Evening Hills: Parlick and Fair Snape Fells + Ingleborough

A buy-one-get-one-free offer: two walks for the price of one.

Looking over Beacon Fell to the Lancashire Plain and Coast.

Whilst we were down in Herefordshire, Andy and I were discussing the all-round magnificence of climbing hills on a summer evening after work, and bemoaning the fact that, for various reasons, neither of use had yet managed to get out to do that this year. In the past, reading about Andy’s hill-top suppers has inspired me to make an effort to find the time and the energy for something more ambitious than I might otherwise have aimed for; and apparently my posts about evening strolls serve the same purpose for him: so if it achieves nothing else, this post might at least spur him on to make the most of our long summer days.

 

Another view from Parlick Fell. Vaguely in the direction of Preston?

So anyway, after our conversation, I was determined to get out and climb some hills and with the glorious weather continuing, I decided to start sooner rather than later.

Two advantages of a late start are that you avoid the heat of the day and the crowds. Theoretically. In this case, it seemed very hot as I toiled my way up little Parlick Fell, and I’d unknowingly chosen the evening of a fell-running event. As a result I was frequently passed or overtaken by wiry men wearing diddy shorts, PBs and little else. One of my colleagues is a fell-runner, and since Pendle Hill, which I could see not too far away across Ribblesdale, is his stamping ground, I assumed he would be here. He is tall and thin and bald. Every time I saw a tall and thin and bald runner, I initially assumed that it was him. But it never was. Soon, I came to realise that all fell runners are tall and thin and bald. In fact, he was there, but was indistinguishable from his many fellows to the untrained eye.

 

Reaching the summit of Parlick Fell brought not only expansive views, but also a refreshing bit of a breeze. To my shame, in the many years that I’ve lived nearby, I’ve never been this way before. My loss: the walk from Parlick Fell to Fair Snape Fell is a cracker.

 

A gentle climb on springy turf, with great views both down in to Bleasdale and along the edges which curve gracefully around it.

 

Fair Snape Fell itself has a bewildering array of summit furniture.

 

Not that it’s particularly a summit, that lies somewhere off to the east, in amongst the peat hags.

 

Looking across the Bowland Moors to Ingleborough. That’s the tiny nipple in the centre: to the naked eye it looked impressively distinctive, honest. With a magnifying glass, you might pick out what I think is Whernside to the left of Ingleborough.

After a bit of faffing about wondering which fence to follow through the peat hags (there seemed to be a bonus fence on the ground, not recorded on my OS 1:25000) I hit this track, headed for Saddle Fell, which made for very pleasant walking.

 

The lump in the middle distance is Totridge which I climbed in the mist one evening last year.

Where the track began to descend towards Ward’s End I stopped to eat my sandwiches. Egg mayonnaise, I think. Hardly cordon bleu stuff, but I’m prepared to forgo gastronomic delights if my dining room has a view like this:

 

A couple of parascenders were airborne by Parlick Fell and, beyond them, a glider swept wide circles. Curlews flew overhead, calling stridently. A grouse rattled away in a huff.

A couple walked past, heading uphill on the path. Or rather, a man walked past followed by a woman 50 yards behind. He shouted a cheery greeting. She seemed to be in single minded pursuit and said nothing. Why do people do that to each other? Particularly couples? I imagined the conversation they’d had before-hand: ‘Let’s almost go for a walk together. We’ll do the same route, but not at the same time. That way we won’t have to talk to each other.”

The final leg of my walk took me across Chipping Beck, where a steep bank was even more intensely decked out with bluebells than Outhwaite had been on our recent visit. Sadly, with the sun now quite low in the sky, this east facing bank was in shadow and it was hard to do justice to the bluebells with a photo.

Flushed with the success of that walk, I emailed my friend T and suggested that the two of us should make good on the promise we’d made ourselves to climb Ingleborough together.

Here he is on the top. Soaked through, cold and bemused, but still smiling.

