no what forever means – it depends which report you read” 

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Hazmat Love. 2017. Tom Friedman. Embracing, wrestling or dancing?

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Mind Walk. 2022. Peter Randall-Page. A continuous line carved into Bavarian granite.

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Gazing Ball. 2018. Lucy + Jorge Orta.

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Notice the small heart, their reference to a close friend who died waiting for a transplant. 

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Diario. 2016. Mikayel Ohanjanyan. Where the steel wire cuts into the marble the names of all his friends are written.

 

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“during our lifetime, these acquaintances shape our identity, values, and human dignity” 

And now for something completely different. This is based on an Invacar, the basic three wheeler, all pale blue, issued to disabled people by the NHS for thirty years from 1948. I just about remember them. They were eventually deemed unsafe. Heaton was issued with one in 1971, he says he felt like a solitary cripple in it. Now painted gold – “from lame to Lamé”

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Gold Lamé 2014. Tony Heaton.

I wander up the park through the highly polished granite shapes by Japanese sculptor Masayuki Koorida.  P1040113

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Over the bridge up to the iconic Love statue.

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Ha-Ha Bridge. Brian Fell.

 

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Love. (Red Blue Green)  Robert Indiana. 

I was running out of time although the park closes at 5pm the galleries close at 4. Going the long way round and exploring I had misjudged it. I missed out on the Chapel’s Light Organ show and much more but I wanted to complete my Erwin Wurm tour from this morning. There were a few more in the garden but the light had gone for photography.  Fortunately the majority were in the Underground Gallery where I had 20 minutes to spare – too short a time really for all his curiosities. Thankfully there was no one about to take a picture  of any of my appendages poking through his caravan. All bendy vehicles, gherkins and sausages. 20240131_15401720240131_15410420240131_154043

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The YSP is on a grand scale and the large open spaces suit a lot of the larger statues. As I intimated there is lots more to discover. Next time I may park at the Weston Entrance and walk around from there. I did think about returning tomorrow but perhaps a change of scenery is needed and I have a couple of other options. Certainly spending the two nights in Wakefield has been a winner although I think I will give the Campanile’s pizza a miss tonight.

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This a rough map of my anticlockwise ramblings. 5 miles measured but more like 6 or 7 actually walked.

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Looking through my photos of all things non-sculptural I have some interesting natural images which I may post as an alternative view.

YSP MISCELLANY II

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Continuing my perambulation in the park I wander down towards the lake, the lower one. Here are two large ‘architectural’ installations from Anthony Caro. 

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Dream City 1996 and Promenade 1996. Sir Anthony Caro.

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Promenading in front of the hall.  

A strange but captivating ring of twelve animal heads from the Chinese Zodiac. The artist Ai Weiwei, a Chinese dissident, wanted them to be fun “everybody has a Zodiac connection”

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Circle of heads. Ai Weiwei 2010.

Looking at my map I see there is a footpath around the upper lake which looks interesting. The two lakes were originally hand dug for Bretton Hall in the C18th and are at the centre of the park, they are connected to the River Deame which flows through the park. In amongst the trees I come across scattered artworks.

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123454321 Sol LeWitt 1993. Mathematical progressions present in nature.

Idit Nathan and Helen Stratford’s  Further Afield. 2021. are several railway sleepers inviting you to play.

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Idee de pietra – Olmo. 2008. Giuseppe Penone. The tree is bronze, the stone real.

No sculpture park is complete without Antony Gormley.  One and Other. 2000.

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Ravine. Tania Kovats. 2010. Cast concrete ‘eroding’.

I particularly like this use of the old boat house.  JocJonJosch.  Eddy.2014. in which the three artists each have an oar, going nowhere.

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Flagstone, 2016. Willem Boshoff. Belfast granite polished back to the molten state. The lettering translates – ‘a drop of water hollows a stone, not by force, but by continuously dripping’ Ovid.

At the end pf the lake by the bridge this young man is on his phone. But what is he thinking about?       Network 2013. Thomas J Price. P1030837

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I’ve never been up to the Longside Gallery on this side of the park, and despite it being closed I fancy the walk. A steep field leads me upwards with good views back over the lakes and park. Hereabouts are lots of lovely trees which has given me an idea for a separate post on nature in the park.

There is nobody about as I continue along the ridge to the Round Wood and unexpectedly come across a circular stone wall, it must be one of Andy Goldsworthy’s. P1030863

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Longside Gallery. Closed. 

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Outclosure. Andy Goldsworthy. 2007. 

Oh, there is somebody up here, a solitary figure sat looking at the view. But as I get closer he becomes much larger. Sean Henry’s  Seated Figure. 2016 plays with scale. The last photo in the series fortunately has a passing lady stood next to him for perspective.

