Afterthoughts from the journey of 2024

 

Back in London now, and - a few days on from a jumbled journey from Lancaster on the West Coast main line – time to consider.

This year’s walk was doubly unusual, in that it did not start or end anywhere near home, and it did not follow any defined trail or prescribed route. It was almost exactly the same length as last year’s jaunt from Winchester to Canterbury, but through very different and varied landscapes, and with more ups and downs.

From the daily entries it is no secret that the weather played a big part this time, causing some significant changes of plan, and keeping me quite often on low roads rather than high paths, both for navigation and for safety.

Of the nine actual trekking days, the total mileage was a fraction short of 161, an average of just under 18 miles per day, with 17,000 feet of ascent and descent. That was only about three miles less than the original plan, but with significantly less – about 4,000 feet – ups and downs.

In retrospect it was a good walk with huge variety in landscape and environment, with some superb days, and some not so good.

On the equipment front there was little change from previous journeys – my trusty Osprey Aether 65 backpack paired with Merrell Moab 3 walking shoes – this year in a fetching grey with blue trim – Smartwool socks and Berghaus Paclite very lightweight jacket and overtrousers, which this time worked really hard. There was one addition – a pair of Kahtoola ankle gaiters. They are designed to keep small stones and muck out of walking shoes, but I found they also prevented rainwater leeching from overtrousers to socks, and thus kept my feet dry in the wettest conditions. Not cheap, but well worth it!

 

Day 10 - Tuesday 10th September - Whitewell to Lancaster

As I sat eating my breakfast just after 8am this morning the rain came down in swirling curtains. With my faith in the forecast I delayed setting out until just after 10, by which time only a few spots of wetness remained.
The route plan to Lancaster was simple - I would follow the road all the way, over the Forest of Bowland, about 40 minutes by car and just over six hours on foot. The road would be a great scenic drive, but much more is seen and gained by walking it.

In a couple of miles I reached Dunsop Bridge, with its decorous little church, like many in this area a Roman Catholic place of worship.

Lancashire has long been a stronghold of English Catholicism, second only to Liverpool and for much the same reasons.
The sun came out as I followed the narrowing road to Sykes, where the grind to the top of the Trough of Bowland begins. It's a steep and twisting climb to just over 1,000 feet, made more interesting today by a cold and fierce headwind.

From the milestone at the top the road drops quite rapidly, passing a long copse threaded by a stream, which today was pretty in the sunshine.

The road continues to the hamlet of Marshaw, then wriggles up and down for a couple of miles to Lower Lee.

Here begins another climb, a couple of miles long, up over open moorland and into the teeth of that wind, to the Jubilee Tower, erected in 1887 by one James Harrison to mark Victoria's golden jubilee.

It stands at about 930 feet and offers stupendous views, not just back to the Bowland hills but west to Morecambe Bay, and the sweep of sand north of Blackpool. No doubt sometimes it's possible to see the tower!

There are steps to climb the four metres to the top, rather unwise in today's wind.
The descent from the tower is gradual at first, before taking a very straight dive towards the village of Quernmore.

Here I passed the most perfectly manicured chapel and graveyard I think I've ever seen, again a Roman Catholic place of worship.

And if I thought I was done with steep climbs, the zigzag rise to Conderdell had other ideas, but it did offer a last glimpse of Bowland.

The road descended from there to pass under the M6 motorway before reaching the edge of Lancaster. On the way in I passed Lancaster cathedral, once more Roman Catholic, built in the 19th century and almost impossible to photograph. It sits next to a tree-lined road and has a 270ft spire. But here I had joined two cathedrals together, Lichfield and Lancaster, mission accomplished.

Lancaster is a city of grey stone, with all the usual shops available, quite an attractive place, if tonight very busy with traffic.

This is journey's end, I'm guessing about 157-158 miles, much to work out when I return home - which is due to happen with a morning train to London tomorrow, back to Euston where the adventure began.

Day nine - Monday 9th September - Burnley to Whitewell

The weather continues to dominate these daily updates, but not always for the same reasons.

When I set off this morning it was very déjà vu. The sort of intense fine rain which feels like standing in a shower, and can drench in minutes. Full waterproof gear then, dry inside regardless, but I didn't actually see much of Burnley on the way through. 

Four miles on, just past the village of Fence, the rain stopped, and just a short way further there was a line of brightness across the sky.

Could this be the end of the gloom and damp which had ruled since Saturday?

I headed towards Sabden, having given up any hope of walking on Pendle Hill, and the sun came out. That's right, the sun. Views of misty murky places suddenly gave way to clear vistas.

