By Ribble’s stream I’ll pass my days,
If wishes aught avail;
For all that mortals want or praise
Is found in Ribblesdale.
So goes the first verse of Novello’s madrigal, The Charms of Ribblesdale. (I’d love to hear it sung so if anyone knows of a recording please let me know.) The poem’s sentimentality may be a tad OTT but I did feel the need to sing the dale’s praises myself on Monday. Wandering alone – give or take a few dozen sheep – around the deserted settlement of Thorns I wondered why anyone would ever want to leave such an idyllic spot. After just a short ascent from the crumbling buildings glorious views of the dale open up – without the effort and toil of struggling up one of the peaks. 
I continued a little further along the Ribble Way which heads from Thorns towards High Birkwith. Within half a mile of Thorns is another derelict building, Back Hools Barn (note to self: find out about that name!).
One sheep on lookout duty at the door alerted a gang of other sheepish looking characters obviously up to no good inside. They scarpered as I took a nosey at the rotting wooden partitions and beams. The stone doorways and window lintels were nicely carved and a mason’s mark showed he was proud of his work.
Barns and walls are the furniture of the dales and, despite being man-made, without them the whole area would be less appealing. Back in 2006 the National Park did a sample survey which showed that 58 per cent of all traditional farm buildings were in a state considered unfavourable. Of 310 such sites surveyed in Ribblesdale 32 per cent were classified as poor or worse (ruinous or demolished) while 37 per cent were classified as good or excellent. Of the rest, 17 per cent had been converted to residential use and 14 per cent were classed as fair. I’d be interested to know what the figures now show.
On a wet day this week I looked back through some of last year’s photos and posted on Twitter and Facebook this sunset on Ingleborough. It caused quite a stir and brought me more’ likes’, ‘favourites’ and ‘retweets’ than I’d ever got before. Funnily enough, I think my previous ‘best’ was of a similar light on Penyghent. I would go for a hat-trick with a shot on Whernside but its position at sunset is not as favourable – perhaps a sunrise would suffice if I can be bothered to crawl out from under the duvet early enough.
On Thursday I set off on a gentle circular walk from Helwith Bridge beside the river to Horton, intending to return below the quarries to Foredale. However, a sign informed me that part of the return route was closed for the rest of the year – which seemed a bit draconian just for a couple of hundreds yards of path. Curiosity didn’t get the better of me this time but I might do some discrete investigation at a later date. The little bunny on the other side of this dramatic ‘no entry’ sign either can’t read or is a bit of a rebel.
Foredale’s row of cottage with unforgiving background always reminds me of a Welsh mining scene or a landslip disaster waiting to happen. It’s not like that at all really and if you haven’t seen the film Lad: A Yorkshire Story which is shot in this area, I recommend you do so immediately.
The railway line was busy during my walk – goods going up and steam coming down.
The river certainly livened up as the week wore on, and after last night’s storms today the sun is out once again. And so am I.
Tag: Ingleborough
The ups and downs of a Dales summer
People were rushing for their sunglasses in Ribblesdale this week – not to shade their eyes from the welcome sun but to prevent glare from my milk-white legs which I exposed to an unwary public for the first time in a couple of years.
Last Sunday there was some lovely evening light which I was lucky enough to witness at Lower Winskill. The peaks of Smearsett Scar and a distant Ingleborough looked cool.
On Monday I popped back down to Langcliffe Mill pond to see if the tiny chicks were still around and was relieved to see there were still nine despite the presence of a huge heron.
A goods train from Carlisle passed beneath me as I trundled over the footbridge and I thought what a better way this was to transport stone from the quarries than via the hundreds of noisy trucks which pass on the nearby B6479 road.
I felt sorry for the sheep on a humid Tuesday as they struggled with heavy woollen coats but found some shade beside this cute little barn next to the Ribble. Close by are these lovely allotments – a credit to those who tend them.
