Canal Foot to Barrow-in-Furness-Tuesday 3rd May 2022

Ulverston to Canal Foot

Cark, although not strictly a coastal town, represents the most westerly settlement of the peninsula between the Leven and the Kent estuaries.  Unlike the Kent estuary, which offered some great cycling, the Leven estuary can only offer A and B roads for cyclists to cross it – so we decide to use our veto and jump to the most easterly, easily accessible point across the water, Canal Foot.

The Kent Estuary used to be traversible on foot at low tide, using the Cross Bay Walk between Hest Bank and Kents Bank – albeit at some significant risk of disappearing into quicksands.  Likewise the Leven estuary was traversible from Cark to Hammerside Point.  The coming of the railway made both these cross-bay crossings pretty-well redundant in the late 19th Century.  Suffice to say, Betty and I have no intention of walking, let-alone cycling across the estuary!  So today we are going to pick-up the baton for the next stage of our Cumbrian Coast adventure from Hammerside Point – Canal Foot to be precise.

My initial plan was to drive to Barrow in Furness and catch the train to Ulveston before cycling the couple of miles to our start point at Canal Foot before our expedition back to Barrow.  However, boosted by our supreme performance yesterday and drawn by the prospect of not using the car, we decide to set-off by bike from our caravan based at Little Urswick, cycle directly to Canal Foot and then on to Barrow before taking the train back to Dalton in Furness and then finally cycle the few miles back to Little Urswick.

When initially planning this section of the coast I realised that there are few coast-hugging roads between Canal Foot and Barrow, other than the A5087.  Readers will be aware by now that Betty and I don’t like busy A roads.  However, one option does present itself – involving following parallel minor roads a mile inland of the coast.  How tricky can it be?

The section from Little Urswick to Canal Foot starts well, with a nice quiet, flat-terrain ride through Great Urswick.  Things get a little more challenging once we start the modest climb up to Birkrigg Common a mere 40 metres higher.  In East Sussex we live on a hill which climbs that much and we have been up it several times – albeit very slowly.  What we fail to factor-in today is that our legs are tired from yesterday’s exertions.  Suffice-to-say, Betty is not entirely happy by the time we reach the summit.  Still we’ve made it and have a most enjoyable reward on reaching the top – a long downhill ride by way of Croftlands and Dragley Beck, before level cycling to Canal Foot.

Proof that we did actually make it to Birkrigg Common

Canal Foot History

In 1774 Ulverston was declared a port, which gave it the right to trade with other British ports without having to pay Sea Duty.  Canalmania was gripping the country at this time and by 1791 local businessmen deemed that it shouldn’t be too problematic raising the £3000 to build a 1.5 mile long canal between the sea at Morecambe Bay and Ulverston.  Building the canal turned-out to be a little more problematic, but it was eventually opened in 1796.   

Various industries arose around the canal, including shipbuilding.  It wasn’t until the late 19th Century that iron production became important, using local iron ore and imported coal from Lancashire pits.  The port designation of Ulverston obviously facilitated import of the latter.  The iron works at Ulverston operated until the mid 20th Century, with the site being taken-over by the pharmaceutical company Glaxo in 1947.  Glaxo (GSK) is still active at Canal Foot, but announced in 2021 that it will close the Ulverston operation by 2025.

The main entrance to the GSK facility at Canal Foot, now occupying the site of the former iron works – due to be closed by 2025

Canal Foot to Conishead Priory

We arrive at Canal Foot and attempt to cross the bridge over the long redundant canal.  Unfortunately a group of elderly ladies out for a hike along the towpath block our way.  I ring my bell as politely as I can, but it is several seconds before they realise that they are standing in the middle of a public highway and give way.  

From one slightly confused bunch of ladies we move to a positively eccentric one feeding bread to swans and seagulls from a massive bag.  Perhaps she gets the bread cheap, otherwise the amount she is ‘feeding the 5,000’ would cost her a fortune.  She could probably scrape the guano off her clothes and sell it as fertilizer to fund her hobby. Betty takes a dim view of bird-feeding, our neighbour being an equally ardent fan of the hobby.  Screaming herring-gulls are not the most popular of neighbours early in the morning.