I was joined for a while by an elderly chap walking to Sabden, cheerful enough but full of advice I didn't really need, and making it difficult to pause to capture the happy scenes on camera. He left me before I began the long road climb up to the Nick of Pendle, a little twisting pass over the western slopes of the main hill, with views getting better with every upward step.

On the other side the long descent to Clitheroe was sunny, green, almost summery but for a keen wind.

Clitheroe, population about 16,000, is a bustling little town, rated several times by one major newspaper as the best place in Northern England to live. It has some fine old streets, and the keep of a 12th century Norman castle.

It also has a large supermarket where I could buy some lunch...

I headed west, crossing the Ribble at Edisford Bridge. The current stone bridge of nine arches is of uncertain date, but there has been a bridge here since the 14th century.

After the bridge, the half dozen or so miles left of today's journey don't stand out for stunning scenery, although in the sunshine it all looks great. There are some good retrospective views of Pendle, and some glimpses towards Waddington Fell to the north and Longridge Fell to the west.

After what felt like a long slog, actually only about three miles, I passed through the hamlet of Bashall Eaves, complete with pub, then a little further, by the twin lodges leading to 17th century Browsholme Hall, came the first real glimpses of the hills of the Forest of Bowland, tomorrow's agenda.

Those hills came ever closer as I passed through the hamlet of Cow Ark, perhaps appropriate, as further up the hill I saw the largest number of black and white cows I think I've ever seen in one field. Naturally some came for a closer look at this strange creature carrying a backpack.

The final hill gave a lovely view into the valley ahead, where sits the ancient inn where I'm lodged for tonight.

Day eight - Sunday 8th September - Hollingworth Lake to Burnley

Forgive please the obsession with weather forecasts, but at least this morning's was absolutely correct. Heavy rain until about 10.30, it said, and heavily did it rain, for the first couple of miles of today's journey, until about 10.30, when the sun made a weak attempt to break through.

I left the shores of Hollingworth Lake, not so clearly visible, and continued to Littleborough, a town rather struggling to uncouple itself from nearby Rochdale. 

My plans had included sections of the Pennine Bridleway, going up for views and down again, but the soaking ground and constant risk of drizzle persuaded me to the main road, climbing gradually for a very long time to reach the aptly named hamlet of Summit. 

The road then descends slightly, entering Yorkshire, through a steep little valley threaded by the Rochdale Canal, to the equally well named Bottomley, then on to the village of Walsden.

 
By now Todmorden had already announced itself - prematurely as there were still 1½ damp miles to go. It rained a little more heavily, but reverted to damp light drizzle by the time I reached the town.
Todmorden has a long history of social collaboration, not least through the Cooperative Society, founded in the early 19th century (but later than the renowned Rochdale Society, which was the first). One of the former stores is dressed in its original glory - it's now a health food café, so perhaps the founders would approve.

The town centre is all in Pennine stone, and includes a public market.

Again a change of plan, as I had intended to make a very long climb behind the town, then to follow a high moorland road towards Burnley. Not in this weather. I stuck to the main road down in the valley.
It's an enormous compliment to those who designed and who maintain these roads that they all have pavements. All the way. Walking a trunk road in most parts of the country would be almost suicidal, but here it's a comfortable way to cover distance. Other counties take note.
The road towards Burnley follows the upper Calder valley, which is narrow and steep-sided, uphill to Lydgate (my second "uphill to Lydgate" in two days) then uphill again to Cornholme.
This is mostly a one-street village, roads off tending to stop as the slopes shoot upwards. It's not lovely, but it has a strange feeling to it. Apparently because of its situation the sun never reaches the valley floor between November and March.

Todmorden has featured in many films and TV series - recently in "Happy Valley", while Cornholme fought back with a starring role in ITV's "Passenger".
Just after the adjoining and very drab settlement of Portsmouth (no relation) the road re-enters Lancashire and pitches uphill again into more open country.

I paused by Holme Hall, a 17th century manor house, once a retirement home, then derelict for a decade, now inevitably converted into apartments.

Just down the road is Holme Chapel, a more pleasant and brighter little place with an ancient pub.

I'm still quite amazed how many functioning roadside pubs there are here in out of the way places, while thousands are closing elsewhere in the country - but then the price of a pint is more reasonable.
Beyond the village the drizzle intensified again, but now I was so close to Burnley and my budget bed for the night that I just slogged onward!

Tomorrow is expected to start grim but soon to brighten. I'm changing plans again though, as my suggested climb over Pendle Hill would be wet and unwise with a full pack after today's rain, so I shall divert towards Clitheroe instead. We shall see.