Smearsett, Feizor and Helwith Bridge

Today’s little trundle was a pre-Christmas card-swapping and cuppla pints in a pub walk. Unfortunately, the effect was reduced a bit by the fact that Mrs Pieman had posted the Bro’s card some time earlier…
But me and the brother met anyway.
We met in the outrageously priced pay and display car park in Stainforth. (Incidentally, there seems to be bad news from Stainforth that the pub is closed at the moment and awaiting a new tenant. This will not be specially good for Christmas celebrations in Stainforth, I shouldn’t wonder)

Anyway, we slithered off over the globally warmed black ice and up through Knight Stainforth to attack the mighty ramparts of Smearsett Scar – a carb limestone lump which was  likely a reef at some point in it’s 350 million year history. Smearsett Scar has a very obvious craggy South face and this provides a not-very-well-known-but-nevertheless-quite-exciting little scramble on mainly good and spiky holds but which aren’t available at the scariest spot. However, using some frozen rabbit poo, and with a bit of Anglo-Saxon,  I managed to teeter up and we were soon at the trig on the top. The scramble is about 25 metres with a ledge half way and is, maybe, Grade 2. It’s also perfumed with wild mountain thyme. And wabbit poo.

The walk along to Pot Scar feels like a high level ridge walk in the mountains, but isn’t. We repaired to Feizor to Elaine’s tearoom and cafe for coffee and toasted teacakes.
Feizor, incidentally, had a family of Knipes living in it in the 16th Century. they were described in church records as “husbandmen”. this is a farm labourer. There were more Knipes living in villages nearby and they seem to have spent about 300 years marrying people called Metcalfe. Metcalfe is the Yorkshire dales farming name. The Knipes, however, seem to have left the area.

Down the lane a bit, we assumed that a Christmas choir was assembling. We wondered about asking for a request. Silent night, maybe or, While Shepherds Washed Their socks By Night, or maybe a bit of Cliff Richards. its lucky we didn’t as it turned out to be a funeral party. we should have known by all the hanging around and smoking they were doing. the old chap’s horse was waiting patiently nearby to transport the coffin to it’s final destination. Nice touch, that. The Holly and the Ivy were perhaps not appropriate.

We were informed that the arduous trek to the local shrine dedicated to the Great God Bachus – alias the Helwith Bridge Inn , shouldn’t take us more than forty five minutes. Unwilling to be benighted in Elaine’s tearoom (although, on reflection there are worse places to get stuck) – we marched off, stopping only in a sunny spot behind a barn for lunch for about half an hour.
We duly arrived at Helwith Bridge half an hour before the bar opened, which it did twenty minutes later. We worshiped bachus to the tune of two pints of Helwith bridge ale each. It was very nice. They do pie and peas too. Its very civilised around here.
A plod down the road brought us back to Stainforth.
8 Miles and 1400 feet, including one short period of excitement.

Simon Fell and Ingleborough

This is the very last pair of the Yorkshire Dales 2000 foot tops series. It all went approximately to plan, so J_on_ tour can keep his buff.
The bit that went wrong was me getting up a bit late, so it was nearly eleven o’clock when I parked the knipemobile at Clapham. It was OK, though, I just chopped a little bit off the planned walk.

The walking up to join the Three Peaks path on it’s final downhill lurch to Horton was  really very enjoyable. Its very easy walking on short green turf, y’see, and the views towards Penyghent, across a fine karst plateau are, well, very fine. Somewhere along the route, I lost my banana. But I was cheered up from the post-fruitless-mourning by the bright sunshine and blue skies, although the force four “breeze” from higher latitudes was a bit more than chilling.

We wandered towards Ingleborough, turning off to follow a wall up to Lord’s Seat – a grand limestone nobble with a cracking view of Upper Ribblesdale. To get there we had to cross “Rawnsley’s Leap”, a monster of a ladder stile which is listed in Yorkshire Limestone Climbing Guides as V-Diff. We crossed it back again a few minutes later and rambled up to the summit.

