A place called Knipe

…And finally, I don’t expect anybody to read this blog post tonight, but I just thought I’d round off the year whilst waiting for Jools Hollands Hootenanny and whilst I’m still reasonably sober – whatever happenned to Andy Stewart?

So me and superdawg bagged our last bag of 2008 today – a Wainwright outlier and Birkett and quite nice limestone hillock at Shap called … Knipescar Common.

I think that’s a rather fine name for a hill. It also has Knipe Moor, Knipe Hall , Knipe Fold and..er… Shap.

Unfortunately, we failed to break through the fog into the lovely warm sunshine which was probably shining a hundred or so feet above us. As it was, it was minus 6 C when I set off and this had decreased to Minus 7 C when I returned to the car a couple of hours later. Both me and the dawg developed frosty decorations in the form of beard icicles (me) and a sort of sugar coating on the eyebrows, ears and tail (the dog)

Despite the fog, we found both tops and a nice permissive path not marked on the map, but running parallel to the crag scarp through the Lowther estate. The ground was frozen quite hard and made climbing up or down steep bits a bit of a lottery since my boots couldn’t get any sort of purchase. I expect there’s a rather fab view of the main Lake District fells from the top, too.

Incidentally, bearing in mind that there was very thick fog and the temperature was around minus six on the motorway, and I was driving much too fast at 70 mph, how come I was constantly passed by people blatterring into the gloom at 80+ mph with no lights on? Eeeeze Crayzeee. Or as Rolf Harris once so succinctly put it “minnneeah minnnnah minnnnnnah minnnnnah” Thought provoking, I’m sure you’ll agree

Anyway that’s it for me for 2008. That was my 127th walk and my 1175th mile this year (last year if you’re reading this next year – or this year if its this year when you’re reading about ..er…last year… or sumfink, innit? I wonder if I can manage 128 walks next year?

Over and out and get the whisky out. Happy New Year and stuff like that anyway…

A visit to the Elephant Trees in new undies

Santy brought me socks and undies for Christmas – the undies in question being iceberg (or something….) merino wool trollies and long johns, and the sox being sealskins. So, along with the bottles of nice scotch and a sort of bobbly digital camera tripod thingy, I’m well chuffed with this year’s haul.

On the way back from the weeding, spoken of in the previous posting, we seem to have become diverted into Aldi’s car park in Halifax – and I came out with yet more merino wool stuff –in this case, a top at a stupidly low price and some snow goggles in case it ever snows again and then sunshines, and a mid-layer top.

So, me and superdawg decided it would be a bit of a jape to try out some of the kit and we had this little walk to a small but significant patch of trees overlooking Weardale. Its quite handy for Knipe Towers as its only six miles from here to Wolsingham and it is one of my favourite little trundles for the winter time – or, very specially for a warm summers evening with some twilight and a big moon at the end.

The Elephant Trees are a famous Weardale landmark, or should that be a treemark? Anyway, you won’t find the name on an OS map, cos it’s a local name. You can see this little patch of trees on the Weardale skyline for absolutely bloody miles and, so it is said, they once looked a bit like a small herd of elephants, specially after spending a long liquid lunchtime in the Black Bull.

Weardalers are very fond of the Elephant trees and, as they’re getting quite old and just a bit senile, some replacements have been planted in their little walled enclosure. But it’s a windy spot. They’ll need to be tough trees. Some of the old codger Elephant Trees bear witness in the carved hearts, dates and initials on their wizened bark. Anybody who fells these trees will need to watch their backs for a long long time.

It’s an easy walk, though – up a hill, along the moor, down the hill to Frosterley and back along the riverside and through the townfields of Wolsingham. There are usually snowdrifts when I do this – but not today, just a little bit of ice. 10 Miles and about 1000 feet of upness.

And the undies? They’re fab, as it happens. The temperature was around freezing but with a very light wind. I was also wearing some Ronhills, the mid-layer top plus softshell windproof smock. And a smug, warm look.

Off to a weeding

This is us off to a weeding..er.. wedding just now. A small contingent of Knipes and a Carter are just leaving ffor the exoctic climes of Junction 25 on the M1 where I've booked some very cheap beds in a desperate hotel.

Tommorrow, we will set up camp 1 at a small Knipe stronghold in Long Eaton for breakkies before pressing on to the even exotikker climes of Wellingborough for the actual conjoining thingy.

You ought to be relieved to know that this merging of ancient dynasties is unlikely to be the cause of any major global conflicts or lead to the violent deaths of very many people. So just be grateful for that.

We're off now....

Irrelevant picture attached.

The Father is dead, long live the sun

As you're probably aware, today was the shortest day - that is the day with the least daylight.

Tomorrow, there'll be just a tad more daylight than today and thus it will be until June.

This is surely something for walkers and other outdoors types to celebrate, unless you're a creature of the night, in which case it's a right bugger.

In effect, the natural year has now turned. So, to celebrate this, I determined to go up a hill and watch the sun come up (should have been tommorrow, but me father-in-law's outpatients appointments decree that it had to be today... its complicated, I'm not going to explain....)

And so, at stupid-o'clock this morning, with a large crescent moon hanging over the outer suburbs of Crook, I drove off in search of a sunrise.

It soon became clear, by the drizzle up the Dale, that this was not going to be a good morning for watching sunrises, but I was up and almost concious, so I parked up the knipemobile at Killhope mining museum and stumbled off in the dark up over the moor to the top of Killhope Law. This was quite an interesting exercise in foul weather navigation - dark and foggy and windy as it was...

Killhope is such a descriptive name, though dontcha think..... I mean, for such a hopeful day as this.

Anyway, it gradually came light, although, this didn't do all that much to improve visibility.

Somewhere over Gateshead way, the sun was rising in a coy sort of way, but here it was blowing a right old hoolie, mist hurtling past damply.

So I went to Alston to buy another breakfast and then to Brian's at Nenthead for coffee and to talk about the additional hole he's just had made in his bottom. (Its some sort of abcess thingy which needs packing with half a mile of Morecambe Bay seaweed every day. I don't want to know the horrific details, but it sounds deliciously painful and quite the sort of thing you would wish on a wheel clamper or truculent politician.

Then I went home for a sleep.

Bruno had punished the household for not being taken on this jaunt by scoffing a pound in weight of Christmas fruit cake; a present from Aunty May. He was apparently saving the big lump of Wensleydale cheese for later. Just now, he's a bit subdued whenever anybody mentions it. I'm monitoring him for signs of ill health, cos dried fruit isn't very good for dogs. He seems Ok, though.

Two of the pics show the driech conditions using two different camera settings. The other shows what Killhope Law summit really looks like. No idea what the big stick is for. On the map its described as a "mast". But it's a stick.

Anyway, so this is Yule. The old father is dead, say boo to the new born sun. This is the start of something better.

(Cue Herman Hermits track...)

The summit of Killhope Law, by the way, is just over 2200 feet above sea level and has a view which includes The Ettrick Hills, The Cheviots and lots of Pennines. Usually, well, sometimes anyway...

And the spring will bring us together forever

The lark will rise and sing from the clover

Rise to the promise of fine spring weather

Rise to the promise that winter is over.....

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…