Another of the exhibitions at the Ruthin Craft Centre featured the work of a glass artist based in Denbighshire – Verity Pulford. It isn’t an exaggeration to say that I was stopped in my tracks when I caught a glimpse of her exhibition. She creates delicate structures inspired by lichens, mosses, and algae, as well as fungi, and the textures and forms of marine creatures, invertebrates, and coral, both freestanding and wall mounted sculptures from pâte de verre, cast and kiln-formed glass, often combining glass elements with carefully selected found objects, including preserved natural objects. Some, like her mushrooms and toadstools, figurative but, most of her work is abstract, although inspired by nature.
On the way back home from Bodfari I didn’t travel by the shortest route. Instead I took the road to Ruthin as I wanted to visit the Ruthin Craft Centre. It’s a lovely little gallery with three galleries where they hold exhibitions, a shop, a café and a number of workshops used by artists. I’d checked out what was on and discovered that one of the artists being exhibited was Halima Cassell, a sculptor who was born in Kashmir but grew up in the North West of England. Her sculptures are complex geometric patterns in unglazed ceramic, bronze, stone, wood and cast glass. I’d first come across her work during a visit to the Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery back in 2018. Since then I’ve seen exhibitions of her work at Manchester City Art Gallery in 2019 and Blackwell in 20233 and have come across her sculptures in various other galleries and sculpture trails since then. I’ve become quite a fan and I can easily spot her work as she has quite a distinctive style.
There were a good selection of her works on display, and it was interesting to see how her practice has evolved as she works with wood, glass and other materials in addition to ceramics. Here are some pieces I particularly liked
Small slices of ceramics mounted in frames for wall display
A sinuous wood carving
I loved the colour of this ceramic sculpture. Notice the two gold “streams” embedded in the work. This suggests that it might have been damaged during firing. Cassell uses a Japanese technique in such cases, where gold is used to fill the cracks, thereby turning a potential disaster into a creative work of art.
The main reason for my short stay in Bodfari was to get up on the Clwydian Hills. I planned a circular route around the Offa’s Dyke Path that would take me over two of them, both part of the chain of Iron Age Hill Forts that were built on the range. Walking solo, though, I was able to change my plan as I went. Leraning from the OS map that there was a blockage at a crucial point on the route which would have resulted in a lengthy diversion on minor roads at low level, and enjoying the views high up and not really wanting to descend and walk through a substantial stretch of forest, I ended up making the decision to retrace my steps on a liner “there and back” route. I know a lot of walkers can be quite obsessive about avoiding there and back walks, but I’m not that bothered, to be honest. I was enjoying the views from the ridge. The light was quite flat for most of the day, so although visibility was good, it wasn’t great for photos, but I took some anyway; I always do.
Any way, here’s the route I took mainly on the Offa’s Dyke trail.
Leaving the village I crossed over the main road and was then mainly walking on quiet lanes before climbing over a stile and stating the climb onto the hills, initially through fields,
and then onto a bridleway contouring on the hillside amongst the bracken. I couple of horse riders passed me coming from the opposite direction.
The track dipped down into a valley and then started to climb again, passing a small group of buildings.
I was soon climbing up through the heather towards my first objective, Penycloddiau (try saying that!).
This hill, with a large flattish summit plateau used to be a massive Iron Age hill fort, one of the biggest in Wales, covering 26 hectares (64 acres).
Approaching the summit the banks and ditches, that were part of the fort’s defences, were clearly visible.
There’s evidence of Bronze Age activity up here too and at the start of the plateau there was a reconstruction of a burial mound from that era.
Although lagrely a windy, overcast day, the views up on the top were extensive. I could see right over to the Eryri mountains and could even work out what most of the peaks were likely to be.
After a brief stop to admire the views, I carried on along the Offa’s Dyke path.
To reach it, I had to descend through woodland on a narrow path with a fairly steep drop on my right. At the bottom there was a car park and a very narrow minor road to cross (I wouldn’t like to meet one of those monstrous panzer SUVs coming the other way driving along there). The path then started to climb very steeply up the hill.
To reach the summit, I had to turn off the Offa’s Dyke trail onto a path that climbed up the last metres,
with defensive banks and ditches visible.
Again, superb views in every direction.
Lookingsouth along the ridge towards Moel Famau
The view to the north over Penycloddiau and Moel y Parc towards the sea
Over the Vale of Clwyd towards the mountains of Eryri
I retrace my steps back down the hill and then reclimbed up through the woods towards Penycloddiau. I took a slight diversion on a path along one of the ditches before climbing back to the recreated burial mound and the start of the descent back towards Bodfari.
