Witherslack, quick round

 Friday 27th October 2023 - Witherslack

"The spirit was aloft, I was pulling on my boots"

W.H. Murray, Mountaineering in Scotland

Well old Bill Murray might have enjoyed putting on his boots.

I don't!

It is the worst part of any walk!

The quote heads up my blogging friend's blog, Afoot in the Hills, and I seem to recall asking him if he got the same enjoyment as Mr. Murray and he said he did. I don't infer any criticism, each to his own. I'm pretty sure there are things I enjoy that Afoot and Bill would not.

A belated decision for a walk at about 12:45 finds me bending over, huffing snd puffing and then moving to another location to get boot and foot onto a higher position. Then I struggle because my trousers obscure sight of the laces and I am working blind trying to notch the laces into those awkward, but so effective hooky things. At last it is done, I could hardly say my "spirit was aloft."

It's only twenty minutes on the A590 to Witherslack but I find an endless line of cones with traffic diverting me in unfamiliar fashion and I miss the turn off and have to drive a kilometre further to the roundabout and another kilometre back.

At last I park in a friendly little lay-by just past the church at Witherslack, disembark, don rucksack and grab poles and lock the car. Now I sense spirits lifting. 

If I walk from home I don't carry my walking poles. I think that is because I see a local walk as something inconsequential, and also I am mildly concerned that fellow villagers  may perceive me as even more doddery and ancient than I really am. That of course is illogical - on  backpacking trips I am walking through somebody else's "inconsequential" locality in just the same way as I do at home. Feeling self conscious, if I am in a populated residential area I carry the sticks rather than use them.

Today however I have plotted a route on previously unexplored paths and have an overestimated vision of more demanding territory and challenging terrain. In my heart, having studied the map and knowing the locale in general I know that is unlikely, but it is good to dream now and then and the poles win the day.

Steep climbing through birch, hazel and mixed broadleaf woodland with the pleasing musky hint of autumn makes for a start which has me now thankful for the poles, but with my breathlessness I have to climb with tiny steps maintaining progress but in ultra low gear like the spring on a clock unwinding oh so slowly.

Eventually I top out onto more open heathland and then the land drops steeply with a sort of exaggerated 3D view through a skeleton of bare tress to the distant Kent estuary and Arnside Knott. I drop down and follow a muddy track to Nether Hall farm, yes, we are now definitely back in the muddy season. I come across the farmer's dsughter and her three year old girl and she directs me on the footpath through the farm in cheery fashion and I remark on the tidiness of this farm and she says she will pass that on to her dad.

My route brings me out onto the still cone-stricken A590 at the filling station. From my study of the map it is not possible to tell if a short  hundred yard stretch of the A 590 to gain a minor track leading off can be negotiated, but all is well.

A much overgrown path continues and I take meticulous care mot to have any brambles wrapping round my ankles - I am currently on yet another session with my GP's nurse having a previous wound dressed - they seem to be so slow to heal on that part of my legs.

Back at the car I look again at the fuel gauge which I has been approaching zero for a while and I have a debate with myself whether to go and fill up at Milnthorpe on the way back. That is another irksome task akin to putting on the boots, however it has to be done, telling muself that I will have the reward of uplifted spirit when I remove my boots back home.

Footpath links

I have just been reading about the Labour Party’s discussion on the possibility of RIGHT TO ROAM in England. If you ferret around on the Internet there is much to read and I must admit to not having studied that in great depth. I emphasise that I am not taking any political stance whatsoever at this point. I think the whole question including Right to Roam, national trails and public footpaths and rights of way needs looking at as a whole 

As most of my readers know I have done many long distance walks in England, some on national trails and others of my own devising linking  together existing public rights of way. One example of many was walking  from Blackpool across to the East Coast on a straight line. There are occasions when it is not possible to continue a section on pubic rights of way and one is forced to walk on hazardous roads. See the map below:

As well as road by-pass links there are many examples where construction of crossings for rivers, railway lines and motorways could make the devising of personsl routes much more practical.