I wanted to follow the path which runs along the edge of Ingleborough’s magnificent corrie, and to do this me and the dawg had to negotiate a wobbly wall defended by barbed wire. This went without too much of a hitch and Bruno has all his bits, and so have I, apart from the parts which have been removed surgically, in Bruno’s case, the vet in Bishop Auckland, and in my case the Urology Department at Bradford Royal Infirmary’s inebriate ferret “Jason” who is introduced into the tight underpants of those who’s wives consider that they have sufficient children. If you catch my drift.

Anyway, the path along the edge of the corrie was icy but good to walk on. Soon we were on the summit, bemoaning the loss of our banana, but enjoying, instead, ginger cake, coffee and chocolate. I talked briefly to a lad who was doing the 3 Peaks and was heading for a ten hour time.  He seemed cheerful enough, so we didn;t tell him any fart or vasectomy jokes, but plunged off over the edge of the Brigantian ramparts to Little Ingleborough, down to Gaping Gill and then back on the lanes and through the tunnels to Clapham.

This is my last 2000 foot top of this series. I saved the best till the last.
For information of those confused souls out there, this wasn’t my first ascent of Ingleborough. I’ve been there before, many times since my first in October 1971. I’ve been on two fell searches on the hill and helped recover the remains of a scouser who lost an argument with a large boulder. And camped on it a couple of times and been inside it. Its my favourite Yorkshire Dales hill. I’ll likely climb it again.

12 Miles and 2250 feet of climbing.
The next question is, though – what shall I do next?
Hmmmmm……

Mallerstang on Superdog Beef and Gravy

This is another of the Yorkshire Dales 2000 foot tops walks and also another walk using the Settle-Carlisle Line to enable a linear walk to take place.

Its also the first walk where Superdawg was fuelled by Superdog doggie scran – If you have a dog and you’re interested in dog food see this link http://www.burgesspetcare.co.uk/shop/supadog.html

You can also look at the link if you don’t have a dog but still hold an interest in dog food, although that might strike some people as a bit odd. still, each to their own, eh? In order to get a bag of the dog food (its a huge bag by the way) I had to promise to review it, which I will do in due course and with due honesty. I have to say that even though Bruno is not noted for his delicate feeding habits or any kind of discernment at all, his first reaction to this scoff was to raid the bin in which we’ve hidden it. So its a good start as far as he’s concerned.

But on with the walk. We caught the 9:48 train from Kirkby Stephen to Garsdale for the princely sum of £3.20. The journey was too quick for a trolley coffee although it did smell nice…. anyway, we got off at Garsdale and made our way via a rather good path over drumlins to railway cottages at South Lunds and then by a tussocky path up to the ruins of High Dyke. This lies on the High Way track – an ancient route and was once, I believe, a tavern or an Inn for drovers and packmen. Its a ruin now and won’t be long before its just a pile of stones. It’s mullioned windows testify to its age.

We continued upwards on a footpath till it was time to turn North to bag our first hill – Sails at 667 metres. Normally, this hill is a right boggy mess, but just now the hills are parched and dry if a bit bouncy in places.

A bog trot and a bit of fence following lead to Hugh Seat 689 metres and more , similar stuff went on to Archy Styrigg 695metres and High Seat 709 metres. The ridge is the Cumbria/North Yorkshire County boundary and is marked by a variety of tall, small, fat and thin cairns, sticks and small shelters. The walking gradually gets easier and drier as progress Northwards is made. It is, in fact, a romp. And the views are BIIIIIG. This is no place for an attack of agrophobia.

The ridge ends suddenly at Fells End (oddly enough….) and we headed off North- Westwards to descend by a wide and grassy ridge and then through fields to Nateby where the pub was shut. (dhuhhh). More field paths lead back to the station where the knipemobile was still parked…..