Moel y Parc with it’s aerial- I could have diverted up to the summit but left that for another day.
Looking towards Bodfari and Moel-y-Gaer
I thoroughly enjoyed the walk, even though the weather hadn’t been quite as good as I hoped. It was overcast, with only the occasional spell of sunshine and quite windy on the ridge, but it hadn’t rained and long range visibility was good.
Reaching my accommodation late afternoon, I sat out in the garden with a brew and a book for an hour or so.
After tea I spent the evening reading and watching TV.
It had been an enjoyable short break and I was tempted to stop another day. However, I decided against it (the weather was due to deteriorate) and left the next morning. There are more walks and hills to climb near here so I reckon I’ll be back again.
A walk when I passed through Sodom, but didn’t get turned into a pillar of salt
Bodfari is a tiny place. A few clusters of houses, a school, a pub and a church. I was staying in a small terrace of cottages, originally occupied by workers in the local haematite (iron oxide) quarry, which used to be a little further up the road towards Tremerchion. The cottage was next door to the former Rectory, which was next to the village church, Saint Stephen’s.
After I’d settled in I decided I’d get out for a walk.
I started by climbing the hill behind the cottage on a path that ran beside the church graveyard. The tower is medieval but the rest of the church was remodelled by, who else, but the Victorians, although there are some original features.
Climbing the hill I got a good view over to Moel y Parc, the nearest of the bigger hills of the Clwydian hills and southwards along the range.
I passed through the Coed y Llan (Church Woods) – there were a few tricky steep bits along the path – emerging onto the hillside that leads up Moel-y-Gaer, one of six Iron Age hill forts on the Clwydian hills. Although there’s a couple of videos I’ve seen on You Tube where it’s climbed, the summit is privately owned and the owner has cracked down on it, so the summit was out of bounds. Reaching the woods below the summit there was no access so I had to take the path around them, emerging into another field. I was following a clear right of way marked on the map, but reaching the gate at the end of the field I found that it had been “adapted”, tied up with rope, so it couldn’t be opened. I retraced my steps up the path to see if I’d made a mistake and missed another gate or stile, but no, the path went through the gate. Unable to open it, and not wanting to have to go back to where I started. I had my pen knife with me and considered “liberating” the route but decided against doing that and I climbed over it. I double checked the map and there was definitely a right of way that went through it. Not only that, according to the map I was on the route of the Offa’s Dyke path (llwybr Clawd Offa in Welsh). A hostile land owner by the looks of it.
Keeping to the Offa’s Dyke path I continued climbing through fields until the trail joined a minor road that continued to climb. I was now in Sodom, a small hamlet of scattered houses and woodland. Goodness knows how it got that biblical name. I tried searching on the web to no avail. I was in staunch Methodist country so perhaps, in the past, the chapel goers considered the original inhabitants of the area to be extremely sinful. I don’t know about the current locals.
Having safely navigated Sodom (no Gomorrah fortunately) I emerged on the open hillside. Looking back I had a good view of the forbidden heights of Moel-y-Gaer, the remains of the defensive earthworks clearly visible.
Looking west, I could see the silhouettes of the high mountains of Eryri
and northwards I could make out the coast, including the Orme at Llandudno.
I continued on the Offa’s Dyke path, through fields now, climbing for a while before descending down to a gate. This time I didn’t have to go through as I turned off the trail to join a Cilffordd, which is Welsh for Byway. There was a sign to that effect pointing down the track and, in fact, I’d seen another one further back on my route. These byways can be used by motorised vehicles although the one I was walking on was rough and definitely not fit for normal traffic. I guess they’re used by the off road drivers and trail bikes. Luckily I didn’t encounter any during my walk.
The track eventually joined a minor road which which I joined heading in the direction of Bodfari.
It was the Bodfari to Tremerchion road and if I continued on it would have reached my cottage. However, after a while I turned up a side road and after a short distance joined a path through the fields that skirted the bottom of the Moel-y-Gaer woods. There was a sizeable herd of cattle in the field, including calves. I was a little nervous passing through here, particularly as several calves were standing right next to the fence and I would have have to pass between them and their mothers further down the hill. Fortunately the calves, seeing me coming, bolted down the hill, so I wasn’t faced being charged by angry cows.
I reached the path I’d taken earlier up from the cottage and headed back down. When I reached the churchyard wall a young couple coming up asked me whether I’d seen a bull in the field I’d come through. I told them I hadn’t, although warned them about the calves. They’d been told there was a bull in the field. I hadn’t seen one but I wouldn’t rule out that there had been one – it’s allowed for them to be in a field with a right of way passing through providing they’re with a herd of cows and calves. I might have stuck to the Tremerchion if I thought that had been the case!
