14th April Saturday: Edward and Gwen are walking the South West Coastal Path as I write this. Usually they backpack but for this enterprise they are taking the soft option of having a baggage carrying service between lodgings. Well as recently created grandparents they are entitled to a bit of luxury.

 

Earlier this week Gwen posted that they had just left Combe Martin and were walking across to Ifracombe in North Devon. What a floodgate of memories that opened for me. I was transported back to 1958 and the remarkable personage of Bill Day.

I knew him as Mr Day of course and apart from my parents, aunts and uncles and teachers he was the most significant adult in my life between 1957 and 1962 when I was a member of the 4th Hendon Company of Life Boys the then junior section of the Boys Brigade. I think Mr Day held the rank of Lieutenant.

 

It is an aspect of our age that I have to explain the Boys Brigade even though as a youth organisation it still boasts 50,000 members in the UK and ½ million world-wide. It was founded in Glasgow in 1883 and was linked firmly in nonconformist Christian values promoting “habits of Obedience, Reverence, Discipline, Self-respect and all that tends towards a true Christian manliness." It seemed to capture the spirit of the late Victorian era with emphasis on uniform and drill and attracted young boys in impressively large numbers – by 1910 it had over 100,000 members in some 2,200 companies. It developed a wide range of recreational activities – gymnastics, band practice, camping and bible study. It pre-date the scouts by 20 years.

 

Many of these elements were still there when I was signed up in the mid-1950s. The Life Boys’ uniform had a naval theme, dark blue tops, lanyards and sailor caps that made excellent Frisbees long before Frisbees were invented.

 

The Life Boys met on Monday evenings at the Hyde Congregational Church Hall on Colin Close, Colindale. Perhaps there would be between 20 – 30 boys under the supervision of Mr day and his wife and one or two other grown up helpers. For the next 90 minutes we would have a programme – uniform inspection, a bit of marching, badge work and physical activity. Most of the company attended my local primary school but as we were close to the boundary between Hendon and Kingsbury there were a few boys from the neighbouring borough including two sons of the Days – Peter and Roger. At the end of the evening we would be lined up and after a short prayer dismissed. We would walk home. Parents didn’t taxi their kids in those days – they didn’t have cars.

Part of set up was the annual camp which I think took place during the Spring Bank half term. In 1958 the 4th Hendon Life Boys Company went from North West London to Combe Martin.

 

Looking back from this point in time the whole idea of the holiday seems remarkable. Some details I have forgotten but I remember a great deal and from what I recall at least fill in some gaps. When I consider the logistics my guess is that Bill Day and his wife would have had to make all the arrangements by letter supplemented by the odd telephone call. The journey to the resort was involved to state the least – from Hendon to Paddington maybe by tube, Paddington to Exeter by steam locomotive, Exeter to Ifracombe on a branch line train, Ifracombe to Combe Martin by a hired coach. Not only this but I surmise the Days and their helpers were carting the provisions needed to sustain themselves and perhaps 15 – 20 boys for the length of time we were there.

I cannot remember how long the holiday lasted I guess 4 or 5 nights but we were accommodated in a church hall, fed breakfast and tea with packed lunches thrown in, had a programme of activities during the day – games, treasure hunts, walks and bathing – and after the evening meal were entertained by Bill and the leaders. One of Bill’s special talents was to create and then act in age appropriate humorous sketches which we boys enjoyed enormously. There was a tuck shop – an essential element of the experience. Later in the evening we gathered for a concluding prayer and we would settle down for the night sleep punctuated by the sound of tinkles as boys got up to wee in a large bucket that was the communal urinal.

Once on a return to my parents I bumped into Bill then a grandparent and told him of my memories of the Combe Martin holiday. “And to you know what?” he asked as he warmed to the subject, “The whole holiday cost you less than £5!”

That seems remarkable but wasn’t the most remarkable aspect of my childhood experience. What is remarkable that Bill and his wife and their helpers willingly, lovingly dedicated hours of their time to provide young people – children – with positive and life enhancing opportunities and a solid foundation as we grew up. I am eternally grateful to them.

2nd April 2018 Easter Monday. I expect my loyal readers - if I have any left - might have thought I've got lost! Well…

 

"David - I'M LOST!" This on Wednesday of last week when I was checking out a walk from the Highwayman, at Nether Burrow.

It had started so well.

 

For the past five years David and I have had a professional relationship with Ribble Valley Inns part of the Northcote Group - Northcote being the prestigious hotel close to Langho on the A59 and AA Hotel of the Year 2016/17 if I'm allowed to bask in reflected glory. The first project was a booklet of walks "Go Walking" detailing routes from each of the pubs in the group which was published in 2013. When we came to update this two years later we were asked to put together a booklet of walks for the hotel as well. It is fair to state that RVIs were pleased with the results and asked us to organise a guided walk programme from each of the pubs in autumn 2015. These too worked well though the range of possible routes is limited.

Take the Three Fishes RVIs at Great Mitton flagship pub. Here any route entails a degree of road walking - tolerable for a small group, stressful when leading a large group. While the Hodder at Stonyhurst is in range, the road walk to access it is awkward to say the least. Preferable is to pick up the Ribble Way and walk to Edisford Bridge

 

but this still has to use ½ mile of tarmac.

The best pub in the group for choice of routes with little road walking is the Clog and Billycock at Pleasington.

 

Before RVIs took over the running of this pub it had a chequered past including a period of closure. Now it is a thriving country restaurant that draws a lot of people to its out of the way location. Its merits as a walking centre become obvious when you look at the OS map with the Witton Weavers Way to the south and a footpath opposite the pub that allows exploration of the pastoral landscape to the north.

The Bull at Broughton is conveniently situated on the A59 just outside Skipton but with regards leading walks the A59 creates a problem in that it would be dangerous to direct a group across it. David and I have never tried. To it becomes a matter of Hobson's choice in creating a route that goes around and through the estate of Broughton Hall ancestral hall of the Tempest Family.

 

The limitation in routes is more than made up with the historical interest of the area and over the past three years we have established a good relationship with the estate office. However with regards to guided walks it is a simple choice - clockwise or anti-clockwise.

We had always regarded that the Highwayman at Nether Burrow offered a similar choice - clockwise along Beck to Cowan Bridge or reverse with minor variations. Yet looking at the map again prompted by a new commission to update the "Go Walking" booklet and organise a new season of guided walks I spotted another possibility which I thought worth exploring - following a bridleway that cut across to Cantsfield on the A683. This was the route David and I set out to investigate last week.

 

Calling in at the Highwayman we reported in to assistant manager Lauren - yet another of the ridiculously young team that RVIs seem to attract. "We'll be back for lunch between 1.15 and 1.30," I rashly predicted. I set out on foot - David headed to Tunstall church by car as he has mobility problems with an Achilles tendon.

It was a lovely morning - almost spring-like after the unseasonably cold snaps we've had lately. Tunstall Church's tower made a perfect reference point and as a bonus the church was open too.

 

We could see that this might be a good stop on a walk with a number interesting features to point out. I headed on to the next rendezvous at Cantsfield. Once again the wayfinding was easy and unproblematic.

From Cantsfield the track was marked on the OS map with green dots meaning "other routes with public access". On the ground it was relatively easy to follow leading to the second of two isolated barns where I had to execute a turn taking me back to Tunstall Church. At the barn I found a gate

 

with the expected waymark and headed along the track. As there were no other rights of way marked on the map I knew this was the path I had to take.

Slightly puzzled by an unexpected kink in a path that should have been straight I persisted along a track that led up to a bungalow with an outfield of caravans. "Odd" I thought. Not entirely sure I knew I was looking for a footpath that cut a corner and shortly after found one edging round a large farm. Ignoring the fact that there was no large farm marked on my map I certainly had a path that cut a corner

 

and followed it across a beck as I had expected and into a large field where it at last dawned on me I hadn't a clue where I was.

This was when I phoned David. "David - I'M Lost!" not that he was in a position to help me. My map was a print off of the route and while I'm of a habit taking a full OS map as back up I hadn't on this occasion. Neither had I brought a compass. I do not have a GPS and my phone is distinctly unsmart. I rang off telling him I would make inquiries at the farm. I was completely flummoxed

I went back to the farm and located a householder who might give me direction. He seemed surprised that I was trying to reach Tunstall but didn't know how to get there on foot. His neighbour did but what he said did not fit in with my usually reliable spatial impression of an area. Only afterwards did I come to understand what he told me was right. That was after I made a completely stupid decision. Finding myself retracing my steps I decided to branch off and head cross country in the hope of locating somewhere that could give me a fix on my position. As a consequence I had complicated my predicament considerably because not only did I have no idea of where I was I now found myself clambering fences and gates, fording streams and negotiating marshland in an alien landscape.

 

Meanwhile David could do little but wait it out while I tried to sort it out. When he phoned for an update I told him I must be heading in vaguely the right direction as I had the hills of the Yorkshire Dales to my right and the Lune Valley to my left - at least I knew that much.

A building came in sight ahead which I reasoned must be somewhere I made it my target and soon after some distance to its left I saw a silver car. "David can you see me?" I asked. It was him. A short while later we headed for the Highwayman and the inquest.

When David had pulled the map onto his notebook it took a while to work out my error. It was at the barn. "Did you pass the barn on your right?" "No on my left. David there was a waymark there so I just assumed it was the right way."

 

It is hardly exoneration - I was fortunate it did not point in the direction of a cliff edge!

 

After lunch David, whose patience seems limitless in these situations kindly agreed to return to the church so I could recce the part of the route I should have taken in the morning.

Looking back it had been a salutary lesson. My first error (helped by the carelessness of a council employee) was to mis-read the map and make it conform to what I wanted to believe - a belief so strong it over-ruled 50 years of map reading experience. My second error was I failed to get a fix on my position when I had the opportunity at the farm - Collingholme as it turned out. My third error was to think I could correct the first two errors by improvising a route from an unknown point back to security. It is disconcerting how quickly the initial confusion led to a kind of panic which interfered with my reasoning and judgement. The lesson learned was a simple one that I heard years ago from the lips of the Tory politician Ken Clarke - "When you're in a hole stop digging!"

19th January 2018 Friday

A pleasant walk on the Fylde close to the radio transmitter station at Inskip.

 

Fact file

Start. Near Chesham House Farm small lay-by on B5269 Preston Road, Crossmoor PR4 3YJ

Distance 1 mile there and back.

Time: 25 minutes

Grade: Impossible

Map: OS Explorer 286 Blackpool & Preston

 

Directions:

From the lay-by continue along the B5269 towards Elswick. After 50yds turn left onto a footpath over a stile embedded in the hedge.

 

Cross the paddock to an awkward stile (lacking steps)

 

and then continue to a field corner. Here too there is another awkward stile (lacking a helpful post.) Now with hedge row on the right traverse the next field to what was a ladder stile. If you are young and athletic or a seasoned limbo dancer you may be able to cross this obstacle which is now an arrangement of timber and of no practical use whatsoever.

 

Otherwise retrace your steps to the lane because for you this walk is over. And this is likely to become your experience on a number of public footpaths and bridleways in the near future unless more local government money is spent on maintaining them.

The footpath described above was one of a number shown to me by Rodney Swarbrick

 

on an outing we went on last week. He took me to four locations where he as a walks organiser had experienced difficulties of such an order that he was unable to use routes on the walks he was planning. On the Glasson arm of the Lancaster Canal he pointed out a concrete block obstructing a bridge over the waterway.

 

This seemed to have been placed there deliberately by the landowner and while could be just about circumvented would undoubtedly deter walkers of a larger girth than myself. Further on at Cock Hall Farm we viewed a stile on the path leading towards Batty Hill. This was a broken ladder stile almost impossible to cross but that was of not much consequence as it was unreachable because the plank bridge spanning the brook just before it had been damaged by winter floods and was no longer serviceable.

 

Near Wharles we checked out a footpath closed in 2013 because of a slurry spillage and seemingly not yet re-opened. Again using it would have been a waste of time as it led to an impassable stile made so by rampant brambles. Rodney explained that this was a problem on another path adjacent to Junction 3 on the M55 motorway. Looking at this in January the bramble problem was in remission but Rodney assured me that in spring and summer you needed to me armed with a machete if you were to descend the flight of steps from the top of the embankment.

 

Again there would be a degree of futility in doing so as further along the path (constrained by an unnecessary barbed wire fence) the stile on the footbridge crossing Medlar Brook is in a poor state of repair.

 

Broadly the maintenance of public rights of way (PRW) rests with the County Council and unitary authorities Blackpool and Blackburn & Darwen which has prompted Rodney to conduct a vigorous one person campaign to notify Lancashire CC of the faults on public footpaths and bridleways highlighting the locations described above.

The seriousness of the problem was a subject of an article in the Lancashire Post last November when Brian Ellis reported that the Ramblers (previously the Ramblers Association) whose local groups endeavour to check the state of public rights of way systematically have recorded a marked deterioration of some footpaths with over 4,500 faults noted last year. This compares with 790 faults in 2010.

 

From Lancashire County Council's side there are questions on how best to deploy dwindling resources to attempt to keep PRW open. The maintenance team which once numbered 17 has been reduced to 10 which explains the upward trend in faults. At the end of March the Countryside Ranger Service will cease to exist. This seems likely to have a profound impact on the quality of amenities in our countryside. In the past this column has praised the work of the service in helping to make the countryside accessible for all with the creation of tramper trials across the county. Initiatives like these will not be possible in future unless priorities change.

My tour with Rodney as a delightful companion he proved to be was a depressing experience. We could see how a vicious circle might be created - footpath faults are not dealt with speedily, walkers become deterred from using footpaths with faults, so why maintain footpaths that no one uses? It is well evidenced that walking is one of the best activities for promoting health and well-being but without good access into Lancashire's beautiful countryside people might be discouraged from trying it.

 

13th December Wednesday: "You're not getting onto this bus with those muddy boots," the driver of Service 172 Bakewell to Matlock informed us as we waited in Bakewell Centre one soft afternoon near the end of last month. His tone was of unnecessary belligerance. He addressed his remarks to John, Ken and me having walked from our accommodation in Winster to Bakewell taking in the Lathkil Hotel for our lunch stop.

"Accommodation" is a vague and broad term that hardly does justice to where we stayed. The last time I stayed in that part of Derbyshire was in a camping barn with Geoff when we walked the Limestone Way over a quarter of a century ago.

 

"Accommodation" in Winster was a different level altogether. Bank House was last on the market for over £1m. It had been the home in the 19th century of the local surgeon. It had six bedrooms nearly all en suite, a huge dining kitchen and three lounges.

 

It was close to the delightful village of Winster which was on a bus route. Being on a bus route added another dimension to the walks I planned - we could do linear walks as with the one where we ended up in Bakewell.

"I have children coming on here," the driver ellucidated as we removed our gaiters and did our best to dislodge mud from the soles of our boots. "It's a health and safety issue."

We avoided entering an argument putting up with his unpleasantness on the very good grounds that it would be a two hour wait until the next bus. At 3.00pm the bus set out for Matlock along the A6. Beyond Haddon Hall we turned off onto the Ashbourne Road and then headed south to Stanton-in-the-Peak a small village at the top of a hill. We drew alongside the primary school.

I wish I could have taken a film of what happened next and taken it on a tour of my local schools and shown it to parents to demonstrate that children are quite capable of finding their own way home without the need of being picked up in cars. For onto the bus came 20 or so noisy, chatty and happy kids some as young as 5 or 6 ready to be transported to the villages on route to Winster without adult supervision. The presence of three old blokes with muddy boots concerned them not bit.

Most days of the week I witness the Penwortham School Run. I do not regard it as a pretty sight and not just because the end of our drive is frequently obstructed with a waiting vehicle. It is something I find incomprehensible.

Well perhaps not. It is a product of this age of instant gratification when the long term implications are not considered. The child reaches school age and the question arises how best to take them to school? The most convenient solution appears to drive the child no matter how old he/shes and deposit them as close to the school gates as possible. Hence the stress, the circus, the dangers, the "Wacky Races" of the SCHOOL RUN.

This indicates a massive cultural change over 60 years because in my school days to be seen being dropped off or picked up by one's parents would lead to uncharitable comments by one's chums. (Do we have "chums" anymore?)

"The School Run" has now been an accepted almost institutionalised aspect of modern life. Yet in so many ways it is a self-defeating activity carrying many negative consequences not least to the children themselves. They are being deprived of healthy exercise, the pleasures of social interaction with their school friends, the opportunity to act independently and the benefits of being in touch with the elements and seasonal change. For young minds and bodies these are losses not easily made up. Add to the deficit column of the balance sheet wider societal losses - increase traffic pollution, increase traffic congestion not to mention stress levels on drivers (often passed onto the children) - and the conclusion must be that the School Run is a bad thing.

For some parents especially those living in rural areas there is no alternative but for the vast majority the School Run is unnecessary - the children could walk or cycle to school by themselves - especially secondary age children. Walking to school or using public transport should be celebrated. Walking and cycling should be promoted within families as enjoyable activities.

For John, Ken and myself what we saw in Derbyshire were kids enjoying their ride home on a bus and we enjoyed it with them. Sadly in many parts of the country and especially in Penwortham many children are deprived of this simple pleasure.

 

 11th November Saturday: Tuesday started out as a dreadful day with wind and rain sweeping in from the Atlantic just as 21 Dotcoms gathered on Blackburn Old Road above Dean Clough Reservoir. I hurriedly consulted Lynda who was leading the walk. "What do you think?"  I asked her, "Should we shorten the walk?" It had crossed her mind too but as the forecast  had promised better weather later we agreed we could finally make up our minds at the far corner of the reservoir where a shorter option could be taken if necessary. With that Lynda gave the group a briefing and without further ceremony we moved off - there was absolutely no point in posing for the ritual photograph.

I did take it - later because the weather did improve substantially allowing Lynda to lead us on her intended route which took us to the Nab, the steep hill that overlooks Whalley,  and then return by way of the memorial Park, Great Harwood. This is where we had the group photo - an altogether sombre place - especially in this month and this week.

 

Great Harwood was one of the feeder towns for the 11th Battalion East Lancashire Regiment - the so called "Accrington Pals". "Pals" battalions were a creation particularly linked to the British Army in World War One. At the outbreak of hostilities in August 1914 the small professional army was sent to France as the British Expeditionary Force (BEF). This comprised of 150,000 troops. After the first weeks of the war it became clear that many more recruits would be needed to replace "the Old Contemptibles" who had been killed and wounded in the early clashes as well as match the resources of the huge German Army bearing down on the Western Front. Reluctant to conscript young men to join the army Lord Kitchener started a recruitment drive made famous by its iconic poster "Your Country Needs You" in which it was understood that friends, neighbours and work colleagues who enlisted together would stay together in platoons, companies and battalions. This programme was particularly successful in the north of England and in of all the 50 towns that had "Pals" battalions the name of the Accrington Pals seems to have a particular resonance.

 

In part this is due to the musicality of the phrase. In part it is because of Peter Whelan's play of the same title. But more than anything it is because what occurred on 1st July 1916. This was the first day of the Battle of the Somme. The 11th Battalion East Lancashire Regiment was under orders to capture a village called Serre. Weeks of artillery bombardment were have meant to weakened the German defences so much so that the men were told that all they had to do was to stroll across no man's land to capture the enemy trenches. Nothing could have been farther from the truth. As the Accrington Pals emerged from their lines they were met with withering machine gun fire. It was at this instance the great flaw in recruitment drive became obvious - neighbours and workmates who joined up in great numbers - died in great numbers. In 20 murderous minutes of the 700 men taking part in the attack 235 were killed and 350 were wounded. The effect on Accrington and the other centres of recruitment like Great Harwood was devastating.

The losses were part of a greater tragedy - the British Army suffered 60,000 casualties on the first day of the Battle of the Somme alone. In the war as whole it lost 700,000 men a number that rises to close to a million when the losses of the Dominions and colonies are taken into account. 100 hundred years later these numbers are difficult to comprehend and even harder to understand is the reason why so many (mainly) young men would willingly place themselves in the way of danger for abstract ideals like King and Country. We lack the ready patriotism of our grandparents generation but there is no doubting the genuine impulse expressed in the line "For your tomorrow, we gave our today."

Yet in the settlement of the First World War were the seeds that led to the Second World War that must have made the sacrifice appear futile. And from the Second World War emerged the world we have today. Given the events of recent times it does not seem a great place to be.

Where do I begin? A casino owner in the White House or the dubious means used to get him there or Brexit or that power and influence is used as bargaining chips to elicit sexual favours or that from "Home fit for Heroes" for so many of our fellow citizens there are no homes at all or that those with great wealth seem to want to avoid paying taxes or that so  many people think that they only way to enliven their drab unhappy lives is to take drugs or alcohol in unhealthy quantities or the circuses of the Jeremy Kyle and empty celebrity  shows or the environmental degradation of our planet with air pollution, plastic waste and carbon emissions or that money is the absolute measure of everything. What would the Great War Dead think of us if they could see the world we inherited?

I write as a grandson whose grandfathers both served on the Western Front. I write as a grandfather wanting a better world for my grandson to inherit. Given the litany of despair I have listed that prospect seems distant. Yet…yet in acts of Remembrance, respecting the dead, grateful for their sacrifice, giving them their due we owe it to them and ourselves to strive for that better world we know is there close to the end of our grasp.

 21st September Thursday. On the 4th April this year the Dotcoms arrived at the ice cream van on Twistleton Lane the top end of the Ingleton Waterfall Walk. At this point Teresa decided she wasn't up to climbing the steep rise below the scar and so with David headed back to Kingsdale. The rest of us crossed the rise taking the footpath to Crag Farm on a converging course with David and Teresa. From the path we spotted them marching resolutely back to the cars close to Yordas Cave. I took what was to be the last photo of Teresa out on a Dotcom walk.

 

On Tuesday 12th September Teresa died three years after she was diagnosed with cancer.

I can remember very clearly my first encounter with David and Teresa. It was on Stackhouse Lane near Giggleswick in July 2012 when they appeared as the Dotcoms were preparing as the Dotcoms were preparing to set out on their annual TOP walk. They had come at Geoff's invitation and I am so grateful to Geoff for thinking to invite them.

I hit it off with them instantly. We all did. David turned out to be one of the blessed generation of teachers who had retired with pension enhancement in the 1990s at a time when there was a clear out of staff surplus to requirements. Teresa his wife of then 46 years, small to his big, laughed at my quips, laughed at his quips, had a beautiful smile, had a strong handle on life, liked walking, seemed wise, was wise.

In an entirely unassuming way David and Teresa were a force for good in the world. In a marriage based on a foundation of Christian faith they enjoyed a rich family life with their children and grandchildren which was extended by a remarkable degree to countless foster children many of whom are in touch with the family to this day.

Unable to go to the funeral (which is today) I went across to Burnley to visit David who was with his eldest daughter Janet. Given the circumstances it was a good visit. As a friend who had known Teresa only too briefly it was a privilege to listen to David and Janet recount scenes from a life well spent including the last which thankfully all the family shared.

While I was there David showed me a list of places where he intends to spread Teresa's ashes. It was a work in progress and had over 30 locations mainly in the north of England but with a scattering of other locations. These were special places for David in his life with the beautiful Teresa. I knew most of them and with a few I could guess the association or reason. When I first looked at it, written on a leaf from a notepad, I thought I was looking at the top. Only as I searched for one place in particular did I realise that the 10 or so place names represented the second page. I turned over the sheet and there at the top of twenty more, as I knew it would be, was the name I was looking for - Pendle.

Before they married David and Teresa both grew up in the Ribble Valley to look on Pendle from the north. When they married they settled in Burnley to view it from the south. All their lives Pendle has been a reference point. Little wonder then when they came to lead a walk for the Dotcoms it was up Pendle. Given that amongst the Dotcoms there was a sizeable and far from silent minority who professed to not liking steeps slopes David convinced me there was a route from Barley that was kinder than others. We put it on the programme.

On a day that had since become part of Dotcom legend back in October 2013 David was unfit to lead the walk himself. "Don't worry, Teresa knows the way." Teresa did, even though the weather had closed in by a significant degree as we reached Driver Moor. Lunch was a miserable affair with 17 sodden and chilled Dotcoms eating their sodden and chilled sandwiches at the top of Ogden Clough.

 

A few Dotcoms decided they still wanted to get to the summit but the rest were fed up and so Teresa led them down. The summit party had the easier time of it. The early descenders suffered trauma. It took them almost 30 minutes to cross a stream during which time Sandra had stumbled and ended up on her back while Teresa had slipped up to her waist into a raging torrent and then heroically assisted her party to cross it on the basis she couldn't get any wetter.

Ever since then Pendle has stayed on the calendar - always the last walk we do in October. And ever since then I have referred to it as "David and Teresa's Pendle Trial." "Don't you mean "trail"?" Malcolm asked me one time. "No I most certainly mean "trial"!" I told him.

It is on the calendar for this autumn and in a few weeks time the Dotcoms will go up to the top of Pendle - whatever the weather - each with our memories of Teresa. I think David intends to join us but whether he'll bring a part of Teresa that is a matter of personal choice and family consent. Really it does not matter because for those of us who had the great good blessing of knowing Teresa she will always be in our thoughts and hearts.

 

Saturday 12th August. On Monday afternoon I took a parcel we had taken delivery of round to our next door neighbour Amy as she returned from her errand. 

"Any news about the guy?" she asked.

"Guy?"

 

"The guy dangling from the pylon," which if was meant to illuminate me had the opposite effect. "He's on the fields at the end of the road. There's ever so many people there. I didn't want to stay - I don't like to think about such things."

As I walked back to my house I saw a huddle of neighbours at the end of the cul-de-sac watching intently towards the playing fields on the far side of Howick Moor Lane where on the pylon a drama was being played out of which a minute before I had been blissfully unaware.

 

When I joined the group John pointed towards the pylon obliquely opposite our station and there I beheld the most extraordinary sight - dangling upside down from a cable 30feet above the ground was a man dressed in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts just beyond the reach of two fire officers.

 

Seemingly he had climbed up mid afternoon on a drug fuelled mission to fly as I later learned. Quickly I went back to the house for my camera and even though he and his rescuers were some distance away I managed to take a number of snaps that captured the drama of the situation. Not unnaturally his antics had attracted the attention of a large crowd as well as a sizeable contingent from the emergency services including the air ambulance. He was eventually brought safely down thanks to the calm professionalism of his rescuers and a fully extended aerial ladder platform.

 

Later that evening I sent two of my best shots to Bryan my contact at the Lancashire Post knowing they would be too late for the morning edition and rather thinking they might have received photos already - as I said there had been a large crowd and virtually every smart phone present had been in use. I didn't give it too much thought.

On Tuesday I had two emails. The first from Bryan to say he would use my snaps on the LP website in an update on the story. The second was from Ben who works for a news agency that works closely with the Post. He was seeking permission to use my photographs. "If they help you tell the story - use them" I replied and sent him another half dozen. Later it was quite something to Google "Man on Pylon" and see my photos on the on line sites of the Daily Telegraph, the Daily Mail, (so sorry), the Daily Mirror and the Metro. Quite a start to the week.

 

If I have any regular readers left they will realise it has been quite a while since I've been here. This year family matters have predominated with Katherine and David getting married in June. I was told that under no circumstances was I to mention walks or walking in y Father-of-the-Bride speech. For some reason there is a myth that I am obsessed about walking. But I defied all orders and referred to it anyway when I said it was my proudest walk of my life to walk Katherine down the aisle.

 

After the wedding we had three lots of Australian visitors to entertain - a happy duty but nonetheless a tiring one. It was a relief to get away to Italy where Eileen and I enjoyed some R&R - much needed especially since mid-May I was coping with the unpleasant after effects of shingles - a condition called post-herpetic neuralgia.

 

On return we had the christening of our grandson DARLING FRANK. (He wasn't christened that by the way) It was another happy day.

The following weekend I was up near Ennerdale helping out at the Saunders Lakeland Mountain Marathon which involved long days on marshalling duty. Usually I enjoy these events meeting lots of friends from previous years and being outdoors in some remote and lesser known part of the Lake District. But this year I was knackered. I think I was some use on the Friday evening assisting Joe, David B and Stuart with car parking. At mid-camp on Saturday the weather was very changeable in the evening. During one heavy shower I retired to my tent at 8.00pm and didn't emerge until 6.00 the next morning. Normally such behaviour would draw protracted comment from GPS Dave who was organising the event but he sensed just how tired I had become.

No sooner had I returned from Cumbria than I was packing my bags for Devon. Andy B, Jim, Malcolm and Don were walking the Devon Coast to Coast and I joined them near Crediton for the second half of the trail. It was quite a departure from our usual haunts so there was a novel aspect to the walk. I particularly enjoyed the last day when we crossed Dunkery Hill on route to Porlock despite miserable weather but for the most part the countryside was not exceptionally attractive.

 

So these have been my doings - these and a bit more - Tuesday walks, Sunday walks with the NWFC, etc. Matters should be somewhat easier now and hopefully I'll have more time to maintain this blog.

 

Friday 7th April. I seem to be going through a phase when things are not going to plan. It started with my bicycle a few weeks ago when over a period of a few days I had five punctures on my back tyre. Changing a tube is at the very limit of what I am capable of doing in practical terms. As these days I cycle a lot - especially to Lisieux Hall where I do voluntary work - problems with my bike have an impact on my activities.

