PHIL CALVERT: Admit it, we live in a wet part of the world

As part of my job, I often travel to the Fylde or flatlands between Ormskirk and Southport to visit suppliers and growers who form the bedrock of our horticultural industry.

Only slightly higher than sea level, these areas benefit from proximity to the sea which moderates temperatures so while inland the ground is frozen, nearer the coast, temperatures are several degrees higher.

In addition to the benefits of higher temperatures, these areas also have less rainfall than we have as cloud coming in off the Irish Sea often passes straight over them, with its ultimate destination the Pennines.

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Sometimes the clouds pass over the hills and into Yorkshire, but more often than not they bunch up against the flanks of Thieveley Pike, Boulsworth and Pendle Hill, blocking out sunlight and giving a grey sky.

I have often looked inland from the coast to see clouds over Winter Hill and further north in the Burnley area while Southport and Preston are bathed in sunshine.

The norm is for moist winds to blow in from the sea and as they reach higher ground, the air is forced to rise against our hills, and the result is rain. There is no getting away from it, we live in a damp part of the country.

I believe you can experience this at first hand even at a more local level, and I felt this to be the case last Saturday. Monty was pacing the house, waiting for his outing. After the overnight rain, I expected field paths to be soft underfoot, so I was looking for places that were paved or stoned, and after a short debate we decided to head to Hurstwood for a circuit of the reservoirs.

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As we left home, the sun was shining, but things started to take a turn for the worse at Rosegrove. Coming over Glen View, we were confronted with a view towards where Cliviger should have been, of grey clouds, heavy with rain. Arriving in Hurstwood, the wind had got up, and, despite being wrapped up against the wind, we decided to take brollies – just in case. It was a prudent move.

Walking along the shores of the reservoir, Monty was in his element. The grass tussock-covered spoil heaps proved perfect for running up and down for burning off excess energy. Then we were struck by horizontal rain, driven into our faces by the wind. Brollies up, but pointed against the prevailing wind, the more unpleasant aspects of the squalls are cut out – just as long as you can keep hold of the things.

With the cobwebs blown away, we headed back home. Passing once more over Glen View the grey clouds were left behind. Ahead, just clear skies all the way to the coast.

Last Saturday night, the clear skies had combined with a dropping of the wind to produce a hard frost. There was the usual short-term, but bad-tempered “strop” from my youngest as she left the house to go to work to discover her car entombed in a shroud of frost. Completely unprepared and muttering words like “ridiculous,” calm was restored as her dad emerged wielding the de-icer spray.

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With her safely packed off to work, Wifey and I decided an outing was justified and so with Monty bundled into the back we zipped up the M6 to The Lakes. Unfortunately, a crash at the Kendal turn off delayed us and, with the day slipping away, we had a change of plan. Instead of Hawkshead, we would spend the afternoon walking the western shores of Coniston Water.

It proved a good call. After a carvery lunch in Coniston, we walked down to the shores of the lake in warm autumn sunshine. The hard frost had caused leaf fall and they continued to rain down on us at Torver Commons wood.

Out on the water, the steam-powered passenger ferry “Gondola” cruised across the mirrored surface of the lake. At Brantwood (but more so at Atkinson ground) the purple maples gave a stunning display and the effect was one of unsurpassed beauty.

With imaginary rabbits to chase, sticks to retrieve, smells to investigate and swims to be had, Monty showed little interest. He was in his element and for every mile we walked he must have covered four. One minute he would be demolishing a stick, the next plunging into the chilly waters.

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I don’t suppose he cared what the scenery was like. He was just happy being out. Wifey and I felt differently. Instead of being huddled under a brolly, braced against the wind and wet, we were walking through an enchanted landscape.