I decided to walk through the graveyard to take a closer look at the church before returning to my cottage.
The walk of almost five miles, with plenty of ups and a few downs, had set me up nicely for the longer walk on the hills I’d planned for the next day and had worked up an appetite ready for my tea (evening meal for any southerners reading this!)
Last week I booked myself a short break in North Wales for a couple of nights in Bodfari in amongst the Clwydian rage of hills. The small village is at the northern end of the range and I wanted to explore some of the hills around there. My check in was at 3 pm on the Sunday, but it was a fine day that I didn’t want to waste so, in the morning, I set of for Denbigh (Dinbych in Welsh) .
Denbigh was founded in the late 13th Century after the conquest of Wales by Edward 1 as a bastide – a fortified walled town with a castle, populated by English Immigrants. Although it’s been through the wars (literally) including the Wars of the Roses and the English Civil War, substantial remains of the castle and the town walls are still standing. The town outgrew the walls and a newer town was built down the hill. The older settlement was deserted, although today there’s houses inside the old town walls.
Having a Cadw membership allowed me to visit the castle without having to pay the entrance fee, and as it’s a long time since I was last in Denbigh it seemed like a good way to spend an hour or so. I mean, who can’t resist a good castle? (Well, lots of people, I’m sure, but I’m not one of them).
I parked up and made my way towards the gatehouse and entry.
Although it was “slighted” during the Civil War, with various parts of the walls and towers being demolished, and then “robbed” for building materials, the remains are still quite impressive. It was certainly a large fortress in its day
The town walls were once protected by four towers and two gatehouses, although only one of the gatehouses still survives. The castle and town’s gatehouse were constructed of decorative stonework, intended to symbolise royal authority and civic pride.
It’s possible to climb to the top of part of the battlements, from where there’s good views over the town and the surrounding countryside, including almost the full length of the Clwydian range of hills. I’d be climbing some of them the next day.
Looking down from the walls I could see the deep well that would have been a vital water source inside the castle, particularly during a siege, of which there were probably many.
In the distance, to the south, I could see a large complex of neo-Gothic style buildings.
This was the former Denbighshire Mental Hospital, built in 1844-8, to provide care for Welsh speaking people suffering from mental illnesses. It closed in 1995 and since then the abandoned site has fallen into a serious state of disrepair.
I first came across mention of the hospital in a book that I read last year – The Seasoning by Manon Steffan Ros, where one of the characters had been sent there. By all accounts it was pretty horrendous place.
After having a good look around the castle, I went for a wander to have a look at the town walls, some 1,100 metres long, much of which are still standing, and the “new town”.
Standing outside the castle, and inside the old Medieval walls, is a tower, the only remains of Saint Hilary’s Chapel, the town’s original place of worship, built in the 14th Century.
The Burgess Gate and tower was one of the main entrances into the walled town
I made my way down the steep Bull Street to High Street. There were some interesting old buildings, including the library, originally the County Hall, built in 1572.
Outside the library there was a statue of Henry Morton Stanley, of “Doctor Livingstone I presume” fame, who was born in the town.
Being a Sunday most of the shops were shut, but the main street, like most town centres these days, was looking run down with the shops now mainly bargain stores, nail bars and the like, so I started to make my way back up the hill along Broomhill Lane, a narrow passageway
lined with art works, including poems written on the wall, sculptures, and even decorative manhole covers, based on Denbigh’s heritage or stories from the Mabinogion.
The lane led back to the Burgess Gate.
I still had a few hours before I could access my accommodation in Bodfari, a short drive from Denbigh, so reaching my car I booted up and set off for a walk in the countryside to the southwest of the town.
The first half of the route, based on a “Community Walk” took me through woodland alongside the river and then up out of the valley and through fields back to the town.
Once out of the woodland there were excellent views over to the Clwydian Range of hills
The final stretch of the walk took me through fields of maize and then I made my way through the streets of the town back up the hill to the castle and my parked car.
Last Saturday was the start of three days of walking. The first walk was the easiest. Being the first Saturday of the month I was off with the Ramblers for the regular coach ramble. This time we disembarked near Bolton-le-Sands for a walk along the Lancaster canal and then along the shore of Morecambe Bay towards Carnforth. It was definitely the easiest walk I’ve done with the Ramblers. It’s flat country around there so there was negligible altitude gain and we avoided the muddy and marshy bits of the Bay shoreline.
