An Autumn Weekend in Wharfedale (Wensleydale...)

With an invitation to a party, I put on my best party frock and zoomed up the M1 to about as far north as is decent for a Home Counties chap, to stay in a rather splendid hotel in Leyburn in the Yorkshire Dales. Martin Banfield was celebrating his completion of Another Pyrenean Adventure, his newly published book of his GR11 walk in the summer, with a dozen or so of his friends.

Leyburn is in Wharfedale, possibly the most beautiful of all the Yorkshire Dales. The following photos are from the walk on Saturday. Should you suddenly be seized by an urge to see a larger version of any of the pictures, you need only to click on them, and they will blow up to an exceedingly accommodating size.

The day started with a cloud inversion filling the dale, which was slowly burnt away to be replaced with gorgeous sunshine, followed by the mist returning late afternoon to add more interest to the photographs. 

You will note that there are only rear views of the various participants; their identities will remain a mystery, rather like those of the Bilderberg Group. I suppose if you hunt around the blogosphere it is possible to fathom a few from the list of attendees. One chap, however, does deserve a special mention. I have followed his exploits on his blog over many years, yet had never met the gentleman. However, on this rather grand occasion I had the pleasure of sharing a room with Conrad, who writes Conrad Walks . He is an absolute gentleman and tremendous fun to boot. I thoroughly recommend you pop over to his place and discover Conrad's world of adventure.   

On various other places in the dazzling world of social media that I'm sure you all frequent, I have captioned the crumbling edifice seen in the picture below variously as Bolton Abbey, Bolton Castle and Fylingdales. Apparently none is correct. Fortunately I wasn't map reading. The sheep don't care either way.

And now, rather like Nicholas Parsons, we approach the sunset hours; The landscape hues fade away, to be replaced by the blazing colours of the heavens.

A huge 'thank you' to Martin & Sue for the invitation and a sparkling round of applause to the party members who made the weekend so much fun.

Ramblings

If you have stuff to do, you can leave now; You’re not going to be interested in this post. It’s a catch-up for the last few months, most of which have been dark, very wet and a bit miserable down here in the south east. Having said that, most of the photos are bathed in sunshine. It’s the memory. It’s not what it was. I need an upgrade. And while they’re at it. Wait, no. I can’t remember what it was.

Anyway: Here are some pictures from the last few months, with occasional helpful comments.

The first four are from a walk on my birthday with Mr Walker:

WINDSOR GREAT PARK

 

LIZ WAS OUT, SO WE DIDN’T GET AFTERNOON TEA

 

WINDSOR GREAT PARK

 

ANDY ON A HORSE

 

A CANAL WALK INTO LEEDS [ON TOP OF A HILL AND MOSTLY SPENT IN A LOVELY PUB] WITH BROTHER DAVE & DEBBIE

 

A WALK IN YORK WITH BROTHER DAVE

 

YORKSHIRE DALES WITH LINDSEY

 

YORKSHIRE DALES WITH LINDSEY

 

YORKSHIRE DALES WITH LINDSEY

 

DOGGING WITH LORD ELPUS & MISS WHIPLASH IN BRECKLAND [YES. HONESTLY!]

 

LORD ELPUS, MISS WHIPLASH AND THE NEW, TRIM MR WALKER LEAVING THE THREE BLACKBIRDS.

Four kidneys on the Dales Way

After having had a splendid time at Rick & Lindsey’s I set off on the short hop over to Leeds (via Oxford, for more tests) to spend a few days with my Brother Dave and the Masterful Debs.

By now Dave had been clambering around the Helvellyn horseshoe and was back in the swing of things at work and seemed to be back to perfect nick. So he took me on one of their favourite afternoon strolls in the Dales.

GRASSINGTON WITH BROTHER DAVE – CLICK TO ENLARGE

Now this was pushing the boat out. I had already done six miles with Lindsey, but this was a wopper; SEVEN miles, with about nine hundred feet of uppishness.

Grassington looked lovely, but we only had time to visit the pie shop, before striding off down to the River Wharfe’s gorgeous meadow. The river was running well.

RIVER WHARFE

This stretch of the river is really popular with walkers – easy to see why, really – as it is quite gorgeous. We were passed on the smooth-surfaced minor road by dozens of lycra-clad cyclists on impossibly slender bikes, swishing past with friendly waves. These cyclists seem like quite a nice mob.

This led us into Conistone, which looks like a rather splendid little place to live, and we had our pies on the little bench on the village green, as troops of ramblers trooped past.

I don’t know what it is about Ramblers groups. I’m sure individually they are all fine people (apart from the pair I know from Liverpool, who are despicable, stupid, drunken oiks), but when I see them in a group, I can’t help myself; I just descend into a mad dose of horse’s burial. The leader never appears to know where they are going. They all carry those ludicrous great map cases slung around their necks on green string, but they obviously haven’t a clue how to read them. The leader asks you where they are, and when you tell them, they shake their heads in disbelief.

How they ever get back to their cars I’ll never know.

We waited until they were long gone, and then headed up into Conistone Dib ourselves.

CONISTONE DIB & BROTHER DAVE – CLICK TO ENLARGE

This is a frabjous little hidey-hole, with pretty little flowers in every crevice. I’ve no idea what they are, so perhaps you’ll be kind enough to let me know? Ta.

PRETTY BLUE FLOWERS (ANY IDEAS?)

