Preston to Blackpool 17th September 2021

Yesterday we cycled as far as Crossens, just north of Southport.  A relatively short strip of coast exists between Crossens and the mouth of the River Ribble, which presents us with our next obstacle – it is quite a large river estuary.  

Defining this section of coastal biking/walking is also going to be problematic, for a variety of reasons:

a. we can’t get to the sea’s edge very easily (salt marsh and private land restrict our access), so it begs the question “are we exploring the coast at all?”

b. the old chestnut of where the coast becomes the bank of the river applies in spades, 

Also:

c. We have the problem of how we get back to the car at the end of our day – cycle back or catch a train?

The obvious solution to b and c is to cycle all the way to Preston, but this will involve miles of cycling along the A59, several  miles inland.  Sod that!

In the interests of practicality and our personal enjoyment of the whole experience, we decide to leave this controversial section for later in the week – if we even have enough time to do it at all this holiday. Doing the whole of the English/Welsh coast is going to take a good few years yet and it is better to use our time wisely, leaving all the hard to define little bits like this for when we are in our 90s. Kick it down the road!

My angst doesn’t stop there though.  Yet another issue presses on my planning and gave me a sleepless night until the early hours of this morning – the weather forecast suggests that later in the week we might get severely rained-on, here in famously wet Lancashire.  I decide we need to use our time wisely and so we jump to the Preston to Blackpool section today.

So it is that we park the car at Blackpool Station, where we catch the 12.58 train to Preston (£8 each – single) and then cycle along the coast back to Blackpool.  All is fine until we get to Preston Station where we have to make a difficult choice:

a. we can choose to cycle quiet country lanes to Lytham, that are several miles from the coast.

b. we can take the busy A583/4 ‘coast road’ as far as Warton. 

With some misgivings we choose the latter.  Despite the traffic noise, at least we are able to cycle on pavement most of the way.

An hour or so later, our nerves frazzled, we are open to any kind of respite.  Then we spot a sign off to our left to ‘Courtyard Cafe’.  This heaven-sent oasis thankfully enables us to indulge in a cup of tea and a sticky bun.  The cafe sits in the midst of a small rural trading estate, from whence I suspect it gets most of its business.  The cafe owner’s walls are covered with paintings by local artists, most of whom are certainly amateurs judging by the quality of their work.  Still, it is nice to see amateurs being encouraged and someone is bound to like one or two of them.  I suspect the owner gets a small amount of financial benefit from it too, but mostly it adds to the ambiance of the place.  We take a seat outside in the sunshine, where we are attended to by an ancient Jack Russell, who quietly shuffles from table to table in search of attention, or the odd scrap. 

Duly fortified we mount our bikes, with only another 1.5 miles of busy road cycling before we arrive at Freckleton.  Here the OS map indicates that a public footpath runs down to the coast and circumnavigates RAF Warton before returning to the A584.  We are hopeful that it might be cyclable, but are quickly disabused of what turns out to be a rather fanciful notion when we find the route sandwiched between a garden fence and a neighbouring hedge.  A recently felled elder blocks our way.  Thankfully we are able to lift our bikes over the road block and to cycle the narrowest of paths along the backs of some houses for 200 or 300 metres.  Many of the house-owners have seen fit to dump their garden waste along the footpath, perhaps to discourage the likes of us from using it.  

An elder shrub blocks our path at Freckleton

An adjacent garden uses the footpath to dump garden waste

This is one of those instances where the use of modern technology might have proved beneficial, as some time later, when I check my mobile phone, I discover that a perfectly good road runs along the front of the self-same houses.  Sometimes it does actually pay to be ‘new school’. 

Our path brings us out at Poolside, a small side road, where I spot a busy little lady gardener and ask her if the rest of the path is passable.  She looks at us askance, as though she were Livingstone encountering Stanley coming out of the African bush.

“You’re not dragging that poor woman down there are you?” she admonishes me sternly, “She’s not even wearing long trousers!”