On the Ramblers walks I don’t take as many pictures as I usually do as I inevitably spend quite a bit of the walk yapping. Well, I did join the group to meet new people after my retirement almost a year ago.
We started with a couple of miles along the canal towpath. This canal doesn’t have any locks so it was nice and level and gentle walking.
It does have some bridges, of course.
At Hest Bank we left the canal and made our way over the West Coast Mainline to the shore of Morecambe Bay. The tide was well out so we were looking mainly across sand and mudbanks over the bay towards Grange-over-Sands.
We stopped to refuel. Setting off again we hugged the shoreline. We didn’t want to strat to far into the bay which is notorious for its quicksands. Speaking of which, after a mile we reached this distinctive sculpture, The Praying Shell by Anthony Padgett
The sculpture overlooks the site where 23 Chinese cockle pickers working for criminal gangmasters died in 2004 when they were engulfed by the rapidly incoming tide during the dark. Although the sculpture wasn’t originally intended as a monument to the people who died but that is what it has inevitable due to the siting and design which combines a praying person with a giant cockle shell.
Unveiled in November 2013 and carved out of limestone, “The Praying Shell” overlooks the Morecambe Bay. The creator, artist Anthony Padgett stated that the sculpture was designed to inspire walkers venturing along the bay. Padgett said this about the sculpture, “Its symbolism is intended to parallel humanity’s openness to a larger dimension and the way cockle shells open as the tide comes in.”
The 23 cocklers who died, and another 15 who managed to get ashore, were illegal immigrants. No doubt certain people who this last week have been dressing up in black with balaclavas hiding their faces, would have been happy to prevent them being rescued and see them drown. The emergency services and RNLI did their best to save them and I think most people would consider it the right thing to do. We stopped for a while by the monument and I think that most of our group were reflecting about the disaster sympathetically. I still hold on to the hope that that would be the case for most walkers who pass by here.
Time to move on. We didn’t stay long enough to see the cockle shell open – it would have been a long wait.
We carried on along the shore for a while but when we reached the point where we would have had to walk across the marsh, recently relished with rain, we turned off to continue across fields and along quiet country roads towards Carnforth, keeping our feet day.
An easy eight mile walk with good views and some variety, an opportunity to chat and a little time for reflection and contemplation. I enjoyed it.
When I’m visiting Manchester City Art Gallery I tend to seek out some favourite works, one of which is a small painting of a young woman dressed in blue reading a letter. A simple portrayal but it always attracts my attention with its fine draughtsmanship, subdued, pastel colours, its weathered, almost washed out look, and the quiet, contemplative pose of the model, who seems to be completely absorbed by the letter, giving it all her attention, unaware that she is being observed. It’s by the Welsh painter Gwen John, one of two of her works in the Manchester collection. A few weeks ago when I was in Manchester city centre and popped into the Gallery I couldn’t find it or the other painting by the artist. I assumed they had been put into storage. But I was wrong.
When I was in Edinburgh last Tuesday, after my walk up Arthur’s Seat I made my way across the city centre to Modern Two, one of the two galleries focusing on Modern and Contemporary Art, both in grand 19th Century Buildings close to Dean Village. Modern 1 holds the permanent collection while Modern 2 shows temporary exhibitions, the current one being a major retrospective of the work of Gwen John, Gwen John: Strange Beauties. The exhibition has gathered together works from galleries and private collections so, not surprisingly, both the Manchester portraits were on display.
A quick word about the gallery building. It used to be the Dean Orphanage, the site of an orphans’ home until the 1990s. The building features in popular literature, in particular in The Lewis Man, the second book of the Lewis trilogy by Peter May.
Gwen John was born in Haverfordwest, Pembrokeshire, South West Wales. One of her siblings was Augustus John, also an artist who I first heard off as the pub on the campus at the University of Liverpool is named after him (I had a few pints there when I was a student). Her mother died in 1884, when she was only 8 years old, a traumatic experience which is likely to have a major impact on her. The family moved to Tenby where she seems to have had a happy childhood despite the tragic loss.
She studied at the Slade School of Art, between 1895 and1898, and then moved to Paris, where she mingled with artists and became a model and lover of the sculptor Rodin. She moved to Meudon, a suburb of Paris. At the end of the affair with Rodin she withdrew into herself and eventually converted to Catholicism, which became a major influence on her work considering herself to be “God’s little artist”.
