WALKERS :- Jim C, James. John W, John R, Martin
Mike, Paddy, Vic, Anthony, Dave.
As many of us, particularly those with grandchildren, have spent far too much money at "Barton Grange" we felt wholly entitled to use their car park for the day.
And here we are leaving said car park.
Weaving our way through several million pounds worth of gleaming Land Rovers (?) we climbed the bridge over the West Coast Mainline rail track.
We stopped briefly to read about the old Barton rail station that had once been here and was now a rather noisy (I would expect) picnic spot.
Leaving the railway behind the path now followed the banks of the river Brock , which was "brownly" in spate.
Noisy again as we passed under the M6 Motorway and arrived at a small footbridge.
The track, now on the other bank, continued to closely follow the river side, passing as it did some delightful riverside dwellings.(Another Frankie Laine moment ? - think famous song !) Soon after we arrived at what for the writer will forever be thought of as John Russell's pool. The pool in which he used to swim as a boy and later brought his children too. No swimming today as the water was rushing in a brown, powerful flood.
Here we are sitting round like a bunch of vagrants "doing" drugs - The drug of choice - "Caffeine".
Liquids imbibed (..and ejected .. ahem ! ) we moved on. Just to the right of the bridge above and across a minor (though busy) road and a "Pinch" stile led us along the bank and around yet another expensive "Des Res.".
The path stuck closely to the river back for perhaps a hundred metres or so before opening out into fields. As it did so we were warned about close contact with accountants "Do they mean me" asked Vic. No Comment.
The warm sun was by now drying the grass soaked by the previous nights very heavy rain and the fields before us sparkled a bright welcome.
Arriving at Walmsley Bridge we turned north to leave the river and search, up the road, for our footpath across the fields. The path leading away from the road was not easy to spot and nor was it easy to access. A small, overgrown bridge held up our progress.
A short distance and then a left turn into another small lane leading us past Claughton School and on to St Thomas Church.
An interesting name "Claughton". There are three in Lancashire that the writer knows of. One pronounced Cl-aff-ton. Another pronounced Cl-aw-ton and the third , this one, pronounced Cl-eye-ton.
The track above led to a steep drop down to the river where we turned upstream in search of a footbridge. We soon found the footbridge and - GUESS WHAT ? - You're right. We took a "Bridge" photo.
Once we had conquered this steep 😉 slope we were on the minor roads again. We followed this for perhaps a mile before once again turning down a country track. Time to guess again dear reader. Guess what was underfoot for the next half mile........ Right again..... MUD !
The afternoon sun filters through the trees as we pass through a short dry stretch in this part of the walk
The ground was never to be dry but we had left the deep sticky mud behind as we took to the open fields again. The water table was obviously millimetres below the surface as we splashed our way through the continuingly soggy fields.
A final gate and then we follow the track that can just be seen on the right of the photo. At the end of the track we had one final field to cross. This was a ploughed field and it was DRY ! Yipee.
We had now arrived back at the "Russell" pool where we had drunk our coffee earlier in the day. We sat again, to finish our flask. Now to our delight we were treated to the spectacle of salmon jumping up the turbulent weir before us.
Leaving the salmon to battle their way upstream we creaked our stiffening legs upright and tramped the last mile back to the cars.
....and then a lovely surprise. Martin's usual ice-cool shandy - Thank You, AND a scrumptious (not a word the writer is fond of but most appropriate) piece of chocolate cake courtesy of Mike whose birthday it had been on Monday. Thanks. What a great finish to a great walk. Thanks to Anthony also for an excellent walk.
(Is there anyone else not thanked ?)
Arriving at Walmsley Bridge we turned north to leave the river and search, up the road, for our footpath across the fields. The path leading away from the road was not easy to spot and nor was it easy to access. A small, overgrown bridge held up our progress.
Queueing to cross a difficult little bridge.
(sorry about the "Flare" on the lens.)
The field beyond had recently been ploughed and the going was not easy. We plodded to the top of this long field only to discover that we had missed the stile which was back down the other side of the field.
Going Up !
Going Down !
Once the stile had been found and surmounted we soon found ourselves once again on the public road.
A short distance and then a left turn into another small lane leading us past Claughton School and on to St Thomas Church.
An interesting name "Claughton". There are three in Lancashire that the writer knows of. One pronounced Cl-aff-ton. Another pronounced Cl-aw-ton and the third , this one, pronounced Cl-eye-ton.
St Thomas Church.
As on a previous visit we chose to have our sandwiches in the church's burial ground this being an obvious choice as plenty of sunlit seating was available.
The Fitzherbert-Brockhall monument
This little friend adorned one of the graves, Before we left we returned her to her perch.
Lunch over we retraced our steps for a few hundred metres before following a well constructed farm track which would eventually, after another brief encounter with the highway, take us back down to the river.
The track above led to a steep drop down to the river where we turned upstream in search of a footbridge. We soon found the footbridge and - GUESS WHAT ? - You're right. We took a "Bridge" photo.
No ! No ! Don't do it. ,, Oh I don't know.... Why not ?. .. Go on then.
They didn't. Spoilsports ! Having crossed the river we faced a steep and rough path up the far bank.
Not only was the path steep and rocky but we had to negotiate a raging torrent as well. Unbelievable !
Footpath or Mudstream ?
As we "Struggled " along this woodland path there was no part of our way forward that was not soft and squelchy mud. Leaving the narrow path only meant sinking deeper into the quagmire. "Just plod on."
The afternoon sun filters through the trees as we pass through a short dry stretch in this part of the walk
The ground was never to be dry but we had left the deep sticky mud behind as we took to the open fields again. The water table was obviously millimetres below the surface as we splashed our way through the continuingly soggy fields.
A final gate and then we follow the track that can just be seen on the right of the photo. At the end of the track we had one final field to cross. This was a ploughed field and it was DRY ! Yipee.
We had now arrived back at the "Russell" pool where we had drunk our coffee earlier in the day. We sat again, to finish our flask. Now to our delight we were treated to the spectacle of salmon jumping up the turbulent weir before us.
This darksome burn a horseback brown
His roll-rock highroad roaring down
In coop and in comb the fleece of his foam
Flutes and low to the lake falls home.
A windpuff bonnet of fawn froth
Turns and twindles over the broth
Of a pool so pitch black fell frowning
It rounds and rounds despair to drowning
Degged with dew and dappled with dew
Are the groins of the braes that the brook treads through
Wiry heathpacks and flitches of fern
and the beadbonnie ash that sits over the burn
Oh what would the world be once bereft
Of wet and of wilderness let them be left
O Let them be left wildness and wet
Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet.
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Leaving the salmon to battle their way upstream we creaked our stiffening legs upright and tramped the last mile back to the cars.
....and then a lovely surprise. Martin's usual ice-cool shandy - Thank You, AND a scrumptious (not a word the writer is fond of but most appropriate) piece of chocolate cake courtesy of Mike whose birthday it had been on Monday. Thanks. What a great finish to a great walk. Thanks to Anthony also for an excellent walk.
(Is there anyone else not thanked ?)
THE END
John R looking vaguely Caledonian
p.s. The title of this weeks report "Is Cullen Badgers Wrong" has no particular significance but is merely a play on words. Cullen = Culling Badger = Brock. No political statement or bias is intended.
Unused Photos :-
Inside St Thomas Church
A spade in a graveyard ? To what exactly does this welcome extend ?
Avoiding puddles was a constant task.
No comments:
Post a Comment