A wet Longridge Fell.
…dry by eleven.
This piece of optimism is presumably based on the weather in NW Britain, where early-morning rain could mean it has been raining all night. The front producing it may then blow through giving way to fine weather later in the day, though not necessarily by eleven. It had certainly been raining most of the night when I awoke this morning at six, and it still was at nine. A couple of coffees, a poached egg and the crossword later I wondered about getting out. I wasn’t in a rush, just going local, so let’s give it to twelve to be certain.
My previous foolproof method of forecasting the day involved looking out of my bedroom window. If I couldn’t see Longridge Fell it was raining, if I could see the fell it was going to rain. Such is life up here. But now Barratt’s have built some ghastly houses in front of me, so I can’t see the fell at all. What does that say about the weather?
Parked up at Jeffrey Hill to do my usual short round on this end of Longridge Fell. Why not incorporate a litter pick whilst I’m at it, haven’t done one for a few weeks and after Easter I expect a good collection. The clouds over Bowland still suggest rain but is that some brightness behind me coming in from the coast on the strong winds? We can but hope, and anyway I’m fully waterproofed.
Rain in the Trough of Bowland.
Behind me brightening across the Fylde?
To my surprise, or should that be pleasure, there is very little litter heading up to the trig point. I suspect someone else is helping out. Apart from the phantom orange peeler all I find is the usual d** p** b**s, no surprise there. It is also no surprise to see, in the distance I’m afraid, a couple walking with their dogs off the lead. There are signs everywhere suggesting this is not a good idea due to ground nesting birds at this time of year. Tell me if I am becoming pedantic.
I splash on through the bogs, we have had a lot of rain, to the trig point, Bowland remains gloomy. The wind is behind me but still has a cold bite to it. Families coming the other way are frozen, and the children look miserable. They have the time to thank me for my litter efforts. Whenever I meet people whilst I’m in litter clearing mode, a conspicuous bag and a grabber, they all say they should do the same – if only 5% did that would be a success. 
Approaching the edge of the woods I’m surrounded by a dozen barking dogs. All loose and followed not that closely behind by a couple of ‘professional’ dog walkers. I stand my ground, I’m getting more confident with the canine species these days – there are so many of them. Pleasantries over I suggest that on the fell the dogs should be on lead. Of course their guardians have come from a different direction and claim there were no warning notices. We walk along together, and I explain about ground nesting birds – lapwings, curlews, skylarks, grouse, plovers etc in this area. The dogs are a delight to watch as they know their way and jockey for front position. A diverse selection of breeds all getting on together. I begin to wonder that as they are staying on this side of the wall and not transgressing onto the open fell I may have been a little harsh on their human friends. Dog walking has become big business these days as people who bought dogs for companionship now need to go back to work. We part company as they go off down the forest track. Out of interest later in the day I drive round to their point of access onto the fell and there are no signs warning of ground nesting birds. Fair enough. 
I’m soon back on the road and the weather, as prophesised, is improving so I incorporate a loop around Cowling Brook Plantation. I had noticed some litter starting to appear in this woodland of late. There wasn’t much to be honest but my d** p** b**s total now was above a dozen. I enjoy my ventures into this plantation and feel the need to preserve it. There is so much unidentified bird song in the trees today. It would be good to come here with a proper birder and learn to recognise the calls. Any offers?
The little Cowling Brook coming down from Gannow Fell is in full lively flow heading to Knowle Green where it used to power the bobbin and cotton mills. 
On the short stretch up the road into the strong wind the carrier bag was getting heavier, and I was in danger of repetitive strain injury from the trigger on my grabber. 
The sun was shining once back at the car and indeed we have just had an almost good red sunset. Red Sky at night Shepherd’s delight, another ancient folk law. A red sky sunset tells us the worst of the weather has now eased, with higher pressure and improving weather approaching from the west for the following day. Red skies appearing when dust and small particles are trapped in the atmosphere by the important high pressure.
What will tomorrow bring?
