The Dales Way Day Two

The Dales Way 2009

Day Two: 1^st June 2009.

Weather: Wall to wall sunshine again - all the way

Burnsall to Buckden: 13.5 miles on SatMap Active 10 GPS

We woke up to a great breakfast at the Red Lion Inn – to go with the great meal that we had in the restaurant last night. The midge clouds at dusk were ferocious so we shut the windows against them. The village was very quiet as we set off and followed the river bank around – until a huge riverbank full of rubbish from the previous day. There has been a fair amount of scum on the river as we walked along but nothing like the scum who left all the detritus around the riverbank yesterday. It was a horrific sight and hard to believe that people can do this – beer bottles and cans, BBQ foil packs, plastic food carriers, Lilos, clothing – the list goes on. Thankfully this jarring note didn’t last long as the Ar$*%£$ who left this can’t walk very far from their cars. My blood pressure quickly subsided from boiling point to comatose as I took in green grass and blue skies, and the familiar feeling of total relaxation kicked in. Today we saw the Yorkshire Dales as they should be viewed – in relative seclusion, peace and quiet.

Looking back to the bridge at Burnsall

I couldn’t bring myself to include all the detritus around the falls

We passed a steady flow of walkers through the day but never at any point did we feel overcrowded, even passing through the busier spot of Grassington. We watched a fly fisherman expertly casting, and then just beyond the bridge at Hebden were a few large rainbow trout swimming out of reach of his lures. There was the usual line of stepping stones across the Wharfe, next to a wooden suspension bridge, and these are always ok to cross when the river isn’t in spate. They would be a little more challenging in wetter weather! The route follows the River Wharfe up to Linton Falls and it was very peaceful walking along the grassy river banks. We saw a Little Owl out and about in the sun and he managed to look well grumpy in the picture I took. The church at Linton lies squat against the floodplain and looked interesting. I avoided the temptation to cross the stepping stones and investigate as Mrs RP wouldn’t thank me for extra mileage. I suppose it gets wet down in the church now and again. Linton Falls has a couple of weirs above to control the flow of water, and the falls themselves are a narrow cut channel in the limestone where the Wharfe rushes downstream – as well as some Mallard chicks surfing the standing waves. Mrs RP said ‘do you think they’ll be alright?’ Ducks always float pretty well generally, unless you’ve caught them flush with a loaf of stale bread.

A suspension bridge crosses over to the Grassington side

Linton church across the river and more stepping stones

The falls at Linton

Beyond the falls and weir was the Village of Grassington, a very welcome spot for some refreshments and a baguette from the local deli. I popped into the bank across the road and asked for the nearest hole in the wall – it was around the corner, but the local wag couldn’t help but point across the lane to a neat, square hole in the drystone wall. How he guffawed all the way back to his girlfriend – who baa’d in the front seat of his Landrover. There were plenty of opportunities for a refreshment stop but it was too soon after Burnsall, so we didn’t hang around and quickly made our way up through the village, passing quaint cobbled streets. The path steadily climbs out of the village and for the next 4 or 5 miles the way took us away from the river and up onto higher ground amongst the limestone pavement. The landscape showed a distinct change and the old medieval field systems and settlements come to the fore, and there are a lot of lumps and bumps as well as some small walled fields from long ago. It was very peaceful here and the only people we met were another couple on the same schedule as us, but as Mrs RP was on her first walk we couldn’t keep pace with them so we met them several times a day for the next few days and nights. There was a warren of well worn paths up here and it would have been easy to get misplaced without paying attention – but I had the GPS so it was easy enough.

Grassington village

Past the village it was up to the old medieval field systems

A note here that the Dales Way is not the best way-marked path I have ever been on, but is easy to navigate using a map – I had a Harvey’s strip map and it was more than adequate for our use. The old wall lines could be seen by looking at the lower courses of the walls, they tended to use large boulders as a base and build up from there. We swiftly moved up to the higher pasture and the limestone pavements were almost blindingly white in the strong sunshine – no complaints from me though. At the top it was silent blue skies, short green grass and lots of strange field patterns – old walls within new walls, some burial mounds and a couple of old lime kilns. In an area of pavement which was fenced off from the livestock, the natural vegetation was regenerating, and it always surprises how quickly it comes back and gives the area a totally different feel. Lunch today was sat atop an old kiln, and splendid it was – worth the wait and trying to get two large baguettes to the top without crushing them in my backpack. No noise just the steady grazing of a ham and apple chutney munch – lovely. The ancient routes and drovers paths are clearly seen and these led us past Conistone Pie (a meat and potato hill if ever there was one) with beautiful views up Wharfedale. The old settlements are clear to see with a narrow metalled track leading around the contours to a clearly laid out street with walled back gardens running up to the scar behind. I could almost imagine the Rovers Return on the corner, or should that be the Drovers Return.

Looking down on Grassington

The well worn Dales route

A fenced off part of limestone pavement

Old field enclosures showing through

Conistone Pie – yummy

The first glimpse of Upper Wharfedale

All the time along the high pasture the sound of the Lapwing resounded around the hills, and you can spot them flying from miles away, mainly due to the fact that they are all over the place and can’t fly properly. We have the first views of the wonderful meadows ahead, dominated by the yellow marsh marigolds. Many of the fields are small enclosures with their own small barn in, making for a very distinct landscape. This was the first time we had been so deep in the dales and it is wonderful and refreshing. Soon enough we dropped back down into Wharfedale through a small wood and a narrow lane and into the village of Kettlewell, passing many small fields which all seem to be for winter haylage. As it was so warm we popped into the Kings Arms for a draught of cool – beer and coke and a tub of ice cream, but not in the same glass. The flagged floor was cool and the peaty smell from the fireplace was a very welcoming scent. We had a good chat with the landlady, who gave us her view of life in the dales – just like listening to the radio really.

Down through a small wood, the views are delicious

The meadows at Kettlewell

And more everywhere we looked

Buckden was along the valley a little way

A very still River Wharfe

A last look back to today’s route, with the high pasture in the distance

The remaining 4 miles to Buckden were down at the river valley avoiding the boggy sections. Mature woods lined the south side of the valley, while on the north side they were busy cutting the hay. Another feature of the Wharfe riverbanks is the huge population of Sand Martins, their burrows in neat rows. Between them and the swallows there can’t have been many flies left. The river gently meanders on itself but the route stays on a fairly straight line up the valley to avoid the marshy areas below. We passed and were passed by Steve and Carolyn (their website is Bigblackcat.co.uk) who were staying at the same B&B as us, so we told them we had bagged the best room and speeded up to beat them to it – they had full packs on and we didn’t – but it didn’t matter anyway as both the rooms at the B&B were equally small. Once at Buckden we crossed over the bridge and up the road to the West Winds B&B, where we were met with a huge slice of cake and a cuppa – what a lovely day. A quick wash and scrub up – the bath was so small my feet were nearly out of the window when I lay back to rinse my hair (I know – I don’t have much), and the hot tap came perilously close to singeing something it shouldn’t. Then it was down to the Buck Inn for an evening meal with a rude amusing landlord – ‘Aye I went on holiday once to Brighton. But I couldn’t find a parking space, so I came home’ the end of a lovely, lovely day. What was in my head at the end of it? – Absolutely nothing. Mrs RP survived the day, although she feels she has tweaked a muscle in the lower back but her legs and feet are