Take last Saturday as an example. I wanted to go to two places - Hoghton Bottoms at about 10.00 and then onto Chorley for 1.00pm. At Hoghton Bottoms local resident Carol Price organises an annual clean-up of the River Darwen something she has been doing ever since she moved into the area in 1992. As I have led several walks that go through Hoghton Bottoms this was a cause which I was willing to devote a few hours. Not to be. Without my bike I could not go to Hoghton Bottoms and Chorley. Having said that the weather on Saturday morning was far from encouraging.

 

At Chorley I was taking part in the "What's our Story? Annual Festival of Words".

 

This was something entirely new for me - I had been invited to take part and talk about how I came to write "100 Walks in Lancashire". I had diligently prepared a presentation on the theme of "Accidental Author" but had no idea what to expect. For this reason I made sure I was in time to watch the speaker on the programme before me.

 

As I arrived on the First Floor of Chorley Library at around 11.50am a young man was setting up a projector and screen ready for his talk. I joined the small audience which seemed entirely composed of members of his family. Michael Barrett's presentation of how he wrote and published the graphic novel "The Invincibles" turn out to be fascinating. He described that having come across the concept of graphic novels when he worked for a publisher some years ago he felt it would be the best format for telling the story he had long wanted to tell - the history of Preston North End's FA Cup and league winning team of 1888/89 known as "the Invincibles" (because they were undefeated in that season.)

 

Intuitively Michael realised that the comic strip style of "Roy of the Rovers" would be ideal for the project and approached David Sque an illustrator who between 1974 and 1986 worked for the magazine. David's brilliant realisation of Michael's text combined with several thousand emails, hard work, ambition, determination, scholarly research and vision has resulted in a remarkable book. I have since bought 3 copies. (See www.invinciblebooks.co.uk )

 

At the conclusion of his talk Michael packed away his notes and after we exchanged business cards he left - taking his audience with him! I talked to an audience of two which is my own fault as I had provided the information that went into the programme "Bob will explain his experience of being approached to write a revise edition of a book". It does not sound exactly riveting does it?

 

Things not running to plan theme continued into Tuesday. Our outing was to Kingsdale and was in two parts. A visit to Yordas Cave followed by a walk. The cave part worked out well and was much enjoyed - the difficulties arose with the walk.

 

As we set off to reach the Turbary Road a green lane that follows a broad shelf above the valley I had no idea if it could be accessed from the pasture we were in. It could not. As I prepared myself to explain to the 19 members of my party that we would have to retrace our steps to a gap 300yards downhill Don had clambered over the wall and announced it was perfectly climbable. It was but held us up a good 25 minutes. Luckily young Romano, Paul's son-in-law was on hand to assist the pensioners over this obstacle.

 

Once on the Turbary Road any awkwardness created by the unplanned wall climb evaporated as we enjoyed the delights of tramping a green lane in spring sunshine. There was much to interest us - fine views across to Whernside and Ingleborough as well as the impressive Rowten Pot.

 

 

We lunched on the limestone pavement above North End Scar shortly after we commenced our descent to the valley. Now had I seen where the footpath was supposed go following a wall over Low Plain an area of limestone crags I am almost sure I wouldn't have led 19 people down it. But ignorance is bliss and I confidently threaded my way through the layers of rock with the Dotcoms happily in my wake. As it happened there was nothing inherently dangerous in the descent - it just looked dangerous in retrospect as we headed round Wackenburgh Hill on our return to the cars.

 

So all was well that ended well and everyone seemed to thoroughly enjoy their day out perhaps more so because of the awkward wall clamber and the tricky descent. When things don't go to plan it is not necessarily the end of the world. In fact those situations can lead onto new experiences and opportunities.

 

Wednesday 29th March. Although Sofie's English was excellent something had been lost in translation - that something was my lunch!

As we arrived at the top of a col dividing the spectacular Barranco del Veneguera from the equally spectacular Barranco Tasartico my companions on the walk - 13 German holidaymakers and a French couple tucked into their bocadillos. I wondered if Sofie was carrying mine. When she told me no it crossed my mind if she was making some kind of point. "I didn't vote for Brexit!" I wanted to say.

I was on a guided walk organised by Hiking World Gran Canaria (See www.hikingworldgrancanaria.com). Last year when Eileen and I holidayed on the island for the first time I linked up with Manfred and Sofie then working as part of the cycle hire/tour company Free Motion. Manfred led me on a group walk up to Gran Canaria's most iconic geological feature - Roque Nublo (Rock of the Clouds") - a misshapen sandstone stack in the high mountains at the island's centre.

 

Sofie's walk a couple of days later took in some of remains of the island's pre-Hispanic past. Talking to them both I found out they were about to separate from Free Motion into their own company - Hiking World is the result.

Like all the Canary Islands and much of coastal Spain, Gran Canaria has much to offer the keen walker. This is something I have discovered for myself over the years. Eileen and I arrived at an understanding that while she sunbathed by the pool I would take the hired car to explore the nearby countryside. In this way I came to discover the hidden parts of Mallorca, Menorca, Ibiza and Tenerife. Sunflower books produced a set of guides featuring all the main holidaying destinations of the Mediterranean and beyond.

 

However ten years ago following my stroke I could no longer explore places in this way because I could no longer drive. Since then I have sought out guided walks where they have been on offer. Manfred's new venture was on offer on Gran Canaria so through my helpful rep Paula I got in touch and booked myself a place for last Thursday.

It turned that Sofie was the walk leader that day and after the minibus had pulled up outside my hotel she recognised me from last year. Once all the passengers had been picked up Sofie outlined the plan for the day in three languages - German, English and French. (Incidentally she was Spanish speaking as well).

This is where the misunderstanding arose. The way I heard her describe the programme it seemed we were going on two walks - a short exploration of the village of Veneguera followed by a hike into the valley beyond crossing to a shorter valley before returning to the starting point. As it turned out they were linked into one seamless walk. This only dawn on me after we left the confines of the village. My bag with the necessary bottles of water were still on the bus.

 

Sofie must have wondered what kind of simpleton she was dealing with. She said she would lead the party to the next feature on the walk - a smallholding with a natural spring while I rushed back to retrieve my bag. I caught up with the party at the farm. So when later in the hike I asked Sofie about my lunch it must have confirmed the impression I had already given that I was a simpleton!

There is another perspective. My bocadillo was left over - I think Jaimez the mini bus driver may have had designs on it - and that ought to have alerted Sofie when she was distributing them. I am not sure how I missed this crucial part of the walk's organisation but it may have been because I was the only Brit in a party of 16. As I stated at the beginning - something lost in translation. The potential awkwardness of this only dawned on Sofie as she dropped me off. Since my lunch was included in the price of 55euros I asked for it to take back to the room. "Didn't I give it to you with the others?" "I was probably taking photos." I reassured her.

In these days of Trip Advisor and Facebook my missing lunch might have been an awkward situation. In my teaching days OFSTED judgements had condemned many a good career on a lesser deviation from the perceived standard. Luckily I had taken my own supplies - two bananas and some cake which I enjoyed surrounded by sublime mountain scenery.

27th February Monday. As Nigel and I walked through the gate at High Dolphinsty overlooking Mallerstang we were presented with a stunning panorama taking in a wide sweep of the North Pennines. It hardly seemed possible that we lived in a crowded island of 64 million - but for the occasional farmhouse dotting he landscape there was little sign of habitation. Jim, Andy, Malcolm and Andy caught up with us taking in breath as they looked across the valley and a world of snow . We turned south to follow the escarpment as it rose to a rocky prominence named the Nab.

 

Now on the broad plateau of Wild Boar Fell we deferred to Malcolm's suggestion that we walk along to a group of cairns before bagging the actual summit. At the cairns there was perhaps an even greater appreciation of scenery made more beautiful in the bright sunshine. Some of us began to show off our knowledge of geography pointing out Ingleborough, Whernside and Pen-y-ghent and distant Pendle.

We crossed to the trig point where I insisted on the usual summit photo

 

and after that Malcolm led us down to the shores of Sand Tarn a rather surprising stretch of water on these upland commons. Here we lunched. And after that he led us across the squelchy moor to the limestone escarpment of Stennerskeugh Clouds overlooking our parked cars. And after we had changed we decided on tea and scones at the Cross Keys Inn at Cautley to which Helen kindly treated us. It had simply been a most splendid day out - nearly all of it in bright sunshine and such a contrast to the day before when Storm Doris came sweeping in.

Eileen and I were in Glasgow on a midweek city break - two nights B&B at the Grand Central Hotel with first class rail travel for a little over £100. Watching the news on Thursday morning it was impossible to escape the fact that Scotland in particular but the whole of the UK was bracing itself for Doris. In the Highlands and Borders snowfall was disrupting the morning rush hour though in Glasgow all we experienced was squally rain. Notwithstanding this Eileen and I prepared for delay.

 

It came as a pleasant surprise therefore that our train - the 1.40pm - left for Preston on time. As the Virgin Pendolino pulled out of Glasgow Central the service manager apprised us of the situation. There had been disruption across the rail network but the train would go at least as far as Preston. RESULT!

It is quite remarkable how quickly one is corrupted by luxury. Eileen and I were pleased we were on our way home but were becoming increasingly agitated that there was no sign of the first class catering service that we had quickly become accustomed to expect. (This after just half a dozen first class journeys.) As we left Carlisle the service manager gave us an update. No change in destination but to mitigate for the limited journey at least the catering team were on board. Fifteen minutes later we were served - Eileen a G&T, me a white wine. The world took on a rosier tinge. A short while after our marvellous steward came with food.

 

I asked him about the situation. London seemed to be in lock down with no train movement in or out of the capital. As he served us the PA jingled. "Ah oh bad news," he sighed. He was right. The service manager announced that Preston station was shut for the time being and there was no prospect of progress beyond Penrith. As we were on Penrith station we settled down for what was to be a long wait.

We found out later that Storm Doris had caused damage to the roof of Preston station affecting platforms 4 and 5 making it necessary for all traffic to be routed through the remaining platforms causing trains to be backed up along the line at Lancaster and Oxenholme. After an hour we shunted up to Oxenholme for a shorter delay and then moved onto Lancaster. Around about 6.00pm we arrived in Preston almost 2 hours late. The station had the atmosphere of an airport in a war zone - crowds of people anxiously watching monitors to find out if they were going to get home that evening.

 

Slightly sozzled we made our way to the taxi rank. In little time at all we were home in South Ribble.

 

South Ribble which in the past week has been voted the best place to live in the UK if you are in your 20s. Eileen and I are a little beyond that category but we do have a daughter, a daughter-in-law and a future son-in-law all in that age group. As with all surveys of this type they generate different results depending on the parameters they set but it was rather pleasing to know that the place Eileen and I chose to settle in 40 years ago is at the top of at least one list.

 

31st January Tuesday "Welcome to the end of the world!" I called out to the Dotcoms earlier today as I arrived with Chris and Alan at Pott's Corner.

Pott's Corner is not the end of the world - it's at the end of Carr Lane that leads west from Middleton almost in the shadow of Heysham Nuclear Power Station. "End of the world" is figurative but after sweeping round Lancaster on the new Heysham link road from the M6 and entering a much used landscape with its commercial parks, caravan sites and pylons the place had a very different feel from just about anywhere else we have ever walked.

 

Twenty four of us set out on a walk taking us down to Sunderland Point at the estuary of the Lune. With us Romano from Jamaica soon to be son-in-law of Paul a long time member of the group. He is one of the most relaxed individuals I have ever met and although considerably younger than everybody else (by 40 years!) he seems to enjoy our company and the Lancashire countryside. I worry little about how he fits in - he fits in fine.

Today though was different. The reason being that a mile into the walk we visited "Sambo's Grave". Walking with Romano as we approached it I became acutely conscious of the un PC nomenclature given to "Sambo". Romano was curious. "How did he die?" he asked. "Of a broken heart might be the best way to describe it," I replied.

For many of the Dotcoms it was a first visit. Andy who was leading the walk with his wife Ann gave us some details of how this memorial came to be at this lonely place. "Sambo" (it jars every time I use that word but there is no way round it) was taken from Africa as a slave to the West Indies and arrived at Sunderland at the mouth of the Lune as servant to the ship's captain in 1736. Soon after he died and was buried outside the confines of the settlement.

 

This account of his death was published in Lonsdale Magazine in 1822.

After she had discharged her cargo, he was placed at the inn…with the intention of remaining there on board wages till the vessel was ready to sail; but supposing himself to be deserted by the master, without being able, probably from his ignorance of the language, to ascertain the cause, he fell into a complete state of stupefaction, even to such a degree that he secreted himself in the loft on the brewhouses and stretching himself out at full length on the bare boards refused all sustenance. He continued in this state only a few days, when death terminated the sufferings of poor Samboo. As soon as Samboo's exit was known to the sailors who happened to be there, they excavated him in a grave in a lonely dell in a rabbit warren behind the village, within twenty yards of the sea shore, whither they conveyed his remains without either coffin or bier, being covered only with the clothes in which he died.

 

It is hard not to be moved by a visit to this memorial. It represents so much more than one young man's death far from his place of birth. It is now a place of pilgrimage where people come to be reminded of a dark past. I am not sure what Romano made of "Sambo's Grave" - he kept his own counsel - but somehow him being there added significance to our reflections.

 

30th December Friday. It has been unusually difficult to write this blog. On the last Saturday of November Brian, one of the founding members of the Dotcom Walkers suffered a severe stroke. He has not been able to walk since. It affected his left side - there is no sensation or movement in his arm or leg. After a week's stay in Royal Preston Hospital he was transferred to a specialist stroke rehabilitation unit at Chorley & South Ribble Hospital.

 

Looking for positives in this catastrophe is hard. The main element of hope lies in the fact Brian's speech recovered quickly - the slurring that characterised the immediate days after the trauma has all but gone. Brian's mind, personality and sense of humour are intact. Having speech will be a huge help in so far he will be able to communicate with the medics what is working and what is not.

The other positive is the strong family support he has - his wife Mary has hardly left his side while children and grandchildren and other members of the family have rallied round. Their love will give him a lot of encouragement as he works towards recovery.

 

I attribute the creation of the Dotcom Walkers to Brian. When he retired in 2008 he joined John, Bill and me on our regular Tuesday walks bringing his garrulous sociability to our outings. From time to time we would be joined by Andy B or Julie, John's daughter or my Katherine if they had a day off. It was an ad hoc informal group until Brian thought to invite Jim, his neighbour who had recently retired from the police. At that time no one else had met Jim so this seemed a new departure. Also I felt spurred to create a programme of walks - half termly of course because as well as being retired teachers John, Brian and I had wives who were still teaching.

Once the programme was published it became an easy thing to pass on to others. Soon our group was joined by Malcolm, Don, David and Val. At present there are over 40 people on the mailing list. We're not formally constituted - there is no secretary or committee of even rules. But if we had rules the first one would be if you enjoy walking with the group and know someone you think would also enjoy walking with the group invite them. It was the principle established by Brian and so in this way the Dotcom Walkers are his creation. My deepest prayer for 2017 is that Brian will be able to come for a walk with his friends again.

 

 

In total contrast to Brian's difficulties is the other big event of recent weeks. At 3.31am on Monday 5th December Eileen and I became grandparents to Francis who came into the world rather thoughtfully 16 days before his due date. We are besotted with this tiny bundle of joy who has brought with him so much happiness to John and Holly, family and friends. It makes me feel warm inside to see John caressing Francis in much the same way as I caressed him. And to underline the way love travels down the generations Francis will be known as Frank after my father born in 1925 and still with us.

My deepest prayer for Frank is that when he is my age - 66 - in 2082 there will still be enough of the English countryside to enjoy walking.

 

 

Saturday 19th November. "Where are you going then?" I asked the young woman to the rear of a party of four plus a dog at the junction of paths above Glenderaterra Beck yesterday.

 

"I don't know," she replied, "We're just having a wander about."

She, her companions and the dog (dressed in a fleece coat) were all well-equipped and they would have to be. Winter had come to the northern fells.

 

I was out with Bryan one of my contacts at the Lancashire Evening Post. He is mad keen on walking but lacks the experience to take himself into the hills. What started as a favour has now become a friendship. This was our third outing together. Readers may recall I took him round (or vice versa) the Three Peaks. In October David and I introduced the Ribble Valley Inns walks with a visit to the Clog and Billycock. On the route we passed the memorial to Alfred Wainwright on top of the hill behind the inn.

Because of this I wanted him to do a "Wainwright" as the next step in his education. A Wainwright is hill or mountain listed in the monumental Pictorial Guide to the Lakeland Fells which was published in seven volumes between 1954 and 1965. My original idea was to walk the Kentmere Round which takes in at least seven Wainwrights but wasn't confident we could do it in the hours of daylight. Then one of my favourite Lakeland outings popped into my head. A circuit taking in Skiddaw

 

A number of times yesterday I'd rather wished it hadn't. Over the days leading up to the outing I had seen that the forecast was less than favourable. On Wednesday I advised Bryan in an email to ensure he packed a hat, gloves and scarf together with an extra layer, a hot drink and a torch into his rucksack. At that stage it looked like we would be in for a bit of a drenching at least for the first part of the day. Then the forecast nuanced into snow. As with many aspects of life decisions are made based on the perceived expectations of others. For me the planned outing was a day in the hills amongst many others - for Bryan it was a precious day away from the stresses of a newspaper office. It became a case of suck it and see.

I am an early riser - Bryan is an even earlier riser so it was arranged he would pick me up at 7.00am. 90minutes later we turned off the Carlisle Road taking the lane up to Ormathwaite. For most of the way it was straightforward but after we passed the entrance of Underscar Manor we encountered snow. As it struggled up steep sections Bryan's car began to suffer. Bit by bit we crossed snowy inclines with no realistic option of turning back or even pulling over to the side. On the console screen alarming messages popped up about the need to service the vehicle and have its brakes checked. Not surprisingly when we reached the car park we were the first car there. I directed Bryan on how best to align the car at right angles to the fence.

 

We booted up. Running through my mind were a number of concerns.

1. Having managed to get up the road would we be able to get down it especially if there was another snowfall?

2. Would I be able to navigate in the near white-out conditions we now found ourselves in?

3. If this was the condition at 1000ft what would it be like at 3000ft?

Above all I felt responsible - whatever would follow was my shout - not David's, not Malcolm's, not Edward's. I decided I would suck it and see.

 

 

Ascending Jenkin Hill the most prolonged climb of the walk the track, usually a broad obvious scar, was just about discernible as a slight indentation. At this stage there were rewarding views across Derwentwater to the north-west fells

 

but soon enough we entered whiteness. I was confident of the route and my ability to keep to it but was relying heavily on my previous experience of going up Skiddaw. I had gone up it in cloud but with the aid of the broad track. I had climbed it in snow but in bright sunshine. Now we were climbing it in snow and cloud and the two were indistinguishable.

We arrived at the fence that crosses from Little Man to Lonscale Fell. It was 10.00am. I announced a short break although Bryan didn't seem to be in the need of one. I showed him on the map our position. He was impressed with our progress. We pushed on into the whiteness. Somehow we managed to keep to the track made invisible. Half a mile later we reached the second fence - a significant one as it would later provide a handrail for the second stage of our walk.

 

 We then climbed up the final slope to the summit ridge. In comparison to the other three thousanders Skiddaw is an easy hill to climb in normal conditions but the walk along the ridge to the trig point always seems interminable. It did yesterday with a biting wind on my left ear but this assisted progress as snow was blown clear off the path and we could see the way ahead.

 

There was nothing to make us linger at the trig point so after the photograph we returned to the fence. Bryan could not believe the contrast between the fierce conditions on top to the comparative silence as we dropped out of the wind below the ridge. He commented that it was as if someone had flicked a switch.

 

We descended along the fence. At the corner I set the compass on a bearing for Skiddaw House. This assisted us on the first half of this section but soon we gaps in the cloud allowed me a sight of Sale How and we could even pick out what is usually a broad grassy track beneath the snow.

We lunched by Skiddaw House the isolated youth hostel that was once a keepers hut.

 

It was closed for winter as I expected it would be. It was midday and we had the satisfaction of knowing the biggest park of the walk was behind us. All that remained was to walk out. In this we were encouraged by the first walker we met, a chap down from Carlisle, who had a whim to walk to Skiddaw House and back from the Blencathra Centre.

Later we met the four young women and their dog. That the young lady who told me of their lack of plans with an air of total confidence did not make me question for a minute that they knew what they were about - probably experienced Himalayan trekkers out on a jolly.

 

Bryan and I pushed along one of my favourite footpaths above the Glenderaterra where without any appreciable effort the way becomes elevated as the valley floor falls away. We had our final encounter of the walk - another chap heading towards Skiddaw House to sample the conditions. I was relieved to hear his report that there were a few cars on the car park. He also alerted us to the awkwardness of the craggy corner as the path emerges from the valley. Thanking him we carried on to complete what had been an outstanding and memorable walk. Bryan was abuzz with the experience of prolonged contact with a wild part of the country in challenging conditions. He wondered if it was the same for me. I reassured him that experiences like that never become routine. At least they don't for me. I enjoyed it as much as he did.

 

Saturday 22nd October. Today marks the 200th Anniversary of the completion of the main line of the Leeds-Liverpool Canal - Britain's longest artificial waterway at 127 miles.

 

Living in the age of high speed everything it is difficult for us to appreciate that the quiet waters of the remaining canal system once represented a transport revolution that helped transform Britain from an agrarian into and industrial economy. They helped create the world's first industrial society.

The Leeds-Liverpool Canal was conceived as way of providing communication between the growing port of Liverpool and its industrial hinterland of cotton manufacture in Lancashire and wool manufacture across the Pennines in Yorkshire. Starting in 1770 with the first cut at Halsall near Ormskirk the waterway took 46 years to complete.

 

Earlier this year to mark the anniversary the Dotcom Walkers enjoyed a special excursion through Foulridge Tunnel. We met at the wharf at Foulridge and boarded the Marton Emperor manned by Martin and Matthew who took us through the 1640 yard tunnel.

 

Tunnels represent the height of engineering achievement but are difficult to appreciate. Aqueducts, viaducts and bridges display their splendours obviously. Tunnels on the other hand are by nature dark ways which hide the skill and endeavour which pushed through rock, clay and soil. Nonetheless our cruise through the tunnel and return was one of the highlights of the year.

 

Joining us on that occasion was Musmoo's husband David. He was possibly the most excited of our party to go through the tunnel. In part because he happens to be the membership secretary of the Leeds-Liverpool Canal Society and also because of his intention to walk the length of the canal and some to mark the 200th anniversary. He had worked out that by starting in Hull he could create a coast to coast route including the Leeds-Liverpool of 200 miles. The 200 for the 200 is a way of raising funds for the Society.

 

As I write this David is on his penultimate day of that epic trek. On Thursday GPS Dave, Val, Musmoo and I went to Botany Bay Chorley to meet him as walked the section from Cherrytree near Blackburn to Wigan. We joined him as far as Bridge 63 close to Haigh Hall Country Park.

 

Given he had completed 147 miles since 8th October he was in remarkably good shape. He felt his pace was slackening but was still managing 2½ miles an hour.

His walk coincides with a cruise by the Kennet an interactive museum on the narrowboat owned by the Leeds-Liverpool Society. This had been recreating the first passage with great celebrations along the way. Tomorrow David and the Kennet arrive in Liverpool with more festivities planned. And rightly so - the Leeds-Liverpool Canal is a remarkable waterway. That its use has been transformed from an industrial artery to a recreational amenity to be enjoyed by the people of Lancashire and Yorkshire is thanks to preservation groups like the Leeds-Liverpool Canal Society. And of course walking 200 miles in less than 3 weeks is a pretty impressive achievement in itself. And just one other thing about David - 5 years ago he underwent a quadruple bypass heart operation. Well done mate - and enjoy putting your feet up on Monday.

 

29th September Thursday. Last Saturday week (17th September) Andy W and I went to look at a glacier. Perhaps it might be more accurate to state we attempted to look at a glacier because the low cloud was dense. Andy had seen a glacier before so when we arrived at the spot for viewing the glacier he was able to discern some of its features - crevasses and the like. In the thick mist above Argentiere I could hardly see a thing and wanted a close up view of it but Andy counselled caution - glaciers are unpredictable - their walls can collapse and rocks can roll off them without warning.

We were on the Norwest Fellwalking Club's holiday to Chamonix and this was our second day of poor weather. Our problem was we had shelled out 100 Euros for a five day lift pass and we were compelled to make the most of it.

Back at La Flegere we waited for the cable car back to the valley. Unusually there were other passengers - a solo walker, a group of young people who passed the time taking countless selfies and a quartet of young women from the USA. "Well we've done it!" declared one and then they went into a group hug. "Done what?" I asked. "Just completed the Tour de Mont Blanc!" It seemed significant.

and houses. There was the novelty of walking in an Alpine valley but even that was wearing thin.

It is an 3842m (12,604ft) peak in the Mont Blanc massif. Remarkably it was first climbed in 1818 but now half a million visitors a year visit it by way of a two stage cable car. It is the closest a person can get to Europe's highest mountain - Mont Blanc - 4810metres high (15, 781ft)

Surely, we thought, it would take hours to move these people up the mountain. But happily it took just 40 minutes before we were on the platform. Along with another 55 people we squeezed into the cab and soon after commenced the first stage of the ascent to the Plan du Aiguille . The second stage did not necessitate a wait at all and soon we were climbing to the highest point served by an aerial lift system. This adds to the sense of wonder - not only are you treated to stupendous scenery but you cannot help be impressed by the audacious feat of engineering that has enabled you to see it.

I joined the queue, had my photograph taken and returned to the bridge to seek my companions.

Later GPS Dave teased us about our choice of routes. "Why didn't you go back to the lift?" but we didn't mind too much - we had had such a beautiful day in the mountains.

Together we decided to "step into the void" although timed it badly as a coachload of Chinese tourist were in front of us and each one individually wanted five or six photos of the occasion. Aside from that glitch we had another perfect day in the mountains - another 4000ft descent from the Mer du Glace.

The following day we took a late flight home to Manchester. It was well after midnight by the time most of us found our beds.

Because of their dedication we have been able to walk in the best walking areas this country has to offer. Now over the past four years we have been able to walk in the best areas our continent has to offer. The words do not fully express my sense of gratitude but THANK YOU.

10th September Saturday. Being the chair of the Norwest Fellwalking Club is the easiest job in the world. Chair one committee meeting in October and then chair an (usually) uncontroversial AGM a few weeks later. The treasurer maintains the accounts and produces an annual report for the usually uncontroversial AGM. Everything else is done by the secretary - developing a programme, publishing a programme, arranging transport, taking bookings, collecting money, arranging social events, arranging holidays. Our secretary is GPS Dave and he has been in post for 50 years!

The Norwest developed out of the Leyland Motors sports and social set up in the early 1950s. Since most of the venues for outings were in the Lakes or Dales the coach run had pick up points from Leyland Centre through to the Black Bull in Fulwood so it is very much a South Ribble and Preston Club. Its unique selling point is that it does not require members to walk in led groups. Led groups are on offer but members are trusted to go on their own expeditions so long as they are back at the time appointed for return - 4.30 in winter 6.00pm in summer. This aspect which allows the rugged individual to make his or her own routes and timetable is a legacy of the days when there were a lot of rock climbers in the club and it is one that has been preserved in no small measure by the fact that our secretary David Johnstone has been in post half a century and provides a living link to the club's foundations.

9th September soon emerged as a suitable date as the club (David) had organised a holiday to the Alps in the following week so it would be highly likely he and Val wouldn't be away the weekend before. One of our members Ann Taylor is Lady Captain at Penwortham Golf Club and suggested it as a venue. Looking into it as well as offering an attractive space, catering and bar facilities it was centrally located in the club's catchment. Committee members endorsed the date and venue and so invitations could be sent out.

Two issues remained. The programme of the evening and a device for getting David to the Golf Club. While I conceived that there would need to be slightly more formal tributes from senior members of the club at the suggestion of club member Sheila B I settled on an "This is Your Life" format for bringing out guests once David had arrived. Older readers will remember instantly this iconic programme of the 50s and 60s hosted by Eamon Andrews

where celebrities and worthies were given a surprise presentation of their life's achievements with the help of the Red Book and a procession of family members, colleagues, associates and others. As I settled on this concept I made up a list of contributors who would lead out guests representing the different facets of David's life and service to the club. While it was a simplified version of the famous show I had gone so far as to download the theme song and script one liners for selected guests to read concealed behind a partition.

So - yesterday - everything was in place. Venue, catering, cake (a splendid one made by our member Pauline)

100 guests who all arrived a good half hour before David, Val and Alison were due. I was just about to brief everybody about the order of ceremonies when … I received this text from Alison. "Evening Bob, Val and I are ready, however DJ is at the emergency dentist near the bus stn. He has a fat face, in other words tooth infection. We have no idea when he will return. We told him he had to come but he doesn't know where. Drat!"

As planned I made my opening remarks - welcomed the guests, thanked people for their contributions in the preparations for the celebration and then imparted the news that our chief guest was receiving emergency dental treatment and there could be no telling whether he would be coming at all. The reaction was I expected - while sympathetic to David's predicament (and mine) most people were highly amused able to see the ironic aspect of the situation. They had plenty to talk about among themselves.