An earlier comment I read on Facebook had reminded me of a Grade ii* listed building in Ribblesdale called Lodge Hall, sometimes known as Ingman’s Lodge. Many walkers doing the Three Peaks will have passed by the 17th-century building which, along with several outbuildings, doesn’t look in the best of condition. I’m in no way having a go at the owner but I would have thought English Heritage or similar would want to ensure this architectural treasure is maintained for future generations to admire. The dog here didn’t seem too pleased with my interference.
The same day, I drove down the top end of Dentdale and happened upon this steam train leaving Dent Station, and I also managed to capture it as it crossed Dent Head Viaduct. A great sight and tribute to those who worked hard to keep the Settle-Carlisle Railway open. (Can I assure friends here that I DO NOT need an intervention regarding any perceived obsession with trains.)
I got up early for a stroll by the Ribble from Langcliffe to Stainforth on Friday. But I was left downbeat by the sad state of the area around Stainforth Foss. It looked like there’d been a mini-Glastonbury Festival there … cans, bottles and other garbage strewn everywhere, even in the river. Goodness knows what it was like over the weekend – the place means a lot to me and I dare not go look just yet. Come on, Park Rangers and police – this behaviour is not just a disgrace but also illegal – do something about it.
On my way back home, as I was chuntering to myself about how I’d make the morons pick up the litter with their teeth, I popped my head into the Hoffmann Kiln. The light reflected from the bright, sun-lit greenery produced a stunning effect inside this man-made cavern. My first thought was what a tremendous art gallery this could become.
The weather? It’s been a week of sun, rain, hailstones the size of golf balls, high winds, gentle summer breezes and soaring temperatures, not to mention the thunder and lightning which played havoc with my electricity and computer. The ups and downs of summer in the Dales.
A blog about those two bright days in the Dales
(Bear with me during this lengthy blog – the sun’s gone in now and I’m reminiscing for my own amusement about the week just gone)
Two fine days in a row last week – or, what we in these parts call summer – saw me out and about with the camera once again. The pastures beneath Stainforth Scar shone like gold lamé carpets. They brought out the poet in me and I penned the following verse – but re-reading it now I wish the poet had stayed inside and had another glass of something strong.
Choose me! Choose me!
Plead the buttercups to a bee.
Come by! Come by!
Hears the languid butterfly.
Hopeful hosts of gold —
Such a sight to behold.
Further up the dale, Dry Beck Farm, which I must have photographed a hundred times, lured me in once more. I made a mental note to put together some kind of time-lapse sequence showing the shot through the seasons … one of those jobs I’ll probably never get round to. There’s a splendid beech tree in one of the fields – its fresh foliage looked vibrant against the meadows, limestone walls and bright blue sky.
Horton was busy with Three-Peakers – must be the time of year for charity fundraisers. Even fans of my footie team, Huddersfield Town, had groups out on the fells raising cash to help deprived youngsters in the Kirklees Community. I thought of those walking the 24 gruelling miles to raise a few pounds to help the under privileged while their idols were idling away their time on a beach somewhere earning up to £??k a week.
I stopped near Selside, close to the spot – a notorious bend on a hill – where a motorcyclist had sadly died after crashing into a road sign just a few days earlier. Last year a few hundred yards away, I came across another accident where a biker was killed. Dales roads weren’t meant for thrill seekers. I mentioned this on Facebook where locals added words of sadness for those involved, their own grief at witnessing and encountering these scenes, and also their annoyance at not being able to get home because of the road closure.
I’m not sure what the collective noun for train photographers is (an Orak, perhaps?) but when I saw a gathering at Ribblehead I presumed something important must be imminent. Here it is. Anyway, nice view of Whernside. I took in the exhibition at Ribblehead station while I was there – I’d been before but failed to notice the stained glass windows on previous visits. There are several depicting old railway names and emblems plus this one which lines up nicely with Ingleborough.
I motored on through Widdale which seems to be rapidly losing its clothes. the pine and spruce forests planted during the last century are gradually all being replaced by the kind of tree species that once thrived here before Man brought his hatchet into the dale.