It would be  beneficial  if more permissive paths could be negotiated with landowners to link such examples with footpaths and/or cycleways. Ideally we would need an organised quango with people experienced in negotiating and with outdoor interests supplied with relevant examples for negotiation fed to them by walkers and their various organisations such as the Ramblers Club and the Long Distance Walkers Association. 

My own opinion is that it would be better spending that way than trying to create new designated national trails or going for the wholesale Right to Roam.

Creation of more designated national trails is not (in my opinion) such a good thing;Take the example of the Scottish North 500. If you read the last couple of posts on Ruth's ongoing walk round our coast that would seem to have developed into some kind of rat-run, even more so because as well as cyclists it includes car drivers and motor cyclists, and  some  of them now treat it as a record speed challenge. 

CLICK HERE 

Better to leave walkers and cyclists to devise their own long distance walks to suit their individual preferences thereby taking pressure off existing designated routes. Having said that I do like the idea of a continuous right of way being established round the whole of our coastline  - I know much progress has been made on that one. I believe the final section of a Land's End John o' Groats walk that would include plodding up the A9 in peril has now been blessed with a coastal alternative, an excellent example of what I am advocating here. 

Exploration innate?

 Tuesday 17th October 2023

I have rewritten my effort from the previous post:

Exploration innate?

Mankind’s ascendancy achieves the moon walk and the atom split.

I too have that inborn urge, but less ambitious mine.

An unexplored tarn, nearer home than moon.

Those sapient genes dictate. I must explore. 

Impasse: bramble,  chest high reed and blocking trees,

No tarn to see.

Those genes accept but take control

Compelling further search beyond.

Distant, a stag lonely in the landscape .

He ambles  as if in thought, to the field end and gate.

He stops. At three field's distance I  hear him think.

Time pauses. He shuffles back . His haunches gently lower.

As  if weightless  he floats over the defenceless gate .

The gate now lifeless and insignificant below.

I watch him  on his thoughtful way, five minutes or so,

And wonder what  innate impulse drives HIM on his way?

We humans, (and perhaps my stag,) aspire for knowledge,

And by chance, along the way receive gratuitous rewards.

Awareness

Sunday 19th October 2023

Following from my previous post I have the motivation or impulse to versify but unfortunately not the skills for scansion or rhyme.

Awareness

Mankind’s ascendancy achieves the moon walk and the atom split.

Also for me that curiosity, but less ambitious mine.

A modest unexplored tarn (on the map) not far from home.

Those sapient genes dictate I must explore. 

Impasse: bramble,  chest high reed and blocking trees,

No tarn to see.

My avidity for nature accepts,

Suggests searching further and beyond.

Distant in the landscape a lonely stag.

He ambles  patiently, as if in thought, to the field end and a gate.

He stops. Even at three field's distance I seem to hear him think.

Time pauses. He backs up a little. His haunches gently lower.

Smoothly, as if weightless in space, 

He floats above the gate now inert below like an insignificant ghost.

I watch him continue on his thoughtful way, five minutes or so,

And wonder what  impulse innate drives HIM on his way?

We humans, and perhaps the stag, aspire for knowledge,

And by chance, along the way receive gratuitous rewards.

A near miss?

 12th October 2023 - Helton Tarn. Witherslack

Helton Tarn! A venue on private land I have intended to visit for ages, albeit only a short diversion from a public footpath.

After a morning of faffing at home off I drove the twenty minutes to Witherslack, and parked just beyond the church.

 I was off on foot by11:50 with blue sky and a nip in the air, and quiet road walking for starters, except I was nearly "mown" down by a tractor cutting grass verges. After a bit of road it was onto a track and field paths.

Off and on I could hear another tractor in the distance, and every so often the sound of quarried limestone being tipped into a wagon somewhere hidden  in the woods a mile or so away I guessed, and once a  helicopter, noisy as it battled against the wind, and later less noisy as it returned downwind. In between I "heard" silence and enjoyed the tranquility surrounded by hills with speculation for future ridge walks, and closer, vibrant green  pasture dotted with white limestone outcrops.  One of the outcrops provided perfect seating for a sandwich stop. Before that I had taken the diversion from the footpath to a point where I had hoped, from the limited information on the map, I would be able to view Helton Tarn. That hope was squelched. That end of the tarn was surrounded by trees growing out of shoulder high marsh grass, brambles and swamp underfoot - quite impenetrable and no sight of the tarn, and so my thoughst of a walk enhanced with an objective were extinguished so I continued round the perimeter of the field to avoid a flock of sheep at peace in the centre. The next field was traversed for only about thirty yards but I was followed by three or four young cows ambling gently motivated by their innate curiosity. They appeared a bit put out as I looked back at them watching me close the gate to exit their field. 