We’d left a car in Ingleton, parked at Ribblehead and then traversed Ingleborough North to South. We had a lengthy, heavy shower as we climbed Park Fell. After that we were in the cloud practically until we reached Crina Bottom. Following the edge around Simon Fell we were blasted by a fierce wind. Now and again rents in the cloud tantalised us with views of blue sky overhead or limestone pavements below, but the breaking up and lifting of the cloud, which seemed to be promised, never materialised. We didn’t stop for a brew and sandwiches until we reached the spring just before the final climb onto Ingleborough, where a small hollow afforded a little shelter. We almost missed the huge shelter on the top, because the visibility was so poor. All in all, it was a bit of a wild night for T’s first ascent of Ingleborough. But, as T said at the time, it was good to be out experiencing something different, instead of watching the telly. On the positive side, we appeared to have the hill entirely to ourselves. Although, given the visibility, there might have been a whole tribe of Brigantes living in a fort on the summit plateau and we would probably have missed them.

A fine leg-stretcher.

This doesn’t quite show the beginning or end of the walk, I know. I’m doing me best, honest.

So, have I whet your appetite? Is there somewhere on, or near, your commute where you might climb to a promising viewpoint with a picnic and enjoy an evening out of the ordinary, summery or otherwise? If you do, why not pop back and let me know about it.

A Trip to the Marches

This Whitsun, like last, we had the great good fortune to be invited over for a few days sojourn down in Herefordshire with our old friends over at chez Surfnslide. After a soggy start, even the weather decided to cooperate, the sun shone and a fabulous time was had by all. We had some great days out, each of them worthy of a blog post in its own right, but owing to an unfortunate oversight in the ‘packing a memory card’ department, I was limited to the internal memory of my camera, and therefore very few photos each day. So I’ve decided to bundle the whole trip up into one brief summary report. No doubt more detailed, better illustrated accounts will appear over at Surfnslide, if and when Andy ever catches up with his blogging.

We’d driven down on the Tuesday, in a pretty relentless, all-day downpour. When Wednesday morning dawned much the same, I began to have misgivings, but in the afternoon it brightened up sufficiently for us to head out for a shortish walk on Garway Hill Common. This hill clearly has excellent views, but unfortunately, during our visit, a hazy atmosphere impaired all but the vaguest impressions of those views. Whilst we were there, the clag did clear a little, but this improvement in the visibility coincided with another deterioration in the weather – the clouds regrouped and sent us scuttling back to the car park. And not a moment too soon: big fat raindrops cannoned off the windscreen as we all climbed into the car. Still – good to be out and to take a look at somewhere new to us.

Thursday brought much improved weather, and a block vote from the kids – a visit to White Castle topped their poll. It’s a small castle, but a cracker, with a proper wet moat and a bridge to get in; a tower with a winding staircase to be ascended and an outer court perfect, on a sunny day, for a picnic and a spot of Frisbee throwing.

 

 

Moat-side…..native pea? Vetch?

 

Horseshoe vetch decorating White Castle’s walls.

The kids had it all planned out – after White Castle they opted for a trip to Rowlestone Court, a farm with a campsite, and, more importantly as far as we were concerned, a small cafe selling their own ice-cream and an adventure playground thrown in for good measure. The zip wire, tyre-stack, mini-climbing wall etc were accessed via a muddy woodland walk where only a fool would venture in sandals. I suspect that it goes without saying that, there being one born every minute, there was a fool slithering around inappropriately in sandals, and of course: I was that fool.

The following day – bright, warm and sunny once again – the kids flexed their new found muscle and campaigned for a day in the garden. I could see from the twinkle in the Shandy Sherpa’s eye that he had a plan for exactly this eventuality and after a modicum of faffing, we were on our way to his favourite local playground for my first walk in the Black Mountains.

 

Olchon Valley

Andy suggested several possible excursions, but I thought it wise to leave the selection to the local expert. I thought he might take me to the magical Vale of Ewyas, which I’ve read about and admired so often on his blog, and which has attained an almost mythic status in my imagination, but no – he chose a trip to the Olchon Valley. Fortunately, it didn’t disappoint at all.

We parked high, dropped way down into the valley bottom and then climbed on a fabulous diagonal path. Relief from the heat was provided first by the shade of the trees in the tall hedges and then by the hint of a breeze. Where the gradient eased, we picked up a sheep-track which contoured marvellously along the top edge of the steep fell-side between the valley and the moor, giving superb views of the patch-work landscape below.

After an indulgent lunch stop below Black Hill, we descended by the Cat’s Back ridge – our elevated parking spot paying dividends by reducing the descent at the end of the walk.

 

The Shandy Sherpa on the Cat’s Back.

