Toot and Ploot, my bluetits being very active
Ilkley Moor is home to an estimated 300-400 carved stones, the majority of which are home to numerous carvings of cup and rings and petroglyphs, over the years some of the stones have been lost to quarrying whilst others are still waiting to be discovered, as they lay, unearthed and covered in moss and soil, as they have done for thousands of years. Surviving examples of rock art in the British Isles are believed to represent only a small sample of that which had been produced in the Neolithic and Bronze Ages. Many examples of petroglyphs would have eroded away, thereby being lost to contemporary scholarship. In other examples, images might have been painted onto rock, or marked onto less permanent surfaces, such as wood, livestock or the human body, thereby also failing to survive into the present.This walk I’ve devised is both short and interesting, it only covers a distance between 2 and 3 miles on roughly the western side of the moor. It’s certainly not a difficult walk and there are easily followed footpaths between the carved stones, the terrain is outstanding and, other than the stones, it’s full of surprises, I’ve seen wild deer, dead sheep and even a brand new shovel and pick axe which seemed to have been abandoned.
The route is a horseshoe which starts and finishes on Keighley Road, adjacent to the footpath for Silver Wells, where, the tarmacked road surface terminates and it becomes a track, there is available car parking for about 4 cars with roadside parking available if necessary.
The first stretch of the walk in a south-easterly direction leads to the first find of the day, and, what I can only describe as the least interesting of any of the day’s discoveries, it’s both unnamed and easily missed, it was only a stroke of luck that I noticed it, plus the fact that it stands on the footpath I was following. The stones are notoriously difficult to find, and, without a 10 figure grid reference reading on the GPS, well, such as this one, would be virtually impossible.
On this unnamed stone, I could see maybe six cups and no rings, whether this was due to weathering and erosion or there were no rings cut, I don’t know, but, a find is a find, and this was a great start to the day. It’s fair to say, due to the stone lacking as much interest as many of the others in regards to its surface, that may be the reason it has no name and remains nothing more than a chronological number on the moor’s finds list, but, this really is the least interesting on the route, they really do improve with quality as progress is made.
Following the route and GPS leads to the second stone and, in my opinion, one of the best I’ve ever discovered, the Barmishaw Stone which, due to the winter terrain, was so much easier to find than it was initially when I discovered it during the summer, then, it stood hidden and surrounded by deep and thick ferns, when, although it stands close to an ancient track, it remained completely hidden to view.
This stone is home to some of Ilkley Moor’s speciality carvings, ladders, which consist of parallel grooves linked by perpendicular ‘rungs’, which, so far are unique to this and the Panorama Stone. As with many of the moor’s carvings, these seem somewhat difficult to see, (weather depending), but if my research is correct, there are 6 in ladder form and 24 cups, 9 of which have rings.
About half a kilometer away, heading WNW, was the next port of call, the Willy Hall Stone, which, is situated in Willy Hall’s Wood, who was Willy Hall? Whoever he was, the location which bears his name is believed to have once been a very sacred spot, and, it’s easy to see why whilst you’re there. The stone is on a mound which is surrounded by 2 streams which drain off Green Gates and rejoin one another at the bottom of the mound at Willy Hall’s Spout. The stream then takes route into Ilkley, under Brooke Street where it joins the River Wharfe near the bridge close to where the Roman fort of Olicana once stood.
Willy Hall Stone – GR 11584 46592. The bright sunshine and dryness of the day, ensured the difficulty in capturing many of the carvings, they are often difficult to see on certain stones in dry weather, especially the eroded ones, damp weather or early morning after a coating of dew gives them more enhancement, as is seen here, on the complete photo of the WH stone, hardly any of the carvings are visible.
As I was close to the Willy Hall, I met a hiker, he was doing a horseshoe route and heading back to his destination, (the Cow and Calf pub being his half way point and return), we had a little chat, he was telling me, how, he’d forgotten his compass but felt comfortable with his map, knowing where north was, and, with his experience, he felt comfortable following his route. He told me he was on the Millenium Way, sadly, he wasn’t, he was on a track about 100 yards above it. I’m not criticising him at all, he wasn’t far from where he thought he was, he wasn’t lost and he was heading in the right direction. But, he told me he was ‘old school’ and confident with nothing more than his map. I didn’t challenge him, nor did I criticise him, but, I don’t agree with his thinking. I’m a believer of using every piece of modern technology which exists. Finding these stones without a 10 figure GPS reading would, with some of them, be virtually impossible, plus, I know exactly where I am in any weather or condition, and, as yet, I have found every single stone and carving I’ve been looking for, in my opinion, if the technology is available, use it, not only do you know exactly where you are, in ANY weather condition, but so do the Mountain Rescue, should you need to contact them, (so long as you have a phone signal), modern technology is a life saver.
After discovering the Willy Hall Stone, realising I had walked past in on numerous previous occasions, and, like many others, being completely unaware of the wonderful carvings adorned upon it, I took a south-westerly route in search of the illusive Pitchfork Stone. My route was nothing more than a short horseshoe, starting and finishing at the same point, although there were other carved stones within the area, I hadn’t included them, it was simply a basic route I’d devised with some interesting features along it. Finding the Pepperpot was a first, I’d only read about it and never seen it. It’s only a few yards from another ancient trackway and another wonderful discovery. On display are an estimated 50 cups on its upper part with another 17 on its lower part, well, how many more lay beneath the moss which covers over a third of the stone which is covered in moss, it needs removing, regardless of some may disagree, I’m a great believer the removal of the moss will reveal more, and, the acidic soil erodes any potential carvings at a faster rate than exposure to daylight and weathering does, it makes sense to remove the moss. Once at the wonderful stone, there’s very little dispute to why it received the name it has.
This didn’t stretch my imagination too far, nor did I consider any of the carving theories, it didn’t appear to be a grave marker or burial mound, a navigational aid, a boundary stone or any of the others, let alone a star constellation or an image of a UFO, to me, this seemed nothing more that decorative, Neolithic graffiti, then again, what do I know?
For the sake of practice, I took a map and compass bearing for the next stone, the Pitchfork. on the horizon, a stone seemed prominent, it matched the bearing, so, towards it I headed, on what seemed, the longest empty stretch of my route. I didn’t stay on the footpath which ran adjacent to some wonderful woodland for long, I headed into the wild moorland in the direction of the prominent stone, believing, in my own ability that I would easily find the Pitchfork, not that I had any idea of what it looked like. The south-westerly hike gave me plenty of time to ponder over the 2 roe deer I’d seen earlier, those wonderful animals roaming free on the open moorland, pure eye candy, unlike the decomposing sheep I’d seen earlier, (I’d have taken its skull as an ornament had it not been full of brain tissue).