I am obviously the villain, despite only wearing a pair of shorts myself.

Undaunted we press-on along Poolside, which has a narrow ditch running along one side.  Closer examination of this ditch reveals that it must have once provided an important access to the sea for Freckleton villagers.  A line of substantial stone blocks indicates that there must once have been a significant wharf here, for small boats to pull up-at when the tide was high.  In fact some of the boats in centuries past were quite large vessels bringing coal up the coast from Wigan and linen from across the Irish Sea.  Such cargoes would have been offloaded here onto smaller ‘lightermen’ before taking them up the Ribble to Preston. 

Freckleton Pool Wharf 

The building of the Lancaster Canal eventually took away the coal trade, but it was the dredging and straightening of the Ribble estuary, enabling larger vessels to get up to Preston, that did for Freckleton Pool Wharf.  Today the channel is still navigable on a spring tide, giving access to a boat repair yard a few hundred metres downstream of the old wharf.

Eventually the track presents us with a choice of paths, where we decide to take the right-hand one, which looks the more used.  This in turn brings us out at a boat storage yard with a range of informative signs.  The wording of these suggests that following the public road might be the wiser choice.

Signs suggest a safer dog, gun, and alcohol-free route off to the right

Our chosen road takes us downhill alongside the perimeter fence of BAE Warton aerodrome, formerly RAF Warton.  Back in the 1980s/90s I worked for a subsidiary of IBM and was responsible for any of the company’s MOD accounts.  An enquiry from RAF Warton meant I was invited to a meeting here.  As far as I’m aware I never made a single sale, since all their systems were ICL based.  Nonetheless I can boast that I have been inside the compound, whereas today I am  just an ordinary member of the public on his bike.

As we free-wheel down the road I spot several cars parked on the verge, all with their bonnets facing towards the airfield at RAF Warton.  Inside each are the hunched figures of overweight, ageing, shaggy-bearded gentlemen, all training binoculars upon a US twin-engined jet that is about to take off.  One of them sits atop a battered old SUV and I ask him what kind of planes they are watching.  

“They are all British military here – except that one”.  He replies, pointing at the plane with its stars and stripes insignia.

“Who’s on-board – Joe Biden?” I ask, which elicits a chuckle from his bearded lips.

We have met this type before.  On that occasion they were gathered just beyond the end of the runway at Heathrow Airport.  Each of them had a range of mobile technology and the ubiquitous pair of binoculars, to help them identify planes as they landed.  Once again they were nearly all male and overweight.  Betty was the only female there.  Our plane-spotting however was very selective – we were here to watch her son land his Kuwait Airways plane.  I am sure they didn’t fully approve of Betty being there, especially when she started cheering and weeping in equal measure, as only a mother can under such circumstances.

So having no interest in joining our new plane-spotting friends, or flying of any sort for that matter, we carry on down the road, which turns left away from the airfield to pass farms that have a much more raggle-taggle gypsy look to them – full of old caravans, assorted livestock and barking dogs.  Eventually we find what we are looking for – a footpath sign guiding us between the salt marsh and the high-security fence of BAE Warton.

A low drystone wall is all that separates one farm house from the ebb and flow of the sea across the salt marsh.  They may need to consider something more substantial in a few years time, although one benefit of salt marsh is that it reduces the impact of wave action, especially during a storm.

The current sea wall offers little against wave action

The Lancashire Coastal Way is sandwiched between grazed salt marsh and BAE Warton Aerodrome.

It soon becomes evident that this is not going to be an easy cycle ride, with the salt marsh deeply poached by the hooves of grazing cattle and strewn with large pebbles, forcing us both to opt for the only alternative – getting-off and pushing. 