Saturday brought another trip to the mountains, this time with the whole crew. We went to the Elan Valley – a place which I have to confess to feeling woefully under-informed about even now. You’ll have to forgive my ignorance. On the evidence of this fleeting visit it’s an area well worth investigating.

After spotting another pied-flycatcher almost immediately we left the cars (funny how these things come in twos or threes), we walked a little way up the valley, to a picnic spot Andy had previously spied. It was a little windy, but we were distracted from any minor discomfort by a fabulous display of buzzards and red kites gliding and stooping and alighting on the crags and hillsides above us.

 

After our picnic, the general consensus was that a walk further up the valley was in order. You can make out a rising track on the hillside on the right of the photo above: it’s an old mine road, well made, although now very wet and boggy in one or two spots. We followed it up to where the valley divides and a stream from the right hand branch comes crashing down a series of falls and cascades in a narrow defile. All very exciting for the kids (both young and old).

The last of these waterfalls flows into a very deep plunge pool which would be ideal for a swim. Little S was very keen to try it out, but both the water and air temperatures weren’t exactly conducive. He made do with some boulder hopping and the promise of a wild swimming trip somewhere closer to home when the weather allows.

 

On the way back to the cars we walked down the other side of the valley, which gave us some fine views of more waterfalls on the Rhiwnant and a chance to comb around a spoil heap where the kids found some attractive crystals and some stones with flecks of fool’s gold.

 

On this trip, like the last, we used a direct route on A roads rather than the more obvious, possibly quicker, but purgatorial M6 M5 route. Which meant that we had already thrice driven past Stokesay Castle which is just off the A49 in Shropshire. Intrigued, I was determined to visit. Happily, the Surf’n’slide crew decided to join us.

 

It’s a small property, but with a fascinating audio guide, takes quite a while to properly explore.

 

The sun shone yet again. We picnicked in the field by the car park, then had a wander around the (dry) moat.  A final ice-cream and, all too soon, our holiday was all-over bar the driving.

Once again we had a fantastic break and were royally looked after. Looking at the map, it’s clear that we’ve barely scratched the surface of what the area has to offer, but we’ve all really enjoyed getting to know a few new places. We’re all very grateful to the Surf’n’slide team for putting us up and for putting up with us. Next year, if all goes according to plan, the shoe will be on the other foot and our friends will come to stay in sunny Lancashire with us. We’ll be hard-pressed to match their hospitality.

Next stop: Towyn Farm. Roll on the summer.

Roeburndale – Bluebells, Bogs, Barns, Birds and Blueskies!

After our visit to Roeburndale last year I promised myself a return visit this spring. I chose the bank holiday weekend, thinking that even then this would be a quiet spot – and it was.

No map for this walk – you can find it here, on a helpful leaflet, one of many about Lancashire walks stored on this website. We followed the walk as described, except we walked the big loop anticlockwise.

The leaflet mentions parking by Bridge House Farm tearoom, which now seems to be part of a garden centre. TBH and I (the kids were terrorising their grandparents for the weekend) couldn’t resist a leisurely start with a pot of tea, and a cherry scone for TBH, in the dappled sunlight on the decking by the river. Very civilised. If you find yourself in the area, the lunches looked very appetising too.

More by luck than judgement, we’d timed our visit to perfection. Not only was the sun shining, but the bluebells in Outhwaite Wood looked and smelled absolutely stunning. Dotted about amongst them were early purple orchids too,

The gorse too was throwing off a heady aroma, redolent of coconut. The woods were busy with birdsong.

The route takes advantage of a permission path which is way-marked with small green discs, each decorated with a white silhouette of a deer’s head.

This damselfly had me confused, but I’m almost certain that it’s a female large red damselfly, which are apparently quite varied in their markings. This one is green on it’s abdomen rather than the more usual black, but the yellow stripes and red banding are right. The British Dragonfly website was helpful, although…

Can be found in almost any freshwater habitat but rarely on fast-flowing rivers or streams.

…has me a little concerned, since I would say that the Roeburn is best described as fast-flowing.

In places the carpet of bluebells gave way to the broad leaves and white stars of ramsons; and the sweet smell of the Hyacinthoides non-scripta was over-whelmed by a pungent waft of garlic.

The path climbs to the top edge of the wood, where we found a sunny spot for a picnic.

