Walking above Ribblesdale this afternoon I realised that a degree in meteorology wasn’t necessary to deduce I was about to get an almighty soaking. So I took this photo, tucked the camera away in my bag and braced myself for the downpour. Head bowed I battled back to the car. The label on my cagoule says waterproof – but it doesn’t say leakproof. My drenching lasted less than ten minutes but the wetness stayed with me a hell of a lot longer. Strong winds soon blew the storm clouds up the dale and I hung around to see if the new light following quickly on behind would illuminate Penyghent from the west. It didn’t, but as can be seen in the other photo, the cloud clung to the peak, looking like smoke rising from a slow-burning peat fire. The scene may have improved later on but as I was starting to smell like a wet old dog I wasn’t hanging around to find out.
Stare for long enough at my photo of the Hoffmann Kiln at Langcliffe in Ribblesdale and you’ll see an enormous eye looking back at you… or maybe it’s just me being over-imaginative who can see it! This is a rare building, a remnant of Craven’s industrial past when lime used to be burnt here. The kiln, named after the German who invented it, has stood since 1873. Most tourists drive straight past unaware of its presence just off the road to the Three Peaks. It closed in the 1930s. There was a tall chimney here once but strangely, just as it was due to be demolished in 1951, it fell down on its own accord, the day before the planned ceremony, when there was no one around.There’s no charge for looking around the kiln so I’m surprised more Yorkshire folk don’t visit.
As I was heading away from Ribblehead the other night after watching the sunset, this little train trundled very slowly across the viaduct. I’d heard some time ago that toxic waste is sometimes taken along the line from the north west. Can anyone fill in the detail? The truth is out there! Anyway, I thought it made a nice picture.
Last night’s weather show in north Ribblesdale was brilliant. I sat as near to the end of a rainbow you can get, watched mighty clouds marching rapidly across the sky changing the scenery by the minute. From beneath the arches of Ribblehead Viaduct I saw a fine sunset. In Kingsdale I witnessed shafts of sunlight light up first the western slopes of Whernside then like a great theatre spotlight switch across the valley to Ingleborough. I got so giddy I took eighty photos – thank goodness for digital cameras. The top one shows the sunset from underneath the viaduct, with the flat top of Ingleborough on the left; the other shows the light on the viaduct a couple of moments before the sunset. Keep looking here for more pictures (not compulsory – just a suggestion.)
Someone chucked a huge grey blanket over north Ribblesdale today. The forecasters promised so much – surely they can’t be that wrong? I got into my grey car, caught the reflection of my grey hair in the window, and headed off into the gloom searching for inspiration…. “T’blog weean’t write itssen,” I thought, in my best West Riding twang. I was momentarily transported back some forty years to my earliest days in weekly newspapers when on a Monday morning the grumpy editor would poke his head around the reporters’ room door and bark something about there being “God knows how many column-inches to fill” and that they wouldn’t be filled by reporters sitting on their backsides in the office. Those were days before lifting stuff from t’internet and readers with mobile phones helped filled the space – reporters were paid to go out into the streets, courts and – all in the line of duty – pubs to seek out the local tittle-tattle. Back to today. Someone stealing the Three Peaks would have made a good tale for the newspaper… they were definitely missing on my journey to Ribblehead Viaduct where even the tea wagon hadn’t bothered to turn up. Limestone grey walls and limestone grey buildings against a grey backdrop. Even the sheep looked grey. The National Park won’t allow anyone to use their imagination and paint something bright red by way of a change; I’m surprised they allow cyclists to ride on the roads wearing those luminous tops. I love seeing bright red post boxes and telephone kiosks dotted around the Dales, but try making your garden gate the same colour and some jobsworth or a haughty neighbour will be on your case before the paint’s dry. Anyway, back once more to today. Anyone who’s lived in the area will tell you that there are times when it seems every dale has its own weather system and so it proved on this little adventure. Dropping into Wensleydale was like waking from a coma… there was blue sky, fluffy clouds, tourists in T-shirts and alfresco drinkers on the setts by the Black Bull. I walked along to Cotter Force where bright red rowan berries (are they allowed in the National Park?) added some extra pizzazz to a beautiful rural scene. High on Buttertubs Pass, peering down on upper Swaledale (pictured), everything became crisper and clearer; the contrast with dowdy Ribblesdale could not have been greater. Perhaps it will be Ribblesdale’s day tomorrow.
Every time I reach this spot on the road to Dent from Ribblesdale I curse for not bringing a Settle-Carlisle rail timetable with me. One day I’ll snap a special steam train crossing Dent Head viaduct – but then, no doubt, there’ll be dozens of proper rail-photo enthusiasts with the same idea. Today, instead of continuing through Dentdale I turned off over the dodgy narrow road to Garsdale where the views over Wensleydale and beyond were spectacular. But every time I got out of the car to admire the scenery I was attacked by hundreds of flying-ant-type insects. This was the car roof after stopping for no more than a few seconds…
Sunset is a great time for a quiet stroll in Ribblesdale. The light plays tricks. Limestone changes colour in the sun’s weak rays. Erratic rocks like this one take on unlikely silhouettes. I watch a hare dance alone around a freshly cut field. Sheep take no notice, grazing monotonously as they’d been doing all day long. No birdsong. No traffic. No telephone ringing. No tiresome beep from the computer announcing the arrival of yet another tedious email. Just pleasurable peace in the pastoral perfection of the Dales. Ahhh.
Ahh, Sunday evening AND sunshine. The trippers are on their way home and Settle is settling back into a more relaxed mood. I strolled up Castle Hill and through Tot Lord Wood which was peaceful and full of birdsong. Shafts of light picked out ramsons, daisies and bluebells all shouting ‘look at me, look at me’. On top of Castleberg rock the low sun warmed the limestone as I took in a very green, very wide Ribblesdale. Settle resembles a toy town from up here. It must be the same feeling for those living in a tall block of flats – but I bet this situation is a lot more rewarding. Here are the views from Castleberg and t’ other way round…
I’ve put together a walk of around six miles, starting and finishing at Helwith Bridge in Ribblesdale. It uses the Ribble Way by the river to Horton then a minor back road to Dub Cote. From here it’s uphill to join Long Lane back down to Helwith Bridge. There are three pubs on the route. Have a look here…
I’m hoping to put a few more Ribblesdale walks together so I’d appreciate any comments about the appearance and ease of use of the site. I know the picture files make it slow loading and I’m working on that aspect.
There was some lovely late sunlight t’ other night which called for a little drive. From Settle I took the Malham road over the moor, stopping off for five minutes at Scaleber Force – not as spectacular as I’ve seen it, but a magical place and always worth a visit. Malhamdale, wearing its green and grey uniform, opens up in front of you as you head along this quiet back road. But this night the tops of the western facing slopes were a warm yellow as the sun began to slip behind Malham Moor. I just managed to get this shot of the cove, now empty of the usual hordes of visitors. Then it was up and over the moor back into Ribblesdale to watch the sun finally go down over Ingleborough from Winskill – pictured below. This is why I love living in the Dales.