David arrived having had to pick up a prescription on the far side of the city in a rather forlorn condition. His face was swollen and sore and probably the last place he wanted to be was at a party regardless or not of it being in his honour. But his spirits picked up as he comprehended the scale of the event and I was relieved to find he was prepared to stay. Soon he was mingling with the guests.

And that's it David features prominently in the lives of the club members. Through his service we have been able to walk in and enjoy some of the most beautiful landscapes our country has to offer. That's one aspect. The other is that we are allowed to do this on our own terms - go off on our own, with a friend or in a led party. That experience is beyond price so having a party to celebrate 50 years as secretary is but a token of our immense gratitude for what he has done for us.

25th August Thursday. When I found out that Craven Potholing Club were setting up a winch for descents into Gaping Gill in this week before the Bank Holiday I instantly decided that this would make a great summer outing for the Lancashire Dotcom Walkers.

From its inception the LDC walking group has followed the pattern of school term times for its programme. This is because although retired John and I were married to working teachers and so when the school holidays came along we spent that time with our wives. As our programmes became more formalised so the school term structure became more embedded with two modifications - the Dotcom Year starts in January and over the last few years there has been an additional outing during the long summer holidays.

Last year we had a splendid trip to Hadrian's Wall which proved very popular. So when I read of the winch being set up for Gaping Gill I had no hesitation in choosing it as an ideal attraction for this year's LDC walkers' summer outing.

As it happens I have been to Gaping Gill and not by winch but was led there in March 1983 by friends at the time who were keen cavers. We went into the system by way of Bar Pot an entrance about 350ft south of Gaping Gill close to the footpath up from Clapham. It was one of the great experiences of my life and I possess a slight feeling of superiority having achieved it in the authentic way. With a winch in operation I thought it would be an experience every Dotcom would want to share.

We agreed that an early start was essential and as the website stated the winch would be open at 9.00am I set the RV time at Clapham at 8.00am which necessitated a 6.45am departure from Preston. David had offered to lead interested participants in an active exploration of the chamber which meant a kit list of headlamp, heavy-duty gloves, waterproofs, knee pads and a complete change of clothes. Reflecting on this now I can see that the early start and the rather alarming implications of the kit list may have killed off any interest amongst the waverers.

Naturally I had been monitoring the forecast and was relieved that Tuesday was set to be clear. I noted that there was rain about in the preceding days and while persistent and heavy at times did not seem to be exceptional. Until Monday afternoon I felt quite relaxed about the trip. About this time I received two reports in quick succession alerting me to news footage of flood water gushing out of White Scar Caves, Ingleton. As these were a mere 2 ½ miles from Gaping Gill I began to check out the situation. I quickly established that the winch was closed owing to the large amounts of water flowing into the main chamber. To allow the operation Fell Beck is dammed upstream from Gaping Gill and water flows into a different entrance. Clearly water had breached this dam. The question was would the winch be open the next day and if so - when?

On Tuesday morning I contacted Clapham Village Store at 8.00am but they had no news of the winch but when I called a second time 90 minutes later they had just heard through Twitter that the winch was due to open at ten. I phoned all parties - two cars from Preston and as it turned out two cars from Burnley.

The route to Gaping Gill goes up to Ingleborough Cave and then through the narrow defile of Trow Gill before reaching the broad expanse of upland moorland below Ingleborough. At the start there is a choice - to go through the wooded estate of Ingleborough Hall for which there is a small charge of 65p or to take a bridleway that skirts round the estate. David P said it would be better to pay and go by way of the nature trail except that no one had any change for the machine. I went to the house found the warden who expressed surprise at my honesty and we negotiated a fee according to the notes in my wallet.

 

There was nothing more to be done. In succession the other Dotcoms arrived already resigned to the fact that we would not be going down Gaping Gill. It stuck in my craw that had I stuck to my original plan we would have achieved our objective. My determination to get to the cave had been used at the wrong point - when it was already too late. We decided we'd have another go next spring.

 

After lunch and the official team photo (a sort of version of Scott of the Antarctic's photo at the South Pole - heroic in failure) there was a parting of ways. The Burnley Contingent made their way back to Clapham. The rest of us walked to the top of Ingleborough - almost the inverse of our intentions - instead of going down one of Britain's deepest holes we went up one of Yorkshire's highest hills!

1st August Monday. A little after 11.00 Friday morning as Bryan, David, Malcolm and I were talking on the car park at Ribblehead we were approached by a young man. "Excuse me - er do you know this area?" Wondering where this was leading to we indicated that we did. "Is Ingleborough or Whernside around here?" I pointed across the road. "That's Whernside." "How long will it take to get to the top?" "About two hours." This seemed to satisfy him. He returned to his car and after a brief consultation with his girlfriend they set off in the direction of the viaduct which would put them on the path to Yorkshire's highest hill. Was there ever a mountain expedition so casually planned?

The Three Peaks of Yorkshire occupy a wedge of south western part of the Yorkshire Dales National Park. They are three prominent hills over 2000ft high that dominate the limestone landscape and spaced far enough apart to allow a reasonably fit walker to climb all three in one continuous walk and return to the starting point - a distance of about 24 miles. The starting point can be from any road the route crosses but by custom is regarded as Horton-in-Ribblesdale. 

Before Friday I had completed the Three Peaks Trail on five previous occasions. The first time in 1985 Eileen actually joined me for the final leg from the Hill Inn over Ingleborough to Horton-in-Ribblesdale. For my regular readers who may find this hard to believe here is the photograph of us taken at the trig point of Ingleborough.

Following that I walked the route in 1991 with three pupils from the school in Burnley where I taught. Then in the noughties I did three solo rounds one from Chapel-le-Dale and two from Ribblehead including a clockwise walk. Yes I suppose I did know the area.

I met Bryan for the first time when he picked me up at the Brown Hare Roundabout Penwortham at 6.00am Friday. I found him to be a fit looking 47 year old with a good sense of humour and a positive outlook. We hit it off as I knew we would from the few phone conversations we had. By 7.20am we were booted up and ready to meet the challenge. I took Bryan's photo outside the Pen-y-ghent Café

and off we went to conquer its namesake. The forecast was good but we had low cloud obscuring one of the great views of the Dales - the majestic profile of Pen-y-ghent seen from this approach. But at that moment this was the least of my concerns. The most of my concerns were centred on my feet.

On the Tuesday before after a nine mile low level walk I had become conscious of tenderness in my left heel. In an effort to remedy this problem I inserted insole cushioning into the boots. These seemed to offer relief on a four mile test walk but because my feet were slightly raised within the boots they caused blisters. On the eve of Bryan's Three Peak Challenge I applied plasters to my blisters and hoped for the best. Now as we ascended the first peak of the day my feet were beginning to trouble me.

This was something new from my 2011 walk. At the base of Pen-y-ghent where the trail heads north west to cross Whitber Hill on route to Birkwith there was now a made track as opposed to a boggy gash that was once the bane of Three Peak walkers. As we emerged from the mist I knew that I could forget about any navigational concerns. On the downhill section I was less aware of my feet.

By now we were enjoying hot sunshine as we three set out past Ribblehead Viaduct following the school holiday crowds to the top of Yorkshire's highest hill. Having Malcolm with us added fresh impetus to Bryan's challenge - also he distracted me from my feet which were sore again. As we attained the summit ridge the views too were distracting - one of the finest days I have ever experienced on Whernside. For Bryan all this was new so Malcolm pointed out the different features presented to us from this wonderful platform on this exceptional day. We had lunch and I took Bryan's photo by the trig point.

As we started on the final stage we were aware of constant helicopter activity focusing on the area just below Ingleborough's flat topped summit where loads were being carried to improve the path. Another distraction for my sore feet.

After crossing Humphrey Bottom we started the stiffest climb of the day which brought us up close to the area of operations. Here we said thanks and farewell to Malcolm and started the final approach to Ingleborough needing to pause as the chopper brought another load in. And then we were on the summit plateau. "The only trouble is - the trig point is on the far side," I told Bryan. Not that he cared - he was on top of the world.

And then it was done. We were back at the car. The relief of not walking after 11 hours on the move overrode the pain. The damage to my feet was as I expected when I took off my boots and socks - a whacking blister on the heel of each foot . I was surprised it was not worse. I only had myself to blame. I had decided to walk when not fully fit; the remedies I applied were counter-productive; I had turned down Malcolm's kind offer of first aid; I had failed to take advantage of David's logistical support. That places in me in the same novice category as the two young people who so blithely set out from Ribblehead to climb Whernside. Against this though is the satisfaction of clearing up my "unfinished business" and helping Bryan of fulfilling a long held and most worthy ambition.

Three Peak Walk in LEP 

15th July Friday St Swithins Day! It is billed as "the Burnley Contingent vs the Rest of the World" and is the Lancashire Dotcom Walkers annual bowls contest. 

 

The next two years we used the facilities at Bretherton because one of our number, Margaret, was closely connected with the club there. The green was much better that the Plough's - not that made any difference to most of us and it had the added appeal of being close to the Blue Anchor and its celebrated hot buffet.

We happened on the club during a walk last summer. After starting our walk at Spring Wood Picnic site Whalley we arrived in Sabden about noon on a lovely sunny day. As we entered the village we noticed there was a groundsman cutting the hedges inside the grounds of the bowling club. We also noticed about the green a number of benches. "Can we use the benches for our picnic?" I asked the groundsman. "I don't see why not."

Not long after we had ranged ourselves in twos and threes around the green a lady member came by and offered to open the pavilion to allow us to use the toilets - always a boon, especially for the ladies. Jim S made inquiries as to whether we could use the green for our annual contest. We could and that is why we returned on Tuesday.

It is not about the bowls of course but as an activity we can share there is little to detract from it. Firstly it is an easy game to play and understand so that even the most inexperienced can quickly get to grips with it. Secondly as Nigel arranges it with half our number playing at a time it allows the other half precious time to properly catch up with one another. Finally because we have been blessed with good weather and have enjoyed lovely setting it is well - fun.

The community spirit that Alan summoned to create this superb amenity may need to be called upon again. Like many villages in Lancashire's countryside Sabden finds itself in the shadow of local government cut backs. The library is due to close and the bus service is soon to be withdrawn. If it is the future of Sabden may not be a happy one. These sad thoughts in contrast to the enjoyable morning we had in the village. Needless to state that the Burnley Contingent lost yet again!

 27th June Monday. On a sunny day in August 1968 Malcolm, Angela and I were on our way to the ferry point for Venice.

We were driving in Angela's Hillman Minx and had been camping on the Lido di Jesolo as part of a grand post A level European tour. Studying the road atlas I spotted what looked like a short cut. Malcolm who drove for the entire 2,000 mile plus trip agreed we should try it. The lane soon reduced to a track on a raised embankment between two lagoons. Ahead we could see the main road we were aiming for but it wasn't clear that we could join it. I went to investigate to find the exit had been bollarded off. There was nothing for it but to reverse along the narrow track. I signalled as much to Malcolm.

What happened next was quite remarkable. Within a very short time a quartet of four young Italian men appeared on the scene and were soon after joined by a German tourist and his son. Though there was no common language between us a plan was formulated. Enlisting the assistance of a pair of wizened fishermen working nearby who produced a stout pole the young Italians organised us all to push or pull the car back on track. With a lot of heaving this was quickly accomplished. Then one of them hopped into the driver's seat and reversed the car back to a turning point and handed the keys back to Malcolm. Through this act of ground level European cooperation Malcolm, Angela and I were able to have our day in Venice and more importantly get home.

Usually our group once dubbed by Alison as "The Usual Suspects" organises an annual long distance trail. Last year it was Malcolm M's coast to coast effort with Andy going the whole distance while Don, Jim S and I offered moral support at different stages. However for quite some time Don and Jim S have requested we should try the Gower Peninsular - they had read good reports about it. As it seemed to be their turn to nominate a destination the rest of us agreed that we should go this year.

Welsh Malcolm joined us on the Sunday and enjoyed our company on a damp expedition to Oxwich Bay. The next time he joined us occurred when we came off the Peninsular to have a mountain day in the Brecon Beacons National Park. After linking up with him in Llandielo we went onto a remote road end beyond Llandeusant from where we scaled the Escarpments of the Carmarthen Fan. It was one of the most exhilarating walks I have had for a long time.

It was a bright sunny morning and the good weather stayed with us all day. Knowing we had until 4.50pm before catching the bus back to Port Eynon we were not hurried and so had the luxury of time to look at wild flowers, to explore the nooks and crannies of coastal limestone landscape and to relax.

In our relations there was a polite formality between the Remains and Leavers with Welsh Malcolm adopting a conciliatory stance of being a reluctant Remain. But there was the elephant in the room and if was difficult to find neutral subjects to talk about when the UK had just voted for a divorce from the EU.

In the early afternoon we descended to Mewslade Bay just as the tide was going out.

Since our arrival this had been pointed out to us as a worthwhile place to visit and Welsh Malcolm knew of its reputation. Here sea action on limestone had had dramatic effects on the scenery sculpting fantastic forms by the shoreline.

Across from Mewslade we could see the headland above its neighbouring beach of Fall Bay. That was our aiming point. In between a promontory of rock probably formed by a disintegrated cliff blocked our way. Welsh Malcolm and Andy chose to edge round on the seaward side of this while the rest of us chose to scramble over it. Don and Jim S improvised a route that involved tricky pitches above deep clefts in the rock which Malcolm M, Jim B and I followed.

For 20 minutes or so I forgot myself, forgot about the Referendum result, and forgot about everything except to cross the barrier. The exhilaration of reach Fall Bay and the satisfaction of completing the traverse without having to retreat had brought us all together again. It was a great way to complete the holiday.

4th June Saturday. Yesterday I made a phone call I had never hoped to make. It looked like we were going to need assistance from Mountain Rescue.

The day had started off so well. Don had driven Malcolm, Jim, Helen and me to Seathwaite which claims to be the wettest place in England. The weather was at odds with this claim - we enjoyed wall to wall sunshine the whole day. At Seathwaite we linked up with Andy B and his friend Frank. Frank knows Andy through playing together in a swing band. It was the first time he had been out for a walk with us.

Malcolm who grew up near Workington and so knows these western fells well was in charge of the route and for starters he led us up by Taylorgill Force on a path that was - well…interesting.

It involved quite a degree of scrambling in some sections. After which the route levelled out as we attained the broad valley above the waterfall.

It had a habit of disappearing or taking you away from the main line on promising worn trods that led to dead ends. It was absorbing but weary work especially in the hot sun.

I was the last to arrive at this feature and was a little perplexed to see Andy and Frank climbing to my right along the edge of the scree slope when I could discern a way directly across it. Helen decided not to cross until she was satisfied Frank and Andy had reached the other side in case they dislodged rocks etc. As Frank reached the point he felt he could go no further I took advantage of the pause to cross - a distance of perhaps 70 or 80 metres. So now our quartet were neatly triangulated - Frank with Andy 60 feet or so above us in the centre of the slope were the apex while Helen and I formed the base on either side of the slope.

This separateness contributed to the problem. Having crossed the slope once I wasn't prepared to return. Frank's predicament demonstrated unpleasant possibilities - it looked a long way down. Also we had little idea how long it would take the others to thread the needle - it seemed at that point in order to get Frank off we would need outside help which was why I phoned Cumbria police. The operator took the details and told me they would be passed on to Mountain Rescue. 

While I was waiting for Mountain Rescue to call me back Malcolm, Don and Jim re-joined us. Andy gave them a report. Don and Jim crossed the gully on the route I took. Don then scaled the side almost in line with Frank and then with sure footed care picked his way to join him.

Not long after Malcolm led us onto Beck Head where we held a conference. It was decided that Kirk Fell and Great Gable would be left for another day. While the drama had subsided the demands of the route back to Seathwaite had not. It was a slog up - well a scree like path to Windy Gap while the final descent from Base Brown was precipitous to say the least.

Saturday 21^st May. Last Sunday the Norwest Fellwalking Club went to Glenridding. On the coach Andy and I considered options. "How about the classic round?" I suggested. He knew what I meant - Striding Edge - Helvellyn - Swirral Edge. While he pondered David G from across the aisle asked "Where are you going guys?" David is a returning member. He had joined the Norwest as a youth but university and career took him away from Lancashire and only re-joined last year along with his partner Visi. In fact he was somewhat surprised that the Norwest was still going and it had the same secretary as when he left 35 years ago!

I told David of my plan. "I was thinking of coming down by the Tongue on Dollywaggon Pike," he responded. I fed this back to Andy. He studied the map. "How about…going up by the Tongue?" Until the moment before I had never hear of the Tongue on Dollywaggon Pike though not surprised it had one and now my whole day was to be mapped out by this geographical feature. David seemed doubtful at this but he consented as the junior member of the group.

So it was that David, Visi, Andy and I stepped off the coach at Patterdale. It was a beautiful spring morning. As we climbed the rise that took us into Grisedale we were presented with 50 shades of green with a soundtrack of lambs bleating. We made good progress through the valley so that a mere 70 minutes from Patterdale church which was striking eleven as we passed it we reached Ruthwaite Climbing Hut. This marked the end of the known world for me. The next part of the walk would take me where I had never trod before.

Sensibly we had a snack knowing we were in for a test. "We are about to climb 400 metres in less than a mile," I told my companions after looking at the map. Of course the way we chose is not unknown territory - Wainwright in his guide to the Eastern Fells had described it as we had read in our treasurer's battered copy on the coach but the fact remains that out of all the people who climb Helvellyn from Patterdale or Glenridding 90% of them go by way of Striding Edge. Rightly so since it is one of the great walks of the British Isles. Having one seen an image of the dramatic arête what full blooded walker could resist it? At the same time I understood Andy's hesitation at the start of the day. Striding Edge would be a procession. David's suggestion had saved us from that. We had the cove below Dollywaggon Pike to ourselves.

There were times on that struggle up when I questioned our decision, questioned our map reading, questioned my pastime - why I could have been shopping in IKEA! But these were passing doubts quickly dispelled by the views we were rewarded with looking back down Grisedale.

Andy is one of the best navigators I know and he led us onto the Tongue from whence it was a straightforward climb to the summit.

It had taken almost as long to climb from Ruthwaite to the ridge as it had to reach Ruthwaite from Patterdale. And there was a strong sense I think in all of us that the main business of the day was over. Compared to the approach we chose the rest was …well easy. After a second lunch we continued north along the ridge taking in Nethermost Pike, Helvellyn and Whiteside before turning east and descending to Glenridding.

It had been a splendid day.

Of course like all the Dotcoms Susan is happily retired and has the widespread affliction of "I-DON'T-KNOW-WHEN-I-HAD-TIME-TO-WORK" syndrome to there the matter rested until the start of this year. "What do you think?" she asked as she showed me the design she had created in felt. "Yes that's what I want!"

Well more or less - "less" the snow-capped peaks of which Lancashire has none and the "more" was to be the backdrop of Pendle Hill in front of the central motif of walking poles and boots with the red rose of Lancashire.

After making an appointment for her and Jim she invited me to accompany them. I was rather intrigued that Lancashire once the greatest producer of cotton textiles in the world still had a weaving manufacturer left.

Joseph Marie Charles Jacquard (1752 - 1834) helped develop a process using punched cards that could program looms to create an infinite range of patterns and designs. Not only did this process revolutionise the manufacture of textiles but it was an important stage in the early development of computers. The Jacquard Weaving Company started with the type of loom we saw in the reception area. Now the process of weaving is fully automated using computers - so in a sense it has come full circle.

We were led into a large workshop - a cross between and open plan office and art studio with various projects in different stages of production - embroidered ties, club badges, school insignia and emblems for a range of end users which were ranged around the room.

For the short time we were in the room the excessive noise was not a problem but I was reminded that cotton mill workers in general and weavers in particular would know how to lip read and in the days before work place protections often suffered deafness.

A few weeks later the order was completed and in the middle of last month I was able to distribute the magnificent badges to the Dotcom Walkers.

No knowing or even researching the price of a badge I asked for £5.00 an outrageous mark-up but with the understanding the surplus would go to St Catherine's Hospice Care a charity which Susan and Jim have supported a number of years.

Readers who would like a badge can contact me through this e mail: r.clare1@btinternet.com

to Deansgate which took me past the Church of the Hidden Gem, the city centre's only Catholic church. I saw more evidence of homelessness in a passageway where a cluster of tents had been stationed as if a particle of Glastonbury had come to the North. Around the corner another encampment of perhaps half a dozen tents were parked in another walkway. There was no indication whether there were people in them. I assumed the occupants were out in the city trying to obtain the resources needed to maintain this way of life.

20th February Saturday. Back in autumn Sarah of St Catherine's Hospice Care contacted me and requested a meeting.

One of her colleagues had spotted a notice of Ribble Valley Inns promoting its walks programme where customers sign up for a two hour walk followed by lunch at one of their five pubs. St Catherine's was interested in a similar arrangement for the Mill its restaurant.

To overcome this obstacle transport had to be used - either the customers could me at Cuerden Valley Park and return for their tea at the Mill after a walk or better still be taken there by bus or coach. It was at this point in our meeting I put Ribble Vehicle Preservation Trust on the table.

He told me that their workshop was close to Freckleton and that their main day was Tuesday - PING! The Dotcom walking day. I wondered whether I could arrange a visit. Bob didn't think it would be a problem and told me how to get in touch with the Trust's chairman, Ray.

The Old Bill actually worked as a bus conductor and driver on the buses in late 1940s!

Initially there was a date in November that looked promising but the RVPT did not have a suitable vehicle available. Meanwhile the Mill was keen to get the project off the ground so in January we set up a walk from the Park's main offices at the Barn. 15 hardy souls elected to join Jim S, Chris Mc and me on an afternoon when the forecast was for "rain later".

Boy did we have rain later. I led the party on a circuitous route saying stuff like, "If we had a clear day we could see across to Blackpool Tower from this viewpoint". At Town Brow car park the customers had had enough. "Can't we go back now?" asked one of the group plaintively. Spirits revived back at the Mill where Nicola and her team prepared a delicious afternoon tea.

On board were driver John (a retired bank manager), C Bob, (my friend from Boots) Chris another Trust member and Ray who as chair of the Trust I had had many phone conversations but had never met to that point. Also two Dotcom walkers - Paul and Jim B there because they lived near Freckleton I asked them to join the bus at the workshop and act as liaison - a good link between the bus and the walking group.

From there we processed to Lower Cam Mill car park and into Cuerden Valley Park proper. As we reached the cycle route we had the Dotcom Walkers Photocall ™ which I include as an icebreaker. It consists of photograph people in groups of different categories - people who are left handed, people who went to the 2012 Olympics and so on. Once they got the idea people were game. Here's the group who have met members of the Royal Family.

 

A great day out which arose from serendipity - a chance meeting in Boots, Nicola at the Mill wanting a means to bring in more customers in the afternoon, Sarah contacting me, me contacting Ray and Lesley and 20 others deciding it might be fun. Our thanks to Ray and his team at Ribble Vehicle Preservation Trust for making it possible.

Wednesday 27th January. Yesterday I set a new precedent and one that I do not welcome. Having looked at the forecast, consulted with David and looked out the window I cancelled the planned outing to Chipping. The walk was already one that had been rearranged since according to the programme we should have been going to Goosnargh but Andy and Ann down to lead that walk advised that the fields were still waterlogged from Christmas.

and this is the last which will appear on Saturday.

I am sorry he has to leave but was relieved to discover that he has a new post to go to. I hope the rest of the team have been as fortunate. His departure is a sign of the times - local and regional newspapers are facing extreme pressures which threaten their survival. The industry like the weather is going through rough times.

17th January 2016 Sunday. Happy New Year! Winter has arrived. Proper winter with frosty mornings, snow and ice. Happily the cold snap coincided with an outing to Dunsop Bridge. Malcolm, Don, Nigel, Musmoo and I set off on Friday morning from the Centre of Great Britain car park next to the Centre of Great Britain BT telephone box in bright sunshine and blue skies on a morning where the cold gives extra definition to every branch and twig. 

It was good to be out after the wet couple of months we've had from the back end of last year.

Constant rain is confining. Our route took us along the southern edge of Beatrix Fell to Back Lane near Slaidburn. "Does this look familiar?" I asked Malcolm reminding him of our navigational blunder of last April (see below) when we added three miles on our walk from Slaidburn to Wray walking pretty much the length of Back Lane twice.

In every way the afternoon stood in sharp contrast to the morning. We climbed the bridleway from the settled valley to the wild moors and as we did so a front moved in bringing with it a prolonged spell of hail and snow. As with reached the broad peaty plateau it was difficult to keep to the track as it became obscured by the white stuff. The ingredient of challenge had been mixed into the day.

Over the next hour as we made a traverse of Dunsop Head to the remote farmstead of Whitendale we were reminded of that the elements need to be respected. Yes the route was straightforward; yes we were well equipped and prepared; yes we were all experienced walkers BUT… it wouldn't have been good to have become lost up there. I must admit to a sense of relief as we descended to Whitendale.

Our brief encounters with various members of the party was marked by a spirit of friendliness. They were doing their thing and enjoying it but could appreciate we were doing our thing and enjoying it. Blood sports is not my bag and even if I had the skills to shoot I am not sure if I could derive much pleasure from killing a bird or animal for sport but on my list of things to put right in the world it is very low down. So it was with no irony I asked one member of the party if he had had a good day. "Yes and you?" "Oh yes we've had a great day."

Monday 28th December. Earlier this year our friends at Ribble Valley Inns contacted me to ask if I could update their "GoWalking" booklet which was published two years ago. A new inn had been added to the group's existing four so we recced two routes from and near the Nag's Head at Haughton in Cheshire. RVI are part of Northcote Group based at Northcote Manor,

Nigel Haworth's prestigious hotel at Langho and as we set about our commission we received a new one - to submit eight walks that would encourage guests staying at the hotel to explore the nearby countryside. Since this is what we are all about it was a straightforward matter so that in a relatively short time RVI had a revised walks booklet

and Northcote Manor had published its own attractive booklet of Lancashire walks.

On returning there was so much rain at the weekend that I felt it best to cancel the Dotcom traditional end of year  outing to TOP. Yellow warnings had been issued and it was forecast to rain heavily all day. 

And then came storm Eva which hit Britain on Christmas Day. The front moved in dumping record levels of rain on already sodden ground. I should be more precise - Storm Eva hit Lancashire before sedately moving on to cause further havoc in Yorkshire. On Boxing Day morning there were seven severe warnings of flooding for Lancashire alone including one for Ribchester and one for Whalley. Whalley is 1½ miles from Northcote and Ribchester is 3 miles from Northcote. David contacted the manager at the hotel to advise him that the walk was off. I doubt if he was surprised. 

Against all this doom and gloom Eileen and I had the happiest of Christmas surprises when our Katherine's young man, David, proposed to her on Christmas Eve. Katherine and her brother John claim to be the first Lancashire Dotcom Walkers since they accompanied me on many a walk in Lancashire and beyond when they were children. Eileen and I are delighted Katherine's engagement. 

Not knowing what to expect we headed north out of Preston a little before nine o'clock this morning. After yesterday's deluge numbers were down on the coach with a few members showing that discretion is the better part of valour. 

At the A6 junction where the A590 turns to Barrow there was a tail back of traffic - the way through to Newby Bridge and beyond was blocked. It was not long after on the approaches to Kendal that we ran into slow moving traffic. A large pool covered the highway. It could be negotiated just by vehicles and presented no difficulty for the higher wheel base of our coach.

Cars had no chance of crossing the lake. An HGV chanced it to the clear road on the other side but Andy our driver decided not to risk further unknown hazards on the way ahead. So we did something unprecedented in the club's 61 year history - we abandoned the outing.

But not immediately though. On our retreat we came off at Junction 35 to see if we could make it to Carnforth - no go. We next speculated about a visit to Morecambe via Lancaster - no go. We headed towards Kirkby Lonsdale and got no further than Melling. It was now approaching 11.30 so Andy found himself timed out on his tachograph so was obliged to take a break. Fortunately  this was at Bull Beck picnic site. A number of us tucked into an early lunch

while a small party decided to stretch their legs and walk to Caton. Across to our right the flood plain of the Lune was well and truly flooded.

A little before mid-day Andy started up the engine and after picking up the walkers in Caton we made our way back to Preston - oddly unfamiliar because this time of year we only see it in the dark when we return from an outing.

Sunday 15th November: You'd have to say Gilbert was unlucky. We met him and his wife Dili at the top of Cautley Spout. They were on holiday from the Netherlands. We being the Usual Suspects -Jim, Nigel, Don, Helen and I catching a window in the weather before the storm Abigail hit us. 

As soon as it had been decided we would go to the Howgills Jim was so determined to do the trip since he had managed to miss every previous outing to the area over the seven years we have walked together so Thursday was his first visit. Now what are the odds for that? Well not that long as a matter of fact because contrary to Jim's impressions there had only one previous outing. So we call it evens.

When we came to take theirs Dili's camera battery was flat so I took one of them with mine.

 

Their plan was to do a round over Calders and Arant Haw to Sedbergh and then return to their car along the valley. The classic route in fact but a long one for a shortish late autumn day. I had half considered it myself but ruled it out as being too ambitious. We kept company for the next half mile to the top of Calders. Here we said farewell to them pointing out the broad track to Arant Haw with directions on how to get to Sedbergh. Their chances of completing the walk before darkness would depend on how long a lunch they took in Sedbergh but I would say they were 50-50. 

