Start: Barley. The car park is usually locked overnight so you will have to park on the main street. Please consider the residents as you make you preparations - especially closing car doors. From the M65 junction 13 take the A682 through Barrowford towards Gisburn. By the White Bear public house turn left into Pasture Lane to the village of Roughlee. At Roughlee turn left then right at the crossroads signed for Barley.

Map by kind permission of the Blackpool Gazette

Fact file: Distance: 6k 4 miles
 Time: 2 hours up and down in addition to the time spent admiring the event.
Summary: This is the classic ascent that attracts hordes of visitors all year around and especially on 31st October. Consideration should be given to householders as you pass farms en route.
Map: OS OL 41 The Forest of Bowland

Weather clear enough to see a sunrise can occur any time of the year. In winter you have to balance the advantage of a shorter day against the likelihood of icy conditions.

Directions: Continue along the main street until you reach a footpath sign on the left almost opposite a chapel. Turn left onto a riverside path. Keep ahead across meadows to reach a footbridge. After crossing it turn left onto a farm drive. Pass the lovely garden of Ing End and the helpfully whitewashed house and then turn right through a metal kissing gate. On a narrow enclosed path make your way up to Ing Head. On reaching its yard turn right and then left to follow a wall up a slight rise. The path then dips down to ford a small brook. From this point the way is unrelentingly up. The path will take you across two large pastures to a gate to the right of Pendle House, a large farmhouse. The way then turns behind it crossing to a wall. From this point the way is steep. After an initial section alongside a wall, the path breaks to the right angling its way across the flank of the hill. There are three consolations as you struggle for breath; the path is neatly stepped, though sharp this way is relatively short and the views are superb. After 10 (15, 20) minutes a wall is reached. Here turn back on yourself to traverse the whaleback summit to reach the trig point 557m above sea level. (1827 feet in old money!) If your calculations are accurate you should reach the trig point a few minutes before the sun appears over the eastern horizon.

 

 

 

Summit to car park. Continue along the ridge. At a large cairn a choice of routes opens up. Either bear left and follow a rocky track down to the wall where you started the sharp upward climb, or bear right to follow a series of smaller cairns into Ogden Clough. This second option offers a more satisfying round. Underfoot the ground becomes peatier as you drop towards Ogden Clough. After a kilometre of gentle descent, the path will cross a stream and then take you sharply down hill to the valley bottom. From here turn left re-crossing the stream. On an improving path enter pasture by a kissing gate. As you descend pass first Upper Ogden Reservoir and then Lower Ogden Reservoir to enter the village almost opposite the car park.
 

 

 

 Andy Burton and Geoff Ashworth checked out the walk for the website. Here's Andy's account of their adventure.

 Pendle Sunrise

"You must be mad!" they said. "You're getting up at what time??" they said. But at 4:30 am that Wednesday morning, Geoff and I met outside the locked gates of Barley Car Park. "Morning, Geoff." "Morning, Andy." We set off through the village in the dark. We'd brought torches, but we didn't need to use them. There was a streetlight or two and by the time we turned up the track by the beck, there was just the faintest hint of light away to the East. Nothing stirred. Not a dog barked. It was cold and there was frost on the path this early in May, as there had been on the cars. We trudged on in the quiet and the gloom. Past the last of the village buildings, through the stile and over to the wooden footbridge, we became  aware of the dark mass of Pendle Hill in front of us.

Twenty minutes later, we passed the last farm and started up the stone steps towards the top, and still nothing much was changing. It was hardly any lighter and there was no sign of the sun. It was still night. Yet there was an expectation of the dawn to come. And the sky was clear.

Gradually we approached the top. It was 5:26 am and suddenly, over to the East, away above the Yorkshire hills, the sun began to rise, the thinnest edge of orange-gold appearing above the horizon. We stopped to watch. And then everything happened so quickly. The edge became a crescent; became a semi-circle, still burning, while above it golden fingers spread horizontally as the sunlight reflected back from under thin layers of cloud. Five short minutes and everything was different. It was light. We'd had nearly an hour of hardly changing twilight and in minutes, the night had disappeared. It was still cold, but we didn't care. It was a moment of magic. Were we mad? Absolutely not.

We continued on to the trig point. Photographic evidence was needed to silence the doubters. Photos of us silhouetted against the sky, photos of the spreading light, photos of the silver-topped Black Moss reservoirs, mirror flat in the windless morning. It was an exhilarating feeling. Many others had no doubt made the same trip and many others would follow. But today, it was us. Today, we were the first. This was our moment.

There was a huge sense of satisfaction as we started down again. And then finally, companions. A young rabbit, oblivious to the pair of us, sitting on the frosted grass enjoying the same moment. Two magnificent Lonk sheep, great horns curled forwards, watching unblinking, unmoved as we walked past. Today, we were invisible. At 6:30 am, a resident of one of the outlying houses setting out with his dogs. "Morning." A grunted reply. Nothing else said. Was he used to strange company at that time of day? Or were we still all but invisible? We carried on.

Not today, but when I'd done this walk a year ago, there had been the magic of an owl watching us from the trees near the beck. It had flown twenty yards to the next tree. We'd followed. It flew on. We'd followed again. Not a sound - not from us, not from the owl. Did it feel threatened? Probably not. Several hundred yards further on and it had had enough, swooping lazily back up the beck behind us to start again and continue its hunting undisturbed.

And so back to the cars. "What are you doing now, Geoff?" "Breakfast, then an hour or two's kip. How about you?" "Oh," I said, "I'm going to work." Now I do know I'm mad.