The path then drops down to cross the river on a footbridge.

This was where I brought the kids last year. There was a family party here on this occasion too, some paddling in the river, most sunning themselves on the bank. They didn’t seem to be under-attack in the way that we had been almost exactly a year ago.

We left the woods here, and crossed the river…

…by Barkin Bridge.

A bright flash of white and a strident song from nearby trees alerted me to the presence of….

…a male pied flycatcher.

I was half hoping to see a redstart, which are also found in these woods apparently, but that will have to wait for another time.

By the tiny Roeburndale chapel we turned to head across rough and reedy pastures, past a couple of broken eggshells (whether they were evidence of a family triumph or tragedy I’m not sure)…..

…to a tributary stream named both Pedder Gill and Goodber Beck on my map.

The return journey, above Roeburndale, was enlivened by the spectacular escapades of stunting lapwings..

…and the burbling calls and swift low flights of curlews.

A number of very substantial barns…

…fabulous views….

,,,both near and far….

What’s that on the horizon?

Ingleborough!

Which was fortunate, because parts of it were tediously wet and boggy. Next time I think I’ll try the path on the west side, on the slopes of Caton Moor. Or, I could go up to the access land and climb to the top of Caton Moor…..

Further exploration is called for!

————————————————————————————————————

We’d started late that day and were very late back. I was quite proud of the chowder which I threw together with some smoked mackerel which was languishing in the fridge, some prawns frozen in a lump at the bottom of a freezer draw and various odds and ends of veg. Which is my cheesy way of working in a link to today’s Food Programme (see what I did there?). I’m not generally a fan, but caught it in the car and found it very thought provoking. It featured an interview with Michael Pollan about his latest book ‘Cooked’ which received a rave review in the Guardian this weekend. If you have half an hour to spare I recommend listening to it.

It certainly galvanised me today. When I got home, I picked up the kids from school and then got them to make tea. B barbecued some chicken drumsticks and some lamb chops, A made potato salad and tomato salad and S washed and dressed some ‘cabbage’ (lettuce to you and I) with a dressing he’d made himself, and was also generally helpful. (‘I think I did the most jobs’ as he modestly put it.) Yes I helped them. And, no, A didn’t lop off any fingers when she was chopping spuds and B didn’t burn himself (or the meat). I think they had a real sense of achievement. And they subsequently ate things they would otherwise have just poked suspiciously and moved around their plates.

It wasn’t their first experience of cooking. It certainly isn’t going to be their last.

Nothing to do with walking, I know. But expect more rambling off message. Possibly. Or not

Amended:

Andy and I were talking about TED talks just the other day. Here’s one by Michael Pollan about a plant’s eye view of Darwinism:

Miterdale revisited: Illgill Head and Whin Rigg again.

Another gathering of the clans, a few weeks back now. This time our annual May Bank Holiday camping trip to Church Stile at Nether Wasdale. A good time was had by all. Lots of football was played, sometimes in the rain. The kids were once again victorious in the races at the very welcoming Wasdale Show, where they also enjoyed participating in the maypole dancing and watching the Morris Men. The new campsite owners were terrific and invited the kids to hand-feed some lambs. As ever, too much meat was barbecued, too many stories were recounted and the odd beer was quaffed (not too much obviously). When you next meet the Junior Sherpa ask him about the unfeasibly large gammon steak he consumed at the Strands pub (which, by the way, is highly recommended ).

We even managed to squeeze in some walks, the longest of which was a ramble over Irton Fell, down into Miterdale, up that valley and then up onto Illgill Head, then onto Whin Rigg and finally steeply back down to Wasdale.

The top end of Miterdale is quite Pennine in character, very quiet and – whisper it – a little known gem.

 

 

  

 

 

This photo, taken rather early in our steepish climb to Illgill Head, was the last I took. On the top we followed the dramatic edge of the top of the Wasdale Screes, but I neglected to photograph them. I think I was cold, because, despite the optimistic shorts in evidence above, and the sunshine, the weather was perishing. February seems to claimed squatter’s rights. Hopefully Andy will have some good shots whenever he gets around to posting this trip.

North Side of Ennerdale: Bowness Knott to Seat

This walk was just a week after my walk on Dow Crag, but has had to wait patiently to be posted due to work, work and…well, yet more work, getting in the way of everything bar eating, sleeping and just squeezing in a little more work before slumping comatose over my desk. There – rant over.