Despite an absence of footpath signage, navigation is made easy by BAE Warton’s large hangars and the ever-present security fence, adorned with all manner of warning signs.  Fortunately it is still low tide.  I foolishly didn’t think to check the tide tables before we started.  Close to the 20 foot high fence we are glad to find that the ground is sometimes smoothed by the passage of walkers’ feet, enabling us to attempt cycling on occasions.  A range of bridges and old railway sleepers speeds our passage across boggy areas and the occasional muddy creek.

This is not the most cycle-friendly of paths – time to get off and push!

The large hangars of BAE Warton offer easy navigational aids

One of numerous muddy creeks draining the salt marsh

Negotiating footbridges provided alternative exercise and photo-opportunities

Railway sleeper walkways made for easier passage

Generally salt marsh is considered to be rich in wildlife and certainly important for its natural sequestering of carbon.  However, there appears to be little of wildlife value here, probably due to the grazing by cattle, which generally favours the growth of rank, salt tolerant grasses over any other plant.

The ever-present warning signs provided little by way of encouragement 

Eventually we reached our final field, which offers the final challenge – a non-cycle friendly kissing gate with a group of spectating Frisian cows.  The kissing gate is but a physical and mental challenge to be overcome, however Betty is particularly nervous of cows.  Fortunately our gingerly passage through the field passes without incident and we make it to the public road at the other end.

A reassuring waymark sign confirms that we are indeed on the Lancashire Coastal Way.  Checking the map confirms that the official route continues for a couple of miles further, but we decide to leave this to the walkers and revert to the convenience of being cyclists once more.  Eventually we rejoin the A584, but only fleetingly, as we elect to enjoy the delights of cycling on smooth tarmac along some small country lanes that take us to Lytham (West End Lane and Lodge Lane).

Entering Lytham, we take the pavement past a small industrial estate, where the various business premises are emptying of workers’ cars, before forming a long traffic jam outside the adjacent McDonalds.  It is 4.30pm on a Friday and the kids expect their Friday evening treat!

At the start of the week the forecast for today had been rain.  Fortunately, it is a beautiful sunny evening and we still have 3 hours of daylight to enjoy cycling along the continuous concrete and tarmac promenade that runs the length of the Fylde Coast from Lytham to Fleetwood.  

Stimulated by the queue outside McDonalds we decide to have our Friday lunch at 5pm, sitting on a bench overlooking the glistening waters of the Irish Sea.  Nothing betters a sunny evening at the seaside.

Nothing betters a sunny evening at the seaside

Lytham and her distant cousin Southport, are separated by the mud of the Ribble Estuary 

Bathed in the autumnal evening sun we strike-out westward along a tarmac path which speeds us along an elevated promenade towards Lytham’s partner town – St Annes. The salt marsh pinches out along this section which could be due to increased exposure to wave action, or potentially pinching-out of the salt marsh by a rise in sea level.  The latter is a common feature on the Essex coast, where sea walls built centuries earlier provide an artificial barrier, preventing the natural retreat of salt marsh inland.  The conditions are no longer suited to the salt marsh species living there and the salt marsh disappears.  This constant change along our coast is both a natural and a man-made phenomenon (see the account of our Hoylake, Wirral encounter with returning salt marsh).  Salt marsh is a very important carbon sink, so its loss is a cause for concern.

Extensive Salt Marsh at Lytham

Salt Marsh Further West is Pinched-out

Further on beyond Granny’s Bay is Fairhaven Lake.  This body of salt water was created by sealing off an existing creek sandwiched between shingle banks and the land in the late 19th Century. It is very popular with holiday-makers and birdwatchers alike.  The RSPB has a visitor centre here.

The road looks much more attractive than the Lancashire Coastal Way 

Beyond Fairhaven Lake our elevated cycleway drops down to beach level.  The smooth hard defences of the sea wall are replaced by the more natural barrier of sand dunes, with salt marsh now returning to the upper shore.  The tarmac however continues, sandwiched between dunes and salt marsh, although I suspect it may well be impassable at high tide.