The bird-woman of Canal Foot doles out the rations to local swans, with mallards and herring gulls picking-up scraps

The seaward end of the Ulverston Canal – Chapel Island (another remnant hill from the Ice Age) in the distance

The 1.5 mile long, arrow-straight Ulverston Canal

We pause to take a few snaps before returning to the main entrance to the GSK facility.  Opposite it we take a tarmac covered lane past a pumping station, before negotiating an ancient kissing gate to our left.  The easiest way past this obstacle is to lift our bikes over an adjacent five-barred gate, exchange a brief embrace – as required by kissing-gate tradition and push our bikes along the footpath across the meadow beyond.  The meadow is occupied by a single, fortunately disinterested, horse.

Kissing gate to the ‘one-nag’ meadow

One-nag meadow and the mysterious slag-heap beyond

I have a slight apprehension as we approach the buildings beyond.  It has a vacant feel to it, similar to some traveller sites we have encountered on our travels.  The lone horse is a further common indication of nearby traveller occupation.  Whilst I am relieved that it doesn’t come trotting up to us, as some horses do – perhaps hoping to mug us for a banana – its presence starts me wondering.  

However, the lack of barking dogs suggests my worries are unfounded, as we negotiate a large tubular steel gate.  No-one appears to berate us and we gratefully mount our bikes, following the tarmac past an ancient chimney.  This is just about the only evidence of previous industry that once dominated this site a hundred years ago.  That is except for a rather obvious, steep-sided hill rising almost vertically some 40 or 50 metres from a small creek to our east.

At first I take it for yet another of those strange ice-carved ‘fells’ found close to the coast around here.  I check the OS map and no-such hill exists.  Surely they would have recorded such an obvious feature, with contour lines at the very least.  It doesn’t even have a name.  Despite it being a quarter of a mile away, I can see that it is composed of rock with an almost igneous structure to it.  It is patently man-made.  At some stage in its history, waggon-loads of molten slag from the iron-works must have been emptied on top of this growing mountain over its decades-long history.  Generations of OS cartographers must have dismissed it because it was man-made, but today it sits there an anonymous monument to the former land-use of the site.

I am instantly transported back to my childhood in Rotherham.  When I was 13 my father evidently came into a better paid job.  We moved to a bigger house and he got an old Bedford minibus from his cousin.  These wheels were such a novelty that we regularly went for ‘drives’ in it, discovering the surrounding countryside. My mother invariably complained that he always took us past old spoil heaps adjacent to the many collieries.  The poor man had little choice, since the area was riddled with them.  Today these have all been bulldozed out of existence, or turned into gently rolling hills cloaked in grass or trees.  The OS probably never recorded these either, since they were temporary, man-made features.

The lane passes an isolated house before Morecambe Bay opens-out in front of us, as the distinctive wiff of stranded seaweed carries on the wind.  The small pebble beach has an isolated and rather forebidding feel to it and I have a sense that perhaps we should not be here.  A small caravan sits by the waters-edge and I half expect a drunken occupant to emerge from it and demand compensation for our trespass.  From here we get a view of the slag-heap, which looks as though someone has thrown a grey shroud over it.  I am fascinated to note that a copse of mature trees crowns the seaward side of its summit.  In the words of Dolly Parton “wildflowers don’t care where they grow”.  This applies to fully-grown trees as well it seems.

The tree-crowned slag heap of Hammerside Point from the ‘caravan beach’

Inspection of the 1:25,000 OS map reveals that a railway once connected this area to the main-line near Plumpton Hall.  Old railway lines fascinate me, since they indicate something about the local land use.  My assumption is that this one was associated with the movement of iron ore.  However, further research reveals that the line was built in 1883 when the nearby Conishead Priory was run as a spa hotel.   It even had its own railway station.  North of Plumpton Hall the Haverthwaite Railway also connected Lake Windermere to the main-line.  This must have been a busy little railway hub in the late 19th Century.

Conishead to Bardsea

The uncertainty of our coastal passage continues as we negotiate the footpath running south from here to Bardsea.  It runs through woodland which fringes the grounds of Conishead Priory.  A firm, but polite notice advises us about our rights of passage.  Conishead Priory has a long history, stretching back to the 12th Century.  Today it is run as a Buddhist Temple.