 Whilst munching my prawn and mayo sandwich I spotted a deer about three fields away. He was a decent sized stag walking slowly. He came to the corner of a field and a gate. I could see him weighing up this supposed impasse then he went briefly into reverse and took a leisurely leap over the gate. I watched him for another five minutes or so making his lonely way slowly across the landscape.

A pleassnt trip through a mature wood followed after my lunch stop.  A sign at the entrance said "Conservation Area" with warnings to stick to the footpath and keep dogs on leads. In my opinion the word conservation was a euphemism for extermination of everything else in favour of the pheasants evidenced by those blue plastic feeding butts scattered throughout the wood.

Back out onto a narrow minor road I had another couple of moments of potential annihilation by tractors. Just before branching off the road from a slightly elevated position I managed to get a photo of a thin sliver of Helton Tarn marginally highlighted by the sun which you may see if you look very carefully at the photo below. Whether I can say if my objective was achieved or not is of no matter, I had experienced a period of pleasurable solace away from the happenings in the Big Wide World. 

A pleasant green path followed the river Winster, the outflow from the tarn, down to more roads and a track back to Witherslack church and my car. 

Just off from the car

Leaving the tarmac

This and below - the nearest I got to Helton Tarn.

Reminds me of a first edition of Edmund Peary's book I bought: Furthest North,  thinking I'd got a bargain until the contents listed the frontispiece: "Colour photo of Peary planting the flag at The Furthest North." The photo was missing from the book!

The cows looking fed up as they watched me closing the gate

Crossing the River Winster upstream of Helton Tarn

The deer. This photo is on the full but limited zoom of my Olympus TG6 Tough and below the deer enlarged from that photo. Goodness knows how many times the deer is actually enlarged but it is a tribute to these modern cameras.

Entering the "Conservation Area (crime scene) wood

Mission accomplished?

Start and finish, Witherslack Church, bottom right.anti-clockwise.

Scout Hill with BC

 Sunday 8th October 2023

Let somebody else plot a route on your patch and even though you think you have walked every footpath in that domain you may be surprised, Bowland Climber plotted this one and had me on various paths and lanes new to me, although there were places I had visited before but forgotten about until I recognised certain features. 

The cil-de-sac lane just off the A65 out of Crooklands provided parking just beyond majestic beech trees lining the lane. Our walk started here. There were extensive excavations for new mains water pipes but thankfully all was peace: "Never on a Sunday?

"We crossed the A65 to the Hideaway café, a venue I have used in the past on walks with Pete - they have now made a well equipped children's playground to the rear. Footpaths leading from the café across fields, surprisingly not waterlogged, gave us views  back to Café Ambio and the livestock auction where my Thursday walks with Pete have finished over the last few years. Farleton Fell dominated ahead. The flanks of that fell are cloaked in bracken snd gorse intermingled with white limestone outcrops and with the sun shining it provides a remarkable contrasting view against the surrounding countryside. Unfortunately that was not the case on this dingy day when we have not quite transitioned into autumn proper.

At Nook Bridge we crossed the River Bela, a good trout stream, the rights being held by a limited membership angling club. Paths from here followed the river for a while before swinging south to Aikbamk Farm. Here extensive renovation is afoot with classy stonework incorporating a courtyard with stone built barbecue and fireplace enclosed by what will be holiday cottages. The old farmhouse was visible in the background covered in that glowing, orangy red Virginia Creeper, an early sign of the vibrant colours of autumn to come.

Over recent years we have noticed many more isolated country farm properties being converted to holiday lets, a sign of the times with more people holidaying here because of climate change, Brexit complications, disrupted air travel, pandemic fears and more.