Having been chilled to the marrow on Dow Crag, I came prepared for another frosty outing, with full thermals and lots of spare clothing, but soon realised that this was destined to be a far warmer day.

I parked in the Bowness Knott car park to the north of Ennerdale Water and followed the path close to Rake Beck which brought me up ‘behind’ Bowness Knott. After a trouser-destroying altercation with a wire fence, and some tricky route finding through the detritus left by some major tree felling I reached the summit of Bowness Knott.

 

It was an incredibly hazy morning, still and mild. The view across the lake to Crag Fell and Angler’s Crag below it was superb, but down the valley, Pillar and the other Ennerdale Fells were indistinct in the murk.

At least I had a fine prospect of the route ahead: over the underwhelming Birkett of Brown How followed by a steep climb beside Rake Beck again to Herdus and Great Borne.

 

Before the steep ascent, I found a quiet spot by the beck to hunker down and adjust my layering. With my thermals removed and with the benefit of the extra ventilation provided by the new rents in my trousers, I was better prepared for the warm work of the climb. And it did feel really quite warm, although rocky sections of the path – shiny with a thin veneer of ice – reminded me that all might not quite be as it seemed.

 

This curious, circular hollow construction is apparently an old fox-trap.

Near the top of Rake Beck, where the gradient eased, there was a grassy, sheltered spot where I might easily have settled down, out of the wind, for forty winks. In fact, on Bownes Knott I’d resolved that after several very cold wintery walks, today I would seek out every opportunity for loafing around and admiring the view, but having passed up the opportunity by Rake Beck, I was possessed by an impish peak-bagging spirit and stops thereafter were brief and infrequent.

 

Great Borne from Herdus.

 

The views were still very hazy. I took lots of photos, but frankly I expected that they would be dreadful. In the event, I’m quite pleased with some of them.

 

The pictures pretty much tell the story I think: a romp along the ridge.

 

After another underwhelming Birkett on Gale Fell (The Most Disappointing To Date) came Starling Dodd and then Little Dodd. Birkett’s route heads down from there, but the weather was too fine for that. Besides which, TBH had friends coming round for a Dinner Party and she’d assured me that I was welcome to stay out for as long as I wanted. (No really. And I can use a knife and fork and everything. Haven’t picked up my plate to drink the gravy for ages!)

 

 

So – I plodded up Red Pike, and from there round to High Stile.

 

I haven’t been this way for many a moon, and I’d forgotten what a great ridge walk this is.

 

I particularly enjoyed the walk from High Stile to High Crag.

 

 

 

And the steep descent from there was mercifully free of snow and, with an artfully constructed, flagged path down the lower half of it, not as punishing on the knees as I had expected.

 

One last hurrah over Seat.

 

 

Brought me to Scarth Gap and whilst it would have been nice to continue, time was marching on. I took the path heading down almost to Black Sail Hostel, and then turned to head back down Ennerdale to the car.

The track is a bit of an eyesore, but the walk down the valley was more pleasant than I had expected, if a little long at the end of what had been a challenging day by my own modest standards. (About 1000m of up and around 14 miles, is my guestimate.)

Hmmm – that hasn’t worked too well has it? Click on it – you never know, it might be better.

Arnside Tower and Arnside Knott

Arnside Tower

Now thoroughly behind with blogging due to pressures of work: here’s an overdue instalment of our Easter Adventures. The boys were off playing football (good for them) and A had a friend staying over. The sun was shining, so we decided to tick off another couple of locations on our list of 40 Places worth visiting locally.

 

It was cooler than it had been a couple of days before, but warmer than I had anticipated.

 

Approaching the trig point.

 

There was a real haze and not much in the way of views from the Knott – a real contrast with my previous visit just a couple of weeks before.

 

What with it being warmer, we most of us ended up carrying coats, gloves and hat rather than wearing them. I dropped my hat and had to leave the others to head home whilst I retraced our steps.

Somebody had hung my hat from a prominent yew branch, presumably to make the place look neat and tidy.

More stuff to follow. Sometime.