It worked out well and on the long descent we enjoyed conversation with Gilbert and Dili because it just so happened we were all fluent Dutch speakers…no I've just made that bit up. In common with all their compatriots Gilbert and Dili had excellent English. The time passed quickly. 

So we rounded off a great day out with tea and cakes in front of a roasting fireplace regaled with stories of the Inn's history from its landlord Alan Clowes.

It had been a splendid outing - climbing alongside England's highest waterfall, walking up to the Calf and enjoying all the fellowship of sharing a walk. I later found out that the odds of Gilbert finding a pub with no beer is about 68,700/1 but I am quite sure he would not think of himself as being unlucky. 

After crossing Spence Moor Teresa announced that the exposed inhospitable location was suitable for lunch.

After we held a huddled conference.  A few Dotcoms were still game for going on to the summit but most were not. Teresa agreed to lead the main party back to Barley down Ogden Clough while I and a few others pressed onto the summit. 

The descent of Teresa's group down Ogden Clough has now become the stuff of legend.  It involved a heroic crossing of the beck - usually a trickle but after the wet weather of that month in full spate. Sandra slipped into it, Teresa became fully immersed as she helped Sandra and then decided to stay in the stream until her party were safely across. Since then further details have emerged - all gruesome. The main point though is that everyone returned.

In the words of the great Jerome Kern song "Don't lose your confidence/if you slip/Be grateful for the pleasant trip/pick yourself up/dust yourself off/and start all over again" I decided to put Pendle onto the programme in October last year. The weather wasn't quite as bad but there was not much in it.  With David fit enough to lead a party he and Teresa came up with a planned alternative should the weather  fail to improve. By the time we arrived at the Upper Ogden Reservoir the weather had failed to improve so David led the (fool)hardy up to the top while Teresa took the rest of us across to Black Moss and the sculpture trail. 

Call it lack of imagination if you like but as I drew up the programme for this autumn I automatically put Pendle on as the final walk of the half. I sub titled it "David and Teresa's Pendle Trial". "Do you mean this?" e mailed Malcolm. "I most certainly do!" I e mailed back. Briefing David I asked him to devise a plan so that everybody could reach the summit. "We'll go from the Nick O' Pendle then." Referring to the top of Sabden Road as it climbs over the ridge towards the A59. (The nearest thing Lancashire has to an Alpine Pass). 

Jill and Sandra who do not much enjoy anything with a slope were persuaded by David's assurances that in previous weeks they had encountered far tougher Tuesday walks and in a spirit of hope triumphing over experience 21 of us gathered on Tuesday to walk up Pendle from the Nick. It was a great day out with early mist lifting to give us golden October sunshine.

As we arrived on the summit David brought out the bunting, the flag of St George and a tub of chocolates.

It was a great moment and one that we shared with three young mothers and their very young babies carried up in slings.

Well why not? It's not without precedent - J. Arthur Ransome's grandfather carried him to the top of Coniston Old Man when he was six months old. My most fervent prayer is that when these infants are our age 60 years hence that they will be able climb Pendle as we did on Tuesday in fine weather and wonderful fellowship. They have certainly been given the best possible start!

3rd October Saturday. Olá. Eileen and I have just returned from ten days in Spain staying at Nerja on the Costa del Sol. I have long wanted to visit this resort and it didn't disappoint. Following the "episode" at the Continental on August Bank Holiday Monday I did not need Eileen to tell me to place a limit on my walking but nonetheless was able to make a couple of exploratory walks into the nearby hills. These gave me magnificent views of the resort and the mountains that provided  its backdrop - especially the majestic El Cielo 1508m.

Any disappointment I may have felt in not climbing it was more than compensated by visits to two other attractions - one natural and the other historic.

In terms of "preposterous time"  limestone sits on the "recent" end of the geological past. The processes that went on to create the wonderful formations we admire today started a mere 5 million years ago. The most impressive feature is to be found in the Sala del Cataclismo which is dominated by a huge column of limestone 13m by 7m at its base and 32m tall - the biggest of its kind in the world (to date). 

Shortly after 8.00am the crowded excursion bus picked up a group of us from the hotel and I found myself on the back seat with Ron and Eda from Manchester who if I describe as an elderly couple it is only by virtue of the fact they were a few years older than me. 

The Alhambra Palace represents a high point in civilisation when architecture, craftsmanship, artistry and landscaping combined to produce features that please the eye and satisfy the spirit. Formerly a fortress the palace was started in the 14th century during the period of the Nasrid Dynasty the last Muslim rulers of Spain.    

Light, water (again), plaster, marble and tiles exquisitely worked in this world that seemed to be removed from earthly concerns.

And yet earthly concerns came in legions to trouble the last Moorish king of Granada Muhammed XII and these beautiful apartments echoed to the sound of wailing. The Christian armies of Isabel and Ferdinand were at the gate in the last act of what is termed as the "Reconquest of Spain". Given safe passage his mother ordered him, "Do not weep like a woman for what you could not defend like a man." This was in 1492.

"Did you enjoy your visit to the Alhambra as much as the first time?" Ron asked me on the way back to Nerja. He was amused when I told him I enjoyed it better because in 1996 we had two children in tow. Yet something must have rubbed off because both John and Katherine are history teachers and I know they appreciate that there are different versions of the past.

 1st September Tuesday. Yesterday around 2.00pm I was having a celebratory pint of cider in the Continental having just walked the 21 miles of the Guild Wheel in less than 6 hours.

I was feeling rather pleased with myself. 

The next thing I became aware of was staring up at the face of a waitress. She told me I had collapsed, that I was not to move and that an ambulance had been sent for.

Once there though Jessica and her partner briskly took over. After a number of checks and tests they put me on a stretcher and wheeled me out to the ambulance. Jessica seemed rather anxious I should take the soup and bread but unusually I had no interest in food at that time. We settled on taking the bread. Eileen came with me in the ambulance - I must have looked terrible because it was mirrored in the concern on her face.

As I explained the background to my collapse and as the ultrasound results showed that the vital organs were all in good shape and as my b.p. returned within a normal range the professional activity subsided and diverted itself to more urgent cases. The crisis had passed. Later I was x rayed for my sore left shoulder - the side I fell on. Nothing broken but I may be sore for a week or two. The diagnosis was I had fainted owing to dehydration and over exerting myself. Mr Whittaker as he left observed, "I'm all for walking as exercise but…" He didn't finish the sentence.

A lesson learned. I am an OAP now and I cannot push myself in the same way I did ten or twenty years ago. But in the words of Frank Sinatra 

8th August. Saturday. On Thursday I know I said to a number of people, "One of the walks in the book starts right out there on the car park." I was in Rivington Hall Barn at the wedding of my son John to Holly our lovely new daughter-in-law the latest member of that exclusive club of Mrs Clares. 

And such happiness  later - a dream, a happy dream, a summer's evening dream. Of course I cannot judge dispassionately but the wedding speeches by John's father-in-law Mark, by John himself and by the Best Man, Chris were as a set the best I have ever heard at a wedding. 

So many people came up to me to compliment me on John and the wonderful choice he had made with Holly as a life partner. "He thinks a lot of you," Chris the Best Man told me, "especially his mum." Jake said this too, and so did his brother Joe and later Frankie at the bar and then David another one of the young people husband of John's friend Victoria.

I might have added  "…and take them on lots of walks."

Tuesday 28th July. On Saturday morning Suzanne and Rob joined me for a walk at Auchendennan by Loch Lomond. We were staying there to attend the wedding of Johnny and Anna close friends of my daughter Katherine and Suzanne. During the walk Suzanne told me about how she had introduced the Duke of Edinburgh's Award Scheme to the school where she teaches.

That night it turned bitterly cold - so much so we were all awake before daylight. Moreover our camping Gaz cylinders were running out. We had barely enough fuel to heat our baked beans. Des appeared hours later to drop us off back at Lady Bower and we commenced the final day of our expedition. 

The route took us over featureless moorland which soon began to test our map and compass skills. At a point where I was no longer sure where we were Eric not an academic boy received a shaft of illumination remembered from the training we had "got" taking a bearing and then led us unerringly to rendezvous with Des and other members of the party who were ready to take us back to London.

This is one of the defining events of modern European history when after prolonged conflict the forces of reaction and conservatism finally put a cap on the radical ideas let loose by the French Revolution and the new world order settled down to a long period of Pax Britannica. Was victory at Waterloo a good thing? It is still too early to say. 

Of course I am well and truly in the zone of having fewer birthdays to look forward to than I have already had. Perhaps marking off birthdays at 5 year intervals is a way of saying, "Oh you're still around - how nice!"

 Stuart led us on an excellent circuit taking us up to the top of Broadhead Valley and bringing us back to Edgeworth and Wayoh Reservoir. It is a less visited area of the West Pennine Moors and one we all enjoyed enormously. At lunch time I shared some of the cake given to me by my friends at VFA and the box of chocolates kindly bought by David and Val. In this way the walk was marked as special.

 

On Tuesday we had another birthday. Mike O is 51 weeks older than me. I enjoyed Mike's birthday walk as much as I enjoyed my own. The combination of good companionship, being outdoors and passing through a lovely landscape is hard to beat. And even in a group as big as we have become there are many occasions when there are no birthdays at all. Yet all those days - all those Tuesdays over the past seven years have felt just as special as the birthday walks.

We have a simple formula. We enjoy walking. We are happy when we walk. We walk a lot. We are happy people.

 23rd May Saturday. Last week as Malcolm, John and I were approaching St John's Church in Calder Vale with fell in with an elderly couple - that is a couple a little bit older than us.

 

For a short while we conversed about the weather and feeding birds which we gathered was the purpose of their walk. The lady told us that she had lived in Calder Vale all her life - she was 79. "I didn't notice a shop - is there one?" I asked her. "No. Closed four years ago." Pause. "Is there a bus service?" "No that was cut last year." 

 

Soon we were alongside the lovely church and about to enter the playground where she played as a child during the war years. We bade the couple farewell and set out on our walk but my mind has kept returning to the elderly lady and what she revealed. It was noteworthy enough for me to relate the conversation to the Dotcom Walkers when Malcolm and I returned to Calder Vale on Tuesday for the weekly walk.

It's an odd place - Calder Vale. Firstly it is very well concealed - a self-contained industrial village hidden in a wooded valley between Garstang and Beacon Fell at the end of a cul-de-sac. The industry is provided by a large and imposing textile mill first brought here by the allure of water power in the first part of the 19th century. Quakers built it and much of the village - stone terraces sloping downhill to the River Calder. Being Quakers they saw no need for a pub.

The mill has had its ups and downs including periods of closure but it is active now - another factor contributing to the oddness of Calder Vale - it has a working mill.

 

No pub, no shop, no bus and yet it possesses a textile mill a remnant of the once great textile industry that dominated the landscape of Lancashire. 

 And here's the thing - it manufactures the material that is used for keffiyehs - the traditional Arab headdress worn throughout the Middle East. It is said that Yassar Arafat wore a keffiyeh made from cotton woven in Calder Vale. One wonders if the death squads of ISIS are similarly clad.

 

A curious link - from the burning sands of the Arabian Peninsular to this gentle wooded valley. Is it me and the age I've reached - I collect my OAP next month - that the world seems to be going to the dogs?  From whichever way you look at it there seem to be so many symptoms of a sick globe. Boat people trafficked mercilessly across cruel seas to heartless continents, the ridiculous over valuation of football and celebrity at the cost of a decent living wage for the poor, the excesses of fast food, cheap alcohol and easy access to gambling and pornography, and dogs of war in the Ukraine and the Middle East committing atrocities with impunity knowing that America and Europe have a busted flush so they are unlikely to be called to account. 

 On Tuesday Malcolm led 17 of us from Calder Vale onto the edge of Bowland Forest. As always it was a walk of good companionship and good cheer - all of us appreciating the season and the views. There is little we can do about the destruction of the treasures of Palmyra but we can strive to make good the space we occupy. 

 

Saturday 9th May.  The Coast to Coast Walk is one of the world's most popular long distance routes.

It crosses northern England from St Bees Head on the Irish Sea to Robin Hood's Bay on the North Sea and is 190 miles long. It can be done in reverse though its creator Alfred Wainwright advises against it. By going west to east the prevailing winds come over your right shoulder and are not blown onto your left cheek. 

Last weekend Jim and I went up to join Malcolm and Andy B at Keld close to the half way point of the C2C. In the previous six days they had dipped their boots in the Irish Sea below St Bees Head and accompanied by Don had crossed the Lake District by way of Ennerdale, Borrowdale, Patterdale, Kidsty Pike, Haweswater and Shap. Then they continued over the Westmorland limestone plateau to Kirkby Stephen. Here they bade farewell to Don to press on over Nine Standards Rigg to rendezvous with us at Keld Lodge. After goodbyes to Jim's Susan who acted as our taxi service we set off together down Swaledale in the direction of the North Sea.

Two years ago the 75th anniversary of that holiday Andy B followed the newly established Pennine Journey Route with the support of Jim, Don, Malcolm and me. None of us could commit to the 16 days necessary to complete the 247 miles but we could do stages.  I started out with Andy from Settle. Jim joined us at Bowes and we three went up to Hadrian's Wall. Here as Jim and I finished Don joined Andy for the rest of the walk. Malcolm joined them at Dufton for the final stretch back to Settle.

Sunshine, cloud, wind and rain.

B&B, guesthouse, hotel.  Encounters and conversations and sometimes walking alone with one's thoughts. The rich tapestry that makes following a long distance trail so thoroughly enjoyable. On Thursday evening we reached the slipway by the Bay Hotel Robin Hood's Bay and Malcolm and Andy asked Jim and me to cast the pebbles they had picked up from the beach at St Bees into the sea. The walk was finished.

Returning to the Pennine Journey Walk of two year's ago Malcolm had linked up with Don and Andy at Dufton as planned but after they all set out towards Brough he developed almost incapacitating pain in his legs. After struggling on to Garsdale Head with the some help from public transport he realised that further participation was fruitless. He decided to retire. It was a low point.  "You must have wondered whether or not you would be able to do another trail walk," I said to him sometime on the C2C. "It was worse than that. I wondered whether I would do any type of walk again." 

As we started to plan this year's walk when Malcolm suggested the Coast to Coast "because I don't know how many years I have left" without any further discussion the rest of us fell in with the idea. To plan a long walk is one matter - actually doing it is another. So as Malcolm reach the shore on Thursday evening he was not just completing a 190 mile walk but a two year recuperation back to fitness. 

Sunday 18th April. On Thursday I found myself at a loose end so decided to go for a cycle ride. I looked at the map for inspiration and my eyes settled on Roseacre. I knew it to be one of two sites in Lancashire where Cuadrilla, the oil and gas company to set up drilling operations for shale gas by a method called hydraulic fracturing more commonly referred to as "fracking". I am not sure where I imagined Roseacre to be but it was a lot closer than I thought - practically in my back yard. Well perhaps not but certainly within easy reach of a morning's ride. I decided to go and see what all the fuss was about.

By the time I reached Elswick protest signs were everywhere. I reached Roseacre.

Shortly after I spoke to a resident who lived a little further down the lane. Her cottage would be on the route of all the traffic needed to construct and service the operation. Quite a contrast to the rural peace of the present. 

"The life of a well is ten years," she told me. She was young enough to endure a decade of disruption. "But they'll leave all of the discarded equipment. They won't clear the site." I asked her where the other fracking well was located. "At Plumpton on Preston New Road." I thanked her and wished her luck. She smiled resignedly. 

I was building up a disquietening picture of how the world works. I wondered what school the chair of United Utilities went to and what school the chair of Cuadrilla went to.  Alan also informed me that when there had been test drilling in 2011 his house had been affected by an earth tremor.

 

By now I had a better grasp of the fracking landscape and had one more aspect to check out further along the road at Peel Hill. As I reached the garden centre I knew I had arrived at the epi centre of resistance. There arrayed along Preston New Roadwere large posters making very serious claims against fracking.

I cycled down Moss Lane to meet John Toothill an eco warrior.

Hadn't Fylde Borough Council thrown out the application? I asked. Yes but on the narrow grounds of noise level and traffic concerns. It was a far too limited objection and could be easily mitigated by Cuadrilla when the application goes to appeal. John wanted the risk to public health through atmospheric pollution to be listed as an objection. 

The following day, Friday, I went for another cycle ride - in the opposite direction ending up in the West Pennine Moors above Chorley. On Barn Lane I saw this notice.

 

Hold on a minute - solar energy is what anti-frackers have asked for? "Politics is not the art of the possible. It consists between the disastrous and the unpalatable." (JK Galbraith). 

Arriving home there was a letter from South Ribble Borough Council informing us that the Penwortham By pass had been approved on a route that would take the new road about 200yds from where we live. No - not in my backyard but something that will be obvious from our bedroom windows.

11th April Saturday. "We must stop deferring to each other," I instructed Malcolm as we rejoined our intended route after overshooting the required junction - the ONLY junction - by 1 ½ miles. Doubts had begun to arise when we turned a bend and were facing Waddington Fell. Our plan was to walk the Hornby Road - the opposite direction. This error cost us over an hour.

I have read somewhere that the Hornby Road has been described as the finest moorland track in the north of England and it did seem that way as we left the last outpost farm to step into the heart of Bowland. Though not straight there were Roman origins or may be pragmatic Roman utilisation of what was already there an ancient track linking the Hodder and the Lune valleys. 

Below White Hill we came across a couple up from Dunsop Bridge by way of Whitendale. Apart from a reticent birdwatcher we overtook earlier they were the only walkers we encountered all day. An hour later we were overtaken by a quartet of motor cyclists giving their trials bikes an airing. I'm not sure they were meant to be there but they were not doing any harm. Certainly there was no danger of mowing down hordes of walkers because there were none.

31st March Tuesday. On the 12th of this month I took receipt of 100 copies of "100 Walks in Lancashire".

I soon discovered that distributing 100 copies of "100 Walks in Lancashire" was as much a project as writing the blessed thing.Fortunately nearly all orders were concentrated in three networks - the Dotcoms, the Norwest Fellwalking Club and the Reading group. By last Tuesday morning when I handed over a copy to Jim to give to Helen I had disposed of every copy.

So now I await the reaction.

All the same I have qualms. While I know that there are many amongst my book buying public who will place "100 Walks" on their bookshelf where it will safely remain I fear the day when Jean or Tom or Graham announce they are off to do walk 37 and they are never seen again!

It was an interesting project and with the help of the Dotcoms - GPS Dave, Andy B and Nigel we sorted out a series of walks for the Clog and Billycock, Pleasington, the Three Fishes, Great Mitton, the Highwayman at Nether Burrow and the Bull at Broughton (in TOP not the Broughton in Lancashire or Cumbria.)

 

Kaye was very pleased with the work and the result was a most attractive booklet which proved so popular that the pubs …sorry inns…quickly ran out of copies. (Let's hope a similar fate awaits "100 Walks") I suppose that made me a best non-selling author! 

In her e mail of last week Kaye explained that the group wanted to re-issue the booklet in order to include a new acquisition - the Nag's Head at Haughton in Cheshire. As well as being flattered I was interested. I had a look at the map. There were plenty of footpaths near the pub…sorry inn. But more significantly it was situated a few miles from the Peckforton Hills - a lovely wooded area of upland not particularly high but noticeable on the Cheshire Plain. Before taking on the project I consulted David of the GPS. The logistics of getting to the village would be difficult without his help. Like me the task interested him. I emailed Kaye to say we were in.

Giving the new proposal some thought I knew I had the walks within the portfolio to create an interesting booklet. The only thing missing was a walk from the hotel itself. Then I had another thought. Next month Eileen and I are spending a few days in Harrogate with John and Diane. Next comes the Long Walk when I join Malcolm and Andy B at Keld to complete the C2C with them followed by a holiday in June with Eileen. The window for opportunity to sort out the additional project was narrow. When I asked Kaye about the time frame she told me "as soon as possible."

I was a little surprised when Craig replied almost immediately. He expressed pleasure in what I had given him but asked that I include a few more locations in the booklet - especially Dunsop Bridge which seemed to be popular with the guests. "No problem" I replied. An hour later I sorted out the additional routes and forwarded them to Kaye and Craig.  

28th February Saturday. Sorry - there's been a lot going on since Eileen and I returned from Australia.

It is a dream come true or will be on 6th March. That a publisher, Crowood Press, on very little evidence entrusted me with the project and has placed a lot of resources into producing and then promoting something I have written - well that's… humbling.

…yes led to

and the North West Training & Development Team

this is the only conference of its kind in the UK and is now in its 10th year. It is an inspiring thing to be involved with.

The Blackpool Conference epitomises everything I have learned from my work with Voice For All. The delegates display an open, accepting and natural friendliness in all their relations. They are seriously non-judgemental. They appreciate everything that is done for them. They are kind and supportive to each other. All this in spite of the obstacles and difficulties they face in their everyday lives.

Now his is a sense of achievement I aspire to.

1st January 2015 

Happy New Year! Greetings from Sydney. 

Poetic justice! I gave up the expedition to Kurnell until Tuesday.

along its golden beaches to an area of sand dunes ecologically important and used as a film location for a number of Aussie films most notably "Mad Max 3: Beyond Thunderdrome". At the end of Wanda Beach I rounded a headland into Boat Harbour and then picked up a coastal path leading to Cape Solander and incorporating some fairly impressive coastal scenery.

For a while I had this corner of the continent to myself and it was hard to believe it constituted part of Australia's largest city. 

Then from Lookout Hill I had a view of Botany Bay and the grassy slopes of La Perouse on the opposite side of the Heads. Captain Cook was minded to call Botany Bay by the less inviting name of "Stingray Bay" but changed his mind when his scientists Joseph Banks and Matthew Solander collected their specimens and brought them onto the Endeavour. If he could see the bay now he would probably revert to Stingray Bay  or since his etymology was in descriptive mode "Oil Terminal Bay" or "Container Port Bay" or most obviously "Airport Bay" since on the far side from the heads Kingsford-Smith is gateway  for the city, New South Wales and Australia. At first glance Botany Bay in not as attractive as its name suggests.

 

There was a flagstaff displaying three flags - Australia's, New South Wales' and the flag of the Aborigines. There was a stone monument dedicated to Daniel Solander. There is a marker stone to one Forby Sutherland a seaman who was the first British subject to die in Australia. And then there is a tall obelisk erected on the centenary of the landing. Overall it seemed rather low keyed.

On it are inscribed these words:

Monday 8th December. "Is my wife on this bus?" I desperately asked the driver. He acted nonplussed. I looked down the coach relieved to see Eileen half way down. I endorsed my ticket and took my seat. Another outing had just gone into the annuls of Great Cock ups. I really do not know how it is but nearly all my unsuccessful expeditions are the ones I do with Eileen.

We were in Rookwood Necropolis, "the largest cemetery in the southern hemisphere" which is situated in the southern suburbs of Sydney. That's right Sydney Australia. As part of our 40th wedding anniversary celebrations we're on a six week stay "Down under" mainly visiting relatives. This first week of our break had brought us to Sydney.

Now I know I will have readers who will be now beginning to shift their sympathies towards Eileen. Hey Sydney Harbour Bridge - the Opera House and Bob puts a cemetery on the itinerary! Well by Saturday we had seen Sydney Harbour - Bridge and Opera House I have 725 images to prove it. Also we had had rewarding expeditions out to Manly close to the entrance of the great harbour and in addition to La Perouse close to the entrance of Botany Bay where a French navigator made a brief stopover in 1788 a few days after the arrival of the First Fleet. 

On my previous visit to Oz I had browsed around a number of burial grounds - in Beechworth, Victoria, in Alice Springs and up at Port Douglas, Queensland and found them fascinating places to visit in that they revealed the history of European settlement in those areas. So when I discovered that Rookwood Necropolis "the largest cemetery in the southern hemisphere" was not a great distance from where my sister-in-law Kath lives I decided it would be worth a visit.

My plan was a simple one. Get there, have a look around and then take the bus back. On reaching the place Eileen soon made clear she didn't want to spend more than the hour and ten minutes interval before the next bus back to Burwood. This necessitated a modification in my plan. It was a bit like being asked to tour Pompeii in an hour. As it happened the most interesting section of the cemetery was close to the terminus - the Old Catholic section - which had a well signed historical trail which took us 45 minutes to complete.
Still with a comfortable margin before the bus was due I left Eileen at the stop to investigate a headstone that had caught my interest not too far away. I returned to Necropolis Circle and as I reached it the bus ten minutes early trundled past me. I ran towards the stop but Eileen was not in sight. The bus did not stop as might be expected at the terminus of the route but headed back to Burwood.

As I reached the stop Eileen was sitting on a low wall hidden until that point by a shrub. Exasperated I said to Eileen (Eileen would have chosen "shouted") "Why didn't you stop the bus?" "Because you weren't here!" she shouted back. "But I was just there," I pointed to the place 100 yards away where I had reached the circle. But further analysis of the situation we both knew would be futile.

There is a well-known adage used by/about politicians. When you're in a hole - STOP DIGGING! It was one I chose to ignore then. Both of us nursing bruised feelings I decided - at Eileen's prompting - to explore the rest of the cemetery. "You might as well we have all this time to kill before the next bus." So leaving Eileen with her bus ticket I set out to locate the War Graves which I was to discover were some considerable distance away.

I found them all right close to the Crematorium but then committed a fatal error. Instead of retracing my steps I attempted to improvise a route to create a circuit. I quickly realised the folly of this decision but continued on my ill-fated course. I was soon hopelessly lost in the largest cemetery in the southern hemisphere.

I sought direction from a young couple in the new Catholic section but they were not much help but to point me vaguely in one direction with the less than heartening words that I would get there - "eventually". I had now reached the point I had to try and contact Eileen by mobile. I left a voice mail message to the effect that if the bus came she was to get on it. I later found out that that message went to my brother Ed back in the UK- one above Eileen on my phone list.

I came a across the Flower shop and armed with clearer directions I arrived at the main drive and on the bus route. "WHERE ARE YOU? THE BUS IS HERE" Eileen texted me. "AT THE NEXT STOP. GET ON THE BUS" I text back. The bus came in sight stopping at the second stop some 300 yards along the drive. I was in fact at the third stop. I frantically waved it down as it approached and without any prologue abruptly asked the driver if Eileen was on the bus.

Eileen's relief was such that the amount of recrimination was relatively low in proportion to the situation. There were one or two further aftershocks - when I thought I had lost my wallet (it was in the bottom of my rucksack) and when we opened the sandwich box for our belated lunch the contents of which had been completely rearranged by my frantic jogging. "I am NEVER going to come out with you again when you plan something like this" Eileen told me as we caught the second bus. I certainly be not suggesting another cemetery tour in either hemisphere.

Wednesday 12th November. I had no idea whether there would be a Remembrance Day observance at the War memorial in Accrington as we set off from nearby Haworth Park yesterday. For the first time since the Dotcoms were formed Remembrance  Day fell on a Tuesday so it was felt we should mark the occasion by starting our walk in Accrington. Why Accrington? Well mainly because of the Accrington Pals.

in which it was understood that friends, neighbours and work colleagues who enlisted together would stay together in platoons, companies and battalions. This programme was particularly successful in the north of England and in of all the 50 towns that had "Pals" battalions the name of the Accrington Pals seems to have a particular resonance. 

In part this is due to the musicality of the phrase. In part it is because of Peter Whelan's play of the same title. But more than anything it is because what occurred on 1st July 1916. This was the first day of the Battle of the Somme. The 11th Battalion East Lancashire Regiment was under orders to capture a village called Serre. Weeks of artillery bombardment were have meant to weakened the German defences so much so that the men were told that all they had to do was to stroll across no man's land to capture the enemy trenches. Nothing could have been further from the truth. As the Accrington Pals emerged from their lines they were met with withering machine gun fire. It was a this instance the great flaw in recruitment drive became obvious - neighbours and workmates who joined up in great numbers - died in great numbers. In 20 murderous minutes of the 700 men taking part in the attack 235 were killed and 350 were wounded. The effect on the town - at that time the smallest county borough in the country - was devastating. 

"Hello. Will there be a ceremony?"

Just then a small party arrived. One was a bandsman who took station on the steps of the memorial. Another I later found out was a retired vicar Kevin Logan. After a moment the Rev Logan asked for our attention and then conducted a brief and dignified service. His timing was impeccable for as he finished his opening remarks we heard the sound of a distant cannon signalling the start of two minutes silence. The bandsman then played "The Last Post" and Kevin read the time honoured extract from Laurence Binyon's poem "For the Fallen". "They shall not grow old as we that are left grow old." We finished with a prayer and the National Anthem. 

 Wednesday 22nd October. "So fair and foul a day I have not seen" mutters Macbeth in the Scottish play. He could have been talking about yesterday. 

Last year by far the most challenging Tuesday walk was when Teresa had led us on a route which she and her David had billed as "Pendle the easy way up." Weatherwise it was a dreadful day and full of incident. After the coldest and wettest lunch stops of the year a vote was taken on whether to continue to the summit or descend directly to the village. Almost predictably we were divided down the middle. While it's not really satisfactory to split a group there was sufficient experience in the two parties to adopt both options.

