13 photos. The cackle of a stream over water-worn pebbles; hidden birds striking out perfect notes. The sight and smell of wild garlic; bluebells gently swaying in dappled sunlight. A Dales wood is a delight on such a day. The few people I meet are cheerful; happy to be out and about in this peaceful haven, forgetting the world’s troubles and its greedy fools.
At the start of the week I was contemplating changing the name of my blog to Scribble by the Pebbles, such was the lack of water in the Ribble and elsewhere in the Dales. Many stretches of the riverbed near my home could easily be walked across which is very unusual as this is an area where water has traditionally been collected for meadows and powering mills.
One day I popped over to Wensleydale to see how low Semerwater was looking. The two large boulders by the car park (top pic) were totally exposed. I took photos of the naked rocks for posterity. In fact, I got a bit carried away with camera clicking this week and had a job whittling down the choice for the blog so I’ll let the pics do most of the talking.
Although it’s been a mixed weather week in the Yorkshire dales my photo diary shows several golden moments. I walk with Romans, drive the border and a cow takes the wee-wee.
I did it byway
I popped over into one of Ribblesdale’s next-dale-neighbours to follow in the footsteps of the Romans on Monday. The ancient route to Bainbridge, which I picked up at the top of Sleddale, offers some fine views up and down Wensleydale and Raydale. Although it wasn’t the crispest of days for long-distant shots, Semerwater, Pen Hill and Addleborough helped paint a good picture. It didn’t seem worth ploughing a way through the peat bog to the top of Wether Fell as the view across Wensleydale can be enjoyed just the same along the path which circles around the hill like a necklace.
Golden days and nights in the Dales
A late stroll from Langcliffe to watch the sunset was well worthwhile. Here several shots in no particular order:
Along the border
For a change of view of the sunset, the following evening I took a trip along the Yorkshire-Lancashire border …
I’ve had a pleasant week wandering around the dales. A few gentle walks averaging around four miles per saunter; some warm weather and not a sign of sciatica. The photography’s been worthwhile too, judging by the number of ‘hits’ on Facebook, Twitter and my website which reached a new high following my postings during the week. 20 dales photos to view here this week.
I headed for the top of Langcliffe Scar last Sunday. It’s a fabulous viewpoint from which to see Ribblesdale, the Three Peaks, Pendle Hill and other nearby dales. The wispy clouds directly above me threw up all kinds of weird and wonderful shapes. Is that a broken heart and an angel looking for me? Further away, to the east, lenticular clouds were forming spaceships. And the blue sky contrasting starkly against the limestone always draws the eye.
Strictly speaking there isn’t a public footpath to the top of Langcliffe Scar. Under foot it can be quite tricky with much of the limestone clints and grykes covered by vegetation. One benefit of this is the sheep don’t like it too much so there is more chance for the wild flowers to get a hold. Sometimes getting down on the ground and really seeing what’s growing can be as rewarding as the magnificent long-distant views.
Dales history
Taking advantage of the valley bottom lanes around Austwick once again, I visited one of the ancient clapper bridges near the village. The first photo in the blog shows Flascoe Bridge, which is Grade II listed with Historic England. It was built in the 15th century of limestone and five slate flags on rubble piers. The bridge is about 12 strides across for those with short legs like mine.
Down memory lane
Somewhere from the murky depths of my mind I dredged up memories of an old deserted church seen on a walk I did many years ago around Semerwater. So on Wednesday I popped over the pass from Ribblesdale to Wensleydale and hidden Raydale to see whether the place had changed in the intervening 40+ years.
Semerwater on a quiet pre-school-holiday, midweek day with the sun blazing down seems a million miles from the world’s angst. I followed the lakeside path through the Yorkshire Wildlife Trust Nature Reserve to the outskirts of Stalling Busk where the ruined old church still stands. The place was actually in better condition than I remember. On returning home I discovered on tinterweb that consolidation work was carried out in 1981 and further restoration undertaken in 2000. It was still being used as a church in the 1920s.
I walked back to the car via the quiet top lane so I could see Semerwater from above. The weather turned dramatically, as it often does in the dales, during the hour or so I was walking.
Animal magic
At first I thought this sheep had been crushed by a tombstone at Stalling Busk. But I soon realised it was quite happy and just shading from the sun. A bit like my dim cat, it can’t understand why its head is cool but the rest of its body remains boiling hot.
The sheep looked cooler admiring the view from Winskill, above Langcliffe.
Squirrel setting a bad example about rail safety at Settle Station.
On hearing of plans to upgrade our Trident missiles this week several moles in the Yorkshire Dales decided to surrender.
And finally…
Is that Mark Rand sitting on the S of his converted water tower at Settle Railway Station?
I’m taking a summer break from blogging but will continue to post photos from Ribblesdale and the rest of the Dales here and on Twitter (@paulinribb) whenever I can.
(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.
Seeing the afternoon sun glistening on Semerwater the other day I was reminded of my schooldays (yes, I can remember THAT far back). Either we had a teacher who was very fond of the Dales, or it was part of the GCE (yes, THAT long ago when we had GCEs) syllabus – whatever, we had to learn and discuss the ballad of Semerwater… the one that goes:
Deep asleep, deep asleep,
Deep asleep it lies,
The still lake of Semerwater
Under the still skies….
There are another half dozen verses written by Sir William Watson, a poet from Burley in Wharfedale, which I tried to recall while taking in the lovely scene. There aren’t many places in the Yorkshire Dales where you can listen to water lapping against a shoreline in rhythmic fashion so this was a feast for the eyes and ears. However, my memory wasn’t up to the task of reciting the full poem and I had to Google the rest back at home.