Brock Mill

The road up to Beacon Fell from the Brock Bottoms picnic site car park, was quite a long uphill trek. The sun was in hiding thankfully.

On reaching the tee junction at the top of the hill, we cross a stile, to enter a field of long wet grass. Part way up Beacon Fell we enter a small but very dark wood.

        Paddy looks like he's seen a ghost in there👻, but perhaps it's just breathlessness.

                                        The path gets steeper as we carry on up.

Arriving at the picnic area, Mike offers to reward us by buying us all a drink from the cafe.

By ech Mike! That's brought a smile to their faces 😊. Martin has joined us for our sojourn. A large party of primary school children from Blackpool, liven up our stay with their excited chatter.

One of several sculptures we passed on our way up to the summit. If summit is not too extravagant a word.

Martin has walked up to the trig point with us. After a group photograph, we leave him chatting to a couple from Garstang, while the rest of us follow a path down the opposite side of the fell towards Bleasdale.

                                 More sculptures present themselves on our way down.

                            Continuing down on a broad disabled friendly path.

                        A house at the bottom of the fell has a charming duck pond.

           Wild foxgloves in full bloom are to be seen in several places along the wayside.

Anthony has discovered a short cut to Wadacre scout camp, but the path has been little used of late, evident by the long wet grass we had to wade through.

  Having entered a wood, a more well used path leads us downhill to the river Brock. Here's Mike hiding ostrich like behind his mobile.

Tummies are rumbling as we cross the bridge, to follow the river downstream to Wadacre for a belated dinner stop.

                              Masses of buttercups were a feature of today's walk.

As we enter the camp we pass through the large activities area where the scouts indulge in archery and shooting etc. We then come to two long flights of steps that lead up to the camp proper, where Martin is waiting to join us for dinner.

           A few tents are pitched on the field, but there doesn't appear to be anyone around.

There must be someone around, as the door to this building is wide open, but if there is anyone here, they are not making themselves known. Vic, being Vic goes into the building to have a look round, but doesn't find anyone??!

Off on our way again, we do a detour through a farm, which avoids a notoriously swampy area, that Anthony remembers from his scouting days, when he used to camp at Wadacre.

The path alongside the river was well made, any muddy or unstable parts having been boarded over.

Arriving back at Brock Mill, and the picnic site, the sun is just starting to break through.
And so back to our cars and the short journey home. Thanks for another good walk Anthony.
DK

 

Brock Mill

 MILES of STILES  5.5 Miles

STILE-ISTICS :- Anthony, Paddy, Vic, Mike

                           John W, Danny, Martin.

Our ageing band are becoming increasingly convinced that stiles are getting higher and more wobbly with  every year that passes.

For once every arrived at our meeting point (Brock Mill Picnic Spot) on time.  Off we went on what proved to a short , excellent but at times quite a challenging walk .

A stiff climb out of the Brock valley as we followed  White Lee Lane towards Beacon Fell. A right turn as we arrived at Bleasdale Lane and then had to climb the day's first stile .

Vic needs a little "Back Up" to get over the first of several awkward stiles. Once over,  the first field was relatively horizontal .

Once over the second stile ( actually a bridge ) we were faced with quite a steep slope rising up through a patch of woodland.

Look closely.  Here is Paddy emerging from a dark stretch of woodland

After the wood the slope became steeper and we stopped several times to "Admire the View" ( Euphemism ? ) 

Just as last week,  over our heads,  a buzzard soared and hovered calling out with it's unmistakable cry.

I feel I must point out that whilst "Beacon Fell" may be little more than a pimple In Lancashire's panoply of hill's and fells anything more than a humpbacked bridge over a canal presents a challenge to our ageing crew. (Desperate Dan being an exception)

To continue.........

Nearing the top of the slope is a memorial stone to Beacon Fells first appointed Warden.

At last our happy (now) bunch arrive at horizontal ground. 

This looks like a promo shot from the film "Reservoir Dogs".

...... and then the rewards for our efforts........ a CAFE !

And even better Martin joins us for brew time 😀

Beacon fell was relatively quiet except  for an exuberant bunch of kids from a school in Blackpool. ( this is what "Proper" education should be about)

Brew time over and we  endure (hardly) another climb to reach the trig point at the top of the fell.

As we walk up through the woods one of our members poses next to a large wild creature,     Yes, Yes, I hear the question "Which is which ?"

Through the woods other sculptures add interest to the walk.

There is always an owl, They seem to be a favourite subject for woodland sculptors.

When we arrived at the trig. point a friendly couple passing by offered to take a group photo. Offer accepted !

From here several paths led down towards the Brock Valley and Waddecar Scout Camp where several of us had spent happy hours as young "Brussel Sprouts" On our way down we passed another sculpture   (of an iguana ?) This one was entirely embedded with coins hammered in by passing ramblers.

Dropping down the side of the fell the larger range of Bowland fells filled the horizon. Not that we could see them in their entirety. Mist shrouded their tops. Parlick being a prime example.

Can you "Not" see the fells on the horizon ?  And there's Parlick to our right.  Bringing back memories of a TV series "The Trollenberg Terror" (you have to be of an age !)

As we walked on towards Waddecar we passed a rather swish residence...

With a duckpond in the front garden.

and chatted briefly with a bunch of friendly young cows.

Our way down to Waddecar was often heavily wooded with some small but  deeply incised valleys.

When we arrived at Waddecar campsite we were greeted by another "Mountain".   100 steep steps 😢

LUNCH TIME !

How many "Old F---s" can you fit in a red telephone box. Again you have to be of a certain age to remember that "Craze"  Sorry any youngsters who are actually reading this.

 Leaving Waddecar we now headed back to the river Brock to walk back to our cars.

"This darksome burn a horseback brown

His roll rock highroad roaring down" 

The opening lines from "INVERSNAID" by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Hardly roaring but lots of rolled rocks.

As we arrived at Brock mill the lady who lived at the old mill happily chatted to us about it and the new parts such as the rather smart  balcony cum Gallery.

Notice they still have the old Mill Wheels.

Then as we finally arrived at the car park we were greeted by rather a charming scene,

THE END

JW