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As I walk down the hill the boundary wall in the sunken Ha Ha suddenly develops small deep rectangular enclosures, could this be Goldsworthy again? In one a suspended tree has been captured, perhaps there were in the other two but decay may have moved in.P1030922

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Hanging Trees. 2007. Andy Goldsworthy. (YSP photo)

I can’t get to grips with the last ‘installation’ on the hill. Seventy One Steps.  David Nash. 2010. And that’s just what they are, though I didn’t count them. Charred Oak sleepers embedded in coal and slowly merging into the hillside, probably just as he imagined similar to his Barnsley lump of coal on the other side of the park. P1030958P1030953P1030960

At the bottom are the remains of the ornate C17th Lady Eglinton’s well. P1030967P1030965

I was glad I had done the long walk up the hill.

Time for a sit down and a spot of lunch.

YSP MISCELLANY I.

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 Crossing. Nigel Hall, 2006. 

The Campanile was cheap and cheerful, and was only 20 minutes away from the Yorkshire Sculpture Park in the grounds of Bretton Hall, outside Wakefield. I was parking there just after they had opened at 10am, hoping to get a full day exploring some parts of the park I had previously missed and there is always something new.

I decided to to walk the park first and go into the galleries later in the day when the weather was deteriorating. My plan didn’t quite work out.

My must see today is Trap of the Truth – over a hundred works from the quirky Austrian  Erwin Wurm.  I’ve tried to share a video of Wurm talking to Clare Lilley, Director of the park, but technology has defeated me. However if you click on the link below and go well down the page to their 15 minute interview you will be impressed.

https://ysp.org.uk/whats-on/exhibitions/erwin-wurm

What a nice bloke and how innovative. Here are some of his outside sculptures. Make of them what you want, there are a lot of hidden meanings relating to fashion and consumerism. P1030423P1030430P1030442

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Leaving Wurm for now I wander off into the park where round every corner one comes across some new curiosity and probably miss just as many, That is why repeated trips here always pays dividends.

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Family of Man.  Barbara Hepworth. 1970,

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Hydra vs Bear. A fantasy, Jordy Kerwick. 2023.

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Protomartyr. Elizabeth Frink. 1984.  A bonze St. Stephen.

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Barnsley Lump. David Nash.  1981.   A lump of coal slowly disintegrating.

Whilst walking through the wheelchair accessible garden I meet one of the staff, Mick, a retired miner/mental health nurse/ Yorkshireman/grandfather and more. He was passionate about the sculpture park and works a few days a week as a general helper. Time well spent chatting to him.

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Mick. 

 

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Buddha.  Niki de Saint Phalle.  2000.  Glistening mosaics.

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Octopus. Marialuisa Tadei. 2011. More mosaics.

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Sitting. Sophie Rider. 2007. The Mother hare.

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Bag of Aspirations. Kalliopi Lemos. 2013.  Outside the Camelia House. “human lives are valued less than their possessions”

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Usagi Kannon II.  Leiko Ikemura. 2013. Fukushima nuclear disaster,

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A Needle Woman. Kimsooja. 2014.  A needle weaving our lives.

 

Most obtuse quotation/interpretation so far –

“Overall my work can be summarised as an attempt to translate the longstanding historical and political ambitions of traditional figurative sculpture into a revised sculptural language appropriate to the current cultural situation. The aim of my work is to question certainties and stereotypes, introducing a variety of fact and fiction into sculpture that is descriptive but not representative of the ‘real’ world.”   Kenny Hunter. Bonfire 2009.

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And the most apt –

it would be very nice to put sculpture on hillsides or in small valleys, or place them where you think it would be nice for them to be and for everybody to enjoy”  Barbara Hepworth. P1030522

Time for a coffee up at the café. Come back soon.

THE FINAL STANZA?

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It never used to be so busy at the Cow and Calf Rocks’ carpark  A bright Saturday has brought crowds up here above an equally busy Ilkley. We are here to find the last of Simon Armitage and Pipa Hall’s  Stanza Stone Poems, Beck, hidden in Backstone Beck where the latter comes down at speed towards the town. I have downloaded some ‘simple’ directions but am afraid I may get distracted by the nearby climbing crags.

Ilkley Quarry, the Cow and Calf and the Rocky Valley were favourite haunts of my early climbing days. There was plenty of traditional excitement to be had on the rounded gritstone. But no let’s find the poetry stone first.