Her most well known paintings are of women, often seated and clasping their hands in front of them, and modest, domestic interiors. She is also noted for her pictures of cats and portraits of nuns. Her models were usually friends that she knew well, although the identities of most of her models are unknown. The model in the Manchester blue girl picture is a ‘Meudon neighbour’, who sat for her more than 60 times. The subjects of her paintings reflected her solitary lifestyle in Meudon. However, the exhibition showed other, less well known aspects of her work.
So, back to the Manchester painting of the girl in blue. Here it is.
The Letter (c 1920)
It was hung on a wall along with five other versions of the same model, in the same blue dress, sat in the same chair, with the same posture reading the same letter (or, sometimes, a book), but with some relatively slight differences. I’d seen another one of these pictures, known as the Convalescent at the Fitzwilliam Gallery in Cambridge.
The Convalescent (c 1920)
In fact there are eleven versions of this “convalescent”, illustrating a particular aspect of Johns’ work – painting multiple variants of a subject, or composition, something that suggests an obsessive nature, to say the least.
Here’s the same girl in the same dress. A slightly different pose and no letter or book
Girl in the Blue Dress (c1915)
Oh, and here she is again, this time holding a cat – felines being another obsession, both in real life and in her paintings.
Young Woman Holding a Black Cat (1920)
Here are a few favourites from the exhibition illustrating the different aspects of her works (I haven’t included any of her numerous portraits of nuns. I’m sorry, but they give me the creeps.)
Chloë Boughton Leigh (c 1912)
Girl with Bare Shoulders (1910) and Nude Girl (c1910)
La Petite Modele (c1920)
Girl in Profile (c1920)
The Japanese Doll (c1920)
A charcoal drawing of a Breton Girl from c1918
Woman by a Window (c1931) – one of her last paintings
And some little water colours from church congregations
Girl in Church (c1931)
Girl Seated in Church (c1931)
These are just a small selection from a very comprehensive collection of works.
Where does she fit in the world of art? After all we do like to categorise and pigeonhole, don’t we?. Her work is figurative but their are elements of abstraction too. For me she was clearly influenced by the Impressionists. Some of her portraits have similarities to theirs. The Girl in Profile particularly reminds me of a Renoir portrait (I can’t quite recall which one off hand, though). But she has moved beyond them, although not as radically as the likes of Paul Cézanne, for example. Some experts, who know much more about these things than I do, have suggested similarities with Whistler in her use of colour, which she may have picked up when she studied with him for a while in Paris.
It’s an excellent exhibition and I’m glad I made the effort to walk across Edinburgh to see it. For many years she was in the shadow of her brother, Augustus, but who’s heard of him now? (Well plenty of students in Liverpool know his name, but if they were like me when I studied there, wouldn’t have a clue about what he did). I think she was far the better artist.
(P.S. Hopefully that picture will be back in Manchester soon 😂)
I remember well the first time I visited Edinburgh. It was way back in the 1980’s. I was attending a professional conference that was taking place in Edinburgh University premises and delegates were accommodated in student halls of residence while the students were on their Easter holidays. The campus was close to Holyrood Park and I couldn’t miss the crags and rocky hill towering above the site – Arthur’s Seat (Suidhe Artair) and Salisbury Crags. Well J always says that when I see a hill I want to climb it and, of course I was sorely tempted. However, as I had to sit through the conference lectures and seminars, and in any case didn’t have appropriate footwear and clothing with me, that wasn’t possible. I’ve been to Edinburgh many times since then. Quite often with work but also on short break holidays, but I still never climbed it – until yesterday that is.
I managed to buy a reasonably priced Advance ticket for the train to Edinburgh, a journey of less than three hours direct from Wigan North Western on the West Coast Mainline (J says that’s the best thing about Wigan – it’s easy to get out of!). I caught an early train out and the last direct one back so I had a decent amount of time for a walk up Arthur’s Seat and to do a few other things too. The weather wasn’t as good as promised by the Met Office beig rather gloomy, overcast with rain threatening and a strong wind blasting me once I started the climb.
Arriving at Waverley Station just before 10:30, I set off towards the Royal Mile and then on to Holyrood Park. There’s a number of possible routes but I took what seemed to be the most popular one taking the fairly gradual path up from near St Margaret’s Loch. There was a constant stream of tourists going the same way (and some coming back down the path).
Like Castle rock and Carlton Hill, Arthur’s Seat and the nearby Salisbury Crags are the remains of an extinct volcano, eroded by glaciers during the Ice Ages. The 18th century, geologist James Hutton studied the rocks at Salisbury Crags, contributing to the development of his theory of “deep time“. People lived up here in the past during both the Bronze and Iron Ages and perhaps before.
Although it’s only 822 ft it’s a proper little rugged mountain. Robert Louis Stevenson described it as “a hill for magnitude, a mountain in virtue of its bold design“.
My route was relatively easy going at first along a well made, and well trodden rough path,
Looking back during the climb
but becomes more rough and rocky towards the summit and some minor scrambling was required. Nothing particularly difficult if you have the right footwear (although given the heavy traffic of tourists who climb the hill the rocks were rather polished in places) but made more difficult by a wind which was becoming stronger the higher I climbed and with strong gusts at times it was difficult to keep upright at times on the crowded summit.
Despite the intermitently dark skies, there were great views from the top, and looking back on the way up, over the city, the Firth of Forth and beyond.
I made my way carefully down the rocky summit and joined the path that crossed the col before climbing a minor summit and then descending down via a long, steep staircase. The wind, blowing from the west was hitting me dead on but I managed to take some photo of the views over the city and back to the main summit.
Looking over Salisbury Crags
Looking towards the main summit
Starting the descent
At the bottom of the “staircase” I started to climb again, this time up over Salisbury Crags.
Looking back towards Arthur’s Seat as I climbed up Salisbury Crags.
After shirting the side of the hill for a while, I climbed higher up to the top of the ridge (more battering from the western wind!) to enjoy the views over the city
Zooming in towards the Castle
After carrying along the ridge I descended back down to my starting point. It had taken me about 40 years, but I’d finally made it and down the hill
I walked along the road under the majestic crags for a while. The sun was in the wrong place for a good shot of the rocky ridge, now high above me.
Time to move on, there were other things I wanted to see and do.
Last September we had a short break in Edinburgh. One of the reasons was to visit the retrospective exhibition of the work of Andy Goldsworthy. He worked as a teenager on farms in Yorkshire, where he “developed a passion for working with the land“, forming the basis for his practice. He’s prolific practitioner of land art, creating works using natural materials, including many site-specific sculptures. One of his interests, perhaps better described as a passion, is sheepfolds. I think the first of these that I came across are at the Yorkshire Sculpture Park but he has created many more, particularly in Cumbria as in 1996 hey was commissioned by Cumbria County Council to celebrate this “perfect republic of shepherds” with a countywide sculpture project called ‘Sheepfolds’ as part of the UK Year of the Visual Arts. Over the years I’ve seen several of these drystone enclosures, often seeking them out when I know there’s one in an area I’m visiting (the Sheepfolds Project and the Environmental Artworks and Sculpture Trails in Britain websites are good resources, J has a book about them (probably out of print) and there’s a chapter about them in The Stream Invites Us to Follow: A Book about the River Edenby Dick Capel). Sometimes I stumble across one, like the first time I climbed up beside Cautley Spout and passed the Red Gill Washfold on the way on to the Calf, and sometimes I read a blog that inspires me to get out and find one (or more!), and that was the reason behind my walk this Tuesday .
For a while now I’ve been meaning to go to see a collection of Goldsworthy’s folds along a green lane near Casterton, a small village close to Kirkby Lonsdale, where sixteen small folds – the Casterton Fellfoot Drove Folds – are situated at intervals along an old Drovers route approximately 2 miles long. Mark, of Beating the Bounds has written about them several times and then a couple of weeks ago Bowland Climber had written up a walk with some friends to see them and this, along with seeing the Red Gill Washfold on my walk last Saturday, I decided I needed to stop faffing about and get over to see them before the weather turned. BC had also included a very useful map which helped me to locate them all during my walk – some of them aren’t quite so easy to find.
Tuesday looked like it was going to be the last fine day for a while and as I was free of nursemaiding duties for the day I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to get out. After my marathon walk around the Howgills the previous Saturday I didn’t want to stretch myself too much so I devised a lower level route that would allow me to visit the folds and also explore an area I’ve only ever zoomed past in the car.
I parked up near the Devil’s Bridge on the edge of Kirkby Lonsdale and set out, peering over the parapet as I crossed over. The water level was very low, not surprisingly given the lack of rain over the past few months.
I crossed over the A683 and made my way across a caravan site then along a lane to the hamlet of High Casterton.
After proceeding along a narrow minor road, paths through fields and a narrow lane
I reached Fellfoot Lane, a walled, former drovers road that, surprise, surprise, runs across the foot of the fells for a couple of miles.
I soon came across the first of the folds (Number 16 on BC’s map, but, then, I do try to be contrary!) Some of the subsequent ones, behind walls or hidden by vegetation, were not so visible and the map proved invaluable in locating them. There was a clue, though as Goldsworthy had included stiles built into the walls along the lane to allow access. Even so, these weren’t always easy to spot.
