A fingerpost, pointing to the tourist path also had the iconic picture of a witch, dressed in the customary black cape and pointed hat, sat on a broomstick. Pendle Hill is, of course, famous for the Pendle witch trials of 1612. Ten women and two men, who lived in the area, were accused of the murder of ten people through the use of witchcraft. Eleven went to trial and ten were found guilty, and then executed by hanging. Interestingly, in 1998 the Home Secretary, Jack Straw, received a petition for the witches to be pardoned, but he decided that the convictions should still stand. I guess he had more important things to do at the time.

Quakers

A sign near Pendle House promised hot and cold drinks just around the corner. I had a look, but nothing was there. I'm not sure that cold drinks would be popular on a day like this. I started the slow plod to the top of Pendle Hill, on a stone staircase. The steps were icy and great care was needed. I did think about putting studs on my boots, but it seemed hardly worth it for little Pendle Hill. The views opened up as I got higher. I could see that the weather looked a lot better over towards Yorkshire. I reached the mist and the summit plateau at the same time. There was a good stone shelter built against a stone wall and I took the opportunity to sit down, out of the wind, and have a break. A sign on the stone wall gave some information about George Fox, the chap who setup the Quakers. Apparently, he summitted Pendle Hill and it was this that inspired him to create the organisation. Quakers from all around the world, climb Pendle Hill to pay homage to him. The notice says he said the following:

"As we travelled we came near a very great hill, called Pendle Hill, and I was moved of the Lord to go up...When I was come to the top, I saw the sea bordering upon Lancashire. From the top of this hill the Lord let me see in what places he had a great people to be gathered"

Well the good Lord let George see a lot more than He was letting me see today. I could only see about 50 metres as I walked along the summit plateau to the trig. At the trig, the sun continually tried to break through the mist, but as soon as it did, a cloud painted over it again. I wandered to the edge and could just make out a vague outline of Pendle House below. The wind was making it quite cold and so I set off westwards to Ogden Clough.

Black Hill

Snow covered stone slabs took me towards the top of Ogden Clough. I dropped out of the mist and I met a woman runner and her Border Collie running the other way. She must have been pretty fast since she went to the summit, returned on the same path, and overtook me before I reached the clough. On reaching the clough, a track ran alongside it and I followed it downhill. When the clough turned eastwards, I continued southwards towards Black Hill. I began seeing more people coming the other way, on this stretch. I guess people must park at the Nick Of Pendle, to the south and climb Pendle Hill from there. I made my way across to a small edge called the Deerstones that had quite a good view down to Churn Clough Reservoir. I trudged eastwards, across the moors, back towards Barley. I considered that with the icy conditions, the route today was a lot easier than normal, since it was still very boggy. Even so, at one point my leg went into a bog up to my knee and I had the horrible feeling of possibly losing my boot as I pulled it out. Some rather vulgar swearing ensued, that I'm sure Mr George Fox would have frowned upon. I was glad when I reached Fell Wood and my way down from the boggy moors.

Back To Barley

Somebody had built a snowman near Fell Wood. It had tree branches for arms, mud for eyes and nose, and had the air of the 'League Of Gentleman' about it. There was also a strange sound coming from the direction of the valley that I couldn't quite identify. It sounded a bit like the echo from a train running through the London Underground. The mystery was solved when I dropped down to the dam of the Lower Ogden reservoir. As I'd discovered this morning, the reservoir had completely iced over and three teenagers were down near the edge playing a Lancashire version of curling. They'd slid a bottle about 50 metres out on to the ice, and were now taking it in turns to slide rocks out, to see if they could smash it. The stones sliding across the ice made that curious, rumbing sound. I'm not sure the event will make the Winter Olympics though. When I started taking photos of the reservoir, they became rather shy and took off towards the Ogden reservoir, further up the valley.

The sun was out now and it had turned into a pleasant afternoon. Even the mist had evaporated from Pendle Hill's summit. It's a shame it wasn't like this when I was up there. Despite the sun, Barley felt just as cold as when I left it this morning.

Well, that's Pendle Hill done. I felt a bit cheated with the mist. Maybe I'll come back again someday and get those summit views like George Fox did. I remembered that the notice up at the stone shelter said that the Quakers are so named because they were said 'to tremble at the word of the Lord'. They sound a sensitive bunch to me. I'm not sure what they'd have been called if George had found any witches up there. It may have included a few expletives.