This year I decided to put the walk on the programme again on the premise that the weather couldn't possibly be as bad as last year. Well it can if the tail end of Hurricane Gonzalo comes along. This hit the coast of Lancashire full force in the early hours of yesterday morning. By the time Chris, Sandra and I had set out from Penwortham it looked as if the worse was over. Indeed on our drive to Barley the sun made an appearance. However by the time we parked up it had turned atrocious.  

 At Bill Smith's memorial we had reached the moment of decision. David would lead those who wanted to continue to the top which Teresa would take anyone else along the flank of Pendle on a lower level walk. Again we were evenly divided. For a change I joined Teresa's group. 

Tuesday 9th September. The Old Bill is 80 today! Happy birthday Bill. In the normal course of things we would have planned a surprise on today's walk but he's at Lourdes this week so we gave him a surprise last week. Between us GPS Dave and Val and I conspired a special lunch at the Corporation Arms, Longridge - Dotcom Pub of 2011. This was during our first walk back after our summer break. Everybody was in on it including Bill's family. Shortly after 1.15 a nonplussed Bill stepped out of the bright sunlight

to be greeted by 35 people and then sat down for a lovely meal including a birthday cake. It was a great Dotcom occasion.

Bill and Brian immediately hit it off even though in terms of conversation Brian more than makes up for Bill's reticence. We did a walk near Halsall and had settled on the Ship at lunch time. Brian, John and Bill found they had ballroom dancing in common. I felt somewhat left out. 

Perhaps to an outsider it may seem disrespectful that I keep emphasising "old" when referring to Bill but here's how I see it - so long as Bill keeps walking then the rest of us are inspired to keep walking and he gives us a yardstick by which to measure our remaining active years. Bill is almost 16 years older than me and still going strong. Hopefully I have at least 16 years more of walking enjoyment.

Here is one of my most fervent prayers - that when Jack is Bill's age 76 years from now, and Bill is 156 years old, Jack will still have a lovely countryside to walk and enjoy in the good fellowship of others. 

12th August Tuesday . The Glorious Twelfth! Out in Bowland today and for the next few weeks there will be restrictions on access as the grouse shooting fraternity have their fun. 

"I was thinking we'd be better off in Cathedral Quarry?" said Tom.

I have been in large caves before - both natural and man made but there was a singularity about this one that deeply impressed me. It was certainly well named - the cavernous space could certainly accommodate a cathedral with room to spare. 

I was reminded of illustrations of Napoleon's troops in Egypt dwarfed by the huge proportions of ancient temples.

Of course it was not as elegantly shaped as ancient Egyptian pillars but every bit of space around it had been carved out of the rock by human effort. 

 17th July Thursday. For the past four years I have helped out my friend GPS Dave at the Saunders Lakeland Mountain Marathon which he organises. This is a two day navigation event in which teams of two race over the hills to a mid-camp and race back the following day. Its participants do this for fun and universally regard it as a far better activity than clubbing in Manchester. As a non-driver I usually arrange a lift up with one of the other marshals but this year I was already staying in the area at Grange-over-Sands. Reluctant to travel all the way back to Preston only to be driven back to the venue centre near Patterdale I decided to make my own way by from Windermere having got a lift there from John Griffiths (Founder of www.lancashirewalks.com) 

At the bus stop by Windermere Station I quickly ascertained that there was no bus direct to Patterdale except at weekends and school holidays. This did not come as a complete surprise to me and I had prepared myself for a bit of a walk. The question remained walk from where? Just then the open top service bus Route 555 to Ambleside pulled up. On a bright summer's morning in July it was a no brainer - I would start the walk from Ambleside. 

Hint - no point on doing this journey on a wet and windy day.

The route took me along one of my favourite paths up past Stock Ghyll Force

by farm lane to Middle Grove and then to the ruined farm at High Grove. From there I continued to intercept the Ambleside Road just below a section well named on the map as "The Struggle"! 

and descended to Brothers Water. From there it was a matter of joining the Patterdale road and walking round into Deepdale.

Well over 1200 competitors take part in the SLMM and it is a great event to be involved with - even as a lowly marshal. I have a great admiration for the participants who compete at a very high level in a sport that receives  little press attention and no television coverage. So it was no big deal to walk the seven or eight miles across to the event centre but I retain a small sense of achievement when reflecting on the day I crossed Kirkstone Pass the old fashioned way - on foot.

 25th May Sunday. "Have you got your camera, Bob?" asked Andy. 

This was on Thursday afternoon as we were returning from our five day walk along the Furness Way. It had been a super break but on that final day I had been in a subdued mood when I realised I had lost my mobile phone. Retired policeman Jim carried out the initial inquiries. "When did you last have it?" 

 

The Furness Way is a 75 mile route across southern Lakeland from Arnside to Ravenglass. Much of it traverses pre-1974 Lancashire North of the Sands. Even though all of us were familiar with the area having driven through it countless times on our way to the high fells we were surprised and delighted to discover much of the walk was new to us. Moreover until we reached Coniston we had hardly seen another walker. We had the lovely hills and lonely farms to ourselves.

From Coniston we all took the Walna Scar Road to Seathwaite where we stayed conveniently close to Newfield Inn at Seathwaite Lodge. All the accommodation passed what Andy calls "The Spouse Test" i.e. "Would you be happy to bring your wife/partner to stay here?"

But it could get worse.

"It's all the information phones carry now," observed Jim.

"Are you trying to cheer me up?"

Me: Eileen I have experienced a misadventure.

Eileen: What now?

Eileen: You're always losing phones!

Eileen: Does Andy lose his phone? Does Don or Jim? 

Our plan was to cross to Dalegarth and if the weather held Andy could bag Harter Fell

as part of his Wainwright Project. The weather did hold and Andy, Jim and Don climbed the fell while Malcolm and I waited on Harter Brow - having both of us completed the Wainwrights.

 

Malcolm was always going to take the train for nostalgic reasons. He had first ridden on it over 60  years ago as a (young) child. He was please we had elected to join him. So in the end we five didn't complete the Furness Way - we'll leave that last bit for another day - if ever - it doesn't matter. To cap it all Andy produced the birthday cake lovingly made by Elaine which we sampled on the journey to the coast.

"One of your party has left a mobile. Please contact the café to make arrangements for its return." MIRACLE NUMBER ONE. 

This was the newly opened Bespoke Folk Café (See www.bespokefolkcafe.co.uk ) As we ordered our brew we enjoyed a bit of banter with the lady who served us. She was keen to let us know that she offered walker friendly accommodation at a reasonable price. She had seen us set out for the bus earlier that morning and had worked out where we stayed. MIRACLE NUMBER TWO. When she found the phone on an outside couch where I left it she knew where to track down Andy's contact number.

This is how I became reacquainted with Saint Jane of Coniston. She was on her way to see her newly born grand-daughter for the first time and her husband Saint Steve of Coniston kindly put themselves out to carry out a mission of mercy on their trip down to Chester. 

Wednesday 14th May. As of today THE PROJECT is over. At 9.13am I posted the manuscript of "100 Walks in Lancashire" to Crowood Press. 

In a previous life I was a GCSE examiner which involved three weeks of intense marking of 400 or 500 papers evenings and weekends. To send off the final scripts was one of the best feelings to experience somewhat akin to going up in a balloon.

Back in August when I accepted the commission I sensed that Alan Murphy my contact and I assume my editor at Crowood was clutching at straws when he approached us through this website. What he offered was my chance of a slight smudge of immortality in the world of walking literature. He really had no idea if I could deliver. I had no idea whether I could deliver but I had built up an archive of 200 of my own walks in Lancashire which I knew I could delve into. 

In reality I am just the front man. BACK UP are the people who have given up time and effort to check out the routes that will make up "100 Walks in Lancashire" when it's out next year. And of course they have checked out routes which will not be included because for one reason or another I have discarded them.

I start with my friends at the Norwest Fellwalking  Club. John and Pauline Dixon, Tom Oakes and Ken Moss, Geoff Wildman, Keith and Kath Wildman, Eric Alty, Bob Singleton, Alec Wrennall,  Jean and Jim Nettleship, Ann Taylor, Graham Preston, Brenda Nixon, Martyn Hanks and Andy Walker.

Next come  others -  Brian and Eileen Dernaley, companions on several walks and at mountain marathons; Dave Eastham who I first met nearly 40 years ago when Eileen and I first lived in Preston. And without the website there would have been no commission - my thanks to John Griffiths who set up www.lancashirewalks.com are eternal.

We were in Windermere to celebrate Diane's special birthday and it was special in all sorts of ways. John and Diane had booked No 1 The Terrace part of a grade II listed building to accommodate a changing cast of family and friends. It was palatial to say the least.

This explains why on Tuesday morning John (founder of this website), Brian (founder of the Dotcom walkers) and I had our walk across to Staveley.

He had never seen anything more beautiful and he vowed that if he ever was offered the chance to live in or near the Lakes he would take it. The opportunity came when he was accepted for a job in Kendal in 1941. From that time on nearly all his spare time was devoted to walking his beloved fells. In 1952 he commenced his encyclopedic "Illustrated Guide to the Lakeland Fells"  which transformed the lives of thousands of his readers who were equipped with a detailed and reliable guide for exploring the fells. The Guide was characterised by Wainwright's determination not to have a single letter of printed typescript in any of the seven books. Every drawing, map and word was rendered by his own hand. Wainwright went on to be a publishing phenomenon - selling millions of books. TV and radio appearances followed. His life transformed because of a 20 minute walk. Two years ago the Wainwright Society (See www.wainwright.org.uk)  replaced the view indicator to mark this special spot.

Afterwards we had just a few minutes to wait for the bus back to Windermere. It wasn't a life changing walk like the one Wainwright did over 80 years ago but a pleasantly memorable one I think during a highly memorable few days at Windermere. THANK YOU to John and Diane for inviting us to share in the celebrations marking Diane's special birthday. 

Monday 17th March. "It was…mystical." Nigel was describing his feelings two weeks ago when we reached the top of Black Fell and enjoyed a wonderful 360 degree panorama of the Lake District.

It struck a chord. "I know someone who can relate to that." And I reminded Andy, who was leading our walk, of the time when he and I were on the Dales Way coming over Cam Fell Road. Earlier that day we had set out from Hubberholme on the third day of our long walk. The previous day we had had wall to wall sunshine from Appletreewick to Hubberholme through the heart of the Dales. But on the morning I describe we walked into a grey, drizzly clag.

As we climbed onto Cam Fell our private thoughts might have been summed up with "Sod this for a game of marbles!"  The morning had seemed arduous but as we briefly joined the Pennine Way the walking became easier. Still in thick mist we started on a gentle downward slope.

I had drawn a little in front of Andy when quite unexpectedly the curtain of fog was suddenly pulled aside. Before us were the Three Peaks of Yorkshire surprising us not only because of their sudden appearance but also because of the unusual view we had of them. "Look at this", I called back to him. He was looking at it. For Andy that moment seemed endowed with significance. The sight moved me. The sight moved Andy almost to tears.

Religion had been something of a theme last week. On Tuesday Edward led the Lancashire Dotcom Walkers on a circuit from Brierfield on a route that took us past the Inghamite Church on Wheatley Lane. 

21st February 2014 Friday. It's been a fraught week. For quite some time my computer has been playing up. By Monday it was becoming so awkward that I took the precaution of backing up all my documents and photographs and sending in several weeks' of walks to the newspapers we supply. On Wednesday the difficulties were becoming acute. The PC wouldn't switch on straight away, took ages to respond, and would close down websites. I lost work failing to remember John's Three Rules of Computers - "SAVE YOUR WORK, SAVE YOUR WORK, SAVE YOUR WORK!" 

Once started though in front of my eyes the screen began to fill up with a bewildering array of windows taking me on a journey into the inner cyber space of my PC - areas where I would never have found or even suspected left to my own devices. Places which to that moment I was happily ignorant. "Well," I thought," Yolanda really does know her stuff - she'll sort this in no time."

This encounter shook me somewhat and left me reflecting on my gullibility. If something looks too good to be true then it probably is too good to be true. The bait was put on the end of a hook and I snapped it up. Doubtless there was something in the terms and conditions that covered the company Yolanda represented. But no doubt like others I was attracted by it appearing to solve my problem easily and inexpensively. This is the world we now inhabit - Last gasp market capitalism where even in well-ordered societies the consumer is seen as a mark. In the end I counted myself fortunate to learn the lesson so cheaply.

13th February Thursday. Hello it's been awhile. Firstly Christmas came and went. This was followed by a holiday in Tenerife where Eileen and I grabbed some winter sun. All this taking me away from THE PROJECT - that is my commission to update "100 Walks in Lancashire" Pub Crowood Press. On return from Tenerife I spent almost a week catching up with other matters and then returned to the Interface and managed to process 50 walks by the end of January.

I meant to do a blog on Sunday but was distracted by something that had caught my attention in the Saturday Guardian in its new monthly supplement "Do Something" which featured a walking group from the Bristol area. Readers were invited to post contributions about their walking group experiences to the online Guardianwitness page. I need little encouragement in these matters and sent in a number of photos as well as a report on the background of Lancashire Dotcom Walkers.  I think I over egged the pudding in that my ten photos were more than all the other contributions until that point . Anyway, I thought, that would be that - until this morning. We're on the front page of the Guardian!View front page in printer friendly format

who had waited behind to offer a route across to the lunch time picnic spot - a shooters hut  below Gorple Reservoir. Since the main group were now just 15 minutes ahead John, Nigel and Teresa dropped down to Widdop to catch up with it.

Geoff and I took the moorland path across to the hut. 

The return to Hurstwood involved a climb back to the Gorple Road and then a descent to Cant Clough Reservoir over featureless moorland.

From there it was a short stride to the car park. Dave and Teresa's route also introduced many in our group to the wild moors of the South Pennines - what Dave chose to call "Burnley's Lake District". It had been a superb day out - thoroughly enjoyed by everyone - the more so as a day rescued from the unhappy circumstances of the start. 

Friday 6th December. Yesterday the greatest statesman of our age - no, the greatest man of our age died. He changed the world from a prison cell. Nelson Mandela (1918 - 20013) Rest in Peace.

We are approaching the 100th anniversary of Douglas Mawson's departure from Antarctica. This is why there was an item on him on Radio 4 and an article in yesterday's Guardian.

Mawson's is not a name that readily springs to mind when thinking about the personalities in the great age of Antarctic exploration like Scott, Amundsen and Shackleton. He occupies a similar place as the fourth man to walk on the moon (Alan Bean) - known to some but not many. Yet his is a heroic story. Prior to his Australian backed expedition of 1911 he had already notched up some notable firsts - member of the first party to climb Mount Erebus and in the first party to reach the magnetic south pole.

The 1911 Expedition that Mawson put together (having turned down an opportunity to join Scott's ill fated Terra Nova expedition) had a strong scientific purpose - to collect geological and environmental  data of what was still an unknown region.
In 1912 Mawson led a mapping party of two others into the interior. 500k from base one companion died when he fell into a crevasse along with the bulk of the food supplies.  On the remaining sledge there was a week and half of rations. Mawson and his remaining companion set off for base camp with the knowledge they were unlikely to make it. In order to increase their chances of survival they began to eat the dogs but this in fact had the opposite affect since the high levels of Vitamin A in the livers of the dogs began to poison them. Mawson's companion began to crack up under the stress and he too died. Remarkably Mawson pressed on to the coast just in time to see the expedition ship steaming away. Luckily though a small group of men had volunteered to wait for him and they were all picked up a year later in December 2013.

What adds to this epic tale of survival is the fact that Mawson never neglected the scientific purpose of the expedition and continued to make his observations.

I should have listened more attentively to yesterday's weather forecast. I knew there were weather warnings but somehow thought these applied to Scotland and North east England. I had decided to photograph a walk from Colne - part of the PROJECT - and one that Andy B had previously checked out.

Boarding the train I had the Guardian where I read about Douglas Mawson, a copy of the route with Andy's annotations and notes, a printed off map showing the route and the OS Outdoor Leisure 21 The South Pennines map all in a plastic wallet, together with waterproofs and camera. I had walked to the station in the calm early morning catching the 7.22.

As we neared the terminus I could see that the weather had started. I made my preparations. On went the scarf, hat, gloves and waterproofs. I stepped out into it and made my way to Alkincoats Park.  This earlier part of the route I had checked out in July when Eileen had reason to go to Boundary Mill. It meant I could cover the ground quickly but already the weather conditions were becoming challenging.

Strong gusts brought lashings of rain across the park. I was taking photographs whipping out the camera and trying to snap before rainwater blurred the lens. Still by the time I passed Slipper How Reservoir I felt I was making progress.

At this point I needed to consult Andy's notes - not easy with the drenching rain swirling  round. Concentration is difficult. Wind is a very distracting element. I foresaw future problems - water was seeping into the protective plastic wallet.

I worked out the route and then not long after arrived at a notice setting out a footpath diversion. It was not easy to study with gale force winds sweeping over the fields. And what kept occurring to me was Douglas Mawson - my experience in the midst of habitation against his on the edge of an unknown and unpeopled land.

Saturday 30th November. There is new star in the firmament and it has my name on it - that is one of my names - Ison.  This name given to me at baptism in honour of my grandfather and as I later discovered my great grandmother Sarah Ison born in Coventry in 1850.

Family matters have been at the fore this past week with a family funeral. My Aunt Rose died on Remembrance Day. Apparently things are so busy at North Watford Crematorium that Wednesday was the first available slot.

In the car as we waited my family and I tried to make a list of good things that might be said about Aunt Rose. It was harder than trying to name ten famous Belgians.

"She was resilient," offered Louise my sister. Given that Rose was 92 there was no denying that.

"She was always smart," was my contribution. Bandbox, not a hair.. and now I come to think of it not unlike the Duchess of Windsor.

"She covered for me when I was short changed," Dad remembered thinking back to 1941 when he was a butcher boy and Rose 4 years older was the cashier. She made up the difference without telling the manager.

But we kept straying off point recalling the other side of the balance sheet - the cold self-interest, the cutting comments, the judgemental eye and the fact she was always first in the queue at family buffets. It was thanks to my second cousin Helen that we came to see Rose a little more clearly. Helen's eulogy was fair, generous and unsentimental .

Rose was born in 1921 one of a family of 5 girls moving from inner London to the suburbs near Stanmore in the 1930s. My Dad's family lived on the same street. Not long after the war broke out Rose met and then married Eddie Beech, an enlisted soldier. He was killed in the Sicily Landings of 1943. A few weeks later his son Alan was born.
After the war Rose was courted by my dad's eldest brother Dick and they soon married. Dick a Dunkirk veteran and Sicily campaign veteran too adopted Alan as his son. I had no idea that Alan wasn't my natural cousin until my early adulthood. Seven years older than me he was my childhood hero.

In 1964 Alan married Jacky and they had two girls - Rosie (my god-daughter) and Helen. On leaving school Alan had gone to work at Lloyds the insurance house and forged an exceptional career for himself as an underwriter.

In 1982 Uncle Dick died. He was cremated at the North Watford Crematorium and I have never seen such grief at a funeral - Rose, Alan, Jacky and my father were inconsolable. The British Legion and the Dunkirk Veterans Association were in attendance.

Widowed again resilient Rose carried on band box smart at family dos in her accustomed place at the front of the buffet queue. Her granddaughters married. Great grandchildren came along. Alan phoned every day. My mother phoned her every week. Then Alan took ill and died in 1995. Two husbands and her only child dead. It makes you think.

Rose was not an easy woman to include - not one to show love or receive it. Yet for 17 years my cousin's dear wife, Jacky, put up with Rose's ways and included her in all family celebrations. We all recognise that. On Wednesday Rose was given a dignified funeral and Helen spoke well.

 I think about this line from Anne Bronte's "Agnes Grey" "The ties that bind us to life are tougher than you imagine, or than any one can who has not felt how roughly they may be pulled without breaking." It seems to sum up Rose's resilience.

Saturday 19th October. On Thursday I found myself driving a vehicle for the first time in six years. This is how it came about..

Back in September I explained the PROJECT of revising a book of 100 Lancashire walks to my friend Kathleen who is the volunteers co-ordinator at a charity that supports people with learning disabilities. "That's good," she remarked, "because you can make sure it includes walks for people with disabilities."

I have to confess that until that moment I hadn't given the matter a great deal of thought and Kathleen's reaction had brought me up short. Since it was established six years ago this website has published over 250 routes and all but a handful are certainly not suitable for a wheelchair or pushchair or the less agile walker who cannot manage stiles. In fact so many of our walks involve stiles I could rightfully claim we possess the World's largest photographic archive of Lancashire stiles!

I soon discovered that while I hadn't given the matter of access much thought a lot of people in Lancashire had. In particular the County Council's countryside service working with its partners at the Forest of Bowland and in local business had developed a number of wheelchair/pushchair friendly routes. As I studied these I noticed that "tramper Trails" had been set up in some of the county's loveliest locations. "This I must see, " I said to myself and arranged with GPS Dave to go to Scorton on Thursday.

First we went to Grizedale. The way we arranged it was to follow the road as far as we could.  Then David dropped me off at  Fell End Farm to drive round to the other end of the valley thereby saving a great deal of time. As I passed behind Nicky Nook taking photographs for the website (See Walk of the Week 24th November) I "got it" - what Kathleen and people in the countryside service understood - that access to Lancashire's beautiful countryside as epitomised by the beautiful Grizedale Valley should be available to all.

Next we went to Cobble Hey Farm and Gardens. This establishment has built up a deserved reputation for itself as a visitor attraction. The tramper trail here was impressively and entirely off road. Also in linking in with nearby public rights of way it was routed along concessionary paths crossing Cobble Hey's land. In other words but for David and Edwina's goodwill the trail would not exist.

The trail first went to the top of Peacock Hill a superb viewpoint taking in the Fylde and its coast. From there it cut across to Delph Lane and then dropped to Landskill before returning to Cobble Hey. In character entirely different from Grizedale but no less attractive.

Tuesday 1st October. "I feel privileged being here," Geoff confided in me at one point over the weekend. "Here" being deepest Snowdonia. I felt exactly the same.

In part we were privileged because of the weather. Three days of warm sunshine allowed for an unimpeded exploration of the area. On Friday Andy, Jim and I went up to the summit of Snowdon by the Rhyd Ddu path which approaches it from the west. (Geoff had gone off to view Carnarvon Castle.)

But Geoff meant "privilege" in another way altogether. We were guests of Andy at Snowdon View built as a farmhouse in the early part of the 19th century and then extended to become a guest house in the early part of the 20th century. Andy's forebears had owned the estate that included the farm and in the 1970s his father's cousin inherited Snowdon View. By this stage a few years after it had ceased to be a guest house it was badly need of repair and substantial renovation was necessary to ensure the place did not fall down.  And then a rather remarkable decision was made. Not to sell it off; not to permanently occupy it; but to retain it as a holiday home for use by the wider family and their friends. Hence Andy's connection.

"Holiday home" may conjure all sorts of Laura Ashley and Clarence Cliff images. Certainly "privilege" would not be a word that would spring to the lips of Geoff's Diane, Jim's Susan or my Eileen. One glance at the array of mousetraps in the scullery would be enough to make Eileen turn on her heel and drive home.

But for all this the house functioned well as a place to stay. I quickly learned that if I was in want of a utensil all I had to do was to look for it. The kitchen was well equipped and was even well ordered. Throughout the house everything worked. There was hot running water. The toilet flushed. It was fine.

This is a bloke's assessment of course but I noticed in the visitor's book there were countless positive comments by the hosts of people who have stayed there women as well as men. Snowdon View generated affection.

So for four blokes staying over three nights in early autumn with good walking nearby and beer in the evening it was… a privilege.

When David and Val first joined us in 2009 I was a little surprised. After all he had been the long-time secretary of the Norwest Fellwalking Club and had organised countless outings to Lakes and Dales and beyond. In addition he organised mountain marathons involving thousands of competitors in remote locations - huge events. What could he possibly gain from dawdling around the Lancashire countryside with a bunch of blokes (mainly) talking about football?

I was very glad that he did of course especially as he quickly made himself useful by leading us on a number of walks. Brian nicknamed him Lord Garmin as a feature of the walks in those days was to await the GPS's pronouncement about the route whenever we reached an important intersection. "Oh it doesn't like this" was a frequently used phrase as we began to drift down a track; to which the Dotcoms would respond with weary grumbling until David hit upon the line that the GPS did like.

So David and Val have been coming ever since and his energy and propensity to give service has meant he has contributed considerably in many of the projects we have become involved with.  He is generous, kind hearted and a good friend. So here we would like to say Happy Birthday David and here's to many more.

Sunday 15th September. "Where's Graham?" I asked as we were about to set off to climb the Via Ferrata on the Piz di Cir. "Gone to change his underpants!" Jim called back as he was passing through the foyer of the hotel chalet Al Pigher.

We were there as part of the Norwest Fellwalking Club's holiday in the Alta Badia Dolomites, Italy. This was a new departure for the club. In the past there had been the occasional weekend away but always in the Lakes or Dales. GPS Dave assisted by Val decided to expand the club's horizons and so came up with the proposal to take a party to South Tyrol. The package they put together was so attractive that even Eileen could not resist it - so a new departure for me - on a walking holiday with my wife!

Attending to Eileen's comfort and happiness meant I could not dedicate myself to all the walking I might have done. I turned down the chance to climb Sassongher (2665 metres) with Jim and Jean as well as one or two other demanding walks. However I was really pleased that Eileen did far more walking than I expected her to do and so, like everyone else, had a most enjoyable holiday.

As with other parts of the Alps, South Tyrol is walkers' heaven.

Manicured paths and trackways, detailed information boards usually with pictorial maps showing the network of routes available and frequent sign posts indicating walking times to destinations make way finding easy. We were advised to buy a pass that gave us access to ski lifts and local buses and thereby increasing the range of walking possibilities. All grades of walk were on offer and it was this, together with the great company we were with, that drew the admission from Eileen that she actually enjoyed the walks she did.

As part of the compact we made on booking the holiday I would have one day dedicated to more serious walking. It quickly emerged that this would be on the Wednesday of the week when Graham, Brenda , Sheila and I would join hotel manager Justin and three of his staff on their day off to climb one of the many Via Ferratas in the area.

"Via Ferrata" ("Iron Way") is a generic term to described climbing routes which have fixed ropes, cables and ladders to assist climbers up mountains. Though in existence before World War One the term came into being during the conflict between Austria and Italy when both sides had to move men and supplies through the mountains up to the front line.

The old front line was quite close to where we were staying and on the Thursday a few of our party went up to see it high on top of the Falzarego Pass.

Here at Fort Tre Sass (now a museum) the Austro-Hungarians defended the frontier in a bloody little sideshow that was fought to a stalemate. Although the Italians could not claim military success they found themselves on the winning team at the end of the war and were rewarded with South Tyrol as part of the settlement. Being winners - their term - "Via Ferrata" - stuck.

Graham had not gone to change his underpants - at least I'm pretty sure he hadn't - and on an early bus together with Brenda and Sheila we made our way to the Gardena Pass to RV with Justin, who celebrated his 40th birthday on the day we arrived, and his young staff - Martin, Lawrence and Emma all of whom were ridiculously young. Thus we had an old team - I'm sorry to be so ungallant towards Brenda and Sheila but both admit to being grandmothers - and a ridiculously young team.

Justin had stopped by to pick up equipment from the hire store in Corvara so once kitted up with helmet, harness and carabineers we set off towards the Piz di Cir. Although at the top of the pass we were 2,136 metres (just over 7,000ft) there was still a stiff ascent just to reach the base of the rock face. Here Brenda suffered as the ridiculously young team bounded up the sharp slopes like mountain marmots. However Justin was ever mindful of the Old Team and with his encouragement we arrived at the start of the Via Ferrata wondering what might come next.

A short metal ladder marked the beginning of the serious stuff. Here Justin gave us instruction on how to keep secure. The two carabineers were clipped to the cable alongside the ladder. When they reached an anchor point one would be unclipped and clipped on beyond the obstacle. Then the second would be moved to join it. He then sorted out the order of climb - he led followed by Brenda, Sheila and Emma.

 Then Lawrence followed to lead me and Graham with ridiculously young Martin bringing up the rear.

If I came near to requiring a change of underpants it would have been the moment I clipped on and started to climb the ladder. It so happened that part of the route went round the rock so one after another Justin, Brenda, Sheila and Lawrence disappeared around the corner. I was climbing into the unknown.  There were plenty of footholds and handholds so technically not a great deal was being asked of me and once I found myself into the rhythm of clip off - clip on - clip off - clip on I began to enjoy the experience.  "Enjoy" is not quite right. In concentrating on what I was doing I lost all sense of time and space. Reflecting on it now I know I was on a practically vertical rock face but I felt no fear after that initial pitch.

After some time had passed - I cannot tell you how long -we reached the broad shelf below the peak and here we were able to gather. For the final part of the climb to the peak there was just room for three at a time so Brenda led Sheila and me to this pinnacle. There I managed to put the camera on timer and record our achievement. 

Emma, Lawrence and Martin went up after us. Graham was satisfied with what he achieved with the Via Ferrata and rightly so. We were all elated - far higher than the elevation it said on the map.