Access rules for those seeking passage along the shoreline at Conishead Priory

Initially we attempt to ride the footpath, but that very quickly becomes impossible – as it crosses the beach, forcing us to dismount for a while.  As we push our bikes through the soft sand and pebbles, I reflect upon the wisdom of attempting to follow something with a surface as unpredictable as a footpath.  At least bridleways are likely to be wide enough and suited to passage by horse (this proves to be otherwise a little later in the day!).  

Intrepid explorers of centuries past managed under much more challenging conditions of course.  Things eventually improve a little as the sand and pebbles give way to a more rideable path. 

The footpath crosses the beach in places, forcing us to push

A number of eider ducks are busily wooing each other nearby on the sea – the males’ call sounding a bit like an expression of surprise, or ‘shock and awe’.  Eider ducks, often known as Cuddy Ducks or St Cuthbert’s Ducks, are flightless for a period of time, whilst they moult their wing feathers.  This must make foraging for food and escape from predators much more challenging.  They also part with a large amount of downy feathers to line their nests, to keep eggs warm.  This is apparently the best insulation known to man, with even astronauts using it for that purpose.

Beyond Conishead Priory we encounter an intrepid gentleman in a 4 by 4 powered wheelchair, proving we are not the only off-roaders around.  However, even he cannot cope with the beach material and eventually has to turn back to Conishead for a more tranquil experience.

Bardsea – Sunbrick

After a lot of huffing we eventually find a track leading back to the A5087, which we cross, before taking the minor road through Bardsea.  The road may be good, but it takes us puffing some 20 metres uphill, past the church, before a kindly local lady indicates the route to Birkrigg Common a further 80 metres higher-up.  The track is rough, but the slope alone forces us to push our way under a baking sun, past a woodland from which the odour of wild garlic diffuses.  Eventually, sweat pouring out from under our cycle helmets, we collapse at its summit ready for a breather and our packed lunch.

This is an excellent place to pause for lunch.  The Carboniferous Limestone presents us with tables and chairs to eat-off, whilst the view exceeds the very best that any Michelin-starred restaurant can offer.  To the north are the southern fells of the Lake District and to the east of us the hills of the Yorkshire Dales are just visible.  South of us is Morecambe Bay, with our destination at Barrow in Furness tantalisingly waiting some 15 miles down the peninsula from us. 

Bardsea church occupies a prominent position overlooking Morcambe Bay.  It must have been a useful navigation aid in the past

Birkrigg Common where limestone tables and chairs are available for al-fresco diners such as we

Birkrigg Common commands superb views across the Leven Estuary

A heavily grazed hawthorn encrusts a limestone pavement on top of Birkrigg Common

Sunbrick to Leece

Lunch consumed under clear blue skies we remount our bikes and cycle the last few hundred yards across Birkrigg Common to the hamlet of Sunbrick.  The Furness Peninsula is a plateau about 100 metres above sea level, sloping southward down to Barrow.  I am therefore keen to largely free-wheel all the way to our destination. 

We now have the option of following the minor road through Sunbrick, before it turns south to the village of Scales, but instead elect to take what I hope to be an interesting bridleway through a farm yard.  It appears to be a dead-end, but a (lady) farmer (or perhaps his wife) assures us the path continues beyond the cow shit.  She is correct and we set off cycling a rough track which shows no sign of improving.  So much for the interesting bridleway.  We confer.  Should we continue or turn-back?  We make the wrong choice and continue.

Not only does the track deteriorate into a poor and narrow footpath, but someone has recently been down here cutting back the brambles and hawthorn hedge on either side.  Fearful of getting punctured on the hawthorn we dismount and push our bikes for a mile until we reach the sanctuary of the tarmac road some 40 minutes later.  However, worse is to come.  As I jump back on my bike to start our anticipated downhill cruise, I quickly notice I have a puncture.  One of those bloody spines must have penetrated the tyre.

For the next 30 minutes I remove the tyre and inner tube, locate and remove the thorn, insert a new inner tube and refit the tyre.  It looks like the tyre is shot-full of cracks in the rubber, through which the thorn penetrated.  It is hot, dirty and frustrating work, but I am pleased to have succeeded.