I passed an old WW2 pill box on the way. Inside (which stinks of sheep pee by the way), it becomes obvious that the placing of this defence is a bit clever. It seems there were six mountings for armaments and these would cover the railway station, the main road from Tebay, Kirkby Stephen and the road South to Wensleydale – a complete circle, in fact. Its a shame to see it falling to bits. It needs some TLC, after all it is an historic building.

Altogether this walk is 14.7 miles with 2200 feet of climbing. Its a fab walk, specially when its not soaked. The walking is generally pretty easy going although navigation might be tricky in some places.

Fountains and Darnbrook Fells

Since I was in the area for John Manning’s exposition of his holiday snaps in Stainforth (see previous post) I thought I may as well do another Yorkshire dales 2000 foot tops ramble and this one looked specially handy and, what’s more, easy.

Fountains Fell has another couple of possible routes which are quite a bit longer than this, so I may well revisit the place in summer. This walk is a quick bag, to be honest, and shouldn’t take the erstwhile Dalesbagger more than a few hours.

So after a late start during which I discovered that it was later than I thought, due to some idiot messing with the clocks – I turned up on the verge at the bottom of Fountains Fell. Some readers may well consider that I’ve been on the verge for some time. They may be right.

Today, though, I was dogless, companionless and, frankly, friendless as I trudged my weary way over the bleak, wind-blasted heaths of the tussocky Pennines. The wind howled mtrough my trousers mournfully..... I fancied I heard someone call the name "Heathcliffe...."

The route follows the Pennine Way towards Derbyshire and this takes the walker up what appears to be a sledway, probably the exit route for sleds full of coal from the ancient colliery on the summit of the Fell.

I crossed a patch of snow and appeared on the summit, which is extensive and full of holes, frankly. I headed South and found the actual summit cairn and then further south on a waymarked path to the South Top. This doesn’t have a cairn, so I went back to the summit again.

There, as a result of the abject loneliness, I met my imaginary friend Alf Wainwright-Bonnington. Pipes in hand, we marched over the bogs, Alf putting the world to rights and pontificating on whether or not being buggerred by the massed ranks of the Black and White Minstrels would be as enjoyable as it should be now that they’ve been banned for being racist. Or would the make-up rub off. He’s a strange one, is Alf.

Just a bit north of here is an area that has been well dug up. There are what appear to be bell pits and piles of gritstone spoil. There’s also a strange square building with a small entrance which would require crawling were it not fenced off.

I have been inside this building, back in 1972 when I first explored this top. It was dark but dry inside, and a good, efficient shelter. The keystone at the entrance appears to be breaking up, though. It may collapse, although I think its been in a collapsing state for a good thirty years or so. It needs some TLC. It needs restoration. It is a piece of heritage, even if we don’t really know what it is.

There are also open shafts on this moor – most of which are fenced off. There could well be some that aren’t fenced off, so keep your eyes peeled is my advice.

This may not be such a good area to wander about on in the middle of the night, even with peeled eyes.

Anyway, having done the Fountains Fell tour, I headed for Darnbrook Fell. The problem with Darnbrook fell is that its got lots of walls and fences. There is no need, though, to climb any walls. There are gates and hurdles at strategic spots and the fence close to the trig point has a small section which has no barbed wire. So, if you find yourself teetering over a totterring wall, you've gone wrong somewhere...

A gate near the Western edge leads on to an ATV track which descends to the track from Littondale. ATV’s cannot cross walls, so there is a gate at the bottom too.

The track gives easy walking with cracking views back to the road and, a little further on, to the parking spot. Under circumstances when there wasn’t a thirty mph headwind, it would be easy anyway. Damn cold that wind…. reached parts that….

I repaired to Buckden for a cuppa and a toasted teacake before driving home.

This walk is around 7 miles with 1100 feet of uphill. Its easy, if a bit boggy in parts. Just Pennine stuff y’know. Usual slop.

Pen y Ghent and Plover Hill with TGO/Bloggerites

The little parish church in Stainforth was absolutely heaving for the occasion of John Manning’s illustrated talk about his 2700 mile walkies up the Pacific Crest Trail in America.

And afterwards, much to the delight of it’s landlord,so was the Craven Heifer. Many familiar TGO-type people and backpackers club types were present, including the redoubtable Alan Sloman and Lynnie , the undoubtable Phil Lambert and his lovely Mistress of the Lash, Tini. Somewhere around the umpteenth pint, we decided to go up Penyghent in the morning.

As it happened, Lynnie made the wise decision to do something less energetic and went bird watching in Bowland, so it was just the four of us setting off from Horton church on Saturday morning.

Tini had no pack at all, whilst Phil was carrying a wardrobe wrapped up in nylon and Alan had what appeared to be a posing pouch containing, it turned out, a boiled egg and not what I first assumed…. He also had his new jacket on. It was green. Very green.

We scrambled up the rocky bits of Penyghent’s prow and snaffled the only four spaces at the summit shelter. A fatdog dog approached me and bit off and swallowed the elastoplast from my finger (recycling tin washing accident). There’s no accounting for taste. Unless you’re an accountant, then there’s a formula you can use. I hope the dog survives.

We gave a lecture on trig points and their uses and I described the view, pointing out Pen y Fan, The Nile delta, Skipton castle and the Arnison Centre in Nelson.

We made off towards Plover Hill before anybody got a map out.

The actual summit of Plover Hill was barricaded off by a big stone wall, but at least there were plover in evidence (“peep”) Tini was underwhelmed by the lack of access to the little cairn almost on the highest point, but with a fine view of Littondale.

We left again and tiptoed down a steep bit with some scary crags underneath. Phil took out his frustration on Alan using a hammer he’d found at the back of his wardrobe. We achieved the bridleway at the bottom It was 3 and a bit miles to Horton. Tini blasphemed and , no doubt, Phil would pay for this by being chained up in the coalshed. If only the Lamberts had a coalshed.

On the way back to the Golden Lion in Horton, we paid a brief visit to Hull Pot – a dirty great hole in the ground with waterfalls in it. Nobody fell in, which was a bonus.

Quite soon later, we managed to find the Golden Lion and then it was time for home. In my case, this was a lonely tent in a field in Stainforth. I repaired to the Craven Heifer to cheer meself up. This worked. Its great when a plan comes together (BA Barracus)

We did about 8 miles and 1800 feet up uphill. This may well have been a bit of a shock for the flatlanders.

Incidentally, I’m counting this as one of the Yorkshire dales 2000 foot tops walks. I’m not going back to do it again for a while.

Thewre's also a bit about this walk here http://alansloman.blogspot.com/2010/03/ingles-on-ingleborough.html

Late edit: and some bonus holiday snaps at http://alansloman.blogspot.com/2010/03/yorkshire-dales-snaps-from-weekend.html

Great Knoutberry Station to Station

First of all, here’s a health warning, or, I should say, a tissue warning. This blog contains material which some people might find upsetting. Have some tissues ready.

Message to the vulnerable - You know who you are. Be sensible. Don’t read the last section of this blog post if your mum is about to arrive, or you have an important job interview in the next hour or so. You don’t want to arrive looking like you’ve just been blubbering. Here’s a clue: see that dog in the pic above. Its about that dog. Its quite sad.

I did tell you!

Anyway, this is another post in the series containing fascinating details about how to climb the Yorkshire dales 2000 foot tops. Its also uses the Settle-Carlisle railway line to make a linear walk instead of a circular one, or one that looks like a vegetable …. I thought that using the train was such a good idea, I might well do some more Station to Station walks on the Settle to Carlisle line.

So, after negotiating a scarily white-coloured A66, we finally slithered into the car park at Garsdale station, where we mooched about for a bit looking at the statue of a dog (Did I mention how upsetting this is by the way?)

The signalman cam out of his signal box and signalled to me. “The train’s on time” he says. We have a conversation across the tracks. He discovers my plan to get the train to Dent and walk back again. “Nice” he says…”And you’ll probably be getting off before the conductor has managed to collect your fare….”

The train comes. I get on. I pay the conductor. He gives me a ticket. Bruno doesn’t like it. The train stops. I get off. I am at Dent Station.

My dad once had a ticket for Dent station from Chatham. Around 1944ish he had a 24 hour pass from the Royal navy and got the train to Skipton, using his ticket for Dent. This was a scam to avoid buying train tickets. I’m not certain how the scam worked. Unfortunately, he fell asleep somewhere South of Leeds and woke up in Ribblesdale, being dumped on Dent station late at night. He caught the milk train back in the morning, but his leave was at an end, so he went on to Chatham. With a new ticket.

Luckily, I managed to stay awake for the five minute journey.

We got off and walked up the road towards Garsdale, turning off on a drifted-over bridleway with expansive views from Penyghent to Scafell Pike. This bridleway is worth walking on if you do nothing else. Its brill, man….

After a while, the sun got stronger and my beard froze, so I was hot and cold all at the same time. We turned off the track and climbed up to the summit of Great Knoutberry – using our new skills of following the hard snow next to the wall and ignoring the peat hags and tussocks. At the top, a chap from Lincolnshire was having his lunch. We discussed tents and sleeping bags and the degree to which our respective offspring liked hillwalking, or not.

I continued by following the wall which forms the Yorkshire/Cumbria County boundary. This passes dangerously over the fiercely frozen Widdale fell tarn.

I was going to follow the boundary for quite a long way, but it dawned on me that it was leading me away from my parked car and not towards it, so, I turned left and did the follow-a-patch-of-snow thing across a couple of miles of peaty haggy moory stuff back to the road to Garsdale, which was under several feet of snow at this point.

This road, incidentally is know as the Coal road. The reason may seem obvious until you consider that it links two railway stations together. What’s the point of taking the coal off the train and carrying it over the fell and putting it back on a train again – I wondered. Then I thought that maybe the pits around the sides of the road were actually coal mines. Ah yes, that’s it.

Its also called “Galloway gate” or the “Galloway Road” This is perhaps just a bit older than the Coal road name and refers to Galloway cattle which were driven on high level routes from Scotland to the meat-hungry industrial Lancashire and Yorkshire. It was, in fact, turning the protein of the protein-rich North into silver and thus into carbohydrates (ie bread)

We arrived in due course back at the car.

We did 8 miles and 1250 feet of uphill. The snow is still very hard. Its not too late to go and walk on it. Do it now. Gwan… do it now.

And now.

A space.

Compose yourselves.

About this dog…..

The dog is, or, I should say, was, called “Ruswarp” This, apparently, is pronounced “Russup”

Ruswarp belonged to a chap called Graham Nuttall. Graham and Ruswarp were instrumental in keeping the Settle-Carlisle railway line open. Indeed, Ruswarp’s paw print appears on the petition. He was a familiar attender at meetings. the campaign was successful.

Shortly after the line was saved, Graham and Ruswarp went hillwalking in Wales. Graham disappeared in the Welsh hills on 20th January 1990. His body was found on 7 April 1990, some eleven winter weeks later and Ruswarp was still in attendance. He was in a bad shape, though and lived just long enough to witness Graham’s funeral. He was a quiet dog, but when the coffin passed through the crematorium curtains, it’s said that he let out a baleful howl.

Hot sweet tea and a fag, I think…..

But what of Great Knoutberry? – Easy peasy, a bit rough in parts. Cracking views, though. It doesn’t really lend itself to long walks, somehow. The train line is very useful and adds interest.

Sniff… I’m still thinking about that dog……