Sharp’s Lot Picnic + Eat Your Greens II

And then – it was warm! Only for a day, but what a boon. We walked the short distance to Sharp’s Lot, not a new novel by Bernard Cornwell, but along with Pointer Wood and Clarke’s Lot, a small National Trust property on the outskirts of the village. We chucked a Frisbee around and picnicked on hotdogs, with sausages heated up over the trusty Bushbuddy…

 

….which for some reason I can’t quite fathom we got going straight off this time and which really roared, warming the sausages and boiling a couple of kettles full of hot water in no time.

TBH and A decided to head home after our picnic, but the boys were content to play with sticks and poke about under boulders…

 

So, this being a sheltered spot where things often seem to appear earlier than they do elsewhere, I had a wander with my camera, seeking out some signs of our delayed spring…

 

Hazel Catkin (male flower)

 

Female hazel flower.

 

Barren strawberry.

 

New hawthorn leaves.

 

More lichen.

 

In a dip in the limestone pavement in Pointer Wood, there seems to be the perfect environment for primroses – they really thrive here.

 

There’s always something new and/or odd to look at when we’re out locally, on this occasion it was this bracket fungus on a broken branch…

 

 

 

On our outings this Easter we’ve been foraging for ramson leaves. Non more enthusiastically then little S, who loves their garlicky tang.

 

I’ve twice made this soup with them:

Serves 6

• 1 onion
• 1 leek
• 3 average potatoes
• A dash of vegetable oil
• 1 tbsp of butter
• 1 l of chicken stock
• 1 bay leaf
• 150 ml cream
• 50 ml white wine
• 100 -150 g of ramson leaves
• Salt and white pepper

1) Slice onion, leek and dice potatoes. The size doesn’t matter because it will be blended in the end. Chop the ramson leaves.

2) Sweat onion and leek in oil and butter mixture in the pot. Add potatoes, bay leaf and hot stock. Keep cooking at moderate heat.

3) When potatoes are cooked and soft, add cream, wine and ramson. Add salt and pepper to taste. Bring to gentle boil, turn down the heat and blend everything in blender.

4) Serve hot with toasted white bread or baguette.

This recipe is from Picante Cooking.

Actually, I left out the cream and the butter. And I served it with homemade bread, since I’ve discovered this holiday that making bread, even without a bread-maker, is both very easy and very satisfying to do, and what’s more, that if I make it, the kids will eat wholemeal bread. Having flour from Little Salkeld Mill, which one of our local Booths now stocks, probably helps too. (more about Little Salkeld Watermill  and there wares here)

Dow Crag from Torver

The MWIS forecast was predicting the best chance of cloud free summits in the South and West. I was fancying a Birkett bagging trip, but also felt drawn to the Coniston Fells, where I’ve ticked off all of the higher summits (barring Black Sails which lies just west of Wetherlam). But, I had a cunning plan: park at Torver and climb Dow Crag via the ridge south-west of the Walna Scar road, where there were 4 lower ticks waiting for me.

I parked in the church car-park in Torver, where they ask for a £2 donation, far less than the robbery which goes on elsewhere. I was walking by about 8.30. The first field I crossed seemed absolutely saturated, but fortunately was well frozen. And the large snowdrift alongside the drystone wall was firm and a pleasure to walk on.

I climbed up through the conifers of High Torver Park and then up to an easing of the gradient at Bull Haw Moss, which was predictably boggy, but again relatively easy to cross since it was mostly frozen hard.

This photo, looking across Bull Haw Moss perfectly catches my ridge walk, starting from the little pimple just peeking into the extreme left of the skyline and finishing at Goat’s Hause on the right-hand side.

 

Coniston Old Man was imposing from here and I was planning to include that in my walk too. Don’t be fooled by the blue skies and sunshine: the by now familiar easterly was howling through, not just cold, but buffeting too.

As I approached Ashgill Quarry, I left the excellent path to head across the grassy slopes of Bleaberry Haws.

 

I wasn’t heading for the summit of Bleaberry Haws itself however, but it’s neighbour High Pike Haws, the little pimple seen in the first photo, and below….

 

The OS map has a couple of features on Bleaberry Haws marked out in the Gothic script which suggests something of great antiquity. Somehow I missed the Enclosure, but found this….

 

,,,which I assume is what is marked on the map as a Cairn. A Ring Cairn? Subsequent internet research suggests that there is also a small stone circle on Bleaberry Haws which isn’t marked on the OS map. I shall have to come back one balmy summer evening and have a proper explore, take a closer look at both Bleaberry Haws and also Ashgill quarry.