  The unbridled joy of cycling by the seaside

Salt Marsh and Sand Dunes offer natural protection from the sea to the houses beyond

Eventually the dunes and salt marsh are replaced by a sandy beach and St Anne’s Pier.  It all seems very low-key compared to what we know lies ahead at Blackpool.  Lytham also had a pier, but this was demolished in the 1960s.  Lytham and St Annes were developed in the late 19^th and early 20^th Centuries as more genteel and middle class seaside destinations than that of the working class Blackpool.

St Annes Beach and Pier and The Mock Tudor Pier Entrance at St Annes

St Annes Pier was initially just for promenading, but very quickly various amusements were added.  The pier had an extra jetty added to its seaward end, allowing steamers from Liverpool and Blackpool to pull alongside.  Dredging of the channel up to Preston led to sedimentation at St Annes with the pier eventually finding itself on dry land.  This did for the steamer business.  The Mock Tudor pier entrance was added in 1899.  Eventually the pier was shortened significantly, but is still regarded as one of the best examples of Victorian piers in the UK.

North of St Annes Pier we are forced to cycle the A584, which is eventually separated from views of the sea by high sand dunes.  These sand dunes have suffered significant erosion (human and wind induced) and are currently undergoing re-profiling, since a large proportion of the sand threatens to spill across the A584.

Betty elects to cycle the narrow pavement as far away from busy traffic as possible

The Sand Dunes 

No sooner do we get to the boundary with Blackpool and all sign of sand dunes disappears, replaced by the concrete of the sea wall.  The last 3 miles of cycling is dominated by the brash commercialisation of Britain’s most famous seaside town.  Everywhere is concrete, trams, amusements and fast-food outlets.  The final iconic edifice is Blackpool Tower.  I send a photo of it to my children, who last came here some 20 years ago.  One of my daughters text’s back “The Paris of The North”.  I suspect locals would probably respond “Paris, the Blackpool of The South.”

Blackpool Pleasure Beach – the place to visit if you enjoy parting with your stomach contents

South Pier – the next place to visit if you still have any contents remaining in your stomach and pennies in your pocket

In support of Blackpool I have to admit that it has superb beaches, which in my experience are little visited by most tourists, many of whom just like to gaze at them from the Promenade before returning to the serious business of eating, drinking, gambling and retail therapy in the town.  I confess to being equally impressed by the many sculptures that adorn the sea front as we pedal-by.  It’s not all brash commercialism after all.

As the evening light fades, the gathering gloom brings-out the nocturnal life that populates the sea front.  Scores of small carts appear adorned with bright lights and offering the tourist a range of illuminated toys to light their way along the Golden Mile.  

One of the scores of trolley-pushers offering essential nocturnal distractions

Blackpool has no less than 3 piers, as well as the famous tower, for the tourist to visit.  Each either thrusts out into the Irish Sea, or up into the West Lancastrian sky, inviting all to come and ‘taste their wares’.  Out of some of the watering-holes gangs of young men totter, already the worse for too much drink.  Blackpool is a stag and hen night Mecca for the young.  In contrast, one particular restaurant is populated by dinner-jacket or gold lame adorned couples of a much older vintage.  I suspect their destination is the glitz and glamour of Blackpool Tower Ball Room.

Central Pier and the iconic Blackpool Tower

Betty wonders if they permit cyclists in the Ball Room

Blackpool Tower, the Tower Ball Room and The Tower Circus were opened in 1894 at an entry cost of 6d for admission, 6d to take the lift to the top and a further 6d to enjoy the circus. I don’t recall how much they were asking when I first came here with the family 20 years ago, but it was enough to put me off taking 6 of us 380 feet up a structure which swayed in the wind.  Height, wind and cost are a lethal combination in my book!

With the sound of 20 drunks chanting football songs and the prospect of many more throwing-up in front of us, we gladly return to our car and head back to Ormskirk for a quiet dinner in our caravan and a nice bottle of Shiraz.

North Pier – the pier I would be most likely to visit