August 17, 1994: Cartmel to Lowick
Bigland Tarn
There was some brightness in the sky as we rose for day four of our walk – but much evidence of recent rain as well. Gavan joined me in a scrambled egg breakfast in the Burgess’ dining room at 8:30, and we returned to our room for our packs. Our boots, which had not been particularly wet the night before, were returned to us and we struggled to put them on while the other residents stared at us uncomprehendingly. There was ample reason for their wonderment; we were heading out into a steady drizzle. This is one of the worst moments in walking – beginning the day in rain gear. Nevertheless there was no choice and at 9:13 we left Cartmel’s Market Square and headed along a wet lane to the famous racecourse.
We crossed the grassy infield of the track and sloshed over the cricket pitch. Park Wood on the other side offered some relief from the rain as we climbed a steep path to its top and edged along a field to a paved lane. Here some firmer footing took over for almost a mile as we passed a series of farms on our approach to the flanks of the Howbarrow ridge. The dramatic dark skies provided an interesting background to the farmsteads and I wrestled with my rain cape in order to be able to take a picture. The road became quite steep as we climbed to Howbarrow Farm and Gavan called me over to have a look at the local stream, one that had become a torrent in the rain.
When we reached the ridge there was still more climbing on grass paths wedged between stone walls. But the rain was dissipating and the higher we climbed the more encouraging the weather signs were. Blue patches appeared in the sky and sun illuminated the clouds. Even better, the visibility improved and wonderful panoramas on either side of us opened up. On our left we could now see the Greenodd estuary and the River Leven valley and I took several photos as sun brightened the distant hills. Although paths were not always obvious underfoot there was little difficulty in finding our way forward along another delightful ridge top dotted in heather and bracken. After three miles we paused for a rest, took off most of our rain gear, and had a drink in the sun. Rain never returned on this day.
As we approached Grassgarth Farm it became a little harder to find some of the landmarks mentioned in the guidebook. We never located the recently dug pipeline (“recently” being at least ten years ago by now), but we could see where we had to go and so we improvised to reach a farm lane. Gavan spotted a dog running freely here and made me go first as we passed through the farm, but I never saw anything more fierce than a duck. We reentered woodland and used a good path through High Stribers Wood to reach the ridge top again. But this vertical exercise was coming to an end for only a little more walking brought us to the edge of Bigland Tarn (our first lake in the Lake District) and when we reached its outflow we turned left to begin a descent to the Leven valley.
Some of this was quite steep and slippery and, when we reached a portion of the path that had become a streambed itself, I slipped once jumping from a rock – though Gavan was there to pick me up. The route was complicated by choice: did you stick to the main path, which was wet under foot, or take to parallel alternatives, ones that had a way of petering out, leaving you with a jump back into the channel below? There was one break in Bigland Woods, where a green lane had to be traversed and then it was back into wet woodland for a final descent down to civilization (signaled by the sound of automobile engines). When we hit tarmac at last we turned right and walked over to the nearby village of Low Wood, where the tower of a former gunpowder works provided a charming perspective.
We had by now reached the banks of the River Leven and we turned south to keep the brackish water company for another hour. We walked along field edges in the grass past the Fish House and entered another field where, some distance ahead, a man was just finishing the job of beating one of his dogs, a large setter who was tethered near the shoreline – accepting this evidence of human folly without complaint. A white van stood nearby and it several dozy Labradors were pretending not to see this disquieting scene. We continued on as quickly as possible, wishing to be shut of this appalling performance and encouraged by the fact that in two miles we would be in the pub at Greenodd.
Approaching Greenodd
Walking was very easy and in some instances it was assisted by paved lanes. There seemed to be some trippers and cyclists about too and we made rapid progress through Roundsea Wood as we left the river temporarily behind us. When Greenodd appeared on the opposite bank we turned directly toward it and crossed a series of fields (Gates beginning a crushing 33-16 defeat of Stiles) to reach a bridge over the river. On the other side it was not quite clear how to get across the highway into the village – but Gavan proposed walking under the highway bridge. There were two paths on the opposites side. “It’s your call,” Gavan said. I chose the left-hand path and this was the correct choice for at 1:00 we reached the foot of Greenodd’s main street and turned eagerly to the right, where the hanging baskets of the pub were already beckoning us. But when we pulled up to this establishment there was not a sign of life; the pub was closed.