In the dip between Bleaberry Haws and High Pike Haw, a well compacted snowdrift was sculpted into ridges and hollows. By the wind?

 

From High Pike Haw I followed my nose uphill toward White Maiden. More by luck than judgement, I found a route which followed a slight dip alongside a line of crags.

The edge of the dip was drifted deep and the crags often festooned with ice….

 

 

One particular ice formation stood out from quite some distance…

 

Here it is in all it’s glory. I estimate that it was around 15’ high.

 

Reaching the summit of White Maiden, the views really opened out.

 

Black Combe and Whitfell at the back, Caw in the foreground.

 

The high fells around Upper Eskdale.

 

Along the ‘ridge’ to White Pike, my next objective.

Up here on the tops the wind was really something. The walk to White Pike, pretty much with the wind, was OK, but turning back to head for Walna Scar with the wind into my face was rough going. It was the kind of wind which has you turning your head to snatch a breath and which you know will throw you over when you’re off balance. I met another walker, my first of the day, who I’d watched descending the ridge from Buck Pike. He said he’d intended to continue to Coniston Old Man but the wind had changed his mind for him.

At the top of the Walna Scar road, where the wind seemed particularly ferocious, I was having similar misgivings. The climb up to Brown Pike afforded some degree of shelter however.

 

Buck Pike from Brown Pike.

The walk along the ridge from Brown Pike to the summit of Dow Crag was enlivened by the variability of the gusts. At times the wind was howling up the cliffs on my right and seemingly continuing up and over and missing me. At other times I was buffeted and rocked by the gale. The snow was very firm and I probably should have stopped to put on the microspikes that I’d bought myself just a few days before for exactly this eventuality. On one particularly icy section a gust caught me and I fell, but fortunately only my pride was hurt.

 

Looking back to Brown Pike and frozen Blind Tarn. Morecambe Bay beyond.

 

Coniston Old Man from the descent from Dow Crag.

 

Dow Crag and Goat’s Water from Goat’s Hause.

By the time I reached Goat Hause (which was very busy) I’d made up my mind: I’d had enough of fighting the wind and Coniston Old Man would have to wait for another day.

 

All that remained then was a steady ramble down past Goat’s Water and then beside Torver Beck, past the imposing Banishead Quarry….

 

And back to Torver.

A very fine outing.

Far Arnside, White Creek and The River Kent (41, 27, 20)

 

A sociable walk this one, organised by a friend from the village. Perhaps she was thinking of the time we did this same walk together once before, which was, let me see….two years ago! I can hardly believe that it’s that long ago. This was a more modest affair with less human participants, but a superabundance of dogs, especially spaniels. Most of the children seemed to be assigned to a dog and given a lead to be dragged by. Initially, poor B didn’t have his own canine companion and was looking very glum. He didn’t have to wait long however before his turn came and I’ve rarely seen him grin so broadly. (He’s been offered the loan of a dog to take for a walk whenever he wants, before anybody starts lobbying on his behalf for me to drop my anti-mutt stance.)

It was a beautiful day, and almost warm, if you could get out of the biting easterly wind.

 

Far Arnside is a wonderful spot. It has excellent fossils in the rocks by the shore and, at this time of year, woods full of daffodils.

Whilst the rest of the party followed the shore, I took to the cliff path (this being a sociable walk and me being my usual sociable self). In my defence, I was the only adult male present, the kids were charging around after the dogs shouting and the mums were talking about…well, I don’t know what they were talking about obviously, as I was up on the cliff, but I’m willing to bet that they weren’t debating the likely outcome of the Manchester derby or trying to pick a winner for the Grand National, or mulling over what would make their personal top ten dub reggae tracks.

(Incidentally, my inability to ‘do ‘ normal conversation is a great frustration to TBH. She’s given up asking how my old friends are after I’ve met up with them for a walk or a weekend, since she was rarely duped by my shrugged: “Umm, seemed OK?” standard answer. “You didn’t ask, did you? What did you talk about?” Which is a daft question surely: football, mountains, music, motorway service stations, A roads, anecdote bingo…..Anything unimportant really. Ask somebody how they are and they might actually tell you. In great detail. You might need to think of an appropriate response. Minefield!)

