…is my main complaint about Brockholes, Preston’s fantastic, award-winning nature reserve. Although it is situated very close to the outskirts of Preston, unless you have a car it is really, really difficult to get to. The nearest bus stop leaves people with quite a cross-country trek to actually reach the reserve entrance. Preston Bus/Stagecoach Buses PLEASE take note!
Apart from this problem for non-drivers such as myself, I can’t praise Brockholes too highly; the chance to visit with my car-owning daughter and grandsons was a lovely opportunity. The visitor centre actually floats on the main lake [no, I really can’t get my head around that, either]. Walking among the very solid, heavy-looking buildings, on the concrete[?] base [trying not to wonder if we’re going to sink] it’s so wonderful to actually be in the middle of the lake surrounded by wildfowl. During our visit, a swan was swimming right by the cafe terrace poking its beak through the railings in the hope of ice-cream. A heron flew close by us over the water, too. What a privilege. In another area we watched coots both in and out of the water and also spotted some tufted ducks.
The ice-cream loving swan. Apologies for the blurry photo.
We looked round the visitor centre, where younger grandson enjoyed crawling into some tempting exploration tunnels, looking at pictures of wildlife we may spot and then having a game of hawks and adders [a fun variation of noughts and crosses]. There is a great amount of information and literature available alongside an extensive programme of events throughout the year. If only I could get there more easily 😦
Further afield there are seemingly endless walking trails with the occasional bird-hide, many smaller water areas and reed beds, and an inviting [yes, even to a 60-year-old] adventure play area. We, however, decided to explore the woodland area leading to the banks of the River Ribble. We saw countless molehills [and a lovely wooden statue of Mr Mole himself] and played a great game of push-small-boys-into-mud.
Information about bitterns which had been spotted there, the knowledge that deer often roamed the area and the lure of the silent bird-hides [which weren’t a place to take noisy boys!] made me yearn to return on my own with my binoculars. Not having any transport of my own due to disability, this seems as though it will continue to be an unfulfilled dream. However, with an of-season car park charge of £3, rising to £5 in Summer, and no entrance fee, I will continue to take every chance I get to visit with whoever is heading that way!
The Travelling Hamster 