Trails and trials of the writer who walks
Much as I love pitching up on the fells, a campsite nearly always offers the benefit of a local pub. In Clitheroe, this was the Edisford Bridge, just on the other side of the Ribble and near its eponymous bridge. According to a local lady who was sharing with me the warmth from the pub’s roaring fire, the famed witches of Pendle Hill leave a special sign in winter. As the hill turns white with snow, a certain patch remains dark and can clearly be seen to take the form of a witch. “Complete with broomshtik”, she slurred. (Any witch way but loose, methinks). It was a bit frosty when I took this photo. Any sign of witch shapes in them thar hills?