Cherry Tree to Darwen

I’d bought my ticket to Darwen and was on the railway platform before I realised that my Bakelite mobile hadn’t picked up the message about the group walk being called off because of train cancellations.

So I went for a walk anyway. I didn’t have a map but I did have my ipad, the OS app and perhaps enough charge to keep me on the right track. I decided the best route under the circumstances was to get off at Cherry Tree station and follow the Witton Weavers Way to Darwen station.

It looked fine on the app, but an enormous housing estate is under construction between Cherry Tree and the motorway, so I lost my path and followed another one that had been severely narrowed by the construction fence. Then a grim, muddy path sandwiched between the motorway and the kind of farm that is more like a dump.

And then all of a sudden I was enjoying myself. A stile into a little wood, a few streams and a little lane of old houses and all was right with the world. I walked up to Jubilee Tower on Darwen Hill, thinking about parallels between various jubilee towers and Bismarcktürme and wondering how much windier it could get. And then down into Darwen with thoughts of the heavy footprint of Victorian industry around this moorland – the chimneys, the factories, the reservoirs, the grand civic buildings, the ex-quarries turned into public parks, the terraces.

Reflecting on my day afterwards, I thought how appropriate it was that I’d followed the advice of that great Victorian sage, Mr Sleary, and made the “betht” of things.

Hartley Fell

Continuing yesterday’s spirit of being sensible, I decided to walk towards (or even to) Nine Standards on Hartley Fell and back the same way, prepared to turn round if the path was too awful. I could see the stone piles on the skyline as I started up the bridlepath, and it seemed doable.

I almost baulked at a ford but found it manageable. My nemesis was the bridge close to the stones: it was under water and there was no other way without getting waterlogged boots. Since I was finding the walk a bit samey – a long trudge up on bare moorland into increasingly strong winds – I didn’t mind admitting defeat. I found a quiet spot to eat a banana and admire the view and then turned round. I think I saw a barn owl on the way down.

Smardale

I’ve come to Kirkby Stephen to walk, and walk I shall – despite yesterday’s grim storm and today’s wind. Smardale was the sensible option: minor roads and low levels with the guarantee of a really satisfying view of the old railway viaduct. I set off after a breakfast so big that I didn’t bother to stop to eat en route and had an enjoyable day. I saw a red squirrel beside the old railway line and I disturbed a bird in the heather – black with its eye outlined in white, so I’m guessing a black grouse without its mating plumage.

The bare dog rose thorn reminded me of the potential harshness of winter. It’s hard to think of its bleakness when one is used to central heating and filled supermarket shelves.

Grange to Cark

Too sunny a day not to go out, so I caught the train to Grange-over-Sands and walked up Hampsfell. Then I looped down to Cark via Beck Side and the woods above Cartmel. Lovely colours in the slanting sunshine: gorse, holly berries, leaves (of course). Plenty of mud too. I lost my way a little a couple of times, but I’ve learned not to stray too far without checking.

The walk was not without its unnerving moments:

(Had I been brave, I would have photographed the cow before I’d safely gone past it.)

Dalemain House

I caught the bus to Rheged (and, as I got off four minutes later, wondered why I’d bothered) and walked to Dalemain House. A pele tower and Georgian house in one, so it was interesting to pass from one era to another on the guided tour of the house. (But, my goodness, it was cold inside!) We moved backwards in time, from Chinese rooms and symmetry to a Tudor plasterwork ceiling, and finally the hall with an enormous fireplace. The last buyer of the house was Edward Hasell in 1679; he was a former steward to the ubiquitous Lady Anne Clifford.

I walked back – snubbing the bus – past Rheged, once the quarry that had supplied some of the stone for Dalemain.