The Pitchfork is situated on the brow of the hill, an exposed area, close to a footpath but on the wild and windy moorland, it certainly wasn’t the large and prominent, isolated rock I’d imagined it to be on my compass bearing, far from it, it was hidden and very difficult to find, but, eventually, find it I did, I was stood on the stone before I saw the carving, this one is a tester for anybody to find, the buzz of finding it was a pure highlight, and, it stands on an alignment with other unmarked stones, another puzzle for potential explanations to their meanings?
The above photo was taken at the GR reference I had found, the cup and ring carving is absolutely wonderful, but, I did question why on earth it took the name Pitchfork, I questioned it, but, left it there. It really is a wonderful cup and ring carving, an absolute gem, but, having since researched the stone for information regarding it, I discovered that this stone, isn’t the Pitchfork as I’d previously being led to believe, it’s a wonderful stone and carving but not the one I’d come in search of.
Having believed I’d found the Pitchfork, I headed towards my next one, one of the moor’s most famous and visited, it even has a bench for tired walkers located close to it.
This is probably one of the most impressive carved stones on the entire moor, this photograph wasn’t mine, the daylight made mine worthless by comparison, so, I have used this as a replacement, a far superior one. Over a metre high and 3 metres in length, it has over 95 cups, rings, interlinking grooves and gutters, and, an incomplete swastika.
It’s worth bearing in mind, the swastika, as it’s remembered today, was a negative symbol corrupted by Hitler in the 1930’s and since then has been revered. Sadly, it will never be seen as anything other, but, prior to that dark period in the 20th century, it had a positive meaning and in some parts of the world, it still has. This carving predates Nazism by a few thousand years, so, it should be respected, as all the other carvings, as nothing other than it was intended, a symbol of good fortune and hope for all.
There was more than a touch of irony as I headed for my 7th stone after leaving this wonderful piece of rock art, the weather was changing for the worse, a black cloud was heading over from the east, the temperature was dropping and I could sense rain wasn’t far behind. The Neb Stone was my next destination, a welcome descent from the bleak and windy plateau I’d been covering for the previous hour.
The Neb Stone is more of a landmark stone than any other, although there are a few possible cup carvings on its surface, maybe the Neolithic inhabitants deemed it unworthy of their handy carving, we’ll never know, but, like many others surrounding it, this prominent stone is both interesting and worthy of a visit. As I approached the Neb, whilst crossing the tracked part of Keighley Road, there were 2 female German tourists heading down the road towards Ilkley, we said hello and they asked if they were on the correct road for the town, I told them they were and, after observing their shoes and clothing, encouraged them to make haste their descent into town, the rain was very soon to dominate the day, and, they certainly weren’t prepared for it, like anywhere in the hills and fells, even on a warm day, it’s essential to prepare for a change in the weather, at the very least, some waterproof clothing, sturdy shoes or boots and, no denim jeans, these two weren’t prepared and, unless they hurried, would feel the full force of the oncoming storm.
My final stone, and my 8th of the day was a particular friend of mine, not only am I responsible for removing the moss both from its surface and around its edges, which revealed more hidden and buried carvings, it was the last place I spent some time with Wendy before her sudden death, she was my former partner, my son’s mother and without doubt, my best friend. She joined me on my last visit and helped me finalize the cleaning of the stone, so too did she find what I believe to be a stone axe head, something I still need to be checked out by the experts, she was in her element in a pair of hiking boots and up to her knees in a muddy field, she was a legend and she is deeply missed.
Located on Weary Stone Hill, this stone demands views over the Wharfe valley towards Bolton Abbey and Great Whernside. Prior to it being cleaned and having the surface moss removed, more than half of the surface was buried by it, there were 12 cups and some rings visible, since it’s cleaning, there are now at least 4 more cups clearly seen. Removal of the acidic peat moss not only reveals the hidden carvings, it prolongs their lifespan, it appears that the soil and moss erode the stone at a faster rate than being exposed to the elements would.
So, having completed this horseshoe walk at the wonderful Weary Stone, the circular walk was now completed with only a hundred yards to go to the car. It’s not a difficult walk with only one ascent, the difficulty is finding the appropriate and correct stones, one of which failed me as I had an incorrect grid reference number. Still good fun and a wonderful way to spend a full afternoon, I recommend it to anyone, don’t forget the correct clothing, map and GPS.
Dedicated to Wendy Joanne Barnes – 1/12/1966 – 25/11/2017
This was a walk with a difference, unlike any other, navigation was as basic as any, the distance wasn’t in any way challenging, and, as for isolation, that too was a complete no, but, as for escapism, they certainly don’t come any better. The music I selected for the blog was historically inaccurate, but, the sound, the mood, the language, the aura it creates, well, from my point of view, was perfect. (Then again, we are in the land of Trolls, paganism, sacrifice and neolithic carved stone symbols, an area so spiritual, the most heathen of pagans can taste it, Stonehenge eat your heart out, so, there is a connection to the wonderful Swedish folk song and from my location, only a few miles north stands an isolated, hidden and secretive valley, Trollers Ghyll, thus, any time difference the historians of whichever ology, choose to curse me with, I challenge them to do it).
What are Cup and Ring carvings? – They are basically symbols (petroglyphs) which have been carved into rocks. Although they appear in other countries, in Britain they are found mainly in the north and Scotland. They are believed to be between 4000 and 5000 years old which places them in the same time period as the construction of Stonehenge, the Neolithic and Bronze Age period.
What to look for:- Cupmarks, these are hollows cut into the surfaces of rocks which can be singular or in groups.
Cup and Ring Marks, A central singular cup surrounded by singular or multiple rings.
Cups, Rings and Channels, These can be cups and rings with ladders or channel joining them together.
These 3 are the most common in Britain although there are many more designs such as, spiral chambers, cups in rosette patterns, chevron channels, ladders, grid and curl like motifs.
After close examination of uneroded carvings, it was deducted that the carvings were pecked into the stone using tools with about a 5mm point with metal, flint or deer antler been the most likely tool used. The only real facts about the carvings meanings are, and will probably remain the only known facts, are, there is no clear picture of their real purpose.
There are some clues:-
* The carvings are situated close to or incorporated within burial mounds and cairns, there may be a link with burial practices, ancestral connections or the after life.
* They are also found on standing stones and close to stone circles, locations believed to have both ritual and religious purposes.