The anticipated joy of cycling downhill to Scales materialises, with virtually no need to pedal for a mile.  I had planned to turn-off and follow another green-lane marked on the map, but if it is anything like the last one, then you can stuff it.  All of a sudden I just love tarmac.

Beyond Scales we come to a junction, where a passing cyclist advises we take the left fork past Gleaston Castle and Gleaston Watermill.  The castle is a grand old ruin surrounded by sheep, grazing lush green grass and bounded by limestone-drystone walls.  I feel transported back to the White Peak area of North Derbyshire.

The watermill is in good condition, having been lovingly restored by the current owner.  Apparently it is open and working most days, but not today it seems.  It even has a cafe.  A cuppa would have gone done nicely thanks.

Gleaston Castle looks like it could have been lifted straight out of the White Peak of Derbyshire

Gleaston Watermill – operational and open most days – alas not today

Beyond Gleaston the road goes up and down a fair bit, with the uphills proving a bit of a challenge, especially as thre traffic suddenly increases, with the school run fetching all the local kids from schools in Barrow.  We don’t so much mind traffic on the down-hills, but crawling uphill with half a dozen cars up your rear wheel is no fun. Somehow I feel very vulnerable.

Roosebeck to Roa Island to Barrow-in-Furness

Leece brings us some relief, allowing us to turn south-east down Kiln Lane all the way to the A5087 Coast Road.  We are both feeling the cycling in our legs when we come out onto the Coast Road, which to my surprise appears to have a cycle lane alongside.  I wonder if perhaps we should have come that way after all, but at least we can take advantage of the cycle lane as far as the Rampside turnoff (I later discover that the cycle lane only starts at the popint where we joined it – so avoiding the A5087 was a good call after all).

As we approach Rampside I spot a strange needle-shaped brick tower growing out of the salt marsh.  It is Rampside Leading Light, a listed building and the only survivor of 13 built in the 19th Century to help sailors navigate the approach to Barrow-in-Furness. 

Despite the miles in our inexperienced cyclists legs we decide to continue beyond Rampside to Roa Island.  This strange little island is connected to the mainland by a road running along an embankment.  The sky is becoming overcast and a breeze is getting-up as we pedal across the causeway surrounded by salt marsh on all sides.  When it was a true island I suspect it was a pretty isolated place to live, especially in bad weather.  The island is crammed with houses, finding just enough space for a small marina.  Most people probably just come here to catch the foot ferry to Piel Island, home to an ancient castle and what is probably the most isolated pub in the UK.

I had intended visiting Piel Island, but I must have misread the tide times.  Perhaps it goes on the list of places to visit at some future date – when we are not restricted by our need to push on around the coast.

The cycle lane alongside the A5087, heading south towards Roa Island

The Rampside Leading Light thrusts out of the salt marsh like a giant fungal fruiting body

Rusting hulk on the salt marsh between Rampside and Roa Island

View from Roa Island ferry jetty across to Piel Island.  To the left is the Barrow RNLI Station

Roa Island (left) with Piel Castle, pub and fishermens cottages on Piel Island beyond (right)

The day is getting away from us and we still have to cycle into Barrow, catch a train to Dalton in Furness and cycle home before dark.  Returning to Rampside we turn-off along an excellent cycleway which takes us past the Gas Terminal and Power Station.  It makes an excellent end to the day, with views across Roosecote Sands and a smooth tarmac surface to-boot!

I am taken by how nature populates areas no longer needed by man.  One such example exists alongside the cycleway as we pass the gas terminal.  A disused car park provides a perfect roosting site for local herring gulls to spend the night safe from local foxes.  They probably have no idea that the electrified fence keeps them out, just that they can get a good night’s kip there!

We rejoin the A5087, which we have been trying to avoid all day long, but for just a half mile more. Roose railway station offers us the chance to reduce our cycling burden, with a train speeding us to Dalton in Furness, followed by a 3 mile cycle ride back to our caravan at Little Urswick.

Local herring gulls have twigged that a disused car park, surrounded by electric fencing, is an ideal place to roost safe from the depredations of local foxes

We love tarmac when it is just for cyclists to speed through the countryside