‘Take the path out of the car park’ was an obvious start, we could manage that. The paths are more well used than I remember them, were they even here back then? But there are lots of them going off in all directions. And there are people in all directions too. Some coming up from Ilkley by way of the tarn, most like us wandering from the Cow and Calf and others from over the moor. Dogs, in all shapes and sizes, are everywhere, which gives Zola plenty of canine interactions, Clare is on hand to call her in when things are starting to get out of hand. I am amazed that she can bound off into the distance (Zola, not Clare), in a place she has never set foot in, and keep reappearing at our heels. The bracken is dead which helps us find the narrower paths. All the time we have a panoramic view of Ilkley down below in the Aire valley. P1020983P1020984

‘Head towards a plantation’ was the next  instruction, yes, but which one? A solitary Stanza Poem fingerpost then takes some of the adventure away. The sound of the beck meant we were close. ‘Scramble up alongside the beck’ was our instruction – but steps have been provided recently. ‘Squeeze through between a gorse bush and a boulder’  the guide says. But someone has cut the gorse bush back. Is this all down to the YouTube/Instagram/what three words phenomena creating honey pots in our wild countryside? I’m beginning to feel a little cheated, this was to be the climax of our poetry trail with the most difficult stone to find. Zola obviously finds it for us, but then in the end we have it completely to ourselves. P1020990P1020995P1020996

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False trail 

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Is this what you are looking for?

What a spot, a wild tumbling beck with the brown bracken clinging to the hillside. Water is splashing around the rocks and there in the centre of it all is the Stanza Stone. A proud boulder sitting in the flow as was Pipa Hall when she carved out the letters. We ask ourselves how did they find this elysian place?  P1030027

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It is all one chase.
Trace it back the source
might be nothing more than a teardrop
squeezed from a Curlew’s eye,
then follow it down to the full-throated roar
at its mouth – a dipper strolls the river
dressed for dinner in a white bib.
The unbroken thread of the beck
with its nose for the sea
all flux and flex, soft-soaping a pebble
for thousands of years, or here
after hard rain, sawing the hillside in half
with its chain. Or here, where water unbinds
and hangs at the waterfall’s face, and
just for that one, stretched white moment
becomes lace.
©Simon Armitage 2010

A bit of precarious scrambling had us up close to the poem which is slowly taking on the patina of all the other water splashed rocks. What will it be like in another ten, twenty or fifty years? all a very short period of time for the stones up here on the moor. The references to the curlew and the dipper are perfect for the situation. If you have read any of Simon Armitage’s poems you will recognise his acute observation, engagement and ability to weave his words. If you haven’t, a good start would be an anthology of his writings – Paper Aeroplane, 1989 – 2014. The title poem at the very end is one of my favourites, a self-effacing offering worlds apart from Tennyson, Simon is no stuffy Poet Laureate.

Where next? Well I had suggested we explore the wild moor looking for those thousand years old markings in the rocks up here. Cup and ring marks and geometric carvings. I won’t bore you with our subsequent wanderings. Zola probably derived the most benefit from the open moorland obstacle course. Did we find any? I can’t say for certain, lets just leave it there. I don’t know who C Clark and Crackety Jack are.P1030074P1030048P1030051P1030053P1030062P1030111P1030094P1030100P1030120

Our only trophy was stumbling across a ‘poetry seat’ constructed in line with the poems. The sign said Marsden 451/4 miles, where we had started with Snow up in the quarries at Pule Hill in October. We have not walked the whole trail but picked off the stones on the way – Rain, Mist, Dew, Puddle and now Beck. Whichever way you approach it this gives a wonderful feeling for the Pennine scenery, the vagrancies of its weather and the talent and inspiration of the poetry team.

Going with the flow Clare posts a poem into the letter box. I wonder when it will next emerge.P1030088P1030087P1030083P1030080

On our way back to the car I indulge in some reminiscing of those carefree climbing days long ago. P1030103P1030109P1030123

There was no congratulatory drink in the nearby Cow and Calf Inn, a quick toilet stop and I was happy to be on my way home before all those high intensity car headlights had chance to confuse me. How the mighty have fallen.

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There is however a post script. Our journey is not yet done.

The final Stanza?  Armitage and Hall spoke about a seventh, hidden Stanza Stone. Although they disputed its size, both agreed it was fairly small and had been placed within either a “wooden casket” or “hollowed-out log”.  Armitage added: “We took it to a place above Hebden Bridge, where the Ted Hughes poem ‘Six Young Men’ is set, and placed it under the riverbank there.” Shortly afterwards the valley was flooded, “so we’ve no idea where it is now. It’s either in the Atlantic, or in the North Sea – or lying in someone’s cellar in Todmorden”.

Let me know if you come across it.

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BEYOND THE PALE, STANLEY.

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I was up here a  few days ago in the frosty weather when I talked about the Leagram Deer Park. Today was all blue sky and not an icy patch to tread warily on. I’d already walked the pleasant mile along the quiet road from the site of Leagram Mill, passing some of those iconic railings sited to give visibility on the bends. Are they just a Lancashire thing?P1020856P1020858

Now I was entering the ancient laund of Leagram.  There was once an extensive deer park here in the 15 -16th centuries, l’ll  come to Stanley shortly. The pale was a ditch sometimes ‘fortified’ with hawthorn hedging demarcating and protecting the deer hunting area.  Parts of it can be seen on the present day estate where I am walking. From this we acquired the phrase “beyond the pale” – outside the bounds of acceptable behaviour. This how you find it with todays technology video.