***
I couldn’t resist a decent hill day as the weather remained fine. All change next week. ‘Head east old man’ was my mantra as I sped along the M65. Everyone else was going west to Blackpool or the Lakes. Boulsworth Hill my objective. So far so good, but the last chapter of Mark Sutcliffe’s Lancashire Cicerone guide would have had me parking above Wycoller. If there ever was a honeypot then Wycoller deserves that title. A secluded village of agricultural and hand loom workers in the C16th to C18th. Along came power looms in the C19th in nearby Lancashire towns and the population moved out. By 1896 the majority of people had moved away from the village, and it was virtually deserted. But a renaissance occurred in the mid C20th, the area was incorporated into a Country Park and people started moving back into the village renovating the properties. I well remember Longridge acquaintances of mine telling me of their plans for one of the houses in the 70s. I suspect you would have needed a bottomless purse to go ahead. For more information look at 
A good start to the day, although by now it was after noon. The expected crowds were milling around in the hamlet. Crossing and recrossing the series of 
I have a few ideas for some hilly walks now the weather has improved, but they would involve travelling on the busy Easter roads, so I manage to procrastinate the morning away. Let’s just stay local and have a wander up Longridge Fell checking out a few bird habitats at the same time. I’m keen to see the Great Crested Grebes performing their mating dance on the little reservoir at the top of the village. This is where I park my car. Craig Y Longridge is busy with climbers.
The clocks have changed, but my body hasn’t caught up as yet. Today had a sparkling alpine start and promised to be the best of the week. I struggled to get up having lost an hour somewhere. But with the minimum of faffing I’m away by 10.30. It only takes me a half hour to drive out to Dunsop Bridge. I know the sun doesn’t set tonight until after 7pm, so there is no rush, that’s the way I like it.
The lime kiln gives a clue as to the bedrock hereabouts, but I shall soon be high in gritstone country.
The track soon peters out, and I’m left on boggy pathless territory forever upwards. This is designated as a bridleway, and I remember coming this way on a mountain bike 35 years ago with my son. No chance now. This area is isolated from the usual Bowland haunts, and I’m surprised to meet three walkers descending the pass. A friendly trio and we exchange banter. They have driven up from Manchester, preferring this area to the crowded Peak District. They soon become a dot on this vast landscape as they descend towards the Trough Road and I struggle upwards. Across the way Totridge Fell keeps its head above most of the fells around here.
Looking back I was surprised to see how steep and craggy are the northern slopes of Whin Fell. At Brennand Farm (notice how it complements Sykes Farm passed earlier) all is pleasant with newborn lambs in the fields, no Spring walk is complete without some lamb photos. On down the Brennand Valley and then strangely back upwards to join Whitendale.
I’m tempted to go off down Fernyhalgh Lane past the old school (where my children started) the church and Ladywell Shrine, a shortcut back to Savick Brook. But no, I need the mileage and the day is fine, so I continue on the road whilst it is virtually traffic free. There are some fine houses along here as well as the original farms. 
Crossing the M6 motorway I stop to watch the southbound lanes coming to a standstill., a well-known black spot. Preston Bypass, as it was known then in 1958, was the first motorway to open in the UK. Since those days it has been incorporated into the M6 with new junctions and carriageways. I try to avoid driving on busy motorways with their frequent hold-ups and after my frightening experience of breaking down last year on a ‘smart’ section of motorway that has been reinforced.
This week I have been alternating short walks and flat cycle rides with nothing of note to report. Everything came to a standstill yesterday with the collision of cold winds from the north with a front from the south. Amber warning. My son cancelled a lunchtime visit from Manchester and I watched the snowflakes falling in the afternoon. During the night things must have turned nasty as today I woke to a couple of inches of snow. (The radio told of far worse conditions in the Pennines) It was interesting to try and identify the tracks across my back garden, one doesn’t know what transpires in the night. Something I should resolve either with sitting up into the wee hours or more likely installing a motion detecting camera.
I may have used this title for a post in the past. Whilst fellow bloggers are exploring Manchester, White Nancy, Covid and Wildlife crimes I’m content with a walk around my local lanes. After my drubbing, is that a word, the other day on the Guild Wheel cycle route contentment is the prime objective. I live on the edge of the countryside, but only just with all the new developments, so for many walks I don’t need my car – just set off from the front door.
I stop to talk to a farmer about the winters we never have these days. (tempting fate I know). Along comes a car which stops to reveal a dog walking friend fresh off the fell and heading for a nearby farm café, a good catch up ensures. I’m then admiring the hedge layering skills along the way and am lucky enough to come across the skilled labourer himself. A chain saw now makes the labour easier, but he has to be careful with the final close cut. A bill hook finishes off the branch severing, leaving a slender life giving, bent over, horizontal, stem for further growth. The whole process is to keep the hawthorn hedge thick at the base and stock proof in the future. He seems happy in his work and as he says ” jobs a goodun”
Not bad for a local walk of 5 miles.
Down on the River Wyre in St. Michael’s a tragic drama is transpiring, a 45-year-old local lady, Nicola Bulley, has gone missing whilst walking her dog by the river. You will have seen it on the national news, the trauma her family are going through as the days pass, without resolution, doesn’t bear thinking about.