Hawes was waking up when I travelled through on Thursday, even the ice cream sales had not begun but the parking chaos had; delivery trucks haphazardly abandoned amongst dirty farm Landrovers and unwary tourists looking for a free spot. The first bus full of grey-haired visitors was attempting to barge its way through to Wensleydale Creamery.
My mission was to try get a decent picture of the Buttertubs. The pass was quiet apart from the sheep who despite having hundreds of square miles of perfectly good moorland to wander over, prefer to meander aimlessly down the middle of the road. The mums appear unkempt at the moment with their fleeces falling apart at the seams. Their ’teenage’ lambs stay a few paces behind looking embarrassed and thinking ‘Is she really going out looking like that? I hope I don’t see any of my friends’.
I was lucky to grab one of the few parking spots at the Buttertubs which were dark and cool and had only a minor fall of water echoing in its depths. I always fear for the road’s foundations here as it spans the chasms but perhaps it’s best not to ponder too long and instead head down into Swaledale. I’ll have to try again at Buttertubs as the pics didn’t turn out too well.
Muker was thrang as Throp’s wife; I was passing through to capture the hay meadows and barns. Mainly comprising buttercups and daisies at this time of year the pastures were nevertheless a beautiful sight which I never tire of seeing. Made a mental note to come back shortly for a greater variety of plants.
Parking near Low Row, I headed for the river on the Crackpot road where I once again gazed enviously at a lovely row of cottages which overlook the Swale and the smart bridge. There’s a delightful path (partially blocked at present due to work by Yorkshire Water) which runs beside the river. The path actually goes along the top of a wall for a 100 yards or so. I felt as though I needed one of those vehicles ahead of me warning oncoming traffic of a ‘wide load’. I’d no need to worry as I didn’t see another soul for the next hour. There’s a nature trail here; flora and fauna abound, there were rabbits, too, and I heard all kinds of birds accompanied by the sound a low, brown river cackling over rocks and mini falls.
There was a small market in Reeth and every parking spot with a mile radius seemed to be taken, even on the village greens. It’s a pleasant village but I needed a bit more solitude today and headed for one of the glorious passes between Swaledale and Wensleydale.
Don’t ask me to pick a favourite road between the two dales because they are all spectacular. On Friday I took the one from Grinton over to Redmire. The lonely isolated grouse moors are certainly not where I’d choose to be on a winter’s night but this day a wonderful place to get out of the car and sit, look and listen to the cries of curlew and lapwing cries and the wind rushing through the heather which was still brown but showing signs of budding in sheltered area.
The previous day I’d taken on the pass between Askrigg and Muker/Gunnerside where I came face to face with a car on a 1 in 4, 45 degree bend. The other driver looked terrified so I reversed blindly, praying there was nothing following. Last year I took the Satron road – more of a track really but it is surfaced – which runs parallel to, and joins on to, this one. It’s not signposted and feels like a private road to a farm but it is a public way (I think!). It’s scary and you require a gate-opening passenger and someone to mop your brow. The views of Wensleydale dropping into Askrigg are vast and I was lucky to capture a glimpse of Semerwater across the wide valley.
Heading back to Ribblesdale I was tempted to park up for a walk to Snaizeholme and see if the red squirrels would come out to pose for me but it was getting late. When I returned home my neighbour’s clematis was basking in the late evening light … sadly, I’ve not seen much of the sun since.
Who needs sunshine when you're in the Dales?
I’ve been tweeting more than blogging recently, for no other reason than to judge reaction. Results to follow! Having to sum up a mood or express a feeling in a restrictive tweet is perhaps a good exercise but it’s impossible to put across any kind of personality – in my view anyway. This lunchtime I traveled the lonely road from Tosside over to Bentham. There was no sunshine and the views didn’t stretch far but the mood was captivating. Looking out from Bowland Knots the recognisible shapes of Ingleborough, Whernside and Gragareth provided a fine silhouette. I’m going to have to start inviting some patient soul out with me on my meanders around the Dales; this seat just begs for an occupant looking wistfully out over the moors. I’ve tried using the camera’s delay-timer in the past, and dashing to an appropriate spot myself, but I always seem to ruin the shot.