After leaving the gorge you enter a beautiful dry valley, which reminded me of Velvet Bottom in the Mendips; both are limestone dry valleys.

CONISTONE DIB & A HANDSOME BASTARD – CLICK TO ENLARGE

We clambered up on the Dales Way to a long shallow dry valley with sections of limestone pavement for added interest. Drystone walls, limestone scars and rocky atolls are all about. This is a glorious stretch, with lark-song as your musical backdrop.

HANDSOME DOG ON THE DALES WAY

You can’t possibly get lost as the route takes you straight as an arrow back to Grassington, with glorious views back to Grass Wood tumbling down to the Wharfe. We made it in time to visit a couple of the pubs, where there was plentiful supplies of Timothy Taylor’s Landlord and Black Sheep to occupy the remainder of the afternoon before Debs finished her stint at the library.

Dave pointed out that these pubs were on the Yorkshire Dales Inn Way, which is a six day walk of seventy six miles that takes in twenty six pubs. This sounds like just the sort of walk to get me back to full fitness… I can feel a plan coming together.

Post transplant: First walk in the Yorkshire Dales

I’ve had Brother Dave’s kidney for eight weeks at this point and so it’s time to do a northern world tour. First stop after my Friday appointment at the Churchill Hospital is with my old friends, Rick & Lindsey, in beautiful Austwick in the Yorkshire Dales.

Rick is not very well and so Lindsey is having to look after him, and it has to be said, she’s doing so quite wonderfully. Looking after someone pretty much full-time is a tiring and pretty stressful affair, and so when Rick was having his afternoon nap we had a stroll up a lovely little hill, Smearsett, for Lindsey to get a breather and for me to try my first “uphill” since my transplant.

SMEARSETT WITH LINDSEY SMITH - CLICK TO ENLARGE

It’s not a huge walk – but it was plenty for me – six miles with about a thousand foot of uppishness. I’ll let the pictures do the talking. It was a lovely afternoon.

LINDSEY, WHARFE & CRUMMACK DALE

 

LINDSEY ON SMEARSETT, WITH PEN-Y-GHENT

 

STAINFORTH, LIMBERING UP FOR NEXT YEAR’S TGO CHALLENGE

 

POT SCAR FROM SMEARSETT

 

SMEARSETT SCAR

 

FEIZOR WOOD FROM POT SCAR – CLICK TO ENLARGE

 

POT SCAR

Then it was a pot of tea with apple pie & cream for me (Lindsey was a good girl, she just had tea) at the lovely little cafe in Feizor, before strolling back down the Pennine Bridleway, flanked by beautiful wild flowers, to be presented with this gorgeous view of Austwick.

AUSTWICK NESTLING BENEATH NORBER – CLICK TO ENLARGE

The walk did us both quite a bit of good. Many thanks to Rick & Lindsey for looking after me so well for the few days I stayed with you. It was great to see you both again.

FOUR (ONE) IDIOTS IN THE YORKSHIRE DALES: Part 2

Still with me? Good! As usual you can click on the pictures to make them bigger.

The attentive amongst the congregation will be aware that three of the four idiots retreated to softer climes down south, leaving just the one idiot in the Yorkshire Dales to continue the adventure.

Me.

After hauling Rick’s wine lake from his car boot to his cellar and delivering a fridge to a chap in the village (it’s what friends are for) I set off once more for the hills. Today was a totally different kettle of fish. If you wanted a dixie full of silver-shiny mackerel with glass-bright eyes, today was the day to be outside. I set off in virtual shirt-sleeves. Visibility was pin sharp and the wind keen. Very keen, in fact so I put my jacket back on.

I had enjoyed Crummack Dale so much on Friday that I was once more strolling up into its secret charms.

You notice the little things that would otherwise pass you by as you walk on your own up Crummack Dale. Today, it was the little splashes busily cascading through the emerald enclosures; their springs bubbling from beneath glistening limestone steps at the backs of the fields. This spring water bubbles and flashes brilliantly in the sharp sunlight, tugging at the grasses on either side.

I scampered past two chaps in bobble hats, britches & boots, intent on having the views at the head of the dale for myself. I had a rucksack full of food and was looking for a grand spot for lunch, which I found as I clambered my way through Moughton Scar and into the limestone pavement.

I was working my way back over to Clapham Bottoms, as it sounded like a place that really should be investigated, over wonderful limestone moorland. It’s barely 1300 feet up but the enormous views over to Ingleborough, Pen-y-Ghent and Fountains Fell make it a fabulous spot to be, in the wild, sharp wind.

This poor quality video does give a flavour of the place and the wind:

Then it was a delightful push into the wind down into the Bottoms and the track below Thwaite, into the tunnels and down into sleepy Clapham.

The pub in Clapham serves much better beer than the one we visited in Horton and so some Black Sheep were dealt with in a confident style in front of the fire. I had then to drag my carcase out of there to climb back through the tunnels to regain the Pennine Bridleway above Austwick as the sun was slipping sideways into the secrets of the Forest of Bowland.

It was just an amble down the sleepy lanes into the village as the dampness seeped into the stone roofs and the sunset silvered the window panes.

Back at base, Rick & Lindsey again looked after me handsomely, knocking the top off a lovely Vacqueyras and polishing off one of Lindsey’s stash of single malts. A perfect end to a great weekend.