The descent although tricky in parts did not seem as hard as I anticipated. It looks us down a steep gully between rock buttresses. Once we were all safely down we took a stroll to Jimmy's Hutte and celebrated with a beer. (The ridiculously young Martin had a vodka and coke). From there the Old Team took the ski lift down to Colfosco and then finished our day with a lovely forest walk to Corvara. It had simply been one of my best days in mountains.
Later I sent a teasing text to Don and Andy who had done the Via Ferrata at the top of Honister Pass with Malcolm's family Karen, Richard, Jeanette and Ian earlier this year. I stressed the fact that I had done the "real" Via Ferrata but I am grateful to them. I wouldn't have thought of doing a Via Ferrata without their example.

Thursday 11th July. "Thank you for marshalling!" called a competitor as I was preparing to leave. Typical fellrunner - so damned polite. "Thank you for turning up!"

He had turned up at Beckside Farm nestled in the vale below Black Combe for the Saunders Lakeland Mountain Marathon (SLMM) ran last weekend over Corney Fell.

 Given the constraints set by the notion of "Lakeland" the organisers of the event, now in its 35th year keep surprising its patrons with its locations for the event centre and mid camp.

Having competed last year at Wasdale Head - or at least guided through the Beda Fell course by Stewart, I found myself reincarnated once again as a car park marshal. To think I once made it to the elevated heights of helping with registration. Still it was a warm, sunny afternoon and after donning my hi-viz jacket, re-acquainting myself with David, John, Bob and Paul, introducing myself to Eddie and Kev I settled down to carry out my duties. We quickly worked out a modus operandi so that by mid-evening as competitors began to arrive in number we would have given the impression of a well-oiled machine.

In the four years I have been involved with the SLMM I am always struck that no matter how large a field appear on Friday afternoon by the time the last arrivals are parking up it doesn't seem quite big enough with the marshals working hard to make the best use of the remaining space.

The car park is just one element in the list of considerations for the location of an event centre. Nearby there needs to be a field big enough and suitable enough for camping. The campsite has to be serviced with water courtesy of the farmer and toilets courtesy of the organisers. The majority of competitors camp on the Friday evening. It makes sense; any local B&B accommodation quickly fills up.

Nearby the camping field or as was the case this year in it, the hired marquee is erected which acts as a hub over the weekend and if the weather is unpleasant becomes a dining area at the end of the race when the competitors eat their post-race meal. In and around the marquee a mini village builds up with stalls, displays, tee shirt distribution, sports kit suppliers and a tea bar.

Sometimes in the marquee but sometimes in a nearby farm building the registration centre is established. Here a squad of other marshals (who no doubt led blameless lives in a previous existence) process the 600 odd teams that have entered the race.
This points to the fact that there are two main aspects to event organisation and its use of marshals. Firstly is the general servicing of the event centre and mid camp requiring more general marshalling. This is run by our very own GPS Dave - David Johnstone, a job he does superbly well.

Then there is the servicing of the race itself under the supervision of the Race Controller Chris Hall. He is ultimately responsible for the safety and wellbeing of the competitors. Given that a race will involve over 1000 people following courses over hilly, uneven ground with the strong possibility of low cloud and driving rain the Controller has to do everything in his power to minimise risk in what is a hazardous environment.

The planner lays down the courses in seven main classes of increasing difficulty. These are mapped out with a number of control boxes at which the competitors record their progress along the course using a micro-chipped "dibber". The SLMM is as much a test of navigation as it is a fell race. In the days before a race takes place the controls have to be put into position by a specialist team of marshals and then checked by the controller. Finally at the end of the race they will need to be collected.

The huge amount of data generated by a field of over a thousand competitors taking account of different permutations of age and gender so everything is reduced to a single print-out given at the finish is remarkable. There are lots of results services but SPORTident''s close relationship with the SLMM and in particular the calm efficiency of Andrew Leaney is a significant factor in the success of the event.

Andrew oversees registration and the distribution of dibbers. Last Friday evening his station was on an elevated platform above his team which included our friend in the North - Alison. I couldn't help thinking that this made him rather God like in his relationship to the marshals and competitors.

The start of the event on Saturday morning needs heavy marshalling. From 8.00am at one minute intervals teams are timed out. Over the four years of my involvement and I suspect for many years before that the start has been supervised by husband and wife team Phil and Babs. On the previous evening at a location away from the event centre - some years up to half an hour's walk away - using canes and barrier tape eight channels are laid out. This is the realm of Phil and Babs.

Babs has a naturally friendly manner - something the competitors appreciate as they set out to do battle with the fells - I write from experience.

On their way to the start the competitors pass through kit check and map collection. Since mountain marathons are two day events the organisers have to be satisfied the competitors are properly prepared for an overnight. Rhona the event's doctor and Karen, the physiotherapist, were assigned this duty.

Next maps are distributed followed this year by map corrections. With courses spread out over a wide chunk of Lakeland the organisers must go to considerable lengths to obtain the necessary permission from landowners, the National Park authority, the National Trust and English Nature. Lack of reply in the process of negotiation cannot be interpreted as permission. A few days before the Corney Fell event Brian Dearnaley (another Dotcom walker) was alerted to a sensitive habitat that needed to be marked up as an out of bounds area. Although the way the planner had laid down his courses there was little prospect that competitors would encroach on this site it had to be demonstrated that the information had been passed onto the teams.

At around 9.30 David and I set out for mid camp on the far side of Corney Fell at Stainton. Remarkably by the time we arrived having completed a few errands on the way the first competitors had beaten us to it. I recall finding this one of the most striking aspects of the SLMM at my first one in 2010. I thought about the competitors - some making extremely long journeys to reach the event, camping overnight and then, with an early start getting out onto the hills for three or four hours and then spending the next 20 hours in some remote field in Cumbria. "What do they do now?" I asked Andrew Leaney.  He replied, "Drink beer!"

Beer, soft drinks, milk and bottled water pre-ordered by the competitors are brought to mid-camp by the caterer. This is a recent innovation. Until 2010 the caterer made a calculation on how much of these items to bring. What was not factored in was the high volume of sales generated by the very hot Saturday consequently later arrivals went without.  I recall witnessing a team age by ten years when I informed them that the beer had run out. By early afternoon last Saturday a steady stream of finishers were collecting their stash and pitching their tents.

Organisationally this means that all the empties need to be collected and prepared for disposal. This is one reason why mid-camp has to have a good number of marshals. Once established and competitors are well into the consumption of their supplies frequent bin bag sweeps are carried out through the encampment to pick up empties. This was my raison d'etre, why I qualified for a hi-viz jacket, why I was entitle to free meals and why competitors on their way home thanked me and my fellow marshals.

What goes in has to come out sometime and in a manner that does not upset the farmer so portable toilets are an essential feature of mid-camp. Well over 1000 people settled down to sleep on Saturday night. Now ask yourself - what is the first thing most people do in the morning? With the chasing start at 7.15am and the main start at 8.05am the toilet queue builds up early. By 6.45 the line was 200 metres long and growing.

From the competitors viewpoint it is a factor to build into their preparations. From David Johnstone's viewpoint there does not seem to be a formula for calculating how much toilet paper to bring. It was somewhat perturbing to see this notice displayed in each of the cubicles.

Sunday 16th June. This week I have had cause to think about the notions of "private" and "public". In recent weeks the marketing department of a rather prestigious chain of pubs - sorry inns - has asked us to produce a set of walks. Flattered and excited I set out to fulfil the commission as efficiently as I could within a relatively tight time frame. With help from my friends, Nigel, GPS Dave and Val I sorted 7 out of 8 within a relatively short time.

For the last we had an interesting and promising lead. The inn was in TOP and so not on familiar ground. GPS Dave and I checked out an obvious circuit which went around a large country estate. When we returned to the pub - sorry inn - we explained our mission and the manager suggested we go up to the estate and introduce ourselves as she had heard they were keen on the idea of walks through the estate even though it was private land.

Somewhat encouraged by this turn of events we made our way to the estate office in a mood of curious anticipation. We noticed that there was an air of relaxed openness about the place as we stepped into the reception area. Immediately we received a positive response from the receptionist. Unfortunately the person who could help us best was out somewhere on the estate. She tried to contact him but without success. So I left my e mail address and a brief outline of what we wanted to do - describe a route that might allow the inn's patrons to walk through the estate.

I followed up this visit with a phone call the following week. Again I was unable to get through to the person I needed to see so I left my number requesting I'd be contacted when he was less busy. By Wednesday of last week I was ready to go across again and since there had been no response to my phone call I left a message on the contact page of the website explaining my intention of checking out a short route along with my mobile number.

With GPS Dave away on holiday I had to go under my own steam which means public transport. I set off at 7.45am Two and a half hours later the bus dropped me off close to the estate. There was a detail on the other walk we had done I need to check first. By 10.45 I had done this and walked into the estate.

A good chunk of the estate has been developed as a business park so although technically "private property" there has to be open access for employees, visitors on business and deliveries to the many firms located there. As I made my way to the estate office I took numerous photos quite confident I could quickly plan a route and complete my commission. All that would be required was permission and a plan of the park.

The receptionist recognised me as I walked into the estate office. But once again the person I needed to see was out on the estate with visitors. There was a rather busy almost frenetic atmosphere about the place - comings and goings with some big event in the planning.

The receptionist caught the attention of one of the managers. Again I explained my purpose. "We would have to have a meeting for that." Well yes. "It is something we want to do." Well yes. "But we're very busy at the moment." Well yes. "You can't just walk in here and expect to see someone."

There ought to be a word to describe the emotion I felt on the long bus journey home where you come up with a suitable riposte to a statement like this 20 minutes later which would have been "Well, pal, if someone had had the courtesy of answering my calls I wouldn't have just walked in here!" (Littered with a few choice expletives.)

Instead I gave the receptionist my phone number - again and walked out. A minute later I walked back in - a thought had occurred to me. "Is it possible to have a map of the estate - in a pdf file perhaps so when I talk to someone about the route I can refer to it," I asked the receptionist. The manager I had dealt with previously intervened. "You can get that from the website." My defeat felt total.

I had a long time on the bus to mull over this exchange. The nub of the problem was that all the other walks necessitated the use of public rights of way, public footpaths, public bridleways and open access land. The shortest, easiest walk to describe meant walking through "private property" so immediately meetings became necessary - meetings forced into the hectic working day of hard pressed managers who have no time for everyday courtesies. My request was right at the bottom of the in tray.

Contrast this experience with an altogether different one on Friday. Through our Facebook page we had been contacted by Liz Holden from Canada seeking help with her family tree. As she, her husband Gaetan, and in-laws Danielle and Pierre would be staying in Lancashire as part of a holiday I arranged to give them a tour of Haslingden where there was a strong family connection.

Prior to this outing through www.haslingden.org.uk  I got in touch with Jackie Ramsbottom a college librarian and local historian to see if she might be available to talk to Liz. At quite short notice Jackie changed her rota and arranged to meet us at Holden Wood. She was able to provide Liz with a great deal of information about possible leads and when we left her Liz knew she had made an invaluable contact for her future researches.

Jackie had left us at St James' church which owing to recent incidents of vandalism is normally locked but at even shorter notice than I gave Liz, the vicar Roger Smith, arranged to be open with the help of verger Alec Taylor (just returned from holiday the day before and the hospital that morning following a pre-op). Alec, a delightful gentleman, was waiting for us after lunch and pleased to show us the unexpectedly impressive interior of St James'. He had served there as verger for 28 years.

Jackie, Alec and Roger together with Dotcoms Chris, Jim and Sandra who helped me out on the day, had put themselves out in a way not predicated on the notion, "how much is this going to cost and what do I get in return," but rather of giving service to another person when called upon without any thought of reward - a precious and diminishing commodity in this age of the global market. Friday rescued my week.

Monday 27th May, Spring Bank Holiday. "It's your walk, Andy!" I kept reminding him to the point of irritation whenever there was a decision to be made on the trail. Except it wasn't his walk - it was David Pitt's walk  - a guide to the 247 mile route that follows Alfred Wainwright's 1938 walk from Settle up to Hadrian's Wall and back. So it was Wainwright's walk! (Except he did it in 210 miles.) Sometime last year the Craven Herald reported that a blue plaque had been unveiled on Settle Station commemorating Wainwright's walk.

Elaine saw the piece and pointed it out to Andy B. From that moment he wanted to do the trail. To do it in the year of its 75th Anniversary endowed the project with a touch of significance.

When Wainwright wrote his account of a two week walking tour set against the background of the 1938 Munich Crisis he was an unknown 31 year old local government clerk from Blackburn. It was only after the success of his guides to the Lakeland fells that he decided to publish "A Pennine Journey" almost 50 years later. The book provides a fascinating insight into the personality of the author, into walking as recreation in the 1930s and into aspects of rural life.

It was a time when access to the countryside was still widely restricted - especially in the north. There were no national parks and no areas of outstanding natural beauty. There was no Pennine Way. Indeed much of Wainwright's walk was done on tarmac. There was no easy means of arranging accommodation in advance so none of the places where Wainwright stayed were pre-booked. Some of the places where he stayed were not formally bed and breakfast accommodation in the sense we know today. He carried all his baggage including his beloved maps and cigarettes and matches. Outdoor gear was not yet developed so Wainwright walked in jacket, flannels and shoes. To protect him from the rain he had a cyclist's cape.  These were the conditions when AW set out on his journey.

"Journey" has become an overused metaphor these days - a word applied to any project over time and usually uttered by talent show contestants. "I've been on an incredible/fantastic/amazing journey!" Even when it's applied to its proper use - the act of going from one place to another - it hardly conveys the time and effort of walking to Hadrian's Wall and back. AA Route Planner gives a journey time of 2 hours and 18 minutes from Settle to Wall - not the six days it took Wainwright.

This explains the appeal of Wainwright's book - especially to those who share his passion for walking. He stepped out of Settle Station with a simple objective in mind on a journey that led him to a keen appreciation of the landscape of northern England. Years later after the guides to the Lakeland fells were published trail walking had become an established pastime AW made two monumental contributions to the field. His "Pennine Way Companion" is regarded as one of the best guides to the long distance path. Five years later in 1973 he devised his own trail "A Coast to Coast Walk" which is probably the most popular long distance walk in Britain.

So Wainwright's Pennine Journey of 1938 has become a long distance path in its own right and it's become Andy's Pennine Journey because every journey is unique and particular to the person undertaking it. None of the other Usual Suspects were able to join Andy for the whole walk but each of us was able to commit to shorter sections of it. Setting out last Saturday I accompanied him from Settle to Hadrian's Wall while Jim joined us on Tuesday at Bowes. On Friday we handed Andy over to Don

who will keep him company all the way back to Settle with Malcolm linking up with them at Dufton.

My journey took me away from the familiar of the Dales into the North Pennines - the east flank of which I had never walked before. The grand sweeping views and sparse settlement came as a revelation.

 Like Lancashire the west of County Durham is another chunk of overlooked countryside. Apart from a large group in Upper Teesdale we only saw one other walker in the three days it took us to cross the county.  Escape from "the madding crowd" was as much an object as getting to the Wall and back for Wainwright. 75 years later that is still possible for all our worries about being a crowded island.

Tonight Andy and Don are at Alston. Tomorrow they scale the highest part of the route - Cross Fell. The weather forecast is not encouraging but it is hardly relevant - Cross Fell is a step that has to be taken for it lies in the way of Dufton and Brough and Garsdale Head and Sedbergh and Ingleton and all the way back to Settle where on Sunday afternoon Andy will return to the railway station along with Don and Malcolm. "It's your walk Andy!" and the rest of us feel rather privileged to have had our own Pennine journeys as part of it.

Sunday 5th May. "It was a slog," said Don. "It was murder," said Jim. "It was hard going," said Andy. "It was one of the hardest walks ever," said I. After listening to our moaning Elaine asked the question begging to be asked, "Then why do it?"

This was at breakfast on Day Two of our two day training walk around the Six Trig Points of Hebden Bridge. Good question. Malcolm had spotted an article by Andrew Bibby some while ago and thought it would make a good outing. As described the 26 mile route takes in the skyline above Hebden Bridge and as a challenge should be done in one day. Andrew Bibby calculates about ten hours for the walk ("Runners will be able to knock off some hours off that time." (!))With Andy preparing to walk Wainwright's Pennine Journey in a few weeks' time - over 240 miles in 16 days - I thought it would be a good idea to use the route as a training walk. We split the route into two sections Day One - Hebden Bridge to Widdop - 16 miles. Day Two Widdop to Hebden Bridge - ten miles. Alas Malcolm had to rule himself unfit and so it would be just the four of us attempting the entire challenge.

The six trig points are Sheepstones, High Brown Knoll, Stanbury Moor, Lad Law, Hoof Stones Height and Bride Stones. Set out in this order the route follows an anti-clockwise course. After leaving one car at Widdop we made our way to Hebden Bridge to commence day one.

The walk started benignly enough with an amble through the centre of Hebden Bridge and then picking up the eastern spur of moorland above the golf course to bag the first trig point. Next we had a two mile traverse of moorland to pick up High Brown Knoll a hill Jim, Andy and I had visited a couple of years ago. At this stage there were footpaths to assist progress. We reached it a little before midday. A third of our objectives achieved before lunch time of day one. We were quite pleased with ourselves though we had noticed the more we walked the harder it was becoming underfoot.

From High Brown Knoll we pressed onto the A6033 Keighley-Hebden Bridge Road. I was rather amused by the fact that this remote location warranted a bus stop. (We surmised it had been put there for students visiting a nearby science station). I mocked up a photo of Jim waiting by it.

If Jim had known then what was to follow he might have been strongly tempted to take the bus!

What was to follow was four hours of slog along the broad ridge of moorland to reach Stanbury Moor and then Lad Law. Peat, heather, bog, stone and tussocks of grass combined in various ways to disrupt our rhythm.

There was little by way of feature to distract us - a wall where we had our lunch, and Top Withins where the ruin of Wuthering Heights had been soullessly rendered safe with incongruous cement. Here on the Pennine Way we had a brief respite from ankle bending ground and were able to get into a stride. But not for long. Walking from Stanbury Moor to Lad Law seemed akin to walking the Sahara Desert. I became somewhat fed up - a rare emotion for me on a walk. Inwardly I cursed Andrew Bibby for creating the walk, I cursed Malcolm for suggesting it, cursed Andy for organising it and most of all cursed myself for putting it on the programme.

As we entered late afternoon Andy snuffed out what spirit I had left by informing me that the height I had fervently hoped was Lad Law was in fact a lesser height and we still had two miles to go. "Two miles of this!" I uttered plaintively. Andy doesn't make many navigational errors but on this occasion he had miscalculated. As Don and I breasted the height I knew I was looking down into the Promised Land of Lancashire. Not long after we were on the road to Widdop completing Day One.

Day Two was a completely different kettle of fish. To begin with Helen, a regular Thursday walker joined us. Secondly the weather which had been acceptably good on day one turned glorious. Thirdly the route was shorter and far more varied. The route linked up a number of walks we had done previously and this making of connections is always quite satisfying. Right at the start we were on the Gorple Road where Don and I had walked on Tuesday with the Dotcom Walkers. There were still some stretches of pathless moorland to negotiate but all in all it was a much easier day.

At lunch time we were at the last trig Bride Stones and had just the descent to Hebden Bridge to make. As we walked along the Rochdale Canal into Hebden Bridge we could not pass the pub at Stubbins Wharf without having a celebratory pint.

We all agreed that it had been a worthwhile experience and an ideal training walk but it is not one we are likely to do again. Special message for Malcolm. If you want to do this walk you're on your own mate!

Thursday 28th February. On Sunday Eileen decided on an outing to Boundary Mill. Since I had no plans I went along for the ride. Sometimes when Eileen goes to Boundary Mill I organise myself a walk since the countryside is very accessible from the store but on this occasion I chose instead to take a closer look at the town.

In Colne there is no escaping Wallace Hartley who can be described as the town's most famous resident. Just about everyone in the world will know of Wallace Hartley even if they cannot identify him by name. He was the bandmaster on the Titanic who led his band onto the deck to play for the passengers as they were being organised into lifeboats as the ship was sinking. It was an act of duty and courage the survivors particularly remembered and it was widely reported after the disaster. No one member of the band survived the wreck.

Remarkably Hartley's body was recovered in the days after the sinking and in May 1912 was brought back to Colne for burial. It was estimated that 40,000 people lined the route of the funeral procession from the Bethel Chapel to the cemetery. I viewed both the memorial on Albert Road

and the family headstone in the cemetery.

I learned about the Titanic at my mother's knee - the "unsinkable liner" that sunk and because it was meant to be unsinkable didn't carry sufficient lifeboats so when it sank there was a great loss of life and while the passengers waited to be boarded on what lifeboats there were "women and children first" the band played on and the last thing it played as the ship slipped into the icy waters of the North Atlantic was the hymn "Nearer My God to Thee".

 In this way like a lot of people I knew of Wallace Hartley even before I knew his name. Some people and their stories are never forgotten but others…

In 1890 a young clergyman and his family arrived in Colne. The Congregational minister T.A. Leonard was brimming with energy and ideas. One of his ideas was realised the following summer. He had a notion that young working class people might enjoy spending Wakes Week in the countryside rather than going to the usual seaside resorts of Blackpool and Morecambe. So he organised a four day trip to Ambleside for 32 young men - members of the town's Democratic Guild. The programme consisted of long walks including an ascent of Helvellyn complemented with evening talks about aspects of the countryside. The activity holiday was born! Such was the enthusiasm of the participants ("Eee it were champion!") that in 1897 the Co-operative Holiday Association was formed with Leonard as its general secretary. Its aim:

To provide simple, strenuous, recreative and educational holidays to promote friendship and fellowship amid the beauty of the natural world.

By 1913 the CHA (Later Countrywide Holiday Association) had 13 British centres and was catering for 20,000 guests. Incidentally its target audience were young people between the ages of 18 and 30. What would Leonard make of 18-30 holidays today? !!!

Leonard went on to found the Holiday Fellowship (HF) which continues to the present, was a prime mover in the establishment of the Youth Hostel Association (YHA), had strong links with the founders of the National Trust and the movement to create National Parks. On the creation of the Ramblers Association he became its first president. (For more details about Leonard's life see the article about him by Douglas Hope on www.yorkrambling.btck.co.uk  )

In a very real sense T.A.Leonard could be called the Father of Outdoor Leisure in this country and that started in Colne, Lancashire and until Sunday when I put in a search on the Co-operative Movement in Colne I hadn't heard of him.

Memory and history. Wallace Hartley is rightly remembered for the last two hours of his life. Leonard's lifetime achievements have been forgotten by just about everybody.

Sunday 27th January 2013. It is said that the Eskimos have 50 different words for snow. In the past week we could have done with some of these.

On Monday we had apocalyptic "end of civilisation as we know it" snow. This is snow as a media event heralded by grim faced reporters in Berghaus jackets fronting scene of traffic chaos warning of impending doom. These reports incorporating police messages of "Don't travel unless it's necessary" a formula always difficult to interpret, bounced me into sending a contingency e mail to the Dotcoms ahead of our Tuesday walk, something I strive to avoid since it spreads doubt and uncertainty.

It was unnecessary too as there were no travel difficulties on Tuesday and everyone turned up at the RV on time. On this day we had "perfect walking snow" as we completed a circuit of Sunnyhurst Woods, Darwen Moor, Roddlesworth Woods and Tockholes.

This was our first visit to Darwen's Jubilee Tower since its restoration in 2011. As reported on this blog in November 2010 this well-known Lancashire landmark had been severely damaged in the autumn gales of that year and I wondered at the time how speedily would it be repaired given that local government is strapped for cash these days. Thankfully local businessman Stephen Hartley of WEC group (See www.wec-group.com ) stepped in to arrange for the dome to be replaced thus once again making it possible to climb to the top of the tower. The Dotcoms spent an enjoyable 20 minutes admiring the superb views from the lower and upper platforms. Had he been there we would have all given Mr Hartley rousing applause for his generosity.

We set off again trudging through the "perfect walking" snow in lovely walking weather. At Slipper Lowe Car Park on Tockholes Road however we came across a different kind of snow. A motorist in an automatic Mercedes needed a lot of Dotcom weight to help him off the car park. It transpired he and his girlfriend had been there an hour and a quarter after tobogganing in the woods. This type of snow turned out to be "I-told-him-not-park-there" snow. Well more precisely "I-told-him-not-to-f-king-park-there-the-f-king-dickhead" snow. She was so fed up she forgot to thank us.

Fortunately as far as our walk was concerned "I-told-him-not-to-f-king-park-there-the-f-king-dickhead" snow did not affect us and we went into Roddlesworth plantation to enjoy the snow that magically transforms the dormant trees into objects of beauty.

On Thursday the Usual Suspects (a Dotcom sub group - motto "further, higher and no pub lunch") had an encounter with more snow. We had decided to walk the ridge overlooking Rylstone and Cracoe just north of Skipton (TOP I'm afraid). There is a fine obelisk memorial there which we were keen to visit. We settled on an approach from Barden Moor starting at a narrow lane a couple of miles beyond Embsay. Almost immediately as we set out we realised we were dealing with a different type of snow. In most places it was about a foot deep - sometimes drifting much deeper. This was "awkward-to-walk-on" snow. 

Looking back I am impressed that we managed to walk so far in it. Snow a foot deep requires a high stepping action and a lot of concentration. Snow a foot deep also blankets and obscures feature. A feature not obscured was a grouse shooting hut which we reached an hour into the walk. We felt gravitated towards it and inside its benches offered relief for our sore thighs.  The trouble was that the hut was not on route and it was not until much later did we realise the error. We found ourselves temporarily disorientated which is Dotcom speak for "lost".  We weren't just slightly lo… temporarily disorientated, we were massively TD. I mean we looked at Skipton thinking it was Rylstone! But that's snow for you - and there is probably an Eskimo word for how we spent the next couple of hours but unprintable here.

Needless to say we spent a great deal of time stumbling about until we located the main bridleway which we had contrived to leave just before the hut stop. Since time was getting on we decided retreat was the best option leave the obelisk memorial for another day.

Looking ahead to this coming week we have the papers warning of doom and catastrophe with the BLOODY THAW!!! No doubt this will be accompanied by rain - something we do have 50 of our own words for - drizzle, downpour, stair-rods, driesh, shower, precipitation, persistent rain, torrential rain….(fade)

Sunday 20th January 2013. On Tuesday instead of walking with the Dotcoms from the Derby Arms I set out from Masca in Tenerife for a gorge walk down to the sea. Eileen and I had booked ourselves some winter sunshine - 10 days in Playas de las Americas. Although it has the reputation of being Blackpool in the sun over the years Tenerife has provided me with some of the best walking experiences of my life.

The island is in fact a volcano - Teide which counts as Spain's highest mountain at 3718 metres (over 12198 feet in old money). On our first visit in 1987 it was possible to reach the summit with the permit that is required nowadays. As it happened that holiday coincided with my cousin Alan's and his family. We linked up with him and his wife Jacky and Eileen, John and I drove up to the funicular station at the base of the peak, funiculared up and then walked the final 100 metres or so to the summit. It was one of the great moments of my life and one I'm pleased to have shared with my family. Believe me there is nothing better than to stand at the top of something.

It was a few years before our next visit which was when I discovered the Barranco del Infierno. Approached from Adeje this canyon could be described as a Canarian version of Ingleton Falls. Certainly in the past it attracted large numbers of tourists who would follow it as it serpentined into the high mountains. Sadly this spectacular and accessible feature has been shut for the past few years owing to local authority wrangling over liability in the event of rock falls.

My most memorable walk on Tenerife took place in 2003. Setting off from the Paisaje Lunar set in the pine forests near Vilaflora my aim was to scale the peak of Guajara one of the peaks of the caldera below Teide that forms Las Canadas National Park. Soon after I started the walk I realised I had overlooked two things in my early morning preparation. First I had not put an extra layer in my rucksack. At 2000 plus metres even on Tenerife the air can be distinctly chilly. Second I had not put in any type of sun cream.  Would I be the first walker ever to die of hypothermia and sun-stroke at the same time? Fortunately I was able to fulfil my objective and thus reach the highest point (2715m over 9000ft) I have ever walked to without the aid of a funicular or similar conveyances. Also I was treated to a spectacular view of the caldera.

Tuesday's walk was completely different from all previous experiences on Tenerife in that it was a guided walk arranged through Sun Holidays. (Seewww.sunholidays24.com ) (Eileen is not so keen on me going out on my own these days - especially when we are abroad). I must say I was rather surprised how many people were on the excursion - 56! Our guides split us up into three rough linguist/national groups - the Baltic States and Poles formed one group, Germans, Dutch and Belgiums formed another and the last group was made up of Scandinavians and British. This was done at Los Gigantes the village resort nestling close to the impressive cliffs that give it its name - cliffs we would see at the end of our walk after we boarded a boat taking us back to the resort.

After the sorting out of nationalities came the distribution of kit at some sort of storage garage beneath a café in the upland village of Tamaimo - 600 metres upland; the road to it looping in a series of hairpin bends. I'm pleased to say my trail boots passed muster and I had no need for rucksack or pole. I paid the balance for the excursion, used the facilities and boarded the bus for the last stage of the ride to Masca.

The situation of Masca makes no geographical sense. Why would anyone want to settle this remote valley with its precarious terraces that for many years had no road link with the outside world?