We crossed the River Bela again by a well constructed wooden bridge alongside an old ford and an idyllic picnic spot. As far as we could tell the main bridge construction was based on two very long continuous lengths of timber, they could have provided masts for HMS Victory in times past. A short climb took us to the A65 again between Dorothy Witghtman's and the Plough Inn. At the former I guess you could spend plenty on exclusive interior design for your luxury Grand Design or your second home in the heart of the Yorkshire Dales. You could then walk ia few yards to the Plough Inn where I understand fine dining would have you part with more of your well heeled income, and then you may round off the day with an overnight in one of their individual pamper rooms:

"Choose from one of our six individually designed rooms. Each one is kitted out with Aslotel toiletries, fluffy towels and lush dressing gowns and as for our bathtubs…"

Dorothy Wightman 

The Plough

We crossed the A65  with some peril leaving behind that oasis of luxury and climbed humbly up steep tarmac. A broken gate was spotted with its break tied up with the ubiquitous hairy orange string I am always ranting about - I reckon the farmer must have been somewhat challenged in the skills of knotting - see the photo below. Before the tarmac morphed into bridleway we came across yet another diversified farm albeit they have been running Crabtree Clay Shoot for many years. Now they seemed to be active in building infrastructure for holiday cabins. They have a good website and it may be an idea to circulate all those murdering bird killers with details. Surely this kind of shooting would provide as good a pass-time as the bird genocide with the advantage of more or less social acceptance. 

"Crabtree Clay Shoot is a family run shooting ground (father and sons; Edward, Derek and Jonty) and we’ve been running the Crabtree Clay Shoot for over 20 years. When we first made the move to diversify our scenic farmland in the southern Lake District, we began a friendly shoot with only one automatic trap, 2 traditional manual traps and a whole lot of enthusiasm. Now, Crabtree Clay Shoot has over 60 automatic traps over 18 English Sporting stands, as well as undercover Compac and DTL/ABT ranges. We welcome shooters on Wednesdays and Saturdays to join us at the shoot."

Crabtree Clay Shoot 

BC told me, in consideration of my possible breathless disintegration, it had crossed his mind to pop up to the summit on his own while I waited, a quick fifteen minutes there and back (he thought.) As it turned out I was ok, although I did take that ascent so slowly with many rests. We have both done our share of walking and know all about hill summits that are guarded by endless false horizons but this was something else largely because the distance on the map looking so trivial, and also the terrain was an endless series of dips, hollows and climbs which the contours on the OS map gave mo indiction of whatsoever. It was as though a giant had come from above and used that two finger scrolling method to enlarge your phone photo expanding the land into a massive enlarged area like an all encompassing monster popadom. I think it took us about three-quarters of an hour to get to the trig from the bridleway. BC had gleaned the existence of a standing stone not shown on the OS map but it was visible across another series of troughs and lumps. "A stone is a stone is a stone" I thought. OK, it was standing but there there was no indication of it having been sculpted or inscribed. From here it was downhill most of the way back on a track and then narrow grass-in-the-midle tarmac lanes. At one point I was taken by surprise as I recognised the spot where I had parked my car on my original ascent of Scout Hill a couple of years ago.

BC's car parked and we two ready for off down that lane dodging the silent roadworks.

The mature beech trees that welcomed us down the lane

Farleton Fell. No yellow gorse or golden brown bracken today but worth a revisit when weather obliges

Junction 36 Livestock auction mart incorporating Café Ambio

Distant Scout Hill, our objective

Aikbank Farm - yet more diversification into holiday cottages.
Impressive stonework here.

Modern refurbishment with the old farmhouse keeping an eye on proceedings

Bridge over the Bela. A heck of a long span for one piece of timber

The Plough Inn on the A65

BC about to launch himself across the A65 at the same time as taking a photo 

More holiday accommodation being constructed here, and below

Now on open land on the long ascent to Scout Hill

The trig is off to the right across more troughs, humps and bumps

The "standing stone"
Endmoor in the distance

Tarnhouse Tarn and unusual sort of parkland

My son Will said he liked the more distant horse "frolicking" in the background