It's not unusual to experience four seasons in one day in Pendle, indeed I am learning that discord between the elements is the norm, and never is that more evident than in wintertime when you can leave your front door with blue skies overhead and return an hour later in the pouring rain. Nor can the weather forecast be trusted, as Pendle Hill can either protect or punish you from the weather sweeping across the rest of the North of England. I have observed for myself blue skies in the Sabden Valley, only to be greeted by low slung cloud over the 'Nick' towards Clitheroe.
Whatever the weather though, there is no denying the beauty of this part of the country, and it continues to draw me into unplanned adventures; expeditions along ridges and valleys to find its secrets and charm, timeless villages, ancient bridges, moss and lichen covered stone walls and rolling green hills.
One such day, just before Christmas, I had taken the car into Clitheroe to do some Christmas shopping - not my idea of fun at the best of times. After two laps of the town, looking for a parking space, I gave up and decided to drive back over the hill to Padiham where I might have more luck.
As I crossed the A road and headed up towards Sabden, I was struck by the sight of Pendle hill, snow covered and majestic, resplendent in its isolation against a clear blue sky. It was absolutely stunning, and at that point I knew that I wasn't going shopping.
Parking my car at the Nick of Pendle, I retrieved my walking boots from the boot of the car and set off.
I immediately knew that this had been the right decision; the lower fells were blanketed in a thick coat of crisp white snow and even the wide path had not been spoiled - it was clear that there had not been many visitors since the snowfall at the weekend. The air was crisp and quite still, and a surprising number of birds could be heard, not at all concerned by the crunching of my footsteps passsing by. In places the wind had blown the snow into deep drifts and beneath the snow, the pudddles had been glazed over with thick sheets of ice. Whilst the moorland was buried, the taller grasses were frosted white, some bowed with the weight of snow whilst others posed and swayed gently in the soft breeze.
As I climbed higher, the views across the Ribble Valley and beyond were stunning, the landscape cloaked in white as far as the eye could see, and as I entered Ogden Clough it was as though it had been transformed into a grotto, like walking through a winter wonderland. The narrow paths were sheets of ice in places, the rocks dusted with frost and the icy stream tinkling below in the gully. At the crossing, icicles hung from the fencing and the usually shy grouse were clearly visible although keeping their distance.
Climbing the stone path to the summit was treacherous in places and as I got higher, the wind grew stronger, the sub-zero temperatures beating into submission the weak wintry rays of the sun and making me grateful for my hat and gloves.
The view from the top was everything I expected it to be, a broad expanse of white capped hills across the Ribble Valley towards the Yorkshire Dales, dotted with the rooves of farm buildings and the black reservoirs of Barley in the foreground.
The return journey brought it's own pleasures as the sun began to set on the wintry landscape, casting long shadows and painting the sky in pastels, and as I walked I realised that I hadn't seen a soul for the past two and a half hours.
What a privilege to have this beautiful place to myself!
In true Pendle style and with a further nod to the Lancashire elements, just a week later, the snow was a distant memory as I stepped out into brilliant sunshine. It was 10 degrees as opposed to minus 10, and I thought I might just get an hour in before the sun started to go down. As it had rained all morning, I donned my waterproofs - I am learning!
Thirty minutes into my walk and the weather changed; I could see the rain clouds approaching at an alarming pace and made towards home. Within minutes the rain hit; a swirling squall of wind and sleet that whipped up the water in the reservoir to a tidal frenzy and seemed to engulf the whole landscape as it chaperoned me across Calf Hill and back across the fell, where I was exposed to the full impact of the elements.
Good job I wore my waterproofs!
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