Our party was conveyed in a 35 seater coach and mini bus crossing a col at 1000 metres before descending to Masca by a road with a great number of hair pin bends. On numerous occasions the driver had to reverse across these to complete his manoeuvre. There was a brief photo stop to allow us to take in the scene. All around the stupendous mountains and still some way below the village - now one of the main tourist magnets of the island and not just for those who want to walk down to the sea. Out in the sea other Canary isles - La Gomera and La Palma - could be seen.

The mystery of Masca's improbable location was explained to me the following day by Philip a long stay holiday maker in our complex. "It was a pirate hide out," he told me during a game of boules. "Ideal for them in that it couldn't be spotted from the sea but they could spot ships. The only way to reach it in those times was by the path you went down."

The path by which I went down was with a party led by Victor from Chile. Consisting of 20 English speaking English and Scandinavian speaking English we were led from the small village square to a bridge about ten minutes into the walk.

This was the point of no return and Victor made it clear that if anyone had any doubts about their fitness to complete the 5 mile 8 kilometre walk then this was the last opportunity to go back to the coach. I understand on that day one couple realised that what would follow wasn't going to be a walk in the park.

Well it was and it wasn't. We were in fact in the equivalent of a country park, but nonetheless it turned out to be a demanding descent. The descent bit of it meant there wasn't much lung stretching exertion but the demands on concentration were constant.
Despite having passed muster at the boot stop in Tamaimo my trail boots were in fact on their final outing. They had little grip and I began to have misgivings that I didn't fork out the 3 euros it would have cost to hire replacements. Thus I was ever conscious that there might have been pitches where they might fail. Well guess what? They didn't! However it was a worry whenever we approached an awkward pitch. I could always tell when were about to reach an awkward pitch because the party would concertina up as Victor assisted each of us over whatever awkward obstacle interrupted our progress to the sea.

As a precaution I had put on sun lotion and noticed as I did that no one else bothered. Of course I was in a party of Guardian reading Swedes who knew being in a canyon the entire four hour walk would be in the shade.

At various points Victor would stop and explain aspects of the geology or ecology of our surroundings. It turned out that cats were a problem.

 Feral cats, once pets in the village had run rampant killing every form of small wildlife they could get their claws into to creating a disaster for there existed species unique to this part of Tenerife. A few years ago some attempt was made to tackle the problem. A round up bagged 60 cats which were released in less sensitive areas of the island - our boules pitch it their litter is anything to go by! This measure seemed to work for a while with the variety of wildlife in the canyon increasing. Alas the cat loving villagers of Masca continued to keep cats, cats which found the wildlife more alluring and the problems have returned.

Sunday 6th January, 2013. I have been doing some research into 1953 and discovered it to be a quite remarkable year. It was the year of the Queen's coronation - 2nd June; the year of the conquest of Everest - 29th May; the year Crick and Watson announced they had discovered the structure of DNA; the year John F Kennedy married Jacqueline. Momentous stuff eh.

Tuesday 1st January. Happy New Year. Could it be a propitious omen that 2013 starts on a Tuesday the day of the week which the Dotcom Walkers have discovered is the best day to go for a walk? Personally the old year finished on a high. Two reasons. First this photograph I took of Peter, a member of the Norwest Fellwalking Club (see www.norwestfellwalking.org.uk  ) balancing on the trig point of Longridge Fell during the club's Christmas outing two weeks ago, was published not only in the Lancashire Evening Post but also the Observer.

The Observer (the World's oldest Sunday newspaper) has a feature in the New Review section entitled "My Sunday in a picture". After the outing on 16th December I sent the photo of Peter in. I was a little disappointed when it wasn't used on 23rd December and then forgot about it until electrified when I opened the New Review to do the Sudoku.

Friday 21st December. According to the Mayan calendar today marks the End of the World. Just as well then that on Tuesday the Dotcoms completed their walking year with their annual excursion to TOP. This tradition had had a chequered history and indeed predates Lancashire Walks by a number of years. Geoff use to organise such trips when we worked together at Barden High School, Burnley.

Saturday 10th November. As the year moves towards winter a terrible spectre hangs over the countryside - ash die back disease which threatens to destroy 80 million ash trees in much the same way Dutch elm disease wiped out our native elm in the 1970s. Whether or not earlier government intervention might have prevented ash die back being imported seems academic. It's here now and will have to be dealt with.

Monday 29th October. Yesterday I went to see Jim run in the Preston Guild Marathon. For Jim born in 1952 and therefore a "Guild Baby" he simply could not not let it go by as it was the first time such an event had been staged and he might not be up for the next one in 2032. The conditions were awful. After a week of benign weather - indeed some of the best weather we have had for a while, things reverted to form with a low coming in from Iceland bringing with it a cold wet wind. This is not what marathon runners want to contend with.

The course consisted of an early loop up to Penwortham and then took the field west of the city to Treales (the half way mark) where another loop took it to a remote rural location before swinging back to Preston for a Flag Market finish.

Thursday 4th October.

Number 1 oven at Auschwitz could only incinerate 340 corpses a day so there was nothing for it but to build a bigger and better oven at nearby Birkenau. Such was the warped mentality of the Nazis. On Monday Eileen and I spent the day touring the museum part of our city break to Krakow, Poland - a duty and a paying of respects to those that were murdered there and elsewhere under Nazism. It turned out to be as sombre and harrowing as we anticipated.

Monday 10th September. "Once every Preston Guild" is about the frequency of times Eileen joins me on a walk. She joined me on Saturday along with my cousin Boyd and Fiona after driving us to Silverdale to take part in the Cross Bay walk.

Monday 27th August Bank Holiday. A week after the official opening of the Guild Wheel Eileen and I together with John and Di cycle it.

Saturday 11th August Earlier this week I returned from the London Olympics which as you know already are "amazing", "incedible", "indescribable" and "cannot be put into words".

Last Friday with Mary, Michael and Sandra I was enjoying a drink at the Swan in Hampton Wick not long after completing the long journey down. As we were leaving a thought occured to me. "Did the RACE pass by here on Wednesday?" The manager, a Kiwi, answered in the affirmative. "Did you see it?" "No, I was too busy serving in here." We had missed Bradley Wiggins' gold medal winning ride by two days. I went onto explain that we came from the same area of Lancashire that Bradley comes from but he was more interested by the area's links with non Olympic rugby.

Mary and her son Michael are great sports fans and through a mixture of fortunes found themselves with spare tickets. They invited first me and then Sandra to join them. I am not a great sports fan. This has probably due to the fact I was rather useless at most sports at school and would find myself being picked second from last when we were on football during games lessons. Yet when the chance came to go to the Olympics I did not forgo the opportunity, I was curious.

So what were they like?

Well they were "amazing", "incedible", "indescribable" and "cannot be put into words" to quote the 50 (so far) Team GB medal winners As the nation slides into an economic abyss it manages to pull off staging a spectacle of greatness - great in organisation, great in style and great in spirit.

Organisation: You do not have to be in London long to identify the distinctive purple and red livery of the army of volunteers ready to answer your questions. They seemed to be everywhere in the capital and were especially present at key points in the transport system. Sometimes they would be seen in clusters - barnacle shelves of volunteers always on hand.

Mary has severe mobility problems. The volunteer army were well attuned to assisting people with mobility problems. Given that tickets are allocated through lottery meant that there was no way of predicting where a seat might be in a venue. There did not seem to be any difficulty for her (and Michael) changing seats for a more accessible spot.

Style: Aside from the much criticised (at the time of its first showing) Olympic logo which in the context of the Olympic Park made perfect sense there was a style that was pleasing to the eye. The Games looked good so they felt good.

I was ready to be offended at the use of branding much reprted in the Guardian - a MacDonaldising of the Games. While Macdonalds had prominent sites on the park, in the venues there was no noticeable branding. A balance had been achieved.

Spirit: Of course as host nation has a very different feel from being a guest. There was little doubt that there was always a louder cheer for a British competitor but beyond this I felt the Olympic spirit was present - a spirit of goodwill fostered through the non-hostile medium of sport. It was wonderful to be part of a crowd made up of people from across the globe.

Our first contact with the games was a football match at Wembley - a quarter final between Mexico and Senegal; two nations I haven't visited, have no relatives in or any other connection with.

 

Since there appeared to be more support for the Mexicans we decided to shout our support for Senegal. It was a great occasion and we had 120 minutes of entertainment since the match went into extra time. Mexico won 4 - 2. It didn't matter. 81,000 people had come together to see a competition.

The following day we watched women's water polo. It is a sport I had only the vaguest notions of how it is played. In the session we attended there were two matches Hungary Vs Russia and Australia Vs China. It was enthralling. I wonder at the grass roots of this sport. How many water polo pools in Hungary, Russia, Australia and China? How do you identify someone with the potential to become a good water polo player. What are the essential skills - swim - throw a ball - throw a ball while swimming.

I have seen a water polo match a long time ago in Malta and a bit on tellie - the Olympics before last and other bits. So from seeing virtually nothing I find myself in an arena where I see the best in the world. That is like going from Janet and John to Dickens.  This makes you feel special as a spectator - this is significant because it is an Olympic event and you are actually present as if you are one with the competitors. In the China vs Australia match we cheered mostly for the Australians - a one off. The Aussies won but that didn't matter (except to the Chinese water polo team.)

So all in all my experience of the Olympics as well as being entertained made me feel proud that London has hosted a great games. In the dimming light of our national greatness the organisers have provided a platform for a wonderful spectacle of sporting excellence. They were amazing, incredible, indescribable and difficult to put into words.

 

Tuesday 31st July: If I see another jelly baby I think I'll scream. Apparently jelly babies possess some energy giving qualities prized by participants in this past weekend's Montane Lakeland 100/50 mile race and at most of the checkpoints there were lashings of jelly babies to help the competitors of this ultra-event.

Friday 29th June. There had to be a price for all that sunshine we enjoyed on the West Highland Way and yesterday Andy B and I paid it.

Sunday 3rd June: Mike E has a project; to climb the highest peak in each of the four home nations. I knew of this when the Usual Suspects were planning the West Highland Way and so invited him and Mike O to join us at the end to climb Ben Nevis. (He has already bagged Carrauntoohil and Snowdon.) On Tuesday afternoon as Don, Andy and I reached our B&B on Belford Road, Fort William having not long completed the WHW the two Mikes drew up in the car park. The next morning we all set out to climb Britain's highest mountain.

Monday 21st May. In Bowland you have a fence or you have a wall and that is all you have to remind you you're connected with society for everything else is empty. In the midst of our crowded isle you can attain nothingness - a desert of peat, heather and the odd outcrop of gritstone.

Tuesday 1st May: "Don't mention the (Napoleonic) War!" I wanted to advise Corrie Taylor our guide around Dove Cottage on Sunday. The subject came perilously close in Wordsworth's life and times and our group included a quartet of French visitors. We had arrived in heavy rain immediately after a huge party of Japanese tourists. ("Don't mention the Pacific War!") - we being myself, Peng Na or Diana and her 8 year old son Zihe or Harry over in the UK on an extended stay from Guangdong Province, China. ("Don't mention the Sino-Japanese War of 1894!" or for that matter "The Rape of Nanking"!)

Thursday 5th April: As the 20th fellrunner came towards Andy W and me as we headed up Gatescarth Pass on Sunday I called out, "Is this an event or are you training?" "Training for an event," came the brusque reply. "Which one?" I called to his back. "The Lakeland 100!" There were quite a few on it too; even as Andy and I turned towards Mosedale they were still processing down to Long Sleddale. By then we had ascertained that the training non-event had started near Pooley Bridge and would finish in Ambleside - a distance of 30 miles. A mere 30 miles because the event they were training for was this times three plus ten - the Ultimate fellrace until someone comes up with the idea of the Lakes and Dales 200!

Saturday 24th March: Legend has it that if you can climb the Fairy Steps without touching the sides then you will see a fairy.

The narrow cleft up a limestone cliff onto the escarpment was on our route on Tuesday. A record breaking number of Dotcoms - 24 - had set out from Arnside. When we passed through the Fairy Steps we were 25; we had been joined not by a fairy, at least I don't think so, but by Big Tony, who typically had missed the start but then as if by magic had suddenly appeared.

 I was at once pleased to see him and inwardly groaning. Big Tony meant bother at lunch time.

Saturday 25th February. "Who knows we're here?" is a FAQ on the walks I have done over the years. On Thursday it was asked by Andy as we lunched above Great Blea Gill. As it happened Eileen had asked me the previous night. "Where are you going tomorrow?" "The Howgills." "The where? Never heard of them." And that seemed to be that though I'm pleased to report Eileen had committed the name to memory thus reducing the search area to forty square miles had anything gone wrong.

Sunday 12th February. "In these sort of conditions stay at home," Maggi Morris the Director of Public Health (Central Lancs NHS) urged listeners of Radio Lancashire on Thursday morning. "Thank you for that and now over to our roving reporter Claire Ashmore who is talking to three fellas about to go out for a walk.""I'm here in ice bound Brookhouse, near Lancaster Ted and with me are Bob Clare, co-founder of Lancashire Walks and his friends Malcolm and Don."

We had been invited to contribute to the Talk to Ted programme on the theme of friendship. Justine had e mailed me the previous day -subject:"Interview Request". The problem was there was a walk planned and I had no intention of giving that up for a 10 minute slot on local radio.

I telephoned Justine to explain. She said, "Don't worry - tell us where you're walking and we'll send the van." She went on to tell me more about the theme of the programme. "It's about friendship. We've heard your website was set up with a friend and now you have other friends who join you for walks. The slot is for 9.50." So it was arranged that Malcolm, Don, Andy B and I would contribute to the programme before we set out for our walk. Since Justine had gone to so much trouble how could I refuse?

Thursday morning saw the return of mist and ice. Shortly after 9.00am Don, Malcolm and I were northbound on the M6 listening to the dire traffic reports on BBC Radio Lancashire (it seemed only polite to listen to the show before being on it!).At some point Andy B telephoned me to say that owing to the ice he could not get off his drive and so would not be joining us.

In between time we discussed aspects of the topic Justine had planted there in our chat of the previous day.Seemingly the show's theme had arisen through two recent news reports.

The first concerned a palliative nurse called Bronnie Ware who in her years of talking to dying patients had come up with a list of five regrets that had been expressed time and again.(See www.inspirationandchai.com/Regrets-of-the-dying.html ) Number 4 was "I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends."

The second report was about David Beckham who revealed in an interview for a men's health magazine that over the years 20 good friends had been reduced to three "really good friends".The Daily Mail, at least in its online edition gave this the slant that David Beckham had only three friends.Well that's the Daily Mail for you! I think David (if I can call him that) was making an altogether different point. For someone like him inhabiting the weird world of celebrity to have three friends is a result - I didn't detect any trace of self pity.

I do not know David Beckham of course (but have friends who saw him make his professional debut at Preston North End) but my impression of him is of someone whose friendships fit within a framework of a range of positive relationships - parents, grandparents, sisters, wife and children. It may be a PR illusion but I don't think so. So there will be no need to invite him to join the Dotcoms to increase his circle of friends.

So Malcolm, Don and I met up with Claire Ashmore and her van in freezing Brookhouse on Thursday morning.

 

 After lots of difficulties with reception Claire took the plunge and gamely interviewed we three about walking and friendship. At intervals she pointed the microphone at Malcolm or Don and they made their contribution and the result wasn't too bad when I listened to it on iplayer later. In the end the link was abruptly cut and that was a wrap. We said our farewells to Claire and then defying the advice of the Director of Public Health we went to the top of Caton Moor and set out on our walk along the icy track and I would like to think had circumstances turned out in a markedly different way we three would have counted as David Beckham's really good friends and he would have been with us!

 

Thursday 26th January: Australia Day. On his day last year Eileen and I went to the aborted races at Hanging Rock where we were promised a picnic by my cousin Jerry and his wife Allie. Kangaroos had entered the grounds and could not be persuaded to quit the race track where their presence was deemed a health and safety hazard to runners and riders. I expect years ago they would have shot the critters and have done with it but under the glare of ABC television this was not an option open to the organisers. How quickly has a year passed.

Tuesday 17th January. "Where would you like to walk to celebrate your special birthday, Brian?" I asked him in a rare act of benevolence a few weeks ago. He gave the matter a few moments thought. Although in the past three years Brian has been all over the county it cannot be said that places make a great impression on him. "That place where we had the snow." I knew immediately what he meant - not last winter's snow nor the snow of the winter before that but the snow that fell at the beginning of December in 2008. Missed it? Well if you had come with Brian and me to Great Harwood on Tuesday 2nd December you would have enjoyed a winter's wonderland with fine views over the Ribble Valley and Dean Clough Reservoir. Oddly at the end of the walk by the time we reached Blackburn ring road on our way home the snow had all but disappeared.

Wednesday 21st December. "Whose woods these are I think I know,
                                                His house is in the village though;
                                                He will not see me stopping here
                                                To see his woods fill up with up snow."

No snow this year - so far. The last two years we had a lot of snow, snow that laid, snow that stayed. Snow that prevented the annual trip to TOP (That Other Place.)

On Sunday there was a little bit of snow about when the Norwest Fellwalking Club had its Christmas walk from...the CorporationArms in Longridge. (What a surprise) It was GPS Dave's big day. He and Val put considerable thought and effort to ensuring club members have an enjoyable day. Bacon butties and coffee to start - a three course Christmas dinner to finish and a walk in between. It is the one outing when the whole club walks together. Usually most members go out in small groups or even on their own.

 Of course walking in a group of 30+ people creates its own problems - stiles and kissing gates become bottle necks and should the weather become inclement the waiting around as the party files through, over or across an obstacle becomes distinctly uncomfortable. I don't know but suspect this is why David and Val arrange for little surprises and treats along the way - port and mince pies at John's gardenhouse or the timely revelation of a bottle of spirits. On Sunday while it was soggy underfoot the day was beautifully clear with the walk timed to perfection. We arrived back to the Corporation just as the light was fading. There are few pleasures better in life than enjoying a walk in the countryside in good company and ending the walk with the prospect of a good meal in a cosy pub, particularly on a winter's day.

Amongst the many cards I received was one from Martyn a club member of almost 40 years. Martyn is the most widely travelled person I know - he has been to 184 countries and so there are not many places in the world he has not yet been to. He is also an artist. Therefore he creates his own cards usually based on a place he has recently visited. In the past year he went to North Korea. Here is the card he gave to his friends on Sunday.

On Monday came the news of the death Kim Jong-il, leader of North Korea. I was struck by the difference of how North Korea and its ruling regime were represented in the news and the charming scene depicted by Martyn's  pen and ink drawing. "Rogue state", "Pariah status", "Axis of evil" and "Weapons of mass destruction" were the sort of phrases bandied about in the newsrooms none of which would make a good caption for the Pohyon Temple at Myohyong San. Of course appearances can be deceptive - the site is a tourist showcase which Martyn managed to draw in the 30 minutes his minders supervised the rest of the touring party into the official gift shop during a four day trip. But if such sensibilites exist in North Korea to conserve a lovely part of its Buddhist heritage then surely it must be worth the effort to reach out to them in more positive ways than we have done to far..

Cursory research on Google and I find out that Myohyong San means Mountain of mystic shapes and fragrances and that the temple complex was bombed by UN forces in 1951 causing much damage. I am reminded of the South Korean film "Welcome to Dongmakgol" set in a secluded Korean Highland village during the Korean War. In it remnants of a North Korean battalion and remnants of a South Korean Battalion cleansed of their ideological baggage by the innocence of the villagers make common cause to defend the village when the war threatens to destroy it. Good film - check it out.

Yesterday the Dotcoms enjoyed their annual trip to TOP in the rather secluded Lothersdale. 13 of us walked across to Elslack Reservoir and then returned by way of Pinhaw Beacon. Apart from the fact that the Pennine Way passes through Lothersdale the rest of the area seems insufficiently celebrated in the annuals of walking. We all thoroughly enjoyed the route Andy led us on and we all thoroughly enjoyed lunch at the Hare and Hounds afterwards.

We were joined for lunch by Elaine who was the first person to walk with John and I as we set up this website - the first Dotcom Walker. On Friday I phoned Elaine up, "Bob, I'm on tenterhooks - Catherine has gone into hospital." Later Catherine gave birth to lovely Eveline Mae weighing in at 7lbs 9ozs - congratulations to Catherine, Tom and proud new grandmother Elaine. And so with this news of a baby at Christmas its time to sign off wishing all our readers a wonderful Christmas and New Year.

                                "The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
                                  But I have promises to keep,
                                  And miles to go before I sleep,
                                  And miles to go before I sleep."

Wednesday 14th December. Yesterday was a day of two highly significant - one could almost say historic - encounters. The first occured on the car park of the Corporation Arms. The Dotcoms were about to set off on the Christmas walk to be followed by our Annual Awards ceremony. GPS Dave spotted other walkers likewise preparing nearby. "Are they anything to do with us?" I shrugged. I'm fairly liberal with my invitations but I was pretty sure they were not part of our party. Never one to be curious for long David approached them. No they were not with us but their own group which met weekly to do a walk from a website...Lancashire Walks! They were about to do this week's walk of the week devised by GPS Dave. It was something they did most weeks which I found rather heartening. For the first time I was in the company of readers independent of friends, family and Dotcom walkers. Quickly we introduced ourselves and after one of their party took the ritual group photo of us we parted GPS Dave having created a new route especially for Christmas. Reflecting on this now I should have invited "my readers" to join us - they certainly seemed most agreeable people and I know they would have had a warm reception from our group. That I didn't was mainly due to the fact I had a lot on my mind - our Annual Awards is the biggest day in our calendar.

Wednesday 30th November. In the corner of the churchyard of St John's, Hutton Roof the war memorial's list of names is headed by T.B. Hardy.

At the outbreak of World War One he was vicar of St John's and 51 years old. When he first volunteered to join the army chaplaincy he was turned down for being too old. Eventually he was accepted and assigned to the 8th Battalion of the Lincolnshire Regiment in August 1916. He then embarked on a remarkable career time after time showing "conspicuous bravery and devotion to duty" that won him "the respect and admiration" of his division. First  he was awarded the Distinguished Service Order (DSO) after rescuing men stuck in mud in no man's land. Next he won the Military Cross (MC) for tending to casualties during a particularly heavy engagement. Then in July 1918 he received the Victoria Cross (VC) "For the most conspicuous bravery and devotion to duty on many occasions." Theodore Bayley Hardy was wounded in action in October 1918 and died a week later on 18th October in Rouen two days short of his 55th birthday. He was one of the most decorated non combatants of the First World War.

Sunday 30th October. On Friday I checked out a walk between Preston centre and the new Wildlife Trust reserve at Brockholes. I started at Avenham Park. It and its neighbour Miller Park have recently benefited from a huge improvement project financed in the main by the Heritage Lottery Fund. I would say from what I saw on Friday that the upgrade in now in its final phase and the park is beautifully spruced up just in time Guild year. I have to applaud the City Council and its officers for having the vision to protect and develop this important cultural asset.

Sunday 16th October. On Friday afternoon I found myself walking into Blackburn City Centre along Whalley Road. I had been checking over a route from Mellor but missed a lift home from Eileen who had been visiting a close friend nearby. I reached a bus stop and began to study the timetable. As I stood there I was joined by a young Asian chap and between us we decided that it might be quicker to walk into the city centre as buses were less than frequent on that stretch.So together we set off.

Saturday 8th October. On 3rd November 1948 Superfortress RB29 (F-13A) 44-61999 "Over Exposed" of the 16th Photographic Reconnaissance Squadron of the USAF took off from RAF Scampton Lincolnshire on a routine flight to USAF base at Burtonwood,Cheshire. It never made it. About 20 minutes into the flight it crashed on the high moors above Glossop killing all 13 members of the crew.

Tuesday 27th September: I recently read that Tuesday is considered by some as the most depressing day of the week. The excitement of the weekend is behind and it is still a long way to go before Friday. Ever since John and I started walking together Tuesday has been our favoured day for walking and then once the Dotcoms started coming with us it has become set in stone. It is an admirable day for walking. It allows Monday to be set aside for housekeeping and chores and then propels you into the rest of the week. Before you know it it's the weekend and you're looking forward to Tuesday again.

Wednesday 21st September. The Autumn Equinox: Walking below Wiswell Moor yesterday we reached part of the lane where trees were beginning to display their autumn tints prompting me to announce to Andy and Geoff who were alongside me at that moment that autumn really is my favourite season. Geoff responded by saying he enjoyed them all and it was his resolve to make the most out of them. Andy said that his Elaine instead of being uplifted by the sight of autumn colours was instead reminded that the snow and ice of winter soon follows and she hates snow and ice.

7th September: Wednesday. Back to school, back to work and back to Tuesday walks for the Dotcoms. Yesterday we reconvened after the summer break at Parbold Village Hall and from there GPS Dave led us on a six mile circuit taking in the top of Parbold Hill. Somewhat disappointingly the trig point on Parbold is inaccessible; it is surrounded by a the forbidding fence owned by United Utilities which has some sort of plant there.

Lunch was at the Rigbye Arms a fine establishment at High Moor. Remarkably given recent weather we were caught in just one short shower. All in all so good to be out - a wonderful antidote to the depressing news of late.

6th August Saturday. On Thursday afternoon Jim, Andy B, Malcolm, Don and I completed a long walk between Derby and Edale. It had taken us four days. Owing to various projects we realised we were not going to have time in the autumn to fit a walk in so unusually we settled for a trek at the height of summer. I say "unusually" because in recent years we have tended to avoid school holidays. Perhaps more than anything this characterised the walk in that many of the places we passed through were crowded with holiday makers and trippers enjoying the good weather - at least until Thursday morning. As a holiday destination Derbyshire has a lot to offer - industrial heritage along the Derwent Valley, the inland resorts of Matlock and Matlock Bath, Chatsworth House and superlative walking country. Each day of the walk presented much to divert and interest.

Sunday 24th July. Frequent users of this website may have noticed a disruption to service through Friday to Saturday morning when apart from the introductory page not one of the walks was accessible. This is how that came about. Earlier I had been working on the website updating a couple of walks and removing images applying techniques that John had shown me as part of myprofessional development. As I opened the site I realised that the host server people were also at work updating things from their end. When I tried to publish what I had done the session was timed out. Feeling slightly frustrated I wrapped things up as I had to get across to Blackburn to have lunch with a friend. On the bus I used my mobile to view the website which was when I discovered the glitch - every page "Server error" and blank.

My first reaction was one of horror. I remembered that I had had to delete some files I had moved to the wrong area of the site I thought that perhaps I had accidentally deleted the folder containing all the pages and wiped out every walk - almost four years of work sent into a cyber black hole. When TE Lawrence "Lawrence of Arabia" wrote "The Seven Pillars of Wisdom" he left the original manuscript on Reading Station - it was never recovered. He had to rewrite the whole thing over again. That was the prospect I thought I was facing on Friday morning.

Later when I returned home while the host server was still busy I was able to ascertain the essential data was still in place and that the problem arose from publishing the site. And then just at the point I was preparing to sort out the problem I lost internet connection. After doing all the checks I phoned technical support at the provider. I was informed that there had been some work being carried out at the exchange and normal service would resume the following day.

What is it about our reliance on the internet makes us feel as though we've been cast away on a desert island when it fails? I was forced to go out and help Eileen with the gardening. That was bad enough but when on Saturday the Broadband light on the hub was still flashing orange I felt bereft. I reasoned that perhaps the problem was taking longer than expected. The immediate problem on the website had been sorted out by John who had picked up my message and restored the walk pages.This morning I contacted technical support again and after a 10 minute call with Anil I was once more connected to the internet. Relief.

And yet what petty, trivial concerns these are. Until Friday morning I wondered anything in the news could surpass the phone hacking scandal.To see the mighty Murdochs humbled, the usually assured Prime Minister on the back foot and knowing the rest of the tabloids were cleaning out their stables with the help of the delete key seemed vitally important. But then came news from Norway. Mass murder was coldly calculated - explode a bomb in Oslo that would divert police away from the area of the camp and in the confusion the killer could set about the business of deleting young people's lives.Its incomprehensible that any ideology can justify such an atrocity. Over 90 people killed most of them teenagers.

In September 2001 I climbed to the top of Black Combe and came across a makeshift shrine close to the trig point. It was dedicated to a young man called Peter - a slate inscribed with his name, a card from his grieving parents and flowers from his brothers and sisters. Four days after 9/11 which had claimed thousands of innocent lives I was reminded how the loss of just one life can have a devastating affect on others.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Wednesday 11th May. From the moment the seven of us stepped out of the car park yesterday's Dotcom walk seemed to go wrong. I missed a footpath which gave us an unnecessary walk along the Grane Road which is a very busy thoroughfare. If the Dotcoms realised they were too polite to draw attention to it. A short while later at fork in the paths not conforming to the information on the map I chose the wrong one and although compensated by lovely views back down the valley,

this error did not escape the attention of the Dotcoms, especially when the path we had taken came to a dead end. As often happens in these situations I quickly compounded the error. Instead of retracing our steps the 500m or so back to the route, I decided to climb out of the gully to attempt to intercept it further along. If the path you need is on the right and you turn right sooner or later you will cut across it - right? Well not if there is a plantation of densely growing trees in the way. The end result of the debacle was when 30 minutes later we hit the right track I failed to recognise it as such, turned right instead of left and led the Dotcoms back to the Grane Road about a kilometre from our starting point. Thoroughly fed up with the way things turned out I improvised the best route I could to the pub where we had booked ourselves in and we reached it in good time for lunch.