For the Cumbrian Sheepfolds project Goldsworthy worked with existing folds in various states of disrepair or in some cases folds which had disappeared altogether but were clearly indicated on old maps. For the Fellfoot folds, the Environmental Artworks and Sculpture Trails in Britain website tells us that:
each fold is positioned where an old fold once stood (or in one case an old farmers hut), and now contain a large erratic taken from the hillside above. Proposed in 1995, the work was complete in 1996. Andy mentions in the book Enclosure, “My hope is that in time people will go on a walk specifically to find the stones”.
Well, that was exactly what I was doing (and others, including BC and Mark)
I took rather a lot of photos of the sheepfolds, so rather than include them in the post individually I’ve created a gallery of some of the better shots in Flickr and you should be able to click through them.
Inevitably Land Art works are ephemeral and the artists accept this. It’s true of Goldsworthy’s sheepfolds, even though this happens over a prolonged timescale. They become part of the landscape, immersed (sometimes hidden) by vegetation, covered by moss and lichen, eroded by the weather and even damaged by animals and (sadly) humans. Consequently they look different now than when they were first built and will continue to change over time.
I didn’t see many people at all during my walk (plenty of sheep and some cattle, mind). Towards the end of Fellfoot Lane, though I noticed three other walkers peering over the wall to look at one of the folds. We naturally engaged in conversation. One of them commented that the boulder in the middle of the fold must have been brought in from elsewhere as the rock was different to that the local limestone.
He was right, in a way, as they were glacial erratics, rocks carried from elsewhere by glaciers which were deposited on the local landscape when the ice melted thousands of years ago and collected by Goldsworthy when constructing the folds.
At the end of Fellfoot Lane I emerged on to a narrow metaled road that traversed the bottom of the fellside.
Looking across the fields I could see a farmhouse
and the rather grand neo-Jacobean Whelprigg House down a private lane.
I carried along the road and reaching the junction with the Barbondale road turned left towards Barbon village. J always tells me that when I see a hill I want to climb it. That’s true, so I was tempted to turn right and make my way back to Kirkby Lonsdale via the hill. However, only a few days after my long, tough (for an owd fella) walk in Sedbergh I decided against it, but intend to return another day.
There was another grand house up on the hillside which made me wonder if I’d somehow ended up in the French countryside. This was Barbon Manor a French Renaissance style building from 1862-3.
Barbon is a very pleasant. small village, with a rather grand church. That’s some tower!
You need to have a few bob to live in the small villages around here and the presence of such a large, impressive church, built towards the very end of the 19th Century demonstrates that was true back in the Victorian and Edwardian periods.
I left the village taking a path across the fields,
with good views across to the fells.
The gate for a large field I had to cross, had a warning about a bull. I crossed it nervously, but although I could see a herd of cattle I didn’t have to get too close to them.
and the farm I’d seen after I’d left Fellfoot Lane.
I went through more fields and past more farm houses
before joining a minor road that took me into the main part of Casterton. It’s another small village with a church and best known for its school which is now the prep school for Sedbergh School. It’s roots were the Cowan Bridge School which the Bronte sisters attended and was responsible for the deaths of the two older sisters of the well known trio. It relocated to Casterton in the 1830s where it continued as an independent school until it merged with the Sedbergh school in 2013.
Casterton church is a Victorian building modelled in the Early English Gothic style
It wasn’t too far back to Kirkby Lonsdale now down quiet lanes, avoiding the main road, partly retracing my steps from the morning. Another good walk – a combination of art with some exercise!
Last Saturday I had a day off from nursemaiding duties, handing the baton to my son. It was a fine day so it was a good opportunity to get out and chill out in the countryside. The recent walk with the Ramblers, and the visits for the recce, had left me looking longingly at the Howgill Fells, so I packed my walking gear into the boot of the car and headed up the M6 to Sedbergh. In a fit of madness I decided to repeat a long walk I did up there back in 2019, with some modifications that reduced the length of the walk a little. It was still a long one with some steep climbing. Getting on to the top of the hills always involves some steep climbing but this route was even tougher than most with a long, almost vertical climb beside the Cautley Spout Waterfall.
It looks frightening in the profile of the route above. The height and slope is exaggerated, of course, but it was a tough climb for an owd fella!
The start of the walk was much easier, though. Last time I started off following the path alongside the River Rawthey, but I’d been along that a few times so decided on a change, taking paths through the fields at the foot of the fells.
After a short stroll along the road from the centre of the village I turned off along a path passing the remains of Castlehaw, a Norman Motte and Bailey castle. A Scheduled monument, as you’d probably expect.
Despite regular visits to Sedbergh for about 10 years, I’ve never explored the site. No time for that this time either, as I had a long walk ahead of me. One more thing added to my “must do” list.
After a long hot, almost rainless summer, the ground was dry underfoot, making walking easy and pleasant. I passed a number of old and interesting farm buildings
and there were very good views of three of the lower hills – Crook, Sickers Fell and Knott.
and the fields and fells on the other side of the valley.
After about a couple of miles I left the fields to join the route from my 2019 walk; a track above the river and on the side of the fells that would take me to Cautley. The light was excellent and the views from the path walking along the lower slopes of the fells were outstanding.
Approaching the waterfall with the impressive cliffs of Cautley Crags to the left
Along the path to Cautley I passed a small group of walkers heading the same way and, given the time of year, I encountered four groups of youths on their DoE expedition coming from the opposite direction. They’re easy to spot with their oversized rucksacks and, in some case, resigned looks on their faces. But is was relatively quiet on the route. However, reaching Cautley I started to see a lot more people. I surmised that they’d parked up on the road and were coming across to look at the waterfall. There many more than when I was here a back in 2019. There’s a lot happened since then, of course. Since the pandemic more and more people have been coming out into the British countryside, which is a mixed blessing. I also think that Cautley Spout has become better known through guidebooks and the Internet, so it’s becoming something of a “honeypot”. Having said that, it wasn’t that busy. I probably saw fewer than 100 people over an hour or so.
Cautley Spout waterfall has the highest drop in England, at least for a cascading waterfall above ground, the water plunging over the top of the fells falling a total of 650 feet (198 m) down a series of steps to the valley floor below. Even though there hasn’t been much rain it still looked impressive even though the volume of water flowing over the falls was probably much lower than normal and certainly much less than in the winter or after heavy rainfall.
I stopped for a while to admire the view but mainly to refuel as my blood sugar had dropped and I needed a boost before I attempted the very steep climb up the path beside the cascades.
It was certainly hard work and taking photographs was a good excuse for a rest. I also stopped just over half way up to talk to a family from Essex.
Looking back down to the valley from the path beside the waterfall
At the top of the fall there are two becks that come together before the water plunges over the spout. The last time I was here I took the path along the main, left hand stream to continue up the hillside (along a more gradual gradient). This time I had in mind to try following the right hand stream and then approach the Calf from the north, but the path soon petered out, so I made my way over rough ground and heather to the main path, descending onto it just before Red Gill Washfold, a large restored washfold with a built-in cairn to celebrate sheep farming renewal – one of a series in Cumbria created by the renowned artist, Andy Goldsworthy.
After another, brief, stop, I carried on along the path beside the beck, gradually ascending to the Bridleway that runs along the top of the main ridge of the Howgill fells. Once there I was greeted with a view of the Lakeland fells spread across the horizon to the west.
I could have turned left now and started to make my way back to Sedburgh, but instead decided to to right as it was just a short climb to the top of The Calf, the highest point on the Howgill range. It’s hard to resist when you’re almost there.
From the summit I looked across the fells to the north, territory I haven’t explored. I must put that right sometime.
There were a few people at the summit – a family of three and a single woman. I ended up speaking to them later during my walk as we were all going to make our way southwards and on to Sedburgh. Unlike at Cautley, as normal, I encountered very few people while I was up on the top of the ridge – I counted just 7 walkers and 2 runners, although there were a few I could see in the distance too, but not many. It’s hard work getting to the top of these steep sided hills and not many day tripper tourists would attempt it. (I sometimes wonder how many years it will be before it is too much for me).
Setting off for the return to Sedbergh I took a break before the steep descent down Calders. The solo lady I’d seen on the Calf came past and stopped for a chat. Most walkers are like that, we like to chat, swapping stories, experience and advice (a certain Mr Wainwright well known for being a notable exception to this). She was local and although having lived in Sedbergh for many years she had only recently started walking on the fells.
After descending Calders (my knees were now starting to suffer a little, even though I was using my walking poles) I climbed up the other side of the col and then decided to take the path to the top of Arant Haw. It’s an easy, gradual gradient on this side of the summit, and the views from the top are superb on a good day.
Looking east with the Yorkshire Three Peaks all visible
Looking westwards toward the Lake District Mountains
The family of three, who’d passed me while I was talking to the lone walker from Sedbergh on Calders, were there admiring the views. I stopped to chat and then made my way down the steep path down the north side of the hill which was getting it’s own back on me after an easy climb up to the summit from the other side.
