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Thursday, 18 December 2008

Ingleborough
















Ingleborough – May absolute fave hill, and Bruno’s too. Actually, he’s no idea where he is most of the time.
I met the bro in Ingleton for this little pre Christmas trundle. The plan was to climb Ingleborough, walk along the hill for a bit, descend to the Old Hill Inn and walk back along Twistleton Scars – a very nice bit of karst scenery as it happens.
I changed the plan whilst driving South from Hawes – in view of the fact that the hillfog was down and there was no view, and it was tres windy and drizzly and I had a fingernail hanging off. I determined instead to explore the limestone scars along Ingleborough’s Western side and shelter from the gale in a clint. Or maybe a grike. Or a hole.
I changed the plan again at Crina bottom in view of the fact that the weather looked a bit brighter and it would be more fun up Ingleborough anyway.
And so, a short while later, after some huffing and puffing and the odd kerfuffle and fuss, including Bruno crapping all over Ingleton, which I had to clean up…we found ourselves in the wind-blasted summit cross-shelter on the..er…summit.
Not a good place for lunch – so we shuffled off down some snow and found a cosy spot behind a wall – scoffed – and then proceeded breezily along the edge of the very fine corrie heading Northwards.
A steep descent and a magnificent leap over a five bar gate by the dawg and we found ourselves in a deep hole or chasm, containing the entrance to Great Douk Cave. An impressive place, but too much water to explore in hillwalking kit.
The pub was open, but it was after 2:00 pm, and we had to negotiate Twistleton Scars, so we forego the pints of shandy (we certainly can live it up) and set off for Twistleton, finally abandoning that idea for a quicker march down the roman road.
Incidentally, the chapel at Chapel le dale has the earliest Knipe wedding I’ve found listed in the church register. In 1594 a Mergret Knipe married a chap called Foxcroft.
Foxcrofts, Metcalfes and Knipes continued to marry each other around the immediate area and down towards Settle for the next 200 years after which most of them seem to have buggerred off to Pennsylvania. They must have had the reception/booze-up in the Hill Inn…?
Anyway, at this point (today, not 1594), it started to chuck it down big style. We returned to Ingleton by walking through the last bit of the Ingleton Waterfalls walk in gloomy conditions. There was nobody to pay the £4.50 fee, so we didn’t. (£4.50!?, I remember when it was sixpence….)
I bought some beef and onion soup at a little bakery/café/hot soup shop and transported it up to Ribblehead to eat it. It was absolutely fab. Obviously homemade and, just, well, just fab. If I could remember the name of the place I got it from, I’d give them a plug. But I can’t. Shame, really…

2 comments:

Martin Rye said...

I need to retire up north. You have to much spare time and easy access to the hills. Not fair. I'm of to sulk now.

Before I go I must say it is a fab hill. Went caving under it once as well.

mike knipe said...

Ha harr... eat your heart out... We have beer and pies too...

Its just a bit cold sometimes and the people talk funny, like...