Nobody messed with the clocks and the 10:52 train from Ribblehead to Horton was on time.
The main challenge was that it was chucking it down. In fact it chucked it down till I got high up on the slopes of Ingleborough, at which point, the hill fog started to lift, revealing a strange white shape on the hillside about four hundred metres from the path. Despite the fact that my specs were in my pocket, I formed the opinion that the strange white lump could be an aircraft where I’d never seen an aircraft before, so I sploshed off for a look, hoping that it wasn’t occupied by anybody.
It was indeed an aircraft and an, apparently fairly recently crashed one too. Luckily, there was nobody in it. (An internet search afterwards revealed that it had crashed on 21 March and that the two occupants had been injured and rescued by the cave rescue organisation). The plane was heavily damaged and the cockpit was crushed, so it seems miraculous that an individual could survive.
I returned to the path and slogged up on to Ingleborough for my pheasant, orange and brandy pie wot I’d bought at the farmers market in Barnard Castle yesterday. Bruno, and somebody else’s pet dog both offerred to help, but I struggled through.
After this, I did a quick bit of light navigation and wandered off towards Swine Tail and Simon Fell, joining up with a couple of walkers who were making up their walk as they went along, in a commendable style, in my opinion. They’d decided to head for Ribblehead and then to road-walk back to Horton. They were in training for a go at the Yorkshire Three Peaks in the summer, so a bit of distance was just the thing.
We walked on to Park Fell, where the sun came out and they altered their route (bless ‘em…) on realising that the intake wall would lead them to Alum pot and Selside and a much shorter road walk.
I carried on Northwards, finding unmapped paths which ended in the quarry at Ribblehead which has a short nature-trail-type walk.
This was the 32nd time up Ingleborough for me, not counting one day in 1984 when we searched the place for somebody who was somewhere else and bagged the summit several times.
Today was 9 miles and just over 2000 feet of climbing. the knee is not specially happy. It doesn’t seem to like steep downhill contours.
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12 comments:
My knees like contours that stay at the same height. They don't like uphill contours and positively revolt at the very idea of downhill contours: They are bolshie knees and need a stern talking-to.
My knees are a bit like the French - they rely on everyone else to fight their wars for them. Mine have been relying for far too long on the Poles and so this year I am gong to teach them a lesson they will never forget. We will be leaving the Poles behind.
That'll learn 'em.
Its well known that the French have no word for "contour"
But my knees are on strike today. Thats a bit French n'est pas Alain?
SCORFLUFUS
by
Spike Milligan
There are many diseases,
That strike people's kneeses,
Scorflufus! is one by name
It comes from the East
Packed in bladders of yeast
So the Chinese must take half the blame.
There's a case in the files
Of Sir Barrington-Pyles
While hunting a fox one day
Shot up in the air
And remained hanging there!
While the hairs on his socks turned grey!
Aye!Scorflufus had struck!
At man, beast, and duck.
And the knees of the world went Bong!
Some knees went Ping!
Other knees turned to string
From Balham to old Hong Kong.
Should you hold your life dear,
Then the remedy's clear,
If you're offered some yeast - don't eat it!
Turn the offer down flat-
Don your travelling hat-
Put an egg in your boot - and beat it!
Contours? Isn't that a disreputable travel agent?
JJ
I have been training diligently on my contour.
With both knees missing bits, I can say that walking without poles is harder than walking with. Not sure I could do it without poles now.
Might be needing that Coffin before Dunmaglass Alan, that An Riabhachan ridge has quite a lot of contours at each end.
We was on the same bit of path yesterday Mike, from Ribblehead towards the foot of Park Fell anyway. Rather steep, last time I came down Park Fell, I "fell" so to speak, flat on my ....!
Alan if your knees were French one would surrender to the enemy and the other would run away to fight a resistance with England helping them. You would be in trouble. I shudder at "a bit like the French". You have our sympathy. Take the poles mate. Why risk a knee seizing up and ruin a good walk with a protest thrown in for good measure. As you know I need poles to hold me and my non tarp shelter up ;)
By the way Mike nice walk that.
I'd just like to point out that 3% of the pie blog's readership is French.
So watch it.
Scorflufus eh? That'll be the very chap...
oh, what a great walk! around here, scavengers would've stripped that plane of its scrap metal in no time. For the first time ever, deep country homes no longer have old junker cars sitting around in the front yards; they've sold them off for scrap, which is bringing in unprecedented $$.
Vous anglais sont 'taking the mickey', il n'ya rien de mal avec les jambes français
Nous, les Français aiment les cuisses de grenouilles.
Et comme Eddie Izzard a déclaré que 'le singe est dans l'arbre'.
Quoi qu'il en soit, nous vous conquis en 1066.
Yes, but can they read in English....or Lancashire with a strange yorkshire lilt?
And the Capital Letters are VERY Important.
JJ
Mais Oui Mr JJ.
Nous are 'aving ze bon readingness of ze Anglais init!
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