He and my father had entered into one of those close (the adjective is excessive) English friendships that begin by excluding confidences and very soon dispense with dialog.

from Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius by J.L.Borges

 

In the woods, out of that wind, despite the lack of leaves it felt (whisper it) almost spring-like.

 

Somewhere in the vicinity of Park Point I dropped down to the beach, which was intricately patterned with waders footprints….

 

The walk along the sands here from Park Point to Arnside Point must be the finest ⅓ of a mile in the district.

 

It’s possible to carry on across the sands to Blackstone Point, thus avoiding the muddy salt-marsh, but we were looking for a sheltered picnic spot and headed for the shingle beach at White Creek.

I was given a Bushbuddy stove several years ago and haven’t really got around to using it as much as I would have liked. But, for picnics with the kids it seems ideal, especially given that they have inherited their mum’s pyromania. (TBH is a Chemistry teacher, which is to say, a would be arsonist channelling their urges in socially acceptable lithium and Bunsen burner fireworks.) And for once, after the prolonged dry spell we’d been having, there ought to be plenty of suitable fuel around too.

 

In the event, it took an awful lot of matches and failed attempts before we got the thing going very successfully, but the tea and hot blackcurrant were highly appreciated when we finally had them ready.

 

From Blackstone Point we followed the River Kent into Arnside. It’s a very pleasant walk, with lovely views.

 

At New Barns we had a momentary drama when we lost Pippin, one of the assembled crew of spaniels, but the kids finally found that she had diverted into Grubbins wood, presumably on the trail of an interesting scent.

When we reached Arnside Prom, the kids were clamouring for ice creams. Meanwhile the mums….

…were captivated. Captions on a postcard please.

We walked a little further, hoping to enjoy chips on the prom, only to find that we were too late (or too early) and the Big Chip Cafe was closed. Not to worry, we found an admirable substitute in the Heron Cafe next door.

By this point many of the kids had had enough. Phone calls were made, lifts arrived. Only B wanted to continue. He and I were joined, for a return walk along Black Dyke and through Eaves Wood by one of the other Dads, who had brought a car to give lifts and then found himself without a seat in the car for the return journey. We talked about vegetarianism, work, lacto-intolerance, keeping chickens, parenthood…dangerously close to a proper conversation in fact.

Warton Crag and the Three Brothers (2 and 36)

Another cold and bright day, just over a week ago now. (I’m getting quite behind, which is good: it’s because we’re getting out together a lot.) We decided to head for Warton Crag. The boys and I had been here just a week before, but fortunately the hill is criss-crossed by paths and it was very easy to ring the changes. We followed a path out of the north side of the large quarry car park and then turned up the hill. I was struck by the profusion and variety of the lichen adorning the scrub here…

 

 

 

 

Very quickly, views opened up to the North….

 

Coniston Fells from Warton Crag.

A little further up the slope we met a family indulging in the traditional Easter pastime of egg-rolling. It’s not something I’ve ever tried, but maybe next year…?

There’s been a great deal of moaning, and I’m as guilty as the next man, about our apparent perpetual winter, but I have to say that the snow on the surrounding hills really enhances the view. As well as the Lakeland Fells to the North, we had grandstand views of the Forest of Bowland to the South and in the East the distant sentinel of Ingleborough.

 

…which is distinctive from just about any direction….

 

As I say, there are numerous routes to the top of the crag, and all of them have some points of interest along the way, like a limestone crag to scale for instance….

 

Fortunately, there’s an easy way up just a few yards along the crag from here.

 

Like all the local hills, Warton Crag is of very modest elevation and we were soon at the top.

 

Where alongside the trig pillar stands a replica beacon erected, I believe, in 1988 to commemorate the defeat (by the weather) of the Spanish Armada in 1588.

 

From the top we dived into the woods…

 

Heading for The Three Brothers….

 

…which were a big hit with the kids who saw them as an excellent opportunity to do a little bouldering.

The Three Brothers are a little off the beaten track and take a bit of seeking out. You’ll rarely encounter other walkers in this area. We did meet two groups of roe deer however, first a group of three and then, shortly after, another pair.

From that point on we were winding our way through the woods back towards the car. Passing a few more interesting features along the way….

 

…including a substantial area of gooseberry bushes which I have mentally noted as a destination for a foraging trip in the summer.