 As if to maintain a proper balance in the events of the day I then proceeded to come off route on the return leg too. By this stage we had left Tony back at the village. Feeling under the weather he decided to take the bus back to the car park. (An option the other Dotcoms soon wished they had taken.) By the time I confessed I had once again erred the Dotcoms went dangerously quiet (- or perhaps they were simply weary). The situation was made more awkward because Chris's hernia was playing up and he wasn't walking freely. When we reached a lane I thought it best that he, Brian and John should make their way along the road while Jim, Don and I strike out across the moors and collect the cars. Given all that had gone before this plan might have turned out to be a recipe for disaster but it came good so that an hour later we were friends reunited and on our way home.

All's well that ends well and the Dotcoms were gleefully looking forward to reporting my failings to GPS Dave since he is normally on the receiving end of their banter about direction finding. I had considered putting a super injunction on all this but I cannot afford one.

And yet, and yet the travails in the wilderness were marvellously rewarded. As we struggled to regain the route on the outward leg Don spotted something in the grass. "Look a vole." Then a moment later. "Look a snake!" and there it was curled, dark and diamond patterned - an adder. I had never seen a snake in the wild in this country and had no idea that they might inhabit the moors above Haslingden but there it was - alive and in a state of stupour as if waiting for the sun to warm it up. Thrilling to be in the presence of Britain's only venomous snake and in that encounter all other cares and worries melted away.  

  

With the most strenuous part of the climb behind us we were at ease to look about us and take in the stupendous view. The approach to the summit was negotiated by a long flight of wide, shallow, steel steps - very easy walking indeed. Below the flag of Australia Maria took a group photo. Out in the harbour Fort Denison fired its customary 1.00pm cannon. It seemed to add significance to the occasion. My antipodean adventure had come to a natural conclusion. (Eileen's too - down below in the Rocks she had bought herself a pair of Ugg boots).

Wednesday 16th February. Sydney. G'day again - we're back despite the best efforts of extreme weather. In fact for all of our trip we managed to avoid extreme weather and for most of it had pretty good weather.

Saturday 15th January. Sydney: This is our last full day in Sydney until we return here next month. Tomorrow, weather permitting, my cousin Boyd is arriving from Melbourne to take us on a road trip back to Victoria on a route that hopefully will avoid floods. The Queensland disaster has rather overshadowed widespread flooding elsewhere in Australia - in New South Wales, Tasmania and Victoria. It has been reported that a 40 mile section of the Great Ocean Road is closed due to mudslides. Think of that - the equivalent of the M6 between Preston and Kendal being shut. Boyd has a property in the Otways near there so we'll have an update tomorrow.

Later we followed the coastal path south to Covelley Beach passing by a number of other
beaches - lesser known outside of Australia but all provided with a range of facilities to
ensure families and surfers alike were well provided for. Incidentally I calculate Eileen walked a distance of 7k in total without comment - I dare to wonder if she had made a secret New Year's resolution.

Close to where Kath lives is the bustling centre of Burwood. Vibrantly multicultural with
the emphasis on Chinese, outwardly it has not much to distinguish it any other suburb of
Sydney but while I have been here I have stumbled on some interesting facts about Burwood.

For example back in 1932 one Jessie Menzies went to St Paul's church and was married to one Donald Bradman. Already an established cricketer everything was still before him -especially the "Bodyline" Ashes series of 1932/33.He went on to become the greatest batsman of all time with a career average of 99.94% first class runs. The marriage lasted over 65 years until Jessie's death in 1997.

Just a short distance down the road off Belmore Street is Burleigh Street. Number 4 now a medical centre was the childhood home of Malcolm and Angus Young. I doubt if regular readers of the Blog or any Dotcom walker would have any idea of what the Young brothers went on to achieve but in their own field no less remarkable than Sir Donald Bradman. In 1974 Malcolm and Angus together with a few others formed the heavy metal band AC/DC. Still going strong today after a turbulent history and world wide sales of 200 million albums they are one of one of the most successful rock bands of all time. Even if you have never heard a bar of their music many people might recognise guitarist Angus with his trade mark attire of school boy shorts,shirt tie and cap. Philip Larkin observed; "Nothing like something happens anywhere." Certainly something seemed to have happened in Burwood.

 I am not entirely sure when I will be able to access theinternet again so I wish you all "g'day" for the time being while Eileen and I set forth to explore more of this incredible and vast continent.

Once committed I felt I had to go on, dropping by steep flights of stairs - in some places hewn into the solid rock below the base of one of the sisters - to be submerged into the warm temperate forest of the Jamison Valley.

At length I reached the trail. Pleased to be on the horizontal again I walked in the direction of Leura fully aware that what goes down 900 steps has to come up again. For the while though I enjoyed the forest. I doubt if I have ever been in the midst of a bigger one. Near Marguerite Cascades I lunched beneath a gazebo and then shortly after found the upward track. I attempted to keep count of the steps - it helped to pass the time.

As I climbed out of the valley and reached the rim of the canyon the cloud finally lifted and at last I was given wide views of the mountains. I was 20 minutes late in meeting up the ladies but I am pleased to record that they had already decided to do what I was about to propose - to once again hop on the explorer bus, return to Echo Point and have their photo taken by the Three Sisters. And so I took THE SNAP of this part of the trip - the Three Sisters by the Three Sisters.

Andy B chides me in the guest book for not mentioning the Ashes which had been secured at Melbourne and then won convincingly at Sydney. We missed that party too but passed a battalion of the Barmy Army in a bar when we went out to Bondi. They demonstrated no signs of diplomatic delicacy in sparing the feelings of their hosts. This is a nation in mourning not use to being beaten by England at cricket - especially on its home turf. The innings defeat at the SCG provoked a lively correspondence in the newspapers here. My favourite was the letter that suggested that the Aussies would stand a better chance if they spent more time in the nets rather than at the tattoo parlour.

Friday 7th January:Sydney. New Year's greetings from down under. We arrived on New Year's day - a few hours after the party. mind you after 24 hours of travel with just a brief stop over in Dubai it felt as though we had been to the party. We were all pretty well lagged. We - Eileen, her sister Anne and myself made our way to Eileen's other sister Kath who settled in Oz over 20 years ago. Champagne was soon opened and we consumed two bottles before ten o clock in the morning. Completely out of it we spent the rest of the day attempting to adjust our time clocks.

Yet as impressive as Sydney's harbourscape is I find the less celebrated architecture of its suburbs equally fascinating. In the older suburbs close to the city centre much of the residential housing is laid out in tight terraces originally constructed to house factory workers but now highly desirable (and expensive) real estate. They are distinguished in particular by decorative wrought iron on verandas.

Further out Where Kath lives in Croydon the style is markedly different. Streets are laid out with mainly uniform plots each occupied (in the main) by single storey houses., (They are not called bungalows in Australia). The style is influenced - especially in the shopping parades - by art Deco.

Monday 27th December. Well it had to come out sooner or later - I couldn't continue the life of deception and lies I had enmeshed myself in. It started earlier this year when Eileen needed some new and expensive curtains altering - this was during the period when her home improvement project was going full blast. That's when I met - well let's call her Sabrina. Young, slim and vivacious she made an immediate impression. I can see her now expertly looping the curtain hooks as she balanced on top of the step ladder. Her job done she left us to enjoy the effect - the main lounge was finished after weeks of work; redecorated, sofas recovered, new rug, two dozen new cushions, new light fittings and - the crowning glory - expensive new curtains. It was perfect.

Council and a charity involving young adults with learning disabilities.The more Sarah

talked about the project, the more she enthused, detailing forthcoming events - half term activities planned for later in the month, a community open day on 29th October and from

the walled garden onwww.brothersofcharity.org.uk or tel: 07834480375 ]  It was impossible not to be impressed with her energy and the scope of the project under her supervision. When she had to be called away a volunteer, David, showed us around pointing out its features - a vinery, a melon pitch, raised beds, vintage brick built sheds - we spent a fascinating quarter of an hour in his company and were sorry to we had to depart.

Jim joined us for the first three days to Hay-on-Wye and his good company launched us into the remaining 120 miles. With him we crossed the Black Mountains on a superb ridge walk from Pandy to Hay where Sue was waiting to whisk him away for a long weekend in Bath. He and Sue caught up with us later in the walk near Welshpool and kindly brought back some of our dirty washing, and then quickly regretted the offer on the drive home when it began to hum to them.

"It's the first time I've tried this," he reported to us. Well you don't say! Given his inexperience it seemed to me he was making a pretty good fist of it.

his foray into the English countryside with 10 old geezers and an old geezer's wife. Naturally we introduced him to Ye Olde English pub - the Black Bull at Mawdesley, complete

with attractive landlady, Kate, who gave back as good as she got when collecting the Dotcoms' lunch order. By the bar I found a recent issue of "Alecry" the West Lancs CAMRA

from the cottages opposite came across and said, "You can carry on sitting there if you like, but if you would like a cup of tea, a sit down and a great view come across." Perhaps slightly bemused by the unexpectedness of this invitation we followed him into his kitchen. The great view was across the valley north westwards and we soon had a brew in our hand.

We kicked off with Coniston at the end of July. Malcolm, Don, Jim, Andy B and I were out for that. The forecast was dire but we reached the top of Dow Crag without waterproofs. I said to Jim, "I regard every minute without rain a bonus." Well that did it of course. More or less from that moment it began to pour down. By the time we reached the Old Man every tourist was heading down and we weren't long in joining them. As has frequently happens in these situations Malcolm's experience took over. We crossed Brim Fell and descended to Lever Water by a fairly precipitious path that would have been easy to miss in the claggy rain.

I heard most of this from Jim and Alison last Wednesday when we walked the Langdale Pikes - all of them. Malcolm, Don and Andy B and not forgetting Paul were otherwise disposed. Ours  was an open ended outing - we decided to get up to Stickle Tarn and then take it from there depending on time and weather. As it turned out the weather was just about perfect and in choosing the central fells were treated to a 360 degree view of the high fells of the district.

I had been up Jack's Rake about four times previously but the last occasion was ten years ago just as the fells were being opened following the foot and mouth crisis. Then Jamie, Mark and I had to disinfect out boots before heading up Stickle Ghyll. There were a few moments on Wednesday when I had to remind myself that it was my idea to climb Jack's Rake; but when Jim led us over the last 100m to the summit I experienced the wonderful euphoria that comes out of meeting a difficult challenge and overcoming it. Alison and Jim felt it too. And I sincerely hope that back on 11th August Paul had the same feeling.

yesterday. After a doubtful morning the sun broke through in the afternoon making the scene near Buckden truly beautiful - that combination of fell and wood and river which never fails to lift the spirit. It was a favourite spot of the writer J.B. Priestley whose ashes are scattered in the churchyard at Hubberholme. We had gone into the church for a looksee and to spot the Thompson mice, trademark of the pew makers, the Thompson brothers of Kilburn. Alison found six before we walked on to the George catching it just before it closed for the afternoon. There we discovered that the Buck Inn at Buckden had closed indefinitely with the last tennants suddenly leaving for want of decent custom - a weather related economic failure. This intelligence caused some consternation amongst the fellwalkers especially the Cuttle brothers who extended their walk to Kettlewell arranging with GPS Dave to be picked up there because they will not brook tea after a day in the hills.

Earlier at Cray we noticed that preparations were being made for a fell race which we surmised was the Buckden Pike fell race. We decided to hang around and watch the first junior race - under 9s. Under 9s! Many people might regard a fell race involving children under 9 as a form of abuse. Of course they were not required to run to the pike and back - just to a marshall in a field corner about 400metres up the fellside. It was enjoyable to watch, especially as they steamed back to the finish and the warm encouragement of the small crowd of supporters. It was striking how much this sporting event was a social one too - a remnant of community life almost utterly lost in towns and cities.

On Friday evening and Saturday morning we were placed on car park duties along with Paul, 
John, Karen and Bob and their boys. Luckily we had a large space to work with but even so I was surprised how it filled  up. A large marquee had been set up as the event centre and by mid evening we were  directing competitors to it for registration. By now the complexities of managing a  mountain marathon were beginning to dawn on me.

Returning to the now deserted venue it became impressed on us to take down our tent as 
quickly as possible and travel across to Longsleddale in Paul's landrover. This was a drive 
of forty minutes or so delayed by road repair works a short distance above the church. (One of those annoying little hitches that cannot be factored in to the planning of an event).Once 
we were on the site of mid camp our tent was quickly erected by the events team and  instantly commandeered as Mid camp control centre where Andrew Leaney set up his lap top  ready to process the first competitors who (remarkably in my eyes) had already arrived.

Sunday turned out to be grim. Strong winds swept drenching rain across the fells to deliver 
an extra test to the competitors. The contrast with the previous day could not have been 
more extreme. No matter how good the kit no one escaped being completely and utterly 
soaked. Visibility became severely restricted hampering further the teams and solos as they 
forced themselves around the controls.

Anyway in an exchange of e-mails, the shop's proprietor Jason Andrews wrote this: "I was

Our passage did have diversion though. For the last few weeks we had been watching Monty Hall's Great Hebridean Adventure on BBC2 which included a trip to St Kilda. His companion

The Gap was well named for it provides an alarming viewpoint for looking at the tallest cliffs in the British Isles. Cliffs that are home to thousands of seabirds - mainly fulmars and kittiwakes. Seabirds that provided the human inhabitants an economy. It was from the Gap that we made our way up the steep sided slopes of Conachair and then crossed to the radar station on Mullach Mór. Although relatively easy walking it was an area of hazard in that it was guarded by Great Skuas who clearly objected to people treading on their patch. One couldn't help be reminded of Alfred Hitchcock's horror film "The Birds" as we were dive bombed. Each of us had our Tippi Hendren moment. Once by the radar station the danger receded.

erected in the 1860s and the much older Blackhouses the traditional dwellings of the

Around about 4.00 we were taken off and with Angus at the helm we went across for a closer look at Boreray and its vast colonies of gannets, fulmars and kittiwakes. As well as being enthralled by a wildlife spectacle of awesome proportion, this increased our admiration for

section of the Witton Weavers Way took us under the M65 and into Roddlesworth and Tockholes and despite the fact that part of the route took passed "Lancashire's Waste Mountain" - the land fill site at Stanworth, all my companions found the walk enchanting. We lunched at the Rock Inn, our second visit, and once again it earned high approval ratings from the Dotcoms. (See www.The-RockInn.com ) It has an airy situation and from its car park we could easily pick out Blackpool Tower and Black Combe. Regrettably I had to impose firm discipline after Sue dared to suggest my shorts needed ironing. Blinking Dotcom Walkers! Still I soon sorted her out.

Later, on Harter Fell, we spotted a pair of dotterels, though we didn't know what they were at the time. They were scouring the ground for whatever dotterels feed on close to the summit cairn and seemed undaunted by our presence no more than 20 metres away. Jim B (Don's brother-in-law) was able to move in quite close to take this pic. I'm not sure if I have ever seen a dotterel before but I enjoyed looking at the pair we saw. I also enjoyed this description in my field guide; "Distinctly patterned wader with no real affinity for water." What a marvellous concept! You cannot help paraphrasing it; like - "highly qualified teacher with no real affinity for the classroom." I met a few of those in my career - they were called OFSTED inspectors. Oops...only joking!

On Tuesday the Dotcoms had their inaugural picnic. We have had the odd picnic before now when there hasn't been a pub on route. However for the past 15 months every week has included a pub lunch. I have to say that when I put picnic on the programme there was dissent in the ranks.Some members had clearly become too accustomed to soft and easy living. Furthermore as many were at a loss as to what to bring I felt I had to issue guidance. "Bring something for yourself and something to share." This vague guideline had predictable results. Don had a bottle of red wine in the left hand pouch of his rucksack and to balance this up had a bottle of white in the right. He also carried a pile of cheese and onion sandwiches.Brian unfortunately couldn't join us that day but nonetheless sent in 5 kilos of potato salad; Andy M brought 12 meat pies - and so did Malcolm; Paul brought 12 custard tarts; Chris brought 12 apple pies; Alison's contribution was 12 mini chocolate flapjacks. Needless to say that all of us took grub back with us. As architect of this debacle I wasn't in a position to complain about the 5 bottles of beer, bottle of bucks fizz and bottle of sparkling apple juice that I had to carry back and weighed an absolute ton.And yet for all our surplus it was a very pleasant occasion. We relaxed in lovely spring sunshine in the grounds of Sawley Abbey - good food, good wine, good company. You could be as rich as the Sage of Omaha himself and not enjoy it better. 

Aware of this Don has been on a project to rectify the situation and to this end has gained use of a tandem. So it was that on Wednesday we made our first ride together on a bicycle made for two. Neither of us had ever been on a tandem before. After a practise run up and down a conveniently located cycle path we set off to where Jim and Brian live about two miles away. We arrived there without mishap. Jim and Brian are next door neighbours so I roused them out to be the first to witness the possible new stage in my life - passenger on a tandem stage. It both amused and fascinated them. Instantly Jim wanted a go himself which Donald obliged. Jim then persuaded Brian to follow suit. That done Don and I set out for a fifteen mile sortie out to Croston and back. It worked out very well and I enjoyed it immensely. However there is just one snag with Don's project - Eileen. We will have to see whether she has it in her to do all the bits that the front rider has to do - steer, brake and change gear. Still she hasn't vetoed the idea - yet.

So it was a great day out and it was just a case of going back to Burnley, Manchester Road station - or so I thought. No. "We'll stop by in Newchurch to see the Witch's grave, Bob. I think we have time for that." Of course I could have said,"Don't be daft my old china - its three o'clock now." But somehow I do not like to curb my friend's enthusiasm. But I did want to make that 3.57 train. So along the back lanes we reached Newchurch in Pendle and had a quick look-see. Thankfully Geoff didn't engage in conversation with a quartet of visitors chatting at the entrance. We found the Nutter family plot - took a photo and then, "Well we better see if we can catch this train." This at 3.35 by the church clock. Any chance we might have had was drastically reduced by the traffic on Colne Road and its traffic lights. I was dropped off at 4.00. Trains run on time these days. I had an hour to wait. Geoff phoned, apologised and suggested I had a brew and I could give him some in service training on sending e mails, something he hasn't mastered yet. So ten minutes later I was in his sitting room leafing through his photos of Greyfriars Cemetery in Edinburgh. As for the Inset that would enable Geoff to properly join the ranks of the Dotcoms - not a chance - Geoff had forgotten his password, and no amount of prompting could help him retrieve it.

15/04/2010 Thursday. On our Tuesday walk this week Don and I together with our wives set off down the Via Nazionale, walked up the Capitolino, walked down again, walked through to the Colosseum, walked around the Colosseum, crossed to the Palatino, dropped down into the Forum, edged round the Victor Emanuel Monument, crossed Piazza Venezia and then found a restaurant where we enjoyed our beer which we calculated was around £7.00 a pint! Had I dared to suggest to Eileen a walk of similar length in England I wouldn't have even been given a short shrift. Having said that her arthritic knee was playing up so we finished off on the open top tour bus.

We were in Rome for the wedding of Tony and Rachel which had taken place on the previous Saturday - a lovely occasion held at Palazzola, overlooking Lake Albano, opposite the Pope's summer palace at Castel Gondolfo. For the past 90 years the place has been used by the English College as a place of prayer and retreat. In recent times it has developed as a conference and wedding venue. (see www.palazzola.it)

So after an exchange of e mails with "Gilly" it was arranged for John and I to go across this afternnon to the Blackburn studio to participate in the programme. If you are quick - i.e. read this within one week of today - you will be able to listen to the interview on BBCiplayer. Regular readers of this blog will recall that John Gillmore has featured on this page before when I went to a recital given by Roberto Garcia Lopez back in October. Gilly was the presenter on that occasion which I described as being "in the best traditions of the BBC". (Scroll down and check it out if you don't believe me.) Well I have to say today was also in the best traditions of the BBC. We were looked after from the moment we stepped into the building to the time we left. Gilly's producer Versha saw us into the studio and introduced us to Gilly. We had a short while to wait before we went on air during which we had a pleasant chat or at least it seemed that way. As we were to learn these off air discourses played an important part in the on air interview in that Gilly used them to supplement the material he had gathered about us. As for the interview itself - it was thorough. Every aspect of the development and the scope of the site was covered; we were given a good airing.At the same time it was a treat to observe the inner workings of a live radio broadcast. So a big thank you to Gilly, Versha and the staff at BBC Radio Lancashire.
      

this for what it was and innocently endured a bit of gentle leg pulling about the state of

striking piece of public art impressed us immensely. Constructed from steel pipes in a design to suggest a wind blown hawthorn, the sculpture produces a mellow hum as the wind catches it. Its architects Tonkin-Lui have created a feature that not only fits into the landscape but actually enhances it. In my view the Singing Ringing Tree deserves as much recognition as Anthony Gormley's Angel of the North.

walking. On Tuesday the Dotcoms went to Newton in Bowland and went on a splendid walk up to Stocks Reservoir. That day was Jim's birthday and we celebrated it very pleasantly at Hark to Bounty Inn, Slaidburn. It was Enid's birthday too - she was another diner who told us about her birthday having heard us sing to Jim. It seemed to be an invitation so we sang to her too. 

the moors but instead follow the Dales Way. This covered a lovely stretch of Wharfedale made lovelier still by a covering of snow. It is also an area with some very interesting signs. One that caught my attention went: PLEASE KEEP YOUR DOGS UNDER CONTROL, PREFERABLY ON A LEAD. I don't think I have ever seen the word "preferably" use in this context before.

My favourite was this sign. It possesses a directness altogether lacking in the dog notice, and yet retains an air of mystery - there is no indication to where the tents will be shifted.

There is a time to die and a time to wed and a time to slide down slides and a time to...chop down trees. The trees in question are the avenue of horse chestnuts beside the river in Miller Park, Preston. As I blog these trees are being removed. The council have been forced to act because the trees are dead or dying from Bleeding Canker and have become unsafe to the public. Part of me would like to echo the old Phil Harris song "Woodman, woodman, spare that tree/touch not a single bough/for years that tree has protected me/and I'll protect it now." However I am persuaded that the work is necessary. Rather alarmingly Bleeding Canker is a widespread problem affecting almost half of all horse chestnuts in the UK. So I am sad that the trees have to be destroyed; magnificent in any season and majestic in autumn. They will be replaced but I am resigned that I will not see their like along that reach of the river in my lifetime.

Thursday 18/02/10 "Oh look!"Don exclaimed after we crossed a stile onto a lane. He pointed down to the verge. Snowdrops! It wasn't my first sighting but nonetheless was in accord with Don's delight at seeing these lovely flowers. Small, unobtrusive and easy to forget when spring is in full rage; but how they gladden the spirit when first noticed. Nature's promise that winter will come to an end.

On Thursday Jim and I had a perfect day out walking up Ingleborough which is in TOP. In fact Ingleborough is one of the Three Peaks of TOP. It was cold but without a breath of wind and we spent most of the day in sunshine. Looking south we could see Pendle Hill clearly, while across to the east there were superb views of Pen-y-ghent. It was without doubt one of the best winter walks I have ever been on and it was great to share it with my friend Jim.

As we set out from Barley I had a number of cares. For a variety of reasons I knew that for some of our party Pendle would be a challenge. I had built into my plans a contingency that if anyone decided enough was enough, they could meet us later when we descended Ogden Clough. As we passed Pendle House I knew the moment of decision had arrived; the steep, stepped incline of Big End is unforgiving to anyone suffering from shortness of breath and unkind to vertigo sufferers too. At around the 450m contour Paul and Elaine realised they had reached the point where it was sensible to go back. Brian said he had reached that point too. The three made their way back to the village.

Reassured that each would look after the others, the rest of us made our way to the top. Of course GPS Dave forged on ahead in his usual fashion, so much so that he probably spent 15 minutes cooling his heels before the stragglers caught up. For Don, despite 36 years a resident of Lancashire, it was his first time at the summit of Pendle. There were other quiet achievements. Bill, 75 and still going strong. Of course Bill, a modest man, would not see it this way. In his prime he competed in a number of mountain marathons, many with GPS Dave, and attained a level of stamina and fitness the rest of us can barely imagine. Then there was John, who over the past 12 months has suffered from difficult health, so much so that some days he has struggled to put on his boots. He was well pleased with himself as he reached the trig point. And then there was Chris recovering from a serious heart condition. On his first walk with us back in September he laboured on the incline from the River Ribble back to Hurst Green. He was as pleased as punch to have made it to the summit, and we were all pleased for him.

At one point on Wednesday Chris, Trish and I wondered if by accident we had strayed onto the Pennine Way. When I arrived at the Mill it was proposed we do a six mile walk following the edge of the moors. As Trish had a guide I didn't take a great deal of notice of the route which appeared perfectly straightforward. It seemed less straightforward two hours later when we were trying to locate the path that would lead us down to Grindsbrook Booth. There was still a deal of snow on the ground and low cloud had reduced visibility to 40-50m. Our map checking conferences increased in frequency. As often happens in these situations we made features we had seen through the mist fit in with our interpretation of the map.We convinced ourselves we had overshot the required path by some considerable distance. After crossing the top of a deep defile which had no obvious exit apart from the precipitious type which my friend Geoff always calls a "one way ticket" we made the decision to drop off by any viable slope. A short time later I felt I had located one. "Ok let's take it easy, stick together and stop if there is any sign of a drop," I advised as we started our descent. After five minutes I was cheered to see a ruined wall. As we lost height we found ourselves out of the cloud and there below across a stream was a clear ribbon of path. "Salvation is at hand - its the Pennine Way!" I called to my companions. After we gained the path and walked into Grindbrook Booth we realised we had not reached the Pennine Way at all but were on the route Trish had intended. We had only overshot the exit by a short distance for all our fretting. It had seemed quite an adventure while it lasted and we were all very pleased to return to the warmth of the apartment and a brew. I reminded Trish that our previous walk together in the Lakes we had over extended ourselves when I was in charge of the route. I cannot be certain but I felt she was rather cheered up by this notion - as if she somehow paid me one back. I can't think she had been talking to Eileen. 

Yesterday Malcolm, Don, Andy L and I went to Bleasdale to renew our acquaintance with solitude though the day wasn't as long as we planned because when we reached the car park on Delph Lane, Malcolm realised he had forgotten to bring his jacket. It was a hazy day and sunshine did break through; nevertheless by Fiendsdale Head Malcolm felt that he should not risk over long exposure to the biting wind. Since at that point we already had a fine traverse of Hazelhurst Fell the rest of us concurred with Malcolm's decision without demur. As it happened our descent to Bleasdale gave us a magnificent view of Fairsnape. Reaching Fiendsdale Head had not been without incident. There was still a deal of snow about, especially in gullies. For an ectomorph like Don, six feet of nothing and ten stone, this represented no hazard. For an endomorph like me, shorter and wider, it was a different story and several times I had to be extricated from deep banks of snow.

GPS Dave has a long association with the Derby as it has been the venue of the fellwalkers AGM for a number of years. Recently Dave has been asked to devise a number of walks from the inn to add an extra dimension to an already impressive programme of events. Hopefully John and I will be able to make our contribution to the process of describing routes. So indirectly this is what led our steps to the Derby.

And then two slices of magic. As we were finishing a lady at the next table asked me to take a photo of her and her great aunt. Alice Hesketh was celebrating that day her 80th birthday. I was happy to perform this service and we all sang "Happy Birthday". It happened that Alice was a retired music teacher but she didn't take our raucous rendition amiss.Then almost immediately after one of our party, Chris, spotted Barry McQueen in the next bar. Barry who? you maybe prompted to ask. Well Barry had been on BBC2 the previous evening and nearly all of us had seen him. As Blackpool's Town Crier he had featured in Michael Portillo's excellent "Great British Railway Journeys" based on Bradshaw's Guide. Indeed Barry sang a musical hall song about the guide during the programme. With little encouragement he sang it to us. Also he did a very kind thing - he declaimed a special birthday greeting to Alice. The photo above shows Barry with William, the proprietor of the Derby, and myself. He also posed with the rest of the Dotcom Walkers, which most people might regard as above and beyond. It was entirely a chance encounter since Barry was at the Derby to provide entertainment for a group of retired post office employees. So Alice's birthday was magic and having Barry sing to us was magic also. As reported in the Blackpool Gazette

On Sunday Dave, Andy (he who was once verbally abused by a Howgill dairy farmer) and I were treated to another piece of magic. Though there was still a great deal of snow around the Fellwalking club's outing to Ambleside went ahead. (We know that a number of other clubs cancelled on that day.) We chose to climb over Loughrigg a fell of modest height that sprawls along the west side of Rydal Water. We descended past Lily Tarn and here we came across a delightful scene. A group of parents and children had set up station to create a sledge run and ice rink - a winter adventure playground. It was a zone of pure fun; despite the biting wind you couldn't help be lifted by the peels of laughter and the sense of enjoyment that emanated from the gathering. It was such an antidote to all the miserable coverage the weather has had in the news producing a similiar affect to enduring two episodes of "Eastenders" back to back. Witnessing that scene reminded us that we should never forsake the opportunity to "lighten up" when it comes along.