Lovely parkland with Longridge Fell ‘beyond the pale’

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I walk on past the blue faced sheep and decide not to take the way to Park Gate as a tractor is muck spreading across the field. I walk on with Parlick up ahead. But I’m not heading for the high Bowland Fells, I’m going to skirt around under them on the track to Lickhurst.P1020892P1020897P1020899

First I stop to buy half a dozen free range eggs from the lane that leads to Saddle End Farm. P1020901

The Public Road ends short of the lane to the isolated Burnslack and the byway heading east is open to traffic but there are warnings to potential 4X4 users. Soon I’m at the ford over Leagram Brook, now provided with large stepping stones. Onwards becomes open moor named on the map as Stanley. P1020903P1020904P1020906P1020909P1020911P1020917

Edward Stanley, it turns out was keeper of Leagram deer park in the Royal Forest of Bowland between 1487 and 1523, and a soldier for both Henry VII and Henry VIII. The deer park died out in the C17th and the land passed into the Townley family. That’s how you inherited or were bestowed land in those days. It remained under the Townley family until 1938 when The Duchy Of Lancaster purchased much of the land. P1020950

Tipping my hat to to the duke or whoever I cross over Stanley and drop into Lickhurst. Remote farms, when I was working in the area, but now gentrified country properties made more accessible by bridges where there were previously fords. Having said that I got talking to a tradesman working on one of the properties who said they got caught out with the sudden snow and freezing conditions last week and spent two hours trying to get back up the hill to civilisation. P1020928

We are in Limestone country now, lots of coral reefs and more than one lime kiln along the way. I’m always impressed by the length of the single span stone across the brook here, now balustraded for health and safety.P1020932P1020935P1020939

Then there is that isolated red phone box, worth a post of its own. It is still functional but I wonder how many times it has been used in the last year. P1020941P1020948P1020944P1020958P1020953P1020968

One of the reasons I’m here is to visit friends at Greystonely. They are in so I enjoy an excellent coffee and them we join forces for the ongoing walk. P1020969P1020974

The bridleway down to another ford is looking worse from wear and tear, sat navs have led the unwary down this way, or rather ‘no way’. The bridleway improves past houses and eventually bring me back to my car on the road where I part company with my friends as they find another way back home.

I can repeat this walk as many times as I like – there is something special about it and the old Royal Deer Park. Here’s to Stanley.

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Sadly a mere three weeks after my visit the lady pictured above had died of cancer of the pancreas. I still can’t believe it.

HALF A TOLKIEN.

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The Tolkien Trail website has – “Tolkien Trail famous ‘Middle Earth’ walk: People come from all over the world to walk the famous Tolkien Trail. To follow in the footsteps of J.R.R. Tolkien himself, for seven and a half miles, and see how he was inspired by the beautiful landscape of Lancashire. Immerse yourself in this wonderful part of the countryside.” That may be so but we didn’t meet another soul today from any part of the world.

I was never into fantasy fiction but I love the scenic Ribble Valley for its own sake. That is why I keep coming back to walks around Hurst Green and the Rivers Hodder and Ribble. So here we are again, in Hurst Green on a quiet Friday morning, with the temperature hovering around zero. Mike is always on the lookout for easy walks of about 4 miles suitable for his walking group, preferably starting at and finishing at a pub. This is my latest suggestion. We are parked outside the Bailey Arms, presently unoccupied, but the thriving Shireburn Arms is only a stone’s throw away. We follow lanes out of the village towards Stonyhurst College, through its grounds down to the River Ribble where we pick up the Tolkien Trail back to Hurst Green. A pleasant varied 4 miles.

Here are a few pictures…

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Will they ever reopen?

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Alms Houses, worth a picture every time.

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The spooky cemetery.

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The Statue of Our Lady, Mary, also known as ‘Our Lady of the Avenue’ was installed in 1882. 


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The iconic college view. 


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A winter’s scene.


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What is this tree with all the low untidy growth? 


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Imposing! How much per term these days?


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St. Peter’s. 


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Exploring off-piste. The former Fives Courts. There are not many left in the country, due for renovation. 


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And a house for bats next door.   


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Down past Cross Gill Farm towards the river.


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A snowy Pendle dominates the Ribble Valley.


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The elusive historic cross.


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Hobbit Hill, a ‘bespoke wedding venue’ cashing in on the Tolkien theme. 


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On the Trail.


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Reused Astro turf – lovely to walk on, every trail should be carpeted with it. 


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The Victorian aqueduct bridge. 


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The deep ravine below Hurst Green.


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A lot of work has gone into the trail recently, this was an eroded mess before. 

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Top class.

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