Pressed cheese and icy toppings
Clear blue skies tempted me into clambering up the rocky western side of Kingsdale this morning. The views were fantastic. I went as far as the Turbary Road, an ancient track which locals once used to collect peat from the slopes of Gragareth. To the west I could pick out Morecambe Bay across the Lune Valley, and the snow-topped southern fells of the Lake District. Just off the main track are these erratics known as the Cheese Press Stones where I ate my pressed cheese sandwich while staring towards Ingleborough and Whernside.
Enjoy the views but pay the dues
Driving up out of High Bentham towards Slaidburn today I had to stop to admire this view back over Wenningdale towards Whernside and Ingleborough. It was such a change to see an all-too-brief glimpse of blue sky. Looking the other way (below) was also a pretty scene (even though I briefly dipped my toes in Lancashire). I called at Stocks Reservoir after Slaidburn and wondered why there were cars parked outside rather than inside the small car park. They’ve started charging, that’s why. For years United Utilities who ‘own’ the land boasted about what lovely people they were in allowing the public to enjoy ‘their’ facilities for free. But now it seems that the profit of £607m the company made last year, much of it through rates we pay for letting them utilise what was once public land given away by government, is not enough. What’s the betting that the next time I visit Stocks there’ll be ugly yellow lines down the country lane along with ‘no parking’ signs.
Prelude to more snow in the Dales
The unmistakeable outline of Ingleborough greets those motorists driving from Hawes towards Ingleton near Ribblehead. This afternoon the sun was getting low in the west; there was icy blue sky to the east, while snow clouds were building up all around me. There’ll be much more of the white stuff here by the morning.
A twist in the tale of a dale
I was in Three Peaks territory this morning but the peaks were nowhere to be seen. This freight train was crossing the viaduct just as I reached Ribblehead and as you can see, the cloud completely obscured the view of Whernside… as well as Ingleborough and Penyghent. I’d hoped to take a Ranulph Fiennes-type walk up to Twisleton Scar and take a photo across Chapel-le-Dale, looking towards Ingleborough but it would have been a waste of time.
Recently I noticed in a magazine – not Dalesman I hasten to add – that Twisleton has been spelled with an additional t after the s. I once let the same incorrect spelling go through to print while I was editor of Dalesman. Consequently I was buried under a deluge of letters from readers eager to point out the error of my ways. The name means ‘farm at the fork of a river’ from Old English words ‘twisla’ and ‘tun’ – in this case where Kingsdale Beck meets the River Greta. And why did I mention the slightly mad Ranulph Fiennes earlier? Because his full Sunday name is Sir Ranulph Twisleton-Wykeham-Fiennes. One of his ancient ancestral lines must have stemmed from the area. Some thought goes into these blogs you know.
All I want for Christmas…
My camera’s been playing up recently hence the lack of activity on this blog. The dreaded ‘Err099’ message appeared on the display, which all Canon users will recognise as being code for ‘not the foggiest idea what’s wrong, mate – probably a big bill to follow’. I gave it a good clean and took it for a spin this morning. It worked long enough for me to take this shot showing the familiar outline of Ingleborough against a turbulent sky, and the early sun trying force a way through. But the camera spluttered to a halt once again. After almost ten years and more than 17,000 photos with a camera that cost just over £400, maybe some would say I’ve had my money’s worth. Have you got the hint, Santa? Merry Christmas.
PS there was a fair gathering of snow on the top of Ingleborough.
When a picture paints a thousand words…
I’m working on a new feature for The Countryman called Classic Countryman in which I will reproduce some fine writing from the magazine’s archive. One series I’ve enjoyed researching is titled ‘Why I live in the country’ written by well known people in the 1930s. They talk about ‘getting away from the madness of the city’ and enjoying the ‘peace and quiet’. For me the main reason ‘Why I live in the country’ is being able to absorb views such as these looking over northern Ribblesdale this morning. You just don’t need any fancy words, do you?