* They frequently appear on outcrop rock where there is an uninterupted view over the surrounding terrain, indicating, their locations had been specifically chosen, bearing in mind, at this period of time, most of the terrain was heavily wooded.
This outing was the first of three on this, an area I consider, one of the least understood and most metaphysical locations on the planet. I’m not alone thinking that, I know two people whose ashes are scattered on the moor, both parents of friends who, for whatever reason, asked for their remains to be shed there, so, it makes me wonder, how many others have done the same, what is the attraction and why?
The route was simplicity itself, nothing technical or difficult, about 6km in total with a return journey being the reverse of the outward, on a very well-defined, ancient footpath, there are many testing and far more difficult walks in the area, but, on this occasion, that wasn’t the purpose of my visit. I’d come in search of neolithic stone carvings and there became the challenge, finding them. On this occasion, they were all adjacent to the footpath, for reasons I will explain later, but, they’re not all obvious, and, if I was a gambling man, I’d place good money that the majority of walkers are oblivious to the carvings and stroll past unaware of their existence, just as I used to.
From the church I followed the road west for a couple of minutes till I saw the entrance to the moor at Hetchell Ghyll, ascending this overgrown, wild and picturesque ghyll to the, westerly bound, required footpath is a pleasure in itself.
Originally, The Panorama Stones were located half a mile away, on the moorland edge, in the woodland at the rear of the small Intake reservoir, but, they had to be moved to be saved, as 19th century development in their surroundings would have vandalised and destroyed them. Fortunately, in 1890, a Dr. Fletcher Little, purchased them for £10 and, in 1892, in order to save them, had them moved from their natural location to the present one, sadly, during their transportation, the largest stone was broken in two places, fortunately, better them broken and saved, than lost forever. Still, over the years, the combination of weather and vandalism have taken their toll and the carvings are now quite difficult to discern. In total there are 25 cups on the Panorama, 16 surrounded by between 1 and 5 rings, some incomplete, some linked by ladders and parallel grooves joined by perpendicular lines, the ladders are believed to be unique to this and the Barmishaw stone. The smaller stone has about 40 cups with 3 incomplete or eroded rings and some linking grooves. The smallest stone has 12 cups, one of which may have been a partial ring and stone.
Hetchell Ghyll and the ascent from Queens Road to Woodhouse Ridge and the wonderful, carve riddled, required footpath.
Emerging from the woods onto the westward bound footpath, which is also part of the long distance routes of the Millenium Way and the relatively new Dales High Way, it’s like leaving a jungle for a bleak moonscape, maybe an unfair comparison, but the change really is that immediate and instant, there’s no gradual gradient. Bear right, and onward, the second and probably, the most famous stone carving on Ilkley Moor, the world-famous Swastika Stone.
Left to Right:- The fenced and protected Swastika Stone from its high vantage point overlooking Lower Wharfedale, then, the original 4000-5000 year old and severely worn and weathered stone above the Victorian duplicate carved beneath. GR SE 09557 49697.
By far the most famous carved rock in the moor and, still the most mysterious in age, origin and understanding. Completely unique to the British Isles but almost identical to the Camonica Rose in Val Camonica, (Bresica, Italy), which suggests to some, there may be a connection to Roman troops situated at the outpost in Ilkley, which, would cancel the believed date of the original carving. There are enough suggestions to its meaning to drive anybody to the verge of insanity, the bottom line was, and remains, nobody knows. There are 9 cups within and around the 4 curves, with an additional and random curve to the top right with its own cup within. (Well, I’m not going to start to add all the random and wild suggestions to their representation, instead, I’m going to offer my own, the 9 cups are there to represent the 9 worlds of Viking Norse mythology with the 10th and outside one representing an expanding outlook! It was carved by the maverick, Soren the Norse as he roamed these lands in search of wild boar and continued his never ending battles against the Trolls from their homeland a few miles away close to Appletreewick, let’s face it, during winter, these parts certainly have the feel of Nifhelm). One there for the many ….ologists to contend with.
Only a few yards away, on the opposite side of the footpath, laid there like dormant stone coffin lids are 2 fallen stone gateposts, not that their carved structures would immediately strike the average passer-by to their original purpose, that is, if the average passer-by should actually observe them, I never had, and, I’m quite a fine representative of the average passer by, one of the gateposts plays host to 2 cup carvings. In my humble
opinion, these are more confusing than any other carving I’d yet discovered, there is no visible evidence to why the stones are there, there is no visible boundary for the posts to represent, nor are there any visible signs to where they formally stood, but, the carved cups are very visible within one of them.
Onward and westerly I continued, next stop, the Anvil Stone, this one, did cause a little self-inflicted confusion. The GPS I was using, is, in my opinion, the best thing since sliced bread, but, it does have a single fault, man, or in my case, me! As long as the GR number is correctly added, it will find a needle in a haystack, or in this case, any stone required, the thing is, you have to ensure the figures added are correct, one error and you could be miles away, and, in this instance, I placed 03 where I should have inserted 30, and, I was about 100 yards out, on a hillside with hundreds of stones scattered around, but, after appearing a complete eccentric loonatic to the young couple sat above me on the hillside, I eventually found the temporarily illusive stone.
The Anvil Stone (SE 0928 4700), no prizes for guessing how it gained its name. It’s a triangular flat slab which perches on the top of other rocks with its point facing north-east. Like others, it’s sat close to the track following the northern edge of Rombald’s Moor above the River Wharfe.
I climbed onto it and looked carefully for any carvings, and, although there were many indents into the surface, if they were originally cups, or cup and rings, then in this case, time, weather and erosion had delivered a particularly harsh blow upon them and it was particularly difficult for me, with my untrained eye, to decipher if they were or had been natural or man-made. Still, a magnificent stone with, space beneath for shelter or, as has been suggested, burial.
Continuing along the footpath, for maybe another couple of hundred yards, I wasn’t counting my footsteps, delivered me to the next famous stone on my journey, The Sepulchre Stone, (SE 0907 4700). Easily recognised by its unusual shape and strata, plus, it’s smaller adjoining stone, this too is home to carvings and a potential shelter beneath, and, as the name suggests, a possible ancient grave, so too does it dominate a prominent view over the valley below.
There’s no disputing I wasn’t feeling very pleased with myself, the route took no working out, but the stones, well, they aren’t sign posted so it’s still a pleasant feeling individually identifying them.
Five done, (including the gate post), two to do, that meant, continuing along to the Noon Stone and the famous and prominent Doubler Stones, they all seem to have unusual and interesting names, who named them and why were the selected names chosen? Maybe I’d find an answer for the next one, the Noon Stone, another few hundred yards along the track to find it.
The Noon Stone from each compass point, and, a view of the cupped summit, it’s a natural stone and mentioned in Paul Bennetts ‘Old Stones of Elmet. Initially described as the Noon Stone in 1579. It’s been suggested that it may have been used for some form of time keeping, or, as it’s been described as the stone over which the noon-day sun appears. I wonder how well it keeps the time?
The day had been wonderful, not a great distance covered, but, slow due to the interest and discoveries, now came a little more effort, the footpath needed maybe another mile completing prior to reaching my final destination, there was a left turn at the junction known as Windgate Nick prior to about half a mile’s walk to the famous Doublers’.
The Doubler Stones are 2 naturally shaped rocks on the western edge of Rombalds’ Moor above Silsden. Their peculiar shapes are due to the top stone been gritstone standing above the softer and easier eroded sandstone. Both tops have cup carvings with the eastern one has 2 whilst the western one has several cups and 3 deep basins with grooves.
So, after spending half an hour or so climbing around and on top of the unusual and quite incredible Doublers, it was time to return on my outward route back to the car. My canine companion, the never tiring Mountain Meg, didn’t seem to mind which way we went, so, after a little self appraisal at achieving my target on the first attempt, the hour or so return walk to the car began. Another successful day in the hills.
Having just watched one of the best documentaries I have ever seen, an hour-long, brilliantly filmed testimony to one of the Lake Districts finest, Blencathra and Sharp Edge, the memories of my visit there 30+ years ago came flooding back, we climbed it in bad weather, low cloud, mist and drizzle, we scrambled the ridge and at one point, I lifted myself up one of the rugged rocks, pulled myself up and almost over the shiny, slippy rock, as my head and shoulders ascended the edge, the view awaiting me was, to say the least, very memorable, a sheer drop of maybe 500 feet below me to Scales Tarn, I can still feel that absorbing breath of shock which immediately absorbed me, one of the most memorable breaths of my life. The point I’m eventually and gradually making is quite simply, that such a wonderful documentary will guarantee an over population of Blencathra (Saddleback to the purists), and, for me, the Lake District is and always has been, over populated, the beauty of the entire region guarantees it. This mass of people, for me, defeats the object of the challenge and the solo trip. Navigation is made easy when you can ask for guidance and directions, check with others of your location, where to aim for if you feel lost and isolated, how to react if you do become lost, these skills are vital to learn for yourself, that’s why, I choose quieter locations, new to me, and, often, in poor weather, that way, each outing I take, my skills improve, and that’s my target; you never know, one day I may master it!
So, why Hell Ghyll, simple, until recently I’d never heard of it, and, it’s located in an area I’m unfamiliar with, on a route I’d never walked, and, as it happened, on a day of cloud and mist, more challenging to navigate and free from people! Basically, with a name like that, the attraction was instant!
The route was roughly a 7 mile horseshoe with the wonderful looking pub at its start and finish, not that I’d have the opportunity to sample its fine ales, my visit was a day one and, from what I could see, there were no facilities for camping, (I may be wrong on that one, I hope so, the location is wonderful for various alternative walking routes, so, outside a pub, would be a marvellous spot to pitch a tent for a couple of days).
From the pub the route took me about a mile, via a footpath and Cobbles Hill to join the The High Way footpath, a gradual ascent, but not over difficult, even for these old and weary legs, trek and a tremendous introduction to what would become a wonderful day in Wensleydale.
In February, in the Yorkshire Dales, usually, there are 2 kinds of weather, rain, or, it’s about to start raining, it suits me fine, I’m prepared for it, and, it virtually guarantees the hills and dales, if only for a few hours, belong to me, and only me. Lost in this world of silent contemplation I can forget about everything and any issues or problems that may be on my mind.
People put time recommendations on routes such as these, I think this one had a 3 hour time attached to it, who decides such times? Why are they suggested, if a walk such as this takes me 10 hours, I’m happy with it, I try not to look at my watch if possible, watching the clock instead of the scenery simply defeats the purpose of being there.
After ascending to a footpath/bridleway marked on the map as The High Way I became slightly confused if this was part of the relatively recently formed Dales High Way, or not. I don’t know it’s route even if it has been included on recently published OS maps since March 2014. The High Way footpath was my route for a couple of miles, it was a delight to follow, littered with the ghostly remains of farm buildings, lime kilns and fast flowing streams descending down the hill-side into the early stages of the River Ure. An easy NWN route to follow which took me towards my next destination, Hell Ghyll Bridge.
Had I been there a few days earlier, the sound of the trains running along the Settle-Carlisle railway line in the valley below, would have been powered by steam engines, as, during the previous weekend, as part of the celebrations of the reopening of the line, steam engines had been running along the famously scenic route.
The mist covered moorland to my right, Abbotside Common, is home to the black grouse and there are warning signs to protect them along the route, it mention’s how dog’s must be kept on a lead which, isn’t a bad thing, although, I’d covered half the track with my canine companion before I saw any such signpost, not that Mountain Meg, has the heart or the temperament to harm or catch anything, respecting the rules isn’t unreasonable.
The weather had been unfavourable all day, and, as the hours progressed, it gradually deteriorated, there was no heavy rain, it was simply becoming mistier, wetter and heavier in dull, grey cloud. It didn’t deter my day, it simply spoiled the views of this magnificent valley and the surrounding terrain.
Of all the tracks I’d covered over the years, this particular stretch of the High Way was truly dynamic, it was littered with history and fascination, it had fast flowing ghylls descending into the valley below, shake holes, abandoned farm houses, buildings and lime kilns, all the evidence of a once well worked location, fed on harsh surroundings and tough physical labour, a place without modern comforts or luxury, isolated and exposed to the wild elements, if only these structures could tell their tales, stories of long harsh winters with little or no means of communication to the outside world, an amazing couple of miles hiking, truly exhilarating. Now, the only residents are the ghosts of those long gone, and, when the weather permits, the sheep, as they graze and maintain their wild and rugged lifestyle, in their challenging, bleak but outstanding terrain.
The High Way, at least the stretch of it I covered, between Hell Ghyll Bridge and the point I joined it, just below High Dyke, I found confusing with the modern long distance trail known as the Dales High Way. The one I walked is an ancient track, with evidence supporting it was used in the Bronze Age, (discovery of flint tools), then, used by the Romans (discovery of the Mallerstang Hoard), as they tracked between their forts in Wensleydale and the A66. In more recent times it was often used by Lady Anne Clifford, the Countess of Pembroke, as she journeyed between her many castles, the track was in use until the 1820s when the new turnpike road (now the B6259) was built.. Even the buildings ruins along the High Way seem far too elaborate in their construction to have been merely for sheep, these were dwellings, and, it’s said that one, of the ruins was used as an inn called the Highway House, on a well-used route through the mountains – well used, not only by nobility, but also by drovers, tradespeople, and highwaymen, too. And Mary Queen of Scots is said to have passed along it in 1568, on her way from Carlisle to imprisonment in Bolton Castle.
THE DALES HIGH WAY was conceived in 2007 by husband and wife, Tony and Chris Grogan. It’s a 90 mile route across the high points of the Yorkshire Dales. It starts in Saltaire and finishes in Appleby with a return journey via the Settle-Carlisle railway line. Since March 2014 the route has been shown on OS leisure maps, and it is recognised by the Long Distance Walkers Association. It is described on Bradford’s official tourism site and the Yorkshire Dales National Park website. An informal “Friends of A Dales High Way” group has been established.
The High Way really was as it’s name suggests, an ancient road, well known as an important route through the hills and dales, how many feet have walked across it, how many incidents have occurred on it, how many lives have been lost along it, who knows, I certainly don’t.
Dating from 1825, Hell Ghyll Bridge is a single arch span which replaced an earlier structure. One of the parapets houses a particular stone which is believed to be an original boundary stone between the traditional counties of the West Riding of Yorkshire and Westmorland, the true counties, I always choose to ignore the ludicrous boundary changes introduced in 1974.
Prior to reaching Hell Ghyll Bridge, (who named it that and why?), all the ghylls, streams and becks were feeders for the River Ure below, the county border really did leap out and define itself here, Hell Ghyll is a feeder for the River Eden. It’s entirely Westmorland and is one of the few large rivers in England that flows northwards. The source of the river is on the high limestone fells above Mallerstang Common, near the West Riding border, and makes its way across eastern Westmorland, with the hills of the North Pennines to the East, and the fells of the Lake District to the west, to Carlisle. Here it merges with other rivers to form the great Solway Firth estuary, before reaching the open sea, 90 miles (145 km) from its source.
The River Ure is approximately 74 miles (119 km) long from its source to the point where it changes its name to the River Ouse. It is the principal river of Wensleydale, which is the only one of the major dales now named after a village rather than its river. The old name for the valley was Yoredale after the river that runs through it.It’s is one of many rivers and waterways that drain the Dales into the River Ouse. Tributaries of the Ure include the River Swale and the River Skell.
I felt as though I’d almost achieved my target, not my complete route, I’d only achieved half of that, but, Hell Ghyll was the mysterious object of desire and, without any real difficulty, I’d found it, a feeling of gratification.
Although it had been a wet and drizzly day, it hadn’t rained heavily, had it done so, the surrounding view and running water would have been tremendously more aggressive. Once at the base of the stream, there it was, in all it’s magnificence, Hell Ghyll Force. The waterfall is a single drop fall of around 8 metres (25 feet). Hell Ghyll, which begins its life as Red Ghyll, is fed by water rising from the High Seat range of fells. I was informed that, as part of the Duke of Edinburgh Award, on conclusion, participants were expected to leap into the pool at the waterfall’s base, not something I intended to copy, not that day.
At this half way point it was time for some refreshment, even with all the modern equipment and fast boiling cooking kit, this was the occasion to divulge into the traditional pre-made sandwiches and a flask of piping hot coffee. At least the coffee was mine, the sandwiches I had to share, old Mountain Meg simply stared at me the moment I’d sat down and opened my snack, it takes a stronger person than myself to refuse a hungry hound some tuna sandwiches, besides, she was great company and she deserved every bit.
I was surprised to see how close to the waterfall stood the Settle-Carlisle railway line, maybe 200 yards from each other and the waterfall is clearly visible from the train.
My intention had been to return to the car via a route ascending Grisedale Common on the opposite side of the valley. A walk through clearly defined marsh and bog, with an ascent to the common, prior to returning to the car. I departed with a full intention of completing the route, but, only a few minutes into it I had second thoughts. The terrain was saturated, and, the marsh was unforgiving. Each step through it requires twice, or even three times the effort of an established track or footpath, the mist and cloud were covering the summits and the drizzle was turning into rain, I made the executive decision to descend back to the road and opt for the easier option. I took the direct route and found myself confronted with a dry stone wall, as I climbed over it (had I damaged it I would have immediately repaired it), I slipped and fell backwards into the marsh, I was saturated, soaked to the skin, a shame, but these things happen.
I was disillusioned, cold, wet and now pretty miserable, it was about 3 miles back to the car and considering my state, it was going to be a long three miles, but, these moments ensure these outings are memorable and they make good conversation.
As I slogged along the road back to the car, it was too late to take to my Gortex jacket, the damage had been done, but, the railway line and it’s viaducts and tunnels became a major attraction, something I’ve decided to treat my son to during the school holidays at Easter, he will love the journey to Carlisle and back to Leeds, so will I. Anyway, maybe the route wasn’t completed but my target of Hell Ghyll had been achieved, I’d had a wonderful day and I was looking forward to arriving home and divulging into a good stew and vegetables, another wonderful day in God’s Own County.
OK, call me a whimp, but, solo wild camping in winter doesn’t deter me, I love been out in the snow and ice, it’s the 8 hours of daylight that’s the disincentive, the thought of the isolation, in sub-zero temperatures is one thing, the thought of having to spend up to 16 hours of it in total darkness, simply lacks the appeal to me as it may not to others, even with the potential of watching downloaded films on the Ipad, the fact remains, I’d still be stuck within the confines of a bivi or one man tent for 16 hours, exposed to the elements, in the middle of mist filled cloud, and possibly, snow, ice and constant rain or sleet absorbing the terrain, it really doesn’t sound like much fun. There are only so many spoons you can whittle in one night, besides, once the shavings fall inside the sleeping bag, well, it would be worse than the Highlands and Lake District midges.
So, as I have rediscovered my love for the outdoors, I needed to discover a new alternative. I’ve been a devotee to Ray Mears for many years, and, Paul Kirtley certainly knows his stuff too, as do many others. With the assistance of the marvelous YouTube, and, so many hours of watching many publications, I decided to venture to the woods and make an attempt at the first and foremost necessities of the outdoors, fire-making, with a ferro rod, steel, tinder and kindling, which, in January, in northern England, one of the wettest and frozen parts of the UK, the testing challenge certainly was awaiting me.
Another, and probably one of the biggest challenge, was finding some secluded woodland which doesn’t have, ‘Private’, ‘No Camping’ or ‘No Fires’ signs daubed all over them, especially, been situated so close to a major English city. What little woodland there is available, much of it really is littered with heavy traffic, I’m not the only one who enjoys the benefits of wild woodland.
The greatest natural ally for fire-making in the outdoors is the deciduous Silver Birch. I’m not going to pretend I’ve magically transformed into some kind of woodsman overnight, I certainly haven’t, but, this particular tree offers bushcraft, amongst other things, a bark which can be used for both tinder and fire-starting, a nutritious sap which can be tapped and drank, the bark can be heated and the resin collected, which is useful as a waterproof glue and again, helpful for fire starting. Plus, if you visit Canada with Ray Mears, he’ll take you to a native American who, minus instructions or a plan, can, transform the bark and timber into a traditional canoe.
Now let’s be realistic here, if my memory serves me right, man has made fire since forever and a day, and even earlier than that, which, really does pre-date Swan Vesta, Ronson or the legendary Zippo, not to mention the 10 for £1 disposables readily available on any swag market stall in the country, so, it’s fair to suggest, that today’s modern hi-tech equivalent, old Homo Sapiens,  should easily equal and surpass these ancient people’s, we’ve progressed, haven’t we? In my new Swanndri shirt I felt like an oversized Hobbit but, the question remained, could I step back in time 4,000 years and equal primitive man? That, was the question. Who fears progress?
This is how it’s done, (not the fire, she’s cheating, but the rest, the shelter, bedding and cooking, she’s good), the thing is, where on earth, around my neck of the woods, would it be possible to find a traffic free spot, in the woods, where you could construct something as good as this? Thank you Survival Lilly 🙂
The landscape I was searching for was heavily wooded, close to running water, isolated and free from traffic, and hopefully, containing Silver Birch and dead standing trees, I’d no intention of destroying anything living, that wasn’t on the agenda.
The location I found, was close to the Ebor Way footpath, far from been isolated or free from traffic and as far as silver birch were concerned, there wasn’t one to be seen for miles around, but, the decision for the location was simple, it was tucked away down an embankment, adjacent to the river, an area, which on viewing, was frequently flooded and an over flow for the main river, and, absolutely abundant with dead driftwood, there was more dead wood around me than in a timber yard, and, even without the silver birch, this was a superb spot to practice fire making, especially as I was now using my own tinder and nothing more, the challenge awaited.
The next step probably was the most time-consuming of the entire manufacturing process, that been, the collection and distribution of the required materials.
“The greater the need for fire, the greater the difficulty in its manufacture”
Preparation is imperative and following the simple initial procedure really does ensure the end result flows smoother, I had a tinder pouch with a variety of potential contents, old man’s beard, silver birch bark, cotton wool, cotton wool soaked in fat/dripping, old bicycle inner tube – cut down into small pieces and a piece of magnesium block, I’d yet to find and prepare any fatwood. The ferro rod and striker were itching to make their debut.
“Manufacturing fire really does warm you three times, the first, collecting the firewood, the second, igniting the tinder, and third, the fire itself!”
It took me, probably, the best part of an hour to prepare the location and collect all the wood, due to the terrain it wasn’t difficult, dry and dead wood littered the area, dead bracken lay everywhere, to say I was only yards from a river, a river that floods and can be treacherous, the debris it had gifted me during its last flood was abundant.
Excluding the tinder, the 3 required stages are as follows, 1:- a pile of dead twigs, dry leaves, bracken, or anything small and combustible enough to take a small flame, 2:- a second pile of bigger twigs, small branches, roughly between 10 and 20mm in diameter, then, 3:- the bigger and substantial content for the fire, the dead and hopefully dry logs, if they seem too wet, take the axe to them and split them into smaller, dryer pieces, usually, the centre of random logs will be reasonably dry, the more the merrier.
So, the moment of truth finally arrived, the preparation completed and a pile of twigs and dry leafs collated on the surface of the base logs, the neat piles of the following stages located at arms reach, some cotton wool and rubber inner tube placed within the kindling, and, we’re off. Had they still failed, I could have soaked the cotton wool tinder with the used cooking fat, I had in a tin in my rucksack, or shaved and feather the centre of a piece of the thicker logs I’d collected, adding more dry and combustible content, but, fortunately, it deemed unnecessary. The ferro rod sparked immediately, and the cotton wool ignited, and, for a moment I thought I’d achieved immediate success, not this time, unfortunately the kindling didn’t immediately take to flame. With my second attempt, I ignited the rubber from the cotton wool, and, although everything was slightly damp, the kindling took to the combination or rubber and cotton wool, and, hey presto, I had fire, a wonderful feeling.
I’d anticipated the result to take longer and be more difficult, but, I’d made it easier, simply by preparation and planning, by collecting all the required elements, having them close at hand and available. If I can do it, anybody can do it. Referring back to the base logs, it’s also useful to lay two more stage 2 bits of wood between the base and the tinder/kindling, if the 2 pieces are laid in an inverted V shape, hanging beyond the fire so the two ends could be used as handles, should the kindling require a little air blowing inside to encourage the flame to emerge, it’s possible to, relatively safely, lift everything, using the V shaped sticks, and blow at the kindling to assist the flames to manufacture.
Summary, for a first attempt I was quite satisfied, there are things I could have done to have improved it, such as increase the base platform by adding more logs, it’s something I’ll take with me for next time, I could have stockpiled more reserve fuel, but, I wasn’t intending to stay too long, my challenge was simply to build a fire and, I achieved it, and, it was superb practice, my methods worked for me and I learnt a lot, so, with this little extra knowledge gained, next time, I’ll be there to advance myself a little more, I’m looking forward to it.
And finally, the golden rule applied, Leave No Trace or Leave Only Footprints, even though the area where I’d been, will, without doubt, flood in the next few weeks or even days, my conscience dictated my decision, so, I scattered the ashes and covered the location with wet leaves and mud, conscience cleared.
Two locations of which I can only describe as been completely off my usual beaten track, but, in the same breath, two locations with an interesting history and unusual attractions, the fact that they both stand about a fifteen minute drive from my home, and I’m very familiar with both villages, and, numerous villagers, proved sufficient enough for me to spend a dull autumn Saturday afternoon investigating for myself. Not that the Bardsey pub, The Bingley Arms, needed a great deal of investigation, over the years, I’ve spent many an hour or two investigating the fine ales available there!
Both villages stand within an invisible line on the map known as ‘The Golden Triangle’, the reason being, the area within it’s borders, North Leeds, York and Wetherby, are said to be amongst some of the wealthiest in the UK, two streets in Scarcroft, Ling Lane and Bracken Park are the most expensive in Leeds, and probably, the rest of Yorkshire. There lay the interesting question of how you define wealth? Needless to say, on this occasion, my visit wasn’t to hunt for a new home, I’ll leave that for another day, it was a far less expensive visit, that been to follow a walking route which would lead me to the alleged oldest pub in England and an ‘off the road’, hidden and almost unknown, Roman Hill Fort.
The route was relatively short, about 3 miles, maximum 4, with a section of it following an undisputed old roman road. Starting at The Bingley Arms in Bardsey, joining the A58 for about 100 yards, southerly, prior to crossing the road and entering Hetchell Woods and following the footpath to Pompocali Roman Fort, then, heading back on the horseshoe route into Bardsey via Scarcroft.
Now, let’s not dwell on me been some kind of local history buff or expert, I’m definitely not, I have a strong interest in my local surroundings and the historical value they contain, but, that’s where it ends; but, it really did come as a surprise that I’d never previously heard of this Roman Fort a few miles up the road from my home with a very Italian name of Pompacali, up Pomay? Nor am I a closet police detective, but, Pompacali does have a very Italian ring to it, and, not a particularly Roman one, but, that’s only my very amateur opinion, regardless, this one had to be seen.
Hetchell Wood, to me, is the epitome of how a woodland should be, dense, limited sunlight, a variety of trees and vegetation, boggy in parts, steep and flooded areas, and, almost teaming in wildlife, overgrown with broken trees and moss covered rocks and branches littering and decomposing en masse. Perfect escapism.
Not only does this magnificent woodland subscribe to all of the aforesaid, further hidden gems are simply awaiting discovery. There used to be a railway line running through the area on the Leeds – Wetherby line, this ran through many of the local villages, including Scarcroft, Thorner, Bardsey and Linton but, in 1963 during the Beeching cuts, this line, like so many others, was closed, leaving only the haunting remains of stone bridges and cuts in the ground where the trains once ran.
Whilst I was hovering around the first impressive visual evidence of the former railway I’d encountered, I had the pleasure of meeting a really friendly local man who, like myself, was walking his dogs, we started chatting about the terrain and its history, where, very enthusiastically, he asked me to follow him to witness for myself, the Roman remains of the potential, seemingly anonymous, hill fort.
To discover this outstanding, obviously man-made landscape came as an exciting and wonderful surprise, the Pompocali Roman Fort. Breathtaking as it appeared, a Roman fort remains, at least in my amateur mind, disputable. There’s no denying it’s lacking any strategic location and a superb defensive quality, there’s quite a strangely romantic aura in the surroundings, not excluding the very prominent Roman road leading to and from the location. The problem is, sites such as this, throughout Britain, are listed and recognised by English Heritage, they are, to a certain degree, protected and appear in the history books and, latter-day, social media sites, this doesn’t. To me, the mounds appeared somewhat random and none uniformed, there was no stonework anywhere, no evidence there had ever been any. I’m not convinced. The minor roman road running alongside the site may be, as some suggest, been used for transporting the granite from nearby quarrying, and, the numerous mounds been the resulting spoils from the digging, to me, that sounds more feasible, maybe it’s a job for Tony Robinson and the Time Team?
Following the footpath of the Leeds Way, it wasn’t long before I’d discovered another fascinating ruin, this been of a former corn grinding mill, from its appearance and rather diminished remains, it appeared that a more recent form of quarrying had occurred and most of it had been recycled, but, this too, must have had an important role in its day, especially for the local farming community.
Onward, returning towards the affluent neighboring village of Scarcroft, I continued. The local and surrounding roads I’m very familiar with, I drive around them on a weekly basis, but, taking time to leave them and venture ‘off the beaten track’, (literally), can be both rewarding and gratifying, it takes such little effort to discover so much.
My destination was now the New Inn, the only pub or amenity in this ridiculously over priced suburb/village. The pub is located on the A58 Wetherby Road and was constructed in 1852, for a while, a few years ago, its name was changed to the Bracken Fox, then, in 2011, it reverted back to its original name of the New Inn, I’m guessing, but it was originally a staging post for horse-drawn traffic using the roads. The present building is a 1930s roadhouse which stands on the site of the original one. So too does it seem too coincidental that it’s located on a cross roads junction, opposite the old toll house. The Toll Bar House, (pictured below), was used between 1826 and 1876 when a toll system was in place between Wetherby and Leeds.
The pub is close to an area known locally as Wayside, I’m sure there is an interesting history to this part of the suburbs of Bardsey and Scarcroft, but, sadly I’m unaware of any of it, the two streets standing there is Wayside Crescent and Wayside Mount, the latter been situated on a bridleway, and, my return route to Bardsey cum Rigton and the Bingley Arms, my starting point. Another pair of local streets where the house prices defy logic.
Following the bridleway back towards Bardsey it took me down a footpath which reminded me of an old friend of mine who, very sadly, passed away a while ago, Billy Gilmore, a larger than life local character and former police officer. He was almost of celebrity status within the area, to such an extent, that, on news of his death, the local newspaper, featured a full-page article about him. I think this footpath was his short-cut home after his very frequent visits to his local, The Bingley Arms, even if it wasn’t, in Billy’s memory, it deserves the title I have given it. A little story between Billy and myself was, many years ago, whist sharing a pint with him in another pub a few miles away at Moortown Corner. The long gone Chained Bull, in the days when 10.30pm was the Sunday closing time, I complained to him how I was frustrated at having to go home at such an unearthly hour, he asked me if I wanted to go elsewhere for a while and another drink, needless to say, he took me across the city to a sports club, where, at 5am on Monday morning, we finally left and headed back across the city, home, I failed to make it to work that day, RIP Billy.
Bardsey cum Rigton, my starting and termination point for this enlightening little blog of mine, for a village of its relatively small size, has more than one claim to fame. A sports club with a cricket and football team. Its mentioned in the 1086 Domesday Book as “Berdesei” and “Bereleseie”. A motte and bailey castle dating back to post 1066, and, the birthplace of playwright and poet William Congreave – (Hell hath no wrath like a woman scorned, twas WC and not Shakespeare who gave us this much used and very true line of phrase). Lastly, and not least, the famous Bingley Arms. Originally named The Priests Inn. It proudly claims to be the oldest pub in Britain, with a history dating back to between AD 905 and AD 953, and says that it served as a safe house for persecuted Catholic priests, and also as a courthouse from around AD 1000 from which offenders were taken to the pillory across the road.
Within the chimney, in the main part of the building, stand secretly hidden are two priest holes dating back to 1539AD. Here Catholic priests hid for safety following the Dissolution of the Monasteries by King Henry VIII. Priest holes are not rare, but it’s uncommon to find two in the same location. During alterations to the building in the 1700s a wonderful stone inglenook fireplace was discovered. It takes pride of place in the tap-room next to a fully-functioning Dutch oven for bread production – one of the few to still be in its original position in the country.
In 1780 the Inn was renamed, the Bingley Arms, after it was taken over by Lord Bingley. With such a rich history it’s no wonder that its had its fair share of ghostly occurences over the years. Objects have moved or disappeared, pans of water have boiled on stoves whilst switched off and candles have ignited on their own. Several ghosts have also been spotted at the pub. A cavalier, known as a practical joker with a great sense of humour, has been seen by staff dressed in fine clothes with a large hat, a young girl is said to have been responsible for strange activity and a mysterious dog has been seen walking around by visitors.
I was once talking to a resident who lives on the hill which looks down onto the village, he claimed, that during constructing an extension to his house, and digging the new foundations, they discovered brickwork which turned out to be part of an escape tunnel, leading from the pub to the top of the village.
No, not an average outing to the dales, mountains, fells and moors of northern Britain, no wild camping or navigating through wild wilderness, bleak and weather beaten, exposed terrain, but, a couple of hours walking, discovering wonderful hidden gems, only a few minutes drive from my own home, I may live in north Leeds, but, surprisingly, just beyond the fringes of the ‘Golden Triangle’, that may be something I can live with, regardless, a wonderful Saturday afternoon.
The Hole of Horcum is located on the North York Moors, (not the North Yorks or the North Yorkshire Moors, as some suggest, they don’t exist), in the Tabular Hills, (an east west line of distinct hills running from Scarborough in the east to the Black Hambleton hills in the west). It stands within a section of a valley known as the Levisham Beck, upstream of two local hidden villages, Levisham and Lockston, both of which pre-date the domesday book.
There are two suggested starting points for this walk, one being Levisham, where, it starts and concludes at the village pub, and the second being the viewing point at Saltergate on the busy A169. Needless to say where my decision lay, even if I have ‘been on the wagon’ for almost a year. To me, a walk like this deserves such a scenic English village as its first and last port o’ call.
There are two theories regarding the formation of this 400 feet deep and 3/4 mile wide unusual hollow in the ground. One claims how the gorge was created by a natural process known as ‘spring sapping’, a process where the water which has welled up from the hillsides, gradually undermines the slopes, slowly eroding the rocks, and, over thousands of years, gradually forming the valley as it slowly, both widens and deepens into this huge and deep cauldron, a process continuing to present day.
The second, and in my opinion, discarding all this geological nonsense regarding its creation derives from a Saxon giant known as Wade, who, by today’s standards may have been considered to have anger management issues. He was certainly famous and legendary, as, he features in, amongst others, the works of both Chaucer and Thomas Malory. I’m not sure if he was a local giant or simply travelling through the area, either way, he was with his wife, and, I’m not too sure what really happened, nobody ever understands what really happens with couples behind closed doors, it depends who tells their story first, either way, it’s fair to say they had a row, it could have been after a session on the mead? But, it resulted in Wade hurling a huge mound of mud at his estranged wife, and, probably due to the over consumption of mead, and, fortunately for her, his shot missed and landed on the location of Horcum Hole, thus creating the aforesaid hole in the ground, and, that’s the version of its creation I trust to be the truth.
I think Wade named it too, who else could have given us a location which is said to be the tenth rudest place-name in Britain, a true Saxon sense of humor.
The opening 3 miles of the walk is relatively easy, clearly defined and quite bleak regarding viewpoints and landmarks, but, looks can be deceiving as I’ll explain later, the history of the landscape is both interesting and historic. The return route is taken after accessing a wooden gate at the Saltergate junction with the A169 close to the viewpoint and car park on the roadside. Then, descending the footpath down into the Hole and gorge below, prior to following Levisham Beck back to the village, en route, there’s an alternative choice of route, one avoiding the difficult woodland walk and taking a route known as ‘The Griff’, or, the one I followed through the woodland.
Crossing the moor I soon discovered I was far from being alone, it’s a popular walk, easily accessible from the main road and enjoyed by many who appeared to have taken a chance as they drove by and decided to venture along the walk. For a while, after seeing these people, I felt somewhat overdressed and over prepared. Only a few other walkers seemed correctly kitted out for the outdoor weather and elements. People in jeans, training shoes, shorts, thin jackets, etc, carrying nothing for inclement weather, it seemed so strange to me, but, after a little thought, it was their lookout, even, if been realistic, the terrain wasn’t particularly dangerous or too far from help, but, my personal experience derives from the boy scout motto, be prepared, and, I do try to be.
On first sight the open moor seems quite bleak and featureless, it’s deceiving. It’s full of history and archaeological remains, from bronze age burrows, iron age boundary dykes, mounds, ditches, banks and ridges, evidence of burial sites, fortified farmsteads, enclosures and field systems are all confirmation of a once populated area, although, from the footpath, none of them are particularly easy to see.
Walking through Horcum Hole towards Levisham Beck was a wonderful experience, yet another Yorkshire gem, a superb walk and another adventure. I was also testing out 3 new pieces of kit, some new walking shoes, new Fjallraven zip off trousers (they weren’t zipped off on that day) and, my own hand made leather water bottle/fire starter containers. All 3 items proved valuable and durable.
The valley eventually became wet and muddy and, as I advanced towards the dense woodland and the final mile of the walk, I really did underestimate the difficulty of progressing through it, a magnificent summer location for a tarp and hammock, but, still a rude awakening through very wet woodland with a very narrow footpath through steep and slippy terrain.
Emerging at the bottom of Levisham came as quite a relief, the last mile had been quite difficult and a real sting at the end of the walk. There too was the benefit of being in the quiet and sedate village, the Horseshoe Inn has a splendid reputation for fine ales and good food, a temptation I’m sure many would benefit from after a few hours in the open air, sadly for me, I wasn’t to benefit from such a delight, it was time for my homeward journey. How did I rate the walk in this wonderful part of North Yorkshire, on the North York Moors in the old North Riding, a reet good ‘un.