25 August 2016 - Brylea Caravan Park, Lea, near Preston, Lancashire

The end of a perfect day despite the imperfect weather! Today was our last touring day about the Preston area and tagged for the Forest of Bowland. Here the word “forest” is used in its historical sense, as “a royal hunting ground” and accepting that, it comes as no surprise that the area is a mix of parks, remote fells and farmland.

Here the word “fell” has suggested a peak and an area of special features, so a little more research revealed the following: “A fell” is derived from the Old Norse work for “mountain”, and is a high and barren landscape feature, such as a mountain range or moor covered hills. With such a wide reaching meaning, it is appropriate to be used in its various interpretations here in the Forest of Bowland.

The Forest of Bowland is an area of barren gritstone fells, deep valleys and peat moorland, mostly in north-east Lancashire with a small part falling over the North Yorkshire boundary. It was designated an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty (AONB) in 1964, and covers the area explored yesterday through to that driven today. 

We started with a visit to the Beacon Fell Country Park, one of the first country parks in England. The Countryside Act was passed in 1968, and Beacon Fell was graced with its title two years later. The park covers an area of 271 acres of woodland, moorland and farmland, the summit at 266 metres ASL. Apparently from the summit, one has amazing views of the entire forest and west to Morecombe Bay, including a little to the south west, Blackpool Tower, but not today.

In fact the name of the summit, Beacon Fell, offers explanation to its past history. This was once part of a chain of beacons giving early warning of such dangers as the Spanish Armada.

It was clear soon after we left Preston that visibility was not optimal, and we left ourselves open to tour abandonment given the weather conditions. While the forecast was only for cloudy conditions, those clouds sat low over the peaks and threatened to spoil any planned sightseeing.

Spruce woodland at Beacon Fell

We arrived at the park mid-morning, the café and facilities already open to the public. Parking for the day or just an hour costs £1, a fee that no longer causes us to flicker an eyelid. We set off around the perimeter of the park, rather than climb the track to the summit. Our own trail took us through tall stands of spruce along well established paths, but so very muddy today. Beyond the woods, the path passed through open boggy slopes of heather, nettles and blackberries. The heather was glorious in purple bloom, the nettles ever aggressive and the blackberries not quite ripe but still too luscious to ignore. Our hour long walk took us past rather hideous sculptures and quiet tarns, where we learned curious facts about damsel-flies, the most interesting that the nymph or larvae, which hatches from the egg, can take as long as five years to evolve into the adult dragon or damsel-fly, depending on the species and climate. Today none of the many species listed and illustrated on the descriptive panel were out and about, and why would they be, when they could take the day off?

Back at the car park, we sat in the car reading the newspaper picked up en route, hoping the clouds would lift. We lingered over our lunch but still the “mountain” remained in obscurity. There was no point in waiting; it seemed unlikely that any views from the summit would be offered today.

Near Whitewell

Plan B suggested we should just head home rather than drive miles and miles through the Forest of Bowland seeing little beyond the roadside immediately before us, however we decided to take a punt with Plan A. And so we set off, firstly heading for the charming village of Chipping not too far from the Longridge Fells we had travelled yesterday. There we headed north through even more lovely countryside upriver of the River Hodder, and on to Dunsop Bridge, even more charming. 
The village sits at the confluence of the River Dunsop and the River Hodder, named for the two simple bridges which span the river. I was sorry to hear that this very beautiful spot was in the mid-19^th century, the location of a lead mine.

We continued on, now eastward to lovely Newton-in-Bowland, then steeply north to Slaidburn. These place names had been picked up from various guides we had come upon, hence required some sort of exploration. The road from Slaidburn carries on through to a place called Long Preston, however that had not even had a mention, so Slaindurn became the final destination today.  All of the roads had appeared on our map as either wide or narrow white roads, and as such did not warrant a fuzzy green ‘scenic’ notation. It is automatically assumed that any road off the main drag is most likely scenic, steep or a challenge. Giving it a tantalising tag would encourage tourists to take these through routes and make everyone’s journey more complicated than it already is. Today, there were many occasions when it would have been a whole lot easier if we had not met oncoming traffic.

St Andrew's at Slaidburn

We pulled in beside the school at Slaidburn, today devoid of students or elders. We wondered what the roadside must be like when the holidays are over and all the parents line up along the road to collect their little darlings. Perhaps the children here are encouraged to walk home via the “public footpaths” that pass through farmer’s fields rather than along roadsides? 

Scenes at Dunsop Bridge

Immediately next door to the school stands the Church of St Andrew, a surprisingly elaborate church for such an isolated spot. There was a church on the present site in 900 AD, as was recorded in the Doomsday Book. The list of Rectors shows the first to be “Thomas” in 1246.  It has been rebuilt over the centuries and the oldest remaining feature is the 13^th century Tower. Inside the Box Pews are a reminder of the important landowners who resided in the Parish in the past and the floor one wanders about is soft and multi-levelled. 

The most amazing feature to catch my attention was a sign about dog whips which are tucked away for posterity. They were used in the days when dogs were brought to Church by their owners. Dog fights during the service occurred from time to time, and a dog whipper was employed to quell them. The dog whips were both the implement of his employment, and the sign of his office. From 1760 through to 1863, he was paid varying amounts from five shillings to ten shillings per annum. Obviously the English were as potty about their dogs then as they are now.

The first of real raindrops fell here while we checked the cemetery out, as you do, and sent us back to the car. We headed back to Dunsop Bridge where we found a parking spot beyond the Pay and Display parking area. Our arrival coincided with a coachload of English tourists who descended on the PuddleDucks Tearoom cum Post Office and gift shop. Several signs mention that here lies the geographic centre of Great Britain, although this is more correctly at the Whitendale Hanging Stones, seven kilometres north of the village.

The geographical centre of the United Kingdom is a hotly debated subject; whether offshore islands should be included in the equation, and how erosion might muddle the exact calculation. However these comments do serve to help, when you look at a map of the mainland of the United Kingdom and consider how Dunsop Bridge could possibly be the “middle”.

Flowering heather

We left the tourists to their tea and souvenirs and headed north from here following the tributary river north west up through wilder landscapes, up through narrowing gullies, and past high peaks today shrouded in rain mist, but with their lower slopes dressed in purple heather, bracken and brilliant green moss. Sheep wandered about everywhere, their boundaries cattle stops located along the public roadway. At one point we came upon a small flock of young pheasants, one separating off from the rest. We stopped and I shepherded them to safety, or more correctly, frightened them off in one low flying swoop into the bog lands. The countryside we passed through was stunningly beautiful, and we could not believe that we had simply happened upon this in such a random manner.

Descending from the elevated land, we emerged near the M6, and joined it near Galgate, halfway between Preston and Lancaster. Looking back toward the direction we had come, it was hard to believe that the rain shrouded hills could hide such scenic treasures.

Back in Preston we topped up with diesel and groceries, ready for tomorrow’s departure. As we pulled into the camp we noted that the Bank Holiday campers had already arrived. The road tomorrow will be busy with those who did not start a day or two early.