“It’s closed because they’re moving,” a passerby offered –when she saw us staring disconsolately at the closed door. We asked if there was another pub in Greenodd and were pleased to learn that the Machell Arms was only a block to the north, on the same side of the street. A little boy had placed his bicycle in front of the door of this establishment and it was closed too. But the publican appeared to talk to his son and he took pity on us and opened his doors. He had run out of customers and had decided to close early in order to do some chores. We were extremely grateful for his willingness to start up again; he even disappeared for some time to fill our lunchtime orders for fish and chips. Shortly after 2:00, well refreshed after our stop, we retraced our steps in order to locate a steeply rising lane out of Greenodd.
At the top of a suburban hill Gavan made one of his rare route-finding mistakes, sending us left uphill when we should have gone right – down the hill into Penny Bridge. The mistake was discovered soon enough and I used the occasion to take a picture of the church of St. Mary the Virgin while Gavan had a quiet churchyard pee. Then we continued downhill and, as Penny Bridge came to an end, we rejoined the A5092, a road I had traveled on a number of times during our 1985 Lakeland trip. It wasn’t too pleasant using this edge of the busy tarmac to make northerly progress, but opposite a farm we were able to turn off onto a bridge over the Crake River and escape the traffic. A woman was leading a horse and a child behind us and as I attempted to get out of their way I lost track of my camera’s lens cap – while toying with the idea of taking a picture of the river.
We turned left after passing a row of mill workers’ cottages and used fields to parallel the river. I must say that this part of the route was extremely difficult to find; there was no path on the ground and the guidebook landmarks were not in obvious evidence either. Again we were suffering, perhaps from a guidebook author’s well-intentioned attempts to get us off the roads – a noble effort doomed to failure on a number of occasions. Eventually we ceased thrashing about in riverside foliage and headed uphill on grass. Just before reaching a lane we paused for a nice rest in magical surroundings, encased in the cool green hillsides of the peaceful Crake Valley. Gavan used the timer on his camera to take some snapshots of the two of us. I always despaired over the outcome of these efforts – since her usually dashed back in time to mug at the camera with his baseball cap on backwards.
Lowick Church
From the lane we descended on tarmac to Spark Bridge, where roads seemed to lead off in every direction. We used a quiet lane to reach a path along a field edge that brought us to a corner of Lowick Green. A brief stint on the A5092 followed; a geriatric local lady in outrageous flowered trousers was limping slowly along the opposite side. A stile put us into a complex series of fields, ones that we used to rise to the church at Lowick – which turns out to be nothing but a church as far as I could tell. Gavan figured out a way of opening the heavy iron gate and we spent some time in the churchyard of a marvelously sited structure, radiant in the late afternoon sun under bright blue skies. There was even a sundial on one side of the church, confirming the 4:30 hour.
We then strolled down to Lowick Bridge and checked out our dinner spot, the Red Lion pub (I was convinced that we had stopped for lunch here with our dog Bertie in 1985). Then we followed a public footpath sign that lead us over a series of cow-muck dotted fields as we neared the farm tracks of Everard Lodge, some half a mile to the north. Mr. Ellwood was chugging along on his tractor, spreading manure, but he stopped when he spotted us, asked us if we had walked enough today (I replied I had another hundred yards in me) and lead us to a tack room where we were invited to take off our boots. It was 5:05 and we had again covered thirteen miles. We were then shown upstairs to our bedroom, invited to use a TV lounge, and welcomed to a very nice bathroom. Gavan bathed and I had a cup of coffee.
Shortly after 6:00 we set off again for Lowick Bridge. We had to put our boots on and I even carried my rain gear in a shopping bag, not trusting the weather. Mrs. Allison Ellwood was home by now, at work in the barn with two children. There was no rain, though there was a chill breeze whipping across the fields.
The Red Lion proved to be a very congenial place, with lots of pretty girls behind the bar and in the kitchen, and Gary, Lakeland’s version of a hippie, presiding over the pumps. He was in awe over our walking exploits, admitting that he had never made it as far as Everard Lodge. The food was good; I had scampi again, and Gavan then taught Gary how to make a B-52 with kahlua, grand marnier, and Bailey’s. We left at about 8:15, taking advantage of the last of the daylight to return to the Lodge – where we watched a little telly and turned in for an early night.
To continue with the next stage our walk you need: