The 3 Peaks, Yorkshire Dales (Chapel-Le-Dale):

14th May - 16th May 2004  (1st)

13th May - 15th May 2005 (2nd)

12th May - 14th May 2006 (3rd)
 
Jenny van der Meijden, our longstanding secretary of the hiking club probably doesn't realise it but the notifications for these two hikes went out on 11th May, precisely one year apart!  Not withstanding this useless bit of information, it is a location that has long been a favourite venue for many.  On the Western part of the Yorkshire Dales national park, the Old School Bunkhouse in Chapel-Le-Dale is a suitably positioned base for attempting the Yorkshire Three Peaks.   Geologically, the peaks are formed of millstone grit on a limestone base.  Whernside is the highest at 736 metres, followed by Ingleborough at 723 metres and Pen-y-Ghent at 694 metres [Map Location].  Indeed, many set out and easily conquer all three in one day, a distance of some 26 miles to be covered in about 12 hours, though they are the poorer cousin to the more challenging national three peaks additionally involving 500 miles of driving in one day, these being Scafell (England), Ben Nevis (Scotland) and Snowdon (Wales), which must be completed within 24 hours!

Jenny van der Meijden, our longstanding secretary of the hiking club probably doesn't realise it but the notifications for these two hikes went out on 11th May, precisely one year apart!  Not withstanding this useless bit of information, it is a location that has long been a favourite venue for many.  On the Western part of the Yorkshire Dales national park, the Old School Bunkhouse in Chapel-Le-Dale is a suitably positioned base for attempting the Yorkshire Three Peaks.   Geologically, the peaks are formed of millstone grit on a limestone base.  Whernside is the highest at 736 metres, followed by Ingleborough at 723 metres and Pen-y-Ghent at 694 metres.  Indeed, many set out and easily conquer all three in one day, a distance of some 26 miles to be covered in about 12 hours, though they are the poorer cousin to the more challenging national three peaks additionally involving 500 miles of driving in one day, these being Scafell (England), Ben Nevis (Scotland) and Snowdon (Wales), which must be completed within 24 hours!

The first visit........
 
  I had pack hurriedly on the Friday morning prior to going into work.   Evrin and Ravi needed lifts.  Both are from Xerox, although Evrin has subsequently left.  Ravi's full name is Ravishankar Anantharamu and he hails from India. Evrin Erdem is Turkish.  So Xerox hiking club caters for all nationalities! We therefore met outside Xerox around six. We headed off on the M1 all the way up, eventually attempting to breach Bradford via the convoluted manner one is cajoled into when passing through the city centre.   Ravi's alertness was razor sharp as he scanned the sidewalks, having heard so much about the beautiful Asian women in town.   

 Views of Whernside shortly after commencing the Ingleborough walk; A break in proceedings on Ingleborough.
 

We missed the turn-off to Chapel-Le-Dale, but we finally got there around 23h00. Rob and Dave, resident rock 'n rollers, had brought their gear along. A Mexican theme was scheduled for Saturday evening, so we were in for a treat. On the Saturday morning I had overslept and so it was that I missed out on breakfast, rushing off in an attempt to catch the group up ahead who were heading off over Ingleborough.  It nearly finished me, as I desperately tried to catch scale the near vertical ascent in double-quick time.  Coupled with he fact that I could not resist the odd photo or two that usually finds me at the rear of the group, I could not haul them in and I finally capitulated.  In particular, my imagination was captivated by a single solitary tree amidst a scattering of cairns spread across the lush, green landscape.
 

The view from the summit was astounding, the path we had taken clearly visible below.  Pete Mathews and the others, whom I had been trying to catch, came by on their return from Ingleborough beacon. Judging by the haste in which they did so, I decided this was no group for a straggler like myself to attempt to latch on to.  I cannot recall now whether he was attempting to do all three peaks but it did seem as if he had a plane to catch.  I seem to remember that PK and Bonnie were attempting it that day.  Be that as it may, I waited for the next bunch to arrive, led by Chris Newton.  I simply wasn't fit enough. Their target being somewhat less ambitious  but appealing nonetheless, was to head on down to Clapham and Ingleton, before heading back to the bunkhouse, a walk that would still take us most of the day. [Ingleborough Location]

      

Ingleborough cairns and a tree; Views from the summit of Ingleborough; Chris Newton arrives at the summit.
 
  The group paused at the cairns just beyond the beacon for tea and a snack, which offered us some shelter.  We descended towards Clapham Bottoms.  The Yorkshire Dales area contains a labyrinth of underground passages and watercourses hollowed out of the limestone rock over thousands of years. The glaciers of the Ice Ages advanced over the area and have left behind a unique and picturesque landscape, but it is on the south side of Ingleborough, near Clapham village, where there are the most famous caves of the British Isles.   It is my sincere regret that we did not enter and explore these caves.  I shall have to return at some later date as a matter of priority!  High on the mountain, Fell Beck drops into Gaping Gill pothole with Britain's highest waterfall into the largest underground chamber in the British Isles. Fell Beck then makes its way through large underground passages to finally emerge lower down the mountain at Ingleborough Cave.  The Cave has attracted many thousands of visitors ever since its discovery in 1837 and regular tours are conducted 0.5 km along large and beautifully decorated passages, all spectacularly floodlit.  

Fell Beck drops some 100 metres vertically  into the main chamber of Gaping Gill.  My website search brought me to the attention of a caving club based in the Yorkshire Dales known as the Bradford Pothole Club.  What a brilliant,  ingenious name for a club! Their website contains a stunning photo of the cavern (see URL below).  Lower down past the entrance to the caves, Clapham Beck runs into a lake.  Whilst I had been engaged in taking photos further upstream, Peter had waited for me at the entrance to Ingleborough cave.  I understand that the possibility of visiting the caves was considered but given the entrance cost and the fact we still had a fair distance to cover, the group proceeded on down to Clapham village.   Peter and I walked briskly to catch up to the others.

Trow Gill limestone Gorge near Ingleborough cave; Clapham Beck just before the Lake.
 
Clapham is a stunning little village.  Ingleborough Cave is located about 2 km from the Clapham car and coach  park. Above the village is an old Sawmill, powered by water turbine, still in use, and there is a trail from the cottage in the yard from where tickets for a trail may be obtained.  The path leads on into beautiful woodland and by the lakeside where Reginald Farrer (1880-1920), the famous botanist, introduced over a hundred new plants into Europe from the Far East. You can see Himalayan Rhododendron, bamboo and other unusual plants in a constantly changing scene. The lake is artificial, up to 15m deep and provides power to the turbine at the Sawmill. It also used to provide the village with its water supply.
 
  We rushed through the village of Clapham as a result.  Clapham, along with a viewing of Ingleborough Caves, is pencilled in my diary as worthy of another visit . I remember very little of the walk between Clapham and Ingleton, save to say that it was flat and mostly off-road. I do recall that Nikki and Evrin were fast reaching the conclusion that they had had enough for one day.  Nikki and Bonnie Parker had driven up with Peter Hartman. At the Three Horse Shoes pub in Ingleton, Chris, who had been doing most of the navigating, consulted the map on the best route back.  

Ingleton.
 
  After debating and checking of all of the options vis-à-vis bus timetables, it was agreed that we would leave Evrin and Nikki in Ingleton but not after a much-needed cup of tea and a pastry. It was arranged that we would fetch them later, though we still had an hour or two of walking to go.  Avoiding the B6255, we took a route out of Ingleton past the waterfalls on the stream below the level of the farm road.  Peter and I decided to have a quick look and so we were left behind once more, eventually heading back along the road to the left of the River Doe until we reached the main road again at Chapel-Le-Dale.   

Ingleton coffee shop; Time for a snack break on the long way home!
 
  Peter and I were about to head back in the car when Bonnie, who had done the entire three peaks with Peter Karran, demanded to know the whereabouts of Nikki, when her position had clearly been taken care of.  She barged in, insisting on going back with Peter Hartman to fetch her and Evrin. In the evening the royal feast began. Martin and Vanda had offered to cook dinner, the first time this had happened in my time with the club.  Chilli con carne, the stuff that is to hikers what rocket fuel is to Space Shuttles, was on the menu. Rob and Dave had brought their musical equipment along and so it was that we rocked till the early hours.   

Tree canopy on the road up past the Old School Bunkhouse at Chapel-Le-Dale; View of Ingleborough from the same road.
 
Sombreros and ponchos were worn to complement the Mexican theme and Maeve Weber supplied dessert.   An evening of great mirth and jollification followed!  Stirring, heart-rendering vocal performances, especially Martin's passionate serenade to Vanda, dancing, impromptu, unrehearsed performances by trios and quartets were witnessed, though some might have been worthy of a Simon Cowell going-over.  Who cares? It was brilliant stuff!  On the Sunday Evrin, Ravi and I came back through Leeds, where we lost our way, then on to the M1, after first stopping off at Bolton Abbey for a few hours with the weather being so good, reaching Welwyn around 21h00.
 

Links to other websites:

Dave, our fiendishly brilliant rock star!
 

The second visit........

On this occasion an unusually small number of people had booked to go on the hike.  Though the total number was around twenty folk, some new faces were to put in an appearance and a breath of fresh air they were too!  Bonnie and her son, Conaugh, had asked me for a lift.  As I had a monthly train ticket and walked to and from Royston and Welwyn Garden City stations, this meant that we had agreed to meet at five, for Bonnie to drive up and leave her car at my house.  It didn't quite work out that way and we only got on the road from Royston around eight.  Though not close to major highways, the easiest route was straight up the A1198, picking up the A14 near Huntingdon, which joins the M1 / M6 junction north of Northampton.  At that hour it did not appear necessary to divert to the M6 Toll Road.  No more dog-legging through Bradford for me! Bonnie and Conaugh both passed out at some stage.  Some navigator this one turned out to be (:-) So it was that we came off the M6 just north of Lancaster, picking up the narrower, winding A683 and A687, just after midnight.  At the next junction, it was a short journey  to reach Chapel-Le-Dale.

 
    It was chilly and Conaugh was sound asleep.  Upon arrival, all others had turned in by that time, though Chris Platten and Peter Karran were still awake in their bunks in the "Jennifer Lopez" room and had taken a bet three minutes earlier that I was probably not arriving till the next day.  By the sounds of their voices and high-spirited good humour, it seemed that they had been partying much better since their arrival, an empty bottle of brandy providing firm evidence of that.  As is usually the case on most Xerox hikes these days, John Adams had arrived there that morning.

The Old School Bunkhouse at Chapel-Le-Dale, Yorkshire Dales (left), all set and ready for departure (right).
 
Morning broke and the weather seemed fine.  Staying in B&B's and doing a Xerox Hike are probably the only times I get to consume an English Breakfast.  As is usually the case, a number of parties set out on routes of their choosing and whatever they feel comfortable with. It seemed that there were two distinct groups, Pete Mathews setting off with one over Ingleborough to Selside.  Having done this hill the year before, I chose to join the larger group being led by Tim Porter, opting for Whernside instead.  Then there's the gung-ho group, comprising Chris and Peter, who set out at 7h00 to conquer all three peaks, though I was told later that, owing to his recovering from a bout of the snivels, Peter had become quite ill halfway through, causing him to redecorate the landscape in the process, with no option but to link up with Peter Mathews.   Naturally this had nothing whatsoever to do with the copious amounts of brandy consumed the night before.  With breakfast out of the way, we headed out on the farming countryside of the Yorkshire Dales, mostly pastures for sheep.  We soon encountered some unusual Yorkshire entrepreneurship.  Within 5 minutes of leaving the bunkhouse, we passed a farmhouse with snack-bar at the side. Ice-cream that early in the morning somehow did not seem that appealing, so he was not able to solicit our patronage.  Just when we truly needed it, the snack-bar was shut on the final leg on our way back later that day.  It was only after we began our ascent and reached the summit of Whernside that we encountered a severe, rather chilly wind despite the sunshine, that literally blew us off our feet.  We took a break. How nice a cup of tea would have tasted!
 
  I could barely move my lips and found conversation rather difficult.  The sight of bulls in the nearby field made me nervous, though I felt more secure in the knowledge that a solid wooden fence, capable of withstanding a sudden charge, separated us from them. Perhaps I had been accustomed to too many clichés in this regard. Eva and Luis sported colourful crocheted beanies.  That these were likely to incur the wrath of these beasts is probably.....a load of bull.  Nonetheless, we erred on the side of caution and crossed over a stile, giving the beasties a wide berth in the process.  

The ascent of Whernside, with Ingleborough in the background (left); A tea-break and group shot at Whernside summit (right).  Smiles all round despite the chilly conditions.
 

The path generally seemed well maintained, though we left it at this point, as it veered off down towards Ribblehead Viaduct, clearly visible from the summit. Instead we crossed over a fence and followed a makeshift path in the direction of Whernside Tarns and Whernside Cairn, which Tim wished to show us.  In the course of my usual photographic meanderings, I nearly lost the group and was called back, after I had wandered down the hillside towards the Cairns. We sheltered on a narrow shoreline off one of the Tarns.   The wind stirred up a series of fairly dramatic waves, causing the water to lap against the embankment in some places.  Our Spanish wave, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying themselves and in general, we were all having a whale of a time. The Spanish contingent consisting of Eva and Luis Bustos, Cristina Marti and Elisabet Ricart, had not known about the Xerox Hiking Club on the Intranet.  Owing to the small turnout on this occasion, an e-mail was sent out to a wider audience and so it was that, being based with Human Resources down in Slough and elsewhere, they were made aware of the club's existence and decided to join.  Elisabet, it transpired, was our proverbial world traveller and had lived live for spells in a number of places around the globe.   Given the stark contrast in colours, the pale hues of the moor scrubland set against the dark blue of the Tarn waters and some bright-coloured beanies, it was not difficult to spot the potential and thus it was, that a fashion photo-shoot ensued. Thanks to Cristina for the "art direction", who came up with the idea of matching the red apple with the colour of the Beanie.  So what about two Beanies?  Three Beanies?  Time was of the essence and we had to press on! [Whernside Location]
 
  There was a consensus that Bunkhouses were in need of some upgrading and that perhaps there was a market for spas and saunas and for those who wished to pay for it, our hiking club might consider having their own hired, resident  masseur and /or masseuse.  What a novel idea indeed!  I had been to southern Spain and found the Arabic baths and Teteria quite delightful. Somebody mentioned that they had been to a spa in Austria, where the owner insisted that all guests dispense with their clothing.  I guess that sounds quite appealing if you have the figure to match. Rather than it being a standard, enforced rule, one did what was comfortable with when frequenting spas, naturist clubs and the like.  This is the rule at the naturist massage centre in North London.   Did you know that in 2003, nude rambling had become something of a fashion in the UK and acquired a certain status? Indeed, as I was writing this I recalled that, when I drove up to Skye that year, this activity, at the time, was in full swing, so to speak. The most famous of these exponents was Steve Gough, a 44-year-old former truck driver and father of three, who had been arrested as he began a nude walk of some 900 miles from Land's End to John O'Groats. He was ordered to appear at Truro magistrates' court and rearrested when he turned up on time but still naked. Gough said he has embraced a life of "public expression", and the courts in Truro eventually agreed that he hadn't committed a criminal offence. Wearing nothing but a pair of boots and a rucksack on his back, he reached  John O'Groats on the northern tip of Scotland in January, 2004, to a rapturous welcome from local residents. I think he might even have attempted the return leg.  According to an article in the Guardian dated August 6th, 2003, naked ramblers were being spotted up and down the country, from Exmoor to the Yorkshire Dales and the Scottish borders.   I know what you might be thinking.  I'm not suggesting we try it on Xerox hikes!
 
  Anyway, back to the present!  We headed down the beautiful valley with Deepdale to our left, along an eroded pathway towards the village of Dent, stopping en route for lunch.  It was about here that we began to encounter scores of runners and later cross country hikers competing in two separate, unrelated events.  The runners all had the same predictable build - slim, sinewy, incredibly fit, with not an ounce of fat to speak of. We entered a gate that took us down past Whernside manor, past an old stone church, taking a footpath off the tarred road, bearing right up a hill.   

The lane leading down to Whernside manor, close to Deepdale village.
 

Eva's moment of sheer ecstasy at our Tarnside photo shoot, demonstrating that an apple never tasted better!
 
We crossed the river over a foot bridge and walked along the stream.  I shut my eyes to absorb the sheer splendour of this glorious day and the surroundings.   I felt so relaxed. We watched as a farmer astride a 4-wheel lawn buggy sporting fairly chunky set of wheels raced across a field with a flock of sheep within.  The sheep followed as is their natural instinct, thinking "oh, oh, it's grub time".  The farmer made it to the gate at the far end of the field, shut the gate, remounted the buggy and began to race back just as the flock of sheep managed to reach him.  It was a hilarious.  They did the fastest U-turn. One moment you had the sheep chasing the farmer, the next the farmer chasing the sheep!
 
  We crossed the stream yet again and the group lined up on the wooden footbridge for a quick photo.  Slogging up a tarred road for about 20 minutes, water bottles were refilled at a farm just before the road swung sharply left over an arched, quaint stone bridge.  With the low level of the stream indicating the lack of decent rainfall throughout the season, the expanse of smooth rock on either side beckoned for yet another stop, allowing us to bask in the sunshine.  Tim thought it a novel idea to proceed up the river as far as we could for a few minutes.     

Crossing the stream near Whernside manor (left); Ribblehead viaduct and its impressive array of all of twenty four arches.
 

We did not enter the village of Dent and Dent station (supposedly the highest in the country) which came into view a short while later from the paved road we were on.  Instead, the plan was to head back towards the tunnel at Dent Forest.  In essence, we had come off Whernside and we were now in the process of circumnavigating it in a clockwise direction.  Eventually, after a long slog passing a number of houses on the main road, we took a footpath to the right through a farm gate.  At Dent Head Farm, we encountered the cross country hikers coming down the undulating, eroded, muddy track from the forest we were about to enter ourselves.  Fortunately, no nude ramblers were accounted for. Dent Head farm was home to an assortment of bright-coloured large turkeys and other birds, one of which spread its plumage and cavorted around tamely, beyond the farm gates.  This delighted the Spanish contingent or was it the Beanie Brigade, no end. The farm lady proudly described the character of each to us.  Upon enquiring whether these odd looking creatures were likely candidates for a forthcoming Sunday roast, we were told that, as each turkey has its own name, the attachment  had become too personal and this was therefore unlikely.  Being so close to the railway now, we were fortunate to witness a train approaching the tunnel across a viaduct from the direction of Dent station.  I sweated buckets up the hillside.  The others were horrified to learn that I had not brought any water along with me and as I had not said anything, the offers of water came pouring in (pardon the pun). 

Beyond the forest the landscape opened up to Blea Moor and we soon realised, upon sighting a number of the air shafts, that we were criss-crossing the tunnel itself, all of 2300 yards long.   We descended down the hill side past Little Dale station.  Tim left us, as he wished to cross Whernside.  Soon we reached the 24 arches of the impressive Ribblehead Viaduct, 104 feet high, built between 1870 and 1875 at a cost of £3.5 million.  As luck would have it, another train came by, providing a perfect photo opportunity.  The impressive viaduct is part of the Settle to Carlisle railway, a one hour and 40 minute journey some 71 and three quarter miles. We made our way back and rejoined the track just prior to our ascent up Whernside earlier in the day, passing the farmhouse snack bar, now thoughtlessly shut when we needed it most.  After a walk that had lasted some 8 to 9 hours, we reached the Old School bunkhouse.  The Spanish contingent prepared their own meal at the bunkhouse whilst the rest made their way to the railway inn just up the old Roman Road from Chapel-Le-Dale but joined us later.  Conaugh was happily entertaining some locals at the pool table.  It's amazing how good average food and a refreshing glass of cider or the local brew tastes after a good day's walk.  One of the loveliest aspects of the hiking club is that there is an opportunity to engage in good conversation with practically everyone else.  Sandra Bird was also new to the group or had not been back for some time and spoke of some of her recent, daring travels with her daughter.

Back at the bunkhouse later that evening, in the absence of Rob and Dave and their travelling rock show, as is customary, John Adams assembled his karaoke and we entertained ourselves.  Highlights were the Spanish rendition of La Bamba and Pete Mathews astounding us all with his energetic, passionate vocal performance, which he had kept under wraps for so long.  He was the only one of the male contingent  who could practically hold a tune.

I had not planned for much activity come Sunday morning but when Chris Platten announced that he was doing Malham Cove and with others more than remotely interested, I changed my mind.  So it was, after breakfast and packing, that we drove up in convoy to Malham Tarn car park.  From there we set out for the cove down towards Malham itself, where we stopped for lunch at the Buck Inn after one.  Bonnie's Conaugh was a bundle of energy, skirting side tracks, exploring the caves we found en route, climbing up rock faces and generally having a swell time.  The Spanish quartet decided, as it was getting close to mid-afternoon and wanted to head back to London, that they ought to take advantage of the local bus, which stopped at the car park as well.  Chris, Bonnie, Conaugh and I resumed the walk via Gordale Scar.  The weather was significantly warmer than the day before and judging by the number of people about, it proved a fairly popular walk.  Unfortunately, I had not brought my camera with on the walk.  Conaugh ran out of steam two miles short of the car park but completed the journey nonetheless.  To his credit, the lad complained not one bit and had no doubt, enjoyed the day immensely. 

We took the route back down the M6 and M1, navigator and company fast asleep most of the way.  My car had begun to develop an obvious problem with a strange noise emanating from the engine compartment, sounding much like the sound of a drill through a concrete wall, from the other side! I somehow missed the A14 turn-off at the junction of the two highways, instead picking up the A428 through Northampton. What a wonderful diversion it proved to be!  It's a beautiful drive through some splendid countryside. On the way one passes the estate of Althorp, where Princess Diana is buried.  Judging by the size on a map of the estate which, incidentally, is open to public visitation, it's almost the size of Northampton itself!  The accumulation of objects by 19 generations of one family is on display.  It is also home to an exhibition, located in six rooms, depicting the life and work of Diana, Princess of Wales.  The estate plays host to a number of concerts, Neil Diamond being the most recent.  Northampton is a neat, picturesque little town and well worth a more thorough visit.  The journey to Bedford down to Royston proved just as enjoyable, albeit that the noise had grown worse.  At a roundabout, I picked up a slight squeal and shudder from the steering column and hazarded a guess, that it was probably a "shot" wheel-bearing, which it subsequently turned out to be, repaired later that week at my trusty garage in Welwyn Garden City.  It was around 21h00 when we reached my home.  It was dark.   Bonnie transferred her stuff and headed off immediately.
 

The lane to Whernside Manor and view of Deepdale valley.
 

With a delightful weekend in one of the most beautiful, endearing parts of the UK having drawn to a close, I leave you with a quotation from Bill Bryson's "Notes from a small Island":

"I suppose everybody has a piece of landscape somewhere that he finds captivating beyond words and mine is the Yorkshire Dales.  I can't altogether account for it because you can easily find more dramatic landscapes elsewhere, even in Britain.  All I can say is that the Dales seized me like a helpless infatuation when I first saw them and will not let me go. Partly, I suppose, it is the exhilarating contrast between the high fells, with their endless views, and the relative lushness of the valley floors, with their clustered villages and green farms.  To drive almost anywhere in the Dales is to make a constant transition between these two hypnotic zones".
 
Tim Porter's account........

Friday 13th May 

Left home at 7:15, and arrived in Chapel Le Dale at 11:20, EXACTLY 250.0 miles from door to door.  Eat some lunch, quickly change, use the facilities of the lodge and head off up Ingleborough that lies just across the road.  I did this hill last year, but this year the intention is to do the things I didn’t achieve last year.  Last year, when I got to the top, there was a morning mist so I couldn’t see much.  Also I wanted to walk along the ridge of the hill this year.  It is sunnyish and good walking weather.  Not many people around but clear enough to be ok walking in the hills on my own.

 Nice walk through the sheep fields before reaching the plateau of limestone rocks that protrude from the ground.  Looks almost biblical with spartan weather-beaten trees scattered around.  On the ground….fantastic;  wild orchids; everywhere.  Beautiful Fuchsia coloured plants only 6 inches high.  They seem to grow only just (immediately) below and above the limestone plateau. So onwards across the marshy peat land.  The neat York stone path makes life so much easier, if not the traditionalist’s idea of walking!  They flagstones were helicoptered in from an old mill; it must have been a huge undertaking as they are big and very heavy stones.   Then up the steep climb; 300ft up the steep ‘steps’ cut into the hill.   At the top, wooooooah!!!   Where did that wind come from?  Took my breath away! I couldn’t stand up. The view is good; lots of Yorkshire hills in every direction (but nothing is as good as Whernside (below). 

So off along the ridge.  This one is to one side of the hill, and thankfully the side away from the wind.  Lovely views of the Ribblehead viaduct.  Looking back along the ridge one can see the curve of the hill, like a bowl, that just isn’t obvious when looking up at the hill.  Time to take a short cut downhill towards the viaduct. Actually the path has evaporated and it’s time to make my own way; just like the old days. From the viaduct it is a 2-3 mile walk through lowland farmland.  How do those lambs manage to leap vertically into the air from a standing start like a flea?  They are so funny; especially the one with the big sticky out ears!  They go around in pairs and often there are two side by side looking inquisitively at me; just like Stanley and Ollie (my two black cats).  The beauty is the contrast of the agricultural pastures and livestock in the midst of the wild hills; this is certainly big country (for England).  Back to the lodge, and there are three friends just about to set off for a short walk (1/2 hr) before the pub and supper……………yes….up towards Ingleborough.  Oh well, another chance to see the orchids.  A long walk to the pub…..50yards up the road; that’s acceptable; and the beer and food were very good.

Sat 14th May: A walk with a little bit of everything.

Breakfast of Fried eggs, bacon, beans(!) tomatoes, toast, OJ, cereal, for 20 people and then to clear up before the off at 9:00.   And no panic anywhere!  So, off we go.  4 Spanish, 1 American, 1 Scot, 1 South African 2 English.  How did that happen?  That’s the diversity of Xerox. It is a bright sunny morning as we trek through the low farmlands under the watch of Whernside.  The baby lambs are active, already leaping around.  As we climb gently, we can see the Ribblehead viaduct for the first time, and just for us, a train passes over it.  Always a delightful sight with the viaduct in the valley surrounded by the high hills.

 It is not long before the gentle walk becomes a steady upward incline and then a stony incline which turns to a steeper rocky climb, and before long we are climbing ‘steps’ up the side of Whernside.  It is amazing how often one feels it necessary to stop just to take in the views, a euphemism for taking good few deep breaths to recover. Still looking upward the shoulder does not seem to be getting closer as the legs start to feel the 300 metre climb.  And once there……whooooooooooooh! The view and …….the wind.  Can see Morecombe Bay, the Lake District and all the other hills of NW England.  Now it is just a long steady upward walk along the ridge of the hill to the summit. The wind is almost in our faces and easily blowing us off our strides, but the view all around us is superb and worth the effort.  We get to the top and take refuge behind the wall; in the sun, out of the wind, and taking a deserved drink (of water).  Not long before we get up and go!  Continuing along the ridge.  Good grief the wind is fierce.  Thank God it’s sunny.  And thank goodness there is a wall to protect us a little from the wind.  

 

And now we traipse of away from the path towards the tarns. Ooops, it’s a bit boggy in places.  Ha! Ha! I am wearing boots, but no so for everyone else who are wearing shoes.  I wonder what a shoe full of bog water feels like?  We get to the tarns,  two of them side by side, sitting there on the shoulder of the hill. Each about 200metres across and full of clear water that looks black because of the dark peat that forms the base.  We walk around to get to the causeway between the 2 tarns and lo! And behold!  A beach! 20 metres of sand at the edge of the tarn. What a surprise.  And what a joy to sit by the beach overlooking the water.  And out of the wind.  Perfect.  But no bucket and spade.  And freeeeeezing water.
   

A view across Deepdale valley towards Ingleborough (left); Crossing fields after Whernside Manor (centre); A row of cairns strewn across the moors on Whernside summit (right).
 

So, off we go down the gentler side of the hill, through grazing sheep and to the main path again. Now we are overlooking Deepdale valley with its texture of trees and lush grassland contrasting with the high, barren hills surrounding them.  Now, to make us all feel better (not) we start meeting people running up the hill!   Well, as we sit down for lunch and take in the scenery, we know who feels better!

 Soon everything changes.  We reach the bottom of the hill, walk across a couple of green meadows and start to walk along the riverside.  And as the river widens, there appears to be so little water. And soon we are walking along the flat stony bed of the river, and as all good walkers do, we stop, sit down on the stones and eventually lie down to take in the sun.  Where has all the water gone?  Who cares?  We are enjoying the smooth, flat limestone rocks that form the base. The smooth swirling curves in the rocks tell the other story of the power of the water when the river is full.  But when empty(’ish) it looks artistic……and suits our purposes well. 

And so we have to walk on boring roads.  Or so we thought, until we found 10 dead rats ceremoniously strung up along a fence. Time to get out of here, so the step speeds up a little.   Next we take the footpath off the road. Now we are in the thick of the fitter (madder) human beings running the 56mile route through this infinitely variable countryside…….with packs on their backs.  They seem amazingly cheerful for people who have run 20miles already.  We stop to take a breather just to give the lady with the turkeys a good listening to. The 2 male turkeys are certainly in the springtime mood. Their tails are fanned and their plumes and feathers puffed up.  How fabulous a black and white turkey can look.  The female wears a small leather saddle to resist the overzealous approaches of the male’s pecking.   

Upwards toward the train tunnel.  Time to wave to the passing passengers (well some (one?)) of us did).  The warmth of the valley disappears as we walk though the small pine forest. It is a steep, and very muddy path too.  Emerging back into the daylight the long distance runners seem to be approaching from all directions;  so no help there for finding the way to go.  Just follow the air shafts for the tunnel below. At least it is still warm and sunny and ever since we left the top of the hill, we have been out of the wind.   

All that is left now is the steady trek back via the viaduct  to the hostel.  Except that I decide to climb Whernside again in the opposite direction.  Looks like I am the last one today to climb the hill.  A few people descending remind me how windy and cold it is on the summit, but it does not deter. What a bunch of wimps.  At the top the wind is nothing compared to the morning.  But the views are at least as exhilarating.  Now the waters of Morecombe Bay and Lake Windermere glisten with the reflected evening sun, and the hills of Pen-y-Ghent and Ingleborough look superb in the sun.  Looking along the ridge feels like the top of the Yorkshire world.  And so to the last descent.  O boy!  I forgot about the steep rocky descent that was hard enough on the way up, but at the end of the day, going down just pounds on the knees.  But survival is easy;  there is a pint of Black Sheep with my name on it at the end. 

After supper, just when you think it’s time to collapse……….it’s Karaoke time;  O GOOD!  I never knew how hard it is to sing such simple pop songs.  But we get by with some ‘unusual’ singing.  The Spanish contingency really show us up!  Oh, those Spanish songs must be so simple.  And twisting at midnight after nearly 20 miles over the hills is…….different, but enjoyable.   
 
The third visit........

On this For the third year running, the hiking club returned to Chapel-le-Dale. Though a large turn-out seemed apparent, late withdrawals reduced the numbers significantly. This meant that I had a multi-bunk room all to myself.  I drove up with Sandra but only managed to get there just after midnight, just after everyone had just turned in.  Nadine and Daniela had taken the trouble to travel all the way up from London by train, just as they had done on the trip to North Wales.  They had volunteered to cook a meal on the Saturday evening after Martin and Vanda, having initially proposed doing so, figured that they would probably want to do the Three Peaks walk, weather permitting.  Things went full circle when, after gazing out the window on Saturday morning and seeing Ingleborough  shrouded in cloud, Martin was back in the kitchen and back in the fray, so to speak. A chicken curry was prepared, with everyone chipping in to help as usual.
 

Setting out from Chapel-le-Dale on the waterfall walk via Ingleton.
 
  Breakfast is a smooth operation on Xerox Hikes these days. After everyone had been catered for, we set off at the usual time around 9h00, the general idea being to do Ingleton waterfalls. This meant passing through Chapel-le-Dale off the B6255, taking the back farm road over cattle grids down towards the village of Ingleton. It is a pretty walk, save for the most incredible stench we had to endure as we passed a field being irrigated with diluted  manure (hardly!) from a large storage drum being towed by a farm tractor. The acrid smell was so bad it made our eyes water.  

The back route to Ingleton - braving the smelly field!
 

Down the B6255 towards Chapel-le Dale turn-off, shortly after leaving the bunkhouse.
 
  We passed a pig farm, their tiny housings resembling dog kennels, in neat rows across the fields, the pigs happily feeding themselves. Soon we reached Ingleton and a tea stop had been mentioned. Some disappeared into the curio shop / tea-room searching for postcards, others wandered up to the ticket office at the entrance of the park leading to the waterfall, deciding that a paltry three quid was far too much to dispense with, preferring a signposted,  alternative route via higher ground. We lost sight of the exact position on the map where we could double back to rejoin the path close to the stream.  

A section of the stream encompassing Ingleton waterfall.
 
We followed the well-fashioned, contrived pathway as it led all the way up the valley, eventually crossing the stream via a footbridge. We passed a pretty section incorporating several waterfalls, the stream flowing freely as a result of recent rains.  Somehow the constant stoppages and interruptions made the walk seem somewhat disjointed and disorganised, though not down to it being anyone's fault in particular. The weather wasn't of the best but we made the most of it.  We lunched on whatever we had brought along with us to eat. Nadine and Daniela decided to up the pace somewhat and press on ahead, with little Conaugh resolutely in tow. Somehow I thought that this continual, steady climb upwards would very soon lead us close to the base of Whernside but this was not the case at all. This was indeed still way off into the distance. No doubt the presence of Tim Porter would long since have resulted us being dragged relentlessly up the length of Whernside.  With Tim you get your money's worth, of that there is no doubt whatsoever!  Instead, after prior consultation with others who had taken this route in the reverse direction the day before, we intentionally veered off to the right, picking up a trail the led us to the edge of the ridge along the entire length of the higher ground above the long valley between Chapel-le-Dale and Ingleton. Engrossed in taking photos, inevitably, I soon got left behind. A wall lined the ridge, reminiscent, to some small extent at least, to rambling along Hadrians Wall.  The view across the Valley below as quite awesome and below we could see the farm road we had walked on earlier, with the peak of Ingleborough beyond, visible across the valley.
 

Gazing across a field of cairns, as if one large rock had splintered into a multitude of smaller rocks, Whernside deep into the mist beyond.
 

View along the meandering wall and ridge as we approach the bunkhouse at Chapel-le-Dale on the B6255, Ribblehead Via visible in the distance.
 
  It wasn't long before the bunkhouse at Chapel-le-Dale and Ribblehead Viaduct came into view and we reached some farmhouses without being able to find a clear path through the farms. I saw the girls scaling a wall and followed them. We passed a farmhouse with a number of Shetland ponies in a pen. Being quite cuddly and seemingly gentle-natured, they wandered over, probably expecting to be fed. A road from these farmhouses led us down to Chapel-le-Dale. It was indeed a peaceful yet beautiful and intriguing setting. In the interim, Jane Sherry and Steve Rogers had caught up with us.  

Shetland ponies at the Chapel-le-Dale farmhouse, to the delight of Nadine, Daniela and Conaugh.
 

Shetland pony hoping for a handout.
 

Though the walk had probably not been as strenuous as it could have been, I had alternative reasons for getting back earlier.  We tried to set the TV at the bunkhouse up to picking up a decent signal so as to be able to watch the 2006 FA Cup Final between Liverpool and West Ham United but the reception was so bad. Eventually John Robertson and I  wandered off by car to the pub up the road at half-time and watched the dramatic second half, extra-time and penalties, ending what was later described as one of the best FA Cup finals ever.  I quite enjoyed chatting to some of the locals and found them quite friendly.
   

Another view across some cairns towards Whernside; Vanda caught in the act; Hannah Newton and Karen Cameron "getting their hands and throats wet" in Chapel-le-Dale bunkhouse kitchen.
 
Chef supreme Martin Lighten set about cooking the evening meal with great aplomb, issuing calm yet clear instructions to those in assistance, a la Gordon Ramsay, sans the f-word. It was a great meal and the wine and beer and good company made for a lovely evening. I had scarcely recognised Hannah Newton, who had not been on a Xerox Hike for some time and had now undergone a dramatic makeover, transforming herself from a sweet young girl into a bubbly teenager, though she had still not shaken off that touch of shyness entirely. After two glasses of wine Nadine giggled and announced that she was tipsy. No-one had noticed. After dinner, Peter Hartman, Sandra Bird and I, absconding from the karaoke session that followed,  legged it up the road to the restaurant / pub for a final snort before closing time. This establishment seemed substantially more up-market than the rough and ready pub where we had watched the footy earlier. We kind of got the feeling that, as hikers, we weren't made to feel terribly welcome. On the Sunday we decided to head back immediately, given the long distance.  I was a bit concerned about my car and wished to get back early, as I had an unwelcome Green Belt Lean-Six Sigma training course to face at Xerox over the coming week.
 

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Note:  owing to an incorrect setting on my Camera, a number of photos taken on the second visit were too dark or lacked depth of field and I consequently not a s sharp as I would have liked them to be.  There is also the additional problem that the images, when downloaded from the digital and viewed on a flat-panel monitor, appear visually to have the correct exposure and brightness but appear significantly darker on a CRT monitor, requiring adjustment on the latter.  It is all